‘I am Brother Cuineáin, the steward of this abbey.’ He looked at them expectantly.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel and this is Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, my husband. Waiting outside with our horses is Gormán of the Nasc Niadh.’
Brother Cuineáin inclined his head in brief acknowledgement. Then he raised his pale eyes to examine them closely.
‘What do you seek here?’ His voice was as lacking in warmth as that of the religieux who had opened the door to them.
‘I wish to speak with Abbot Nannid,’ replied Fidelma.
The steward regarded her without emotion.
‘These are strange times, lady. Only a few months ago, this abbey was attacked by rebels commanded by Étain of An Dún. Now, I have heard of Fidelma and Eadulf — who has not? But it was of Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf that I have heard. While this Eadulf wears the tonsure of the Blessed Peter, you come in the robes of nobility, lady — you do not wear the robes of a religieuse. Perhaps you can let me have some proof that you are who you say you are?’
‘Brother Cuineáin.’ Fidelma was patient. ‘You have made a reasonable request but one to which we cannot respond. On our journey here, at the Hill of Ulla, we were attacked by brigands and our symbols of authority, being valuable, were taken from us.’
The steward regarded them for a few moments and then sighed, rubbing the side of his nose with a pudgy forefinger.
‘That presents me with an awkward situation. Without proof, I am not at liberty to accept that you are who you claim to be and therefore I can offer you neither admittance nor assistance. These times are fraught with unease and enemies can come in friendly guises. We must protect ourselves.’
Fidelma’s eyes flashed. ‘I am Fidelma, sister to Colgú, King of Cashel. I demand to see Abbot Nannid.’
‘You can demand all you want, lady,’ the steward said indifferently. ‘However, until you can prove your identity I am only fulfilling my duty to the abbot of this place in refusing to admit you.’
‘I come to him on a matter of law.’
The steward shook his head. ‘That cannot be allowed. Abbot Nannid will not see strangers, moreover, strangers who have no proof that they are who they claim to be. I cannot admit you under the rules of this abbey, which are to safeguard it from any possible harm.’
Frustrated, Eadulf just restrained himself from taking a step forward. Brother Cuineáin’s eyes narrowed quickly.
‘Threats will do you little good, my friend. I suggest that, as the day darkens, you should all be on your way.’
‘You do us an injustice, Brother Cuineáin,’ Fidelma said softly.
‘I can only obey the rule of this abbey.’
‘Is it not said that rules are only for the obedience of fools but the guidance of wise men?’ she snapped.
The steward pursed his lips in an ugly grimace. ‘I would have to own, then, that I am either a fool or a wise man. The proof of which is difficult to discern at this time.’
‘Then it seems we shall have to return when we are in possession of that proof,’ Fidelma replied, suppressing her annoyance, ‘and then we shall discuss the answer.’
Outside, Gormán was waiting patiently for them. Brother Cuineáin had followed them out into the courtyard to watch them depart. He glanced at Gormán and called with dry cynicism: ‘I see that your companion, who you claim is Gormán of the Nasc Niadh, wears no Golden Collar and seems to possess no sword for his empty scabbard.’
Fidelma made no response.
‘I knew something like this would happen,’ muttered Gormán. ‘We should have turned back and picked up other means of identity before coming into Uí Fidgente land.’
‘The word “should” is as negative a word as “if”, Gormán,’ Fidelma said, her voice waspish. ‘We have to deal with reality and not lament decisions that do not prove the right ones.’
‘What now?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I can see no alternative but to find a place of safety for the oncoming night and then seek the help of my nearest cousin of the Eóghanacht Áine — and that’s over a day’s ride to the east.’
Fidelma was about to mount her horse when a shout came from the other side of the courtyard.
‘Sister! Sister Fidelma!’
A young religieux was hurrying across the flagstones towards them, waving his hand in a manner undignified for one of his calling.
Fidelma turned to stare at the young man and then moved to meet him with a smile on her face; her hands were held out in greeting.
‘Brother Cú-Mara!’
The young man came up slightly breathless and caught her hands. There was ill-concealed excitement on his youthful features.
‘I thought I recognised you. What are you doing here?’ He turned and clapped her companion on the back. ‘And Brother Eadulf! I did not think to see you in this corner of the world.’
‘It is good to see you again, Brother Cú-Mara,’ Fidelma replied, smiling at the effusiveness of his greeting. ‘And I might ask the same question of you? You are a long way from the Abbey of Ard Fhearta.’
The young man chuckled. ‘I am, indeed, but on a visit to bring a copy of one of the books from our tech screptra, our library, to that of this abbey. I am due to return to my abbey tomorrow.’
Brother Cú-Mara was the steward of the Abbey of Ard Fhearta. He had once studied the art of calligraphy under Fidelma’s own cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú. It was while they were staying at Ard Fhearta that Fidelma and Eadulf had been able to resolve the evil threat of the person known as the ‘Master of Souls’.
‘It seems we might be in luck to have found you here before your return to the coast,’ Eadulf said dryly.
Brother Cú-Mara looked puzzled. ‘Why so, Brother Eadulf?’
Eadulf glanced over his shoulder to where Brother Cuineáin had been standing at the doorway, and was startled to find that the steward had moved forward and was now close behind him. He was staring at Brother Cú-Mara.
‘Am I to understand that you know these people and can identify them?’ he demanded in a heavy tone.
The steward of Ard Fhearta looked at Brother Cuineáin in astonishment.
‘I do not know the warrior who accompanies them, but of course I know them! I thought everyone knew Sister Fidelma and her husband Brother Eadulf. If they did not know them in person, then their reputation is spread among the Five Kingdoms. I know them personally, for only a few years ago they spent time at our abbey and saved the kingdom from relapsing into war.’
The steward of Mungairit appeared flustered. A look of embarrassment began to spread across his features.
‘Then it is up to me to offer my apologies.’ He almost mumbled the words, addressing Fidelma. ‘I have to say that in refusing you entry here I was only acting by the rules and best intentions to protect our abbey from the many threats with which it is surrounded. I now offer you and your companions the hospitality of the abbey.’
‘We will accept not only your apology but your offer,’ replied Fidelma graciously, ‘and with many thanks for we are exhausted since our experiences on the road here.’
Brother Cú-Mara was puzzled as he tried to follow the conversation.
Eadulf took pity on him. ‘We were attacked on the road here by brigands. They stole what valuables we had, including all our means of identification, the symbols of office.’
‘Ah!’ the young man exclaimed. ‘I begin to understand why the steward, if he did not know you, was reticent about your admittance to this abbey. You may recall the abbey was recently attacked by Étain of An Dún? But we must talk later for I have to meet the leabhair coimedach, the librarian, to conclude my business here. We will meet at the evening meal.’ Then, with a wave of his hand, the young man was gone.
‘He turned up at an opportune moment,’ muttered Gormán.