‘We are departing now,’ Fidelma told him. ‘We were lucky that you were here to identify us yesterday.’
‘I was pleased to be able to help,’ the steward of Ard Fhearta said. ‘You rendered our abbey great assistance when Eadulf and you were there. I have not forgotten, lady.’
Fidelma glanced at Brother Cú-Mara with interest. ‘Have you known Brother Cuineáin for some time?’
‘I think he joined the abbey back at the time when Prince Eoganán rose up against Cashel. Ah, no, it was shortly after that. I have been an intermediary between my abbot and Abbot Nannid several times. That is why I am here now. Our copyists have just completed a copy of Aipgitir Chrábaid — The Alphabet of Piety. It was made at the request of the librarian here and so I came to deliver it.’
‘Well, it was fortunate that you were here. It seems Brother Cuineáin was fully intent on denying us entry because we could not prove who we were.’
‘Some of the brethren here would say he was too conscientious,’ replied Brother Cú-Mara. ‘Do not get me wrong. He is good at administration but his devotion to the Faith has been questioned several times.’
Fidelma was surprised. ‘Has it really? In what manner does he lack devotion to the Faith?’
‘Oh, perhaps I should not spread gossip, but then gossip always spreads in a confined community like this.’
‘He who goes about as a tale-bearer reveals secrets,’ Eadulf added almost sanctimoniously.
Fidelma glanced at him in disapproval. ‘I am sure the quoting of Scripture is appropriate in its place but in this instance I would be interested to know what it was the brethren complained of.’
‘Well, they felt that it was unjust that Brother Cuineáin should be made steward before other, longer-serving candidates.’
‘I am not sure I understand. The brethren usually elect the officers of the abbey from the most suitable candidates in accordance with the law.’
Brother Cú-Mara smiled briefly. ‘In this case, it was Abbot Nannid who appointed him. His argument was that the death of Prince Eoganán at Cnoc Áine and the defeat of the Uí Fidgente warriors had thrown this land into turmoil. Stability was needed both across the land as well as in Mungairit. Therefore someone used to administration was needed as a temporary measure.’
‘Someone used to administration? So Brother Cuineáin had been an administrator in the abbey before this?’
The steward of Ard Fhearta shook his head. ‘My understanding was that he was newly arrived at the abbey.’
‘But from where?’
‘That, no one knows for certain. No one, of course, except the abbot himself. The end of the war here was a tough time for all of us. It changed the lives and attitudes of many. For example, Brother Lugna, the stable-master, was a more humorous man before the conflict. Now he seems just as pleasant but more reserved than before. He no longer tells jokes as he once did.’
‘The abbot appointed his steward?’ queried Fidelma. ‘It is unusual, not only to appoint someone without the approval of the brethren of the abbey but to appoint someone who is not even from the abbey; someone whose background seems shrouded in mystery. Has anyone challenged Brother Cuineáin on his background?’
‘Brother Cuineáin claims that he spent time on a mission to the Kingdom of Neustria in Gaul. Some years ago, a missionary named Fursa set up an abbey at a place called Latiniacum …’ He halted, for Eadulf had made an involuntary movement. ‘Does that mean anything to you, Brother Eadulf?’
‘Nothing of significance in this matter,’ replied Eadulf. ‘But it was Fursa who came to my country, the Kingdom of the South Folk of the East Angles, and converted them to the Faith.’
‘So Brother Cuineáin was in Neustria and then came back here?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘That must have caused some annoyance to those religieux who have spent years in this abbey.’
‘It certainly did, according to the stories I have heard,’ agreed Brother Cú-Mara. ‘And I have also heard other stories about his origin.’
‘Such as?’
‘He came to Mungairit soon after the Battle of Cnoc Áine and the stories about being in Gaul are lies. They say that he commanded a company of warriors during that battle and that he was a favourite cousin of Prince Eoganán. The story is that he fled to this abbey after the defeat and was given shelter by Nannid, who is uncle to Prince Donennach.’
‘I knew of Abbot Nannid’s relationship to the Uí Fidgente princes.’
‘I suppose it is logical that all the Uí Fidgente nobles are related,’ muttered Eadulf. He was thinking back to the proposition he had put forward. If Ledbán had been killed to prevent him from being questioned further about the identity of Liamuin, then only three people knew — and one of them was Brother Cuineáin. At the moment, it seemed to him that Brother Cuineáin was the most likely candidate to be the murderer.
A prayer bell was chiming in the distance and Brother Cú-Mara stood up.
‘I presume that you are taking the road south to Cashel?’
‘No,’ Fidelma said. ‘We’ll take the road west and join the river An Mháigh before turning south. We intend to visit Dún Eochair Mháigh before we return.’
‘I heard about the attack on King Colgú,’ the young steward said in a low voice. ‘Do you really think there is another Uí Fidgente conspiracy against your brother?’
‘We are here to find out.’
‘I have heard no whispers in my travels across the territory. I know Prince Donennach has gone to pay tribute to the High King in Tara. Indeed, the wounds of the war are such that I do not think anyone would contemplate a renewal of it, especially in Mungairit.’
‘Why do you say that — especially in Mungairit?’ Eadulf picked up on the point.
‘I was speaking to one of the scribes when I first arrived here. That was over a week or so ago. Maolán was his name. He told me that the abbot kept a small chamber containing a shrine to the memory of the Uí Fidgente defeat at Cnoc Áine. The room is filled with swords and shields, spears and battle helmets, even emblems of the warriors gathered from the battlefield. This was done so that the battle could be remembered.’
Fidelma was not impressed. ‘A strange thing to do. What is it, a shrine to be worshipped?’
The young man shook his head. ‘Shrine was not perhaps the best word, for I understand that the abbot has ordered the door to be kept locked; only he and the steward have the key to it. It was created, we are told, to remind the abbey of the evil consequences of war.’
‘How does this Maolán know of this shrine if it is kept locked?’
‘That I am not sure.’
‘I would like a word with him.’
‘He is no longer in the abbey. He left a day or so after I arrived. I think he said he was going east where his calligraphical talent was needed. I don’t think he was expecting to return.’
‘Well, let us hope that there is no conspiracy at all. Nevertheless, my brother lies close to death and the Chief Brehon of Muman is dead. Whether this is an isolated case of vengeance or part of something more widespread and serious, we must find an answer.’
‘I trust you will.’ Brother Cú-Mara’s face suddenly brightened. ‘But if you are leaving shortly and going towards An Mháigh, we will be taking the same road. Perhaps we can travel together as far as the ford, where I continue on towards Ard Fhearta?’
Fidelma agreed as she rose. ‘It is always good to have companions on the road. And now Eadulf and I must make our farewells to Abbot Nannid. Gormán will go and ready our horses.’
Brother Cú-Mara also rose. ‘Then I will accompany Gormán here to the stables for I have to collect my own beast.’ He chuckled. ‘Only an ass, I am afraid. Religious without rank do not have the privilege of riding on horses unless by special dispensation.’