From his leather belt, he took a bunch of keys, selected one with his left hand and thrust it into the lock. It turned easily and he pushed the door open. Marban had set down one of the lamps on a nearby wooden shelf so that the steward could see to open the door.
‘Brother Cuineáin, the lantern please,’ said Fidelma as she moved into the room.
The steward, still holding the keys in his left hand, bent to pick up the lamp in his right but that hand shook so much that Eadulf took the lantern from him.
‘It is a palsy,’ the steward hastily explained. Eadulf glanced at the steward’s wrist without comment.
With Eadulf now holding the lantern above shoulder height, they moved forward into a small storeroom. Conrí and Gormán came behind while the abbot and the others followed.
‘This is a shrine of the weapons used at Cnoc Áine,’ explained the abbot. ‘What else other than the debris of war should be gathered to show its futility?’
‘Except,’ Conrí pointed out, ‘these weapons seem highly polished and well-maintained for a battle fought over four years ago.’
It was true that the pile of swords and other equipment seemed almost new, but Fidelma appeared uninterested by them. She had taken note of several gold torcs placed on a tabletop, but was intent on looking for something special. Then she spotted a pile of shields in a corner and, beckoning Eadulf to bring the light closer, she began to look through them. It was only a short while before she gave a small grunt of satisfaction and picked one out.
‘Very well. I have seen enough,’ she announced.
They returned silently to the abbot’s chamber. Fidelma placed the shield on the table. It was a red shield on which was an emblem of a stag rampant, picked out with semi-precious stones.
‘I shall be glad to return my brother’s shield to him,’ she said coldly.
‘I did not know your brother had lost his shield on the field of battle,’ Abbot Nannid said. ‘I am glad that we have become the means of saving it so that it can be safely returned to him.’
‘Indeed. I am sure he will be grateful for its return and for the restoration of his good name,’ she replied solemnly.
‘His good name?’ queried Brother Cuineáin, running his tongue around his dried lips.
‘Oh yes,’ Fidelma said. ‘There is a story, which I am now able to tell you. All the pieces now fit together.’
‘Is it connected to this plot to overthrow Prince Donennach?’ queried Conrí eagerly.
The abbot exchanged a nervous glance with his steward. Fidelma pretended not to notice. ‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘The plot has been a long time in the hatching. Perhaps it was first conceived on the bloodied slopes of Cnoc Áine, when Eoganán was killed and many of his nobles fled.’
Abbot Nannid was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Are you claiming that there is a plot in my abbey to use those weapons from Cnoc Áine to overthrow Prince Donennach? Why, there are scarce enough weapons to arm a company of warriors!’
‘The arms were not significant,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, all will be explained in good time. I shall tell you a story — and here stand witnesses to various parts of it, if I go wrong.’ She indicated the assembly. ‘Of course, Gláed of the Luachra has preferred to remain silent. I doubt, therefore, he will bother to correct anything I say.’
‘Except to say it is all lies!’ spat the young man, finally speaking.
‘Even to your attack on me and the slaughter of Lachtine the apothecary?’ she replied. ‘Well, no matter. We shall proceed. Oh …’ She turned. ‘Socht, would you bring the stable-master here? I am sure he will not be far away, fretting about how to deal with an extra sixty horses gathered into his abbey.’
Socht was not gone long before he returned with Brother Lugna.
‘Ah, Brother Lugna. I am sorry to bring you here but I need you to witness some things I have to say.’
The man looked around, seemingly puzzled by the company, and gave a quick shrug.
‘You did not want me to make arrangements for the horses, lady?’
‘Not for the moment. I just wanted you to confirm a few things about your old friend, Brother Ledbán, and his son.’
‘Brother Ledbán and Brother Lennán were good men and I will defy anyone who says otherwise,’ asserted the stable-master with spirit.
‘That is fair enough.’ Fidelma paused, collecting herself. ‘I am afraid that I have to start with the Battle of Cnoc Áine. When Eoganán and his standard-bearer were cut down during the battle, Brother Lennán was tending the wounded and dying. In accordance with the rules of war, as the Blessed Colmcille postulated before the Brehons at Druim Ceatt, he was not to be harmed by either side, being a non-combatant. He found the body of Eoganán’s standard-bearer. Next to him lay the Cathach of Fiachu, the battle emblem of the Uí Fidgente, which was considered sacred by your people. Its haft had been splintered and, being of gold, the more delicate parts of the metalwork had been broken off. Brother Lennán stooped to pick it up.
‘As he did so, he was attacked and mortally wounded by a warrior who desired the emblem above his honour. Lennán turned and saw the threatening face above him. Even as he did so, the man thrust his sword into him. Lennán recognised him as Lorcán son of Eoganán …’
Brother Lugna winced. ‘My poor misguided brother,’ he muttered sadly. ‘God be merciful to his soul.’
‘Realising what would happen if the sacred battle emblem fell into the wrong hands, Lennán found a horse, and taking it, rode from the field. He was dying. It was a painful ride but he knew that his sister, Liamuin, dwelled only a short distance from the battlefield. She was married to a fisherman on the nearby River Mháigh. Lennán handed the standard to his sister with the instruction to hide it. He then tried to return to the battlefield in order not to give his sister away. His body was found near the battlefield where loss of blood from his wound had overcome him.
‘I will not go into the personal details but suffice to say, Liamuin had an unhappy relationship with her husband Escmug, a brutal, dominant man. Fortuitously, he was away when Lennán had brought her the Cathach. She knew if her husband returned, she would not be able to carry out the dying wish of her brother. Her daughter was also away from the house, working in the fields. Liamuin had no time to waste. She decided to flee to a relative, Marban the millwright, whom you see before you. She told him the whole story. Marban sent her for safety to his friend Menma. It was at Menma’s rath that she buried the Cathach. Is this not so, Marban?’
The miller shuffled awkwardly. ‘It is even as I told it to you, lady.’
‘It was then that Liamuin’s evil husband played a cruel hand. He went searching for her. He threatened Marban. In his rage he even illegally sold his own daughter, Aibell, as a bondservant to Fidaig of the Luachra, to spite his runaway wife.’
Gláed showed some surprise for the first time.
‘You did not know that Aibell, who served your father, was the daughter of Liamuin?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Ah well, the fate of Aibell does not concern us for the moment; I will deal with it elsewhere. Marban, tell us something about Liamuin’s character.’
‘She was a dutiful wife, even though Escmug beat and ill-used her,’ Marban told them. ‘It was only when her brother gave her a sacred charge to take the Cathach and hide it that she found the courage to finally break away from Escmug. She had remained with him simply to protect her daughter.’