Brother Lugna gave an exclamation of dismay and started forward, but Eadulf sprang up and was by the old man’s side in a moment.
‘He has fainted. Have you water?’
Brother Cuineáin went to lift a nearby pitcher of water to pour into a beaker but his hands were shaking and the water was spilling. Brother Lugna reached forward to take the beaker from him. The steward was apologetic.
‘Sorry, it is an ague I suffer from which sometimes stops me picking up things unless I am careful.’
Eadulf ignored him and turned to the prone figure on the floor. They gathered round in a concerned circle while Eadulf tried to revive the man by coaxing the water between his lips. Brother Ledbán spluttered and coughed but he did not come back to full consciousness.
The abbot stood undecided for a moment. ‘We’d best remove him to his chamber.’
‘I can manage that, Father Abbot,’ said Brother Lugna.
‘Brother Cuineáin will help you carry him there.’ Then Abbot Nannid added to his steward, ‘You had best send for the physician to attend him.’
The steward and the stable-master picked up the inert man and carried him from the room.
After they had left, the abbot turned to Fidelma with a sad shake of his head. ‘Poor Brother Ledbán is an old man. We have exerted too much pressure on him, conjuring painful memories. It is good that he has such a friend and patient helper in Brother Lugna.’
‘He seems a kind person,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Brother Lugna has been working at the stables of this abbey since he was seventeen years old, over twenty years. He is a generous and pious soul. He ran away from … from a good family to come here. Anyway, I hope Brother Ledbán will be better in the morning. A good night’s rest is in order.’
‘Perhaps in the morning he will be able to finish answering my question,’ Fidelma said. ‘We will leave matters until then.’
The abbot was quick to agree. ‘It will soon be time for the evening service and meal. I will get someone to show you to the guest house.’ He picked up a hand bell and shook it several times. In moments, there was a knock on the door and another religieux entered, waiting while the abbot issued instructions. ‘A bell will be rung for the evening services which are held just before the meal. Either follow the sound of the bell or ask any of the brethren to take you to the refectory.’
The Abbey of Mungairit was obviously a rich one. In spite of the frugality of the entrance chamber where Brother Cuineáin had greeted them, once beyond that the wealth became obvious. The fact that it possessed its own large stables should have been an indication. When Nessán had founded the abbey, it was under the patronage of Lomman, son of Erc, Prince of the Uí Fidgente. When Nessán died it was endowed by Prince Manchin, son of Sedna, who claimed descent from Cormac Cas, who maintained that his people were senior to the Eóghanacht in their claim to the Kingdom of Muman. It was a claim that the Eóghanacht denied.
The abbey had grown in influence and learning and housed several schools of learning which brought it wealth and prestige. As they were conducted through the corridors and halls to their chambers, Fidelma and her companions could not ignore the riches that adorned the abbey walls. Great tapestries hung there, depicting all manner of religious scenes as well as scenes of hunts, horse races and battles … scenes from every aspect of life in the country. There were carved statues and gold and silver religious icons that the steward of a king’s palace might envy.
Fidelma disappeared to the guests’ bathing room for the traditional evening dabach or hot bath while Eadulf joined Gormán in a more Spartan strip wash with a section of the brethren of the abbey.
Later that day, after the evening meal, when they were back in their chamber in the guests’ hostel, Fidelma sat down next to Eadulf. It was the first time they had been alone and could speak privately. ‘Was Brother Ledbán truly unwell or did his fainting attack have something to do with my mentioning the name Liamuin?’ she asked.
‘He really did faint,’ Eadulf told her. ‘It could have been a coincidence, or perhaps the old man recognised the name and reacted badly to it.’
Fidelma sighed wearily. ‘Well, there is nothing else we can do but wait until the morning before we can ask him.’
‘I did not see Brother Cú-Mara in the refectory for the evening meal,’ Eadulf said.
‘That is true. Perhaps his business with the librarian has kept him busy. It was good luck that he should have been here just at the very moment he was needed.’
‘Coincidences still seem to occur frequently at the moment,’ Eadulf remarked.
Fidelma looked at him curiously. ‘Explain,’ she invited.
‘The fact that we found that girl, Aibell, whose mother just happens to bear the name shouted by the assassin. The fact that she just happened to be in the woodshed where the assassin changed his clothes. The fact that Brother Cú-Mara, all the way from the Abbey of Ard Fhearta, just happened to be in this courtyard and was able to identify us. There is the fact that Brother Ledbán happens to come from the same place as the girl and faints when the name Liamuin is spoken. And didn’t Aibell mention that her mother’s father had joined an abbey? It crossed my mind, could it be that old Ledbán was Liamuin’s father?’
Fidelma chuckled softly. ‘I swear that you are looking for coincidences in everything.’
Eadulf joked, ‘Suspicion is something easily acquired when one lives with a dálaigh in this country.’
Fidelma pulled a face at him. Then, thinking of her brother, she had a moment of guilt that she could still be light-hearted.
‘Anyway, the stable-master seems a pleasant man, giving such time to look after old Brother Ledbán,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘There is a particular friendship among people who look after horses.’
Eadulf knew that one of Fidelma’s loves was horses and it seemed true that she had an empathy with people who worked with them.
‘Anyway, we have many things to consider here,’ she said.
‘And best we consider them after a proper rest,’ Eadulf advised, yawning. ‘Last night, sleeping in ruins and then being robbed by brigands, before riding all the way to this place, was hardly conducive to our being able to reflect clearly on these matters.’
‘You are right,’ Fidelma sighed before turning and blowing out the candle by their bedside. She was asleep almost immediately.
In the morning, when Fidelma arose, Eadulf was already awake, washed and dressed. She washed her face and hands as was the custom, before joining Eadulf in making their way to the praintech or refectory. They were met at the door of the dining hall by Brother Cuineáin.
‘Would you come with me?’ he requested without preamble. It was clear that something was worrying the man.
Abbot Nannid enlightened them as soon as they entered his chamber.
‘I am afraid Brother Ledbán passed to his eternal rest during the night,’ he intoned solemnly.
‘He was quite old,’ added Brother Cuineáin as if anxious to give an explanation. ‘Perhaps the remembrance of what happened to his son caused such distress that the strain was too much for him to bear.’
Fidelma received the news with feelings of suspicion and frustration.
‘Does your physician concur with this cause of death?’ she asked brusquely.
The abbot blinked briefly before he responded. ‘Of course. Brother Ledbán was a frail and-’
‘I would like Brother Eadulf here to examine the body,’ cut in Fidelma.
The abbot drew in his breath in irritation. ‘I see no reason-’
‘The reason is that I am a dálaigh and the acting Chief Brehon will require it,’ she said firmly. ‘Brother Ledbán died in the middle of answering my questions.’