Lady Eithne inclined her head to Fidelma and then to Eadulf, glanced at Abbot Iarnla in an almost disapproving way, and then turned towards the chamber door which Brother Lugna held open for her.
CHAPTER FIVE
After Brother Lugna had followed Lady Eithne down to the courtyard where two warriors of her escort were waiting, Abbot Iarnla reseated himself. He looked ill at ease.
‘Do I detect some tension between Lady Eithne and you?’ asked Fidelma, also sitting down again.
The elderly abbot looked up at her and his expression was not happy.
‘I preside over this abbey where her son has been murdered. In fact, I presided over it when her two sons were falsely accused of plotting the murder of her cousin, Maolochtair, Prince of the Déisi, and thereby forced them to go on pilgrimage to avoid his attentions.’
‘At my suggestion,’ pointed out Fidelma.
‘Nevertheless, I feel that I am the one she blames for all the misfortunes that have befallen her family.’
‘And do you feel that you are to blame?’
‘She believes that I am. That is enough.’
‘How powerful a person is Lady Eithne in this area?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Usually a …’ he fought for the right word, ‘a bain-trebthach … a widow … does not exercise much power.’
The abbot gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Lady Eithne was also a comthigerna, a co-lord, of the area, so that whenher husband died, even with her two sons living, she continued as lord of the area. While she answers to the senior Prince of the Déisi, Maolochtair’s successor, she has total command in this territory.’
‘A chieftain in her own right,’ Eadulf summed up.
‘That is so,’ confirmed the old abbot. ‘A bancomharba, female heir, to the lordship of this territory.’
‘Do you know what she means by these intrigues and jealousies in the abbey? Intrigues that would concern Brother Donnchad?’ Fidelma asked gently, returning to the main point.
‘I have no such knowledge. It is the first I have heard of it from Lady Eithne. But I fear that she accuses me.’
Eadulf was thoughtful. ‘Surely Brother Donnchad had an anam chara, a soul friend, with whom he discussed matters and made confession? We might be able to learn more of this from him.’
The anam chara was not exactly like the confessor priest in the Roman Church. The soul friend was someone with whom one could discuss one’s deepest and most intimate thoughts and problems; someone who shared one’s very soul and provided support and, where possible, guidance along the spiritual path. It was a concept that was ancient long before the coming of the new Faith and, Eadulf admitted, a better practice than merely the confessing of certain sins as defined by the rules of others, for which a priest could then issue punishments as penance.
‘Before he left on his pilgrimage, his soul friend was Brother Gáeth,’ replied the abbot. ‘Donnchad seemed to spend much of his time with Brother Gáeth. They had known one another since they were children.’
‘Then Brother Gáeth should be able to tell us what it was that troubled Brother Donnchad,’ Eadulf said.
Brother Lugna re-entered the room. Fidelma caught the uncomfortable glance that Abbot Iarnla cast at him as he entered. Brother Lugna had picked up on the last remark.
‘I am afraid you will not get much help from Brother Gáeth,’ he said firmly. ‘Since Brother Donnchad’s return, their friendship ceased. Brother Gáeth was forbidden even to approach him.’
‘Forbidden? By whom?’ queried Fidelma.
‘By none other than Brother Donnchad himself,’ replied the steward.
‘Nevertheless, we shall speak to Brother Gáeth,’ said Fidelma. ‘When did Brother Donnchad become so solitary? Presumably there was a period between the time he came back to the community and when he became reclusive.’
‘He arrived back in early summer. The problems really began about three or four days before his death,’ replied Brother Lugna. ‘I only knew him after he had returned from the pilgrimage, so I am not able to judge any differences in his character. All I can say is that he always kept himself and his thoughts to himself.’
The abbot nodded. ‘It is true that, after his return, he often seemed preoccupied. He was — how should I put it? — of an unfriendly disposition. He confided in no one, kept himself to himself and moved in a secretive way. But three or four days before his death, he locked himself in his cell and refused to see anyone.’
‘And you have no idea what caused him to do that?’
Brother Lugna was shaking his head but it was the abbot who replied. ‘There is no reason that I know of. All I know is that four days before his death, he returned to the abbey and shut himself in his cell.’
‘He returned to the abbey?’ Fidelma asked quickly. ‘I am not sure what you mean.’
Brother Lugna, who had compressed his lips in a reaction to the abbot’s words, now spoke awkwardly.
‘The abbot refers to the fact that Brother Donnchad left the abbey for an entire day without our knowledge. We ascribed this breach of our rules to his peculiar behaviour generally. As steward, I was going to reprimand him for that disobedience in not seeking our … the abbot’s approval. That day I noticed he did not attend the early morning service. Then Brother Echen, our stableman, mentioned that Brother Donnchad had taken a horse from the abbey stables and ridden off before dawn, saying that he would return that evening. Brother Echen naturally assumed that he had the permission of the abbot and myself.’
‘And did he return when he said he would?’
‘He came back well after dark, left the horse in the stable and went straight to his cell, locked the door and refused to communicate with anyone. The following day I sent for Lady Eithne. I never saw him alive again.’
‘Did you do anything in response to this curious behaviour, apart from allowing his mother to attempt to reason with him?’
‘On the very morning before we discovered his body, we discussed the best way of dealing with the matter,’ replied the abbot. ‘Rightly or wrongly, I had previously decided that he needed more time to settle back after his momentous journey. But that morning I decided to confront him. I went to his cell with Brother Lugna. When we could not get in, I sent for our blacksmith and he broke down the door. That was when we found him. Murdered.’
‘Let me get this clear.’ Fidelma was thoughtful and spoke quietly. ‘Before he became reclusive, did you discuss with Brother Donnchad any matters that were bothering him?’
‘We had a few discussions immediately after his return butnot since his behaviour became strange and certainly not during the last week.’
‘What were the subjects of the discussions on his return?’
‘Varied. About the sights he had seen in his travels and the gift he brought back. Also about the changes to the abbey, the new building. But he was very preoccupied, as I said. It was as if his heart was not in such matters and his interests lay elsewhere.’
‘So where do you think he went on the day that he left the abbey? Do you think he went to see his mother?’ asked Fidelma.
Brother Lugna shook his head immediately, saying, ‘It was something I asked Lady Eithne but she had not seen him that day or for some time prior. I am afraid that we have no idea where he went on his last journey from the abbey.’
Fidelma sat silently for a few minutes before summing up the facts she had been told.
‘So, in short, what you are telling us is that when Donnchad returned from his pilgrimage, he was troubled by something. He feared that someone would steal the manuscripts he had brought back with him and asked for a lock and key on his door. We hear now that he also feared for his life. His attitude was such that you felt he should be “humoured”, your word, in this matter.’ She glanced at them to emphasise the point. Brother Lugna nodded slightly. The abbot did not meet her eyes. ‘Then he disappeared from the community for an entire day, without permission and without telling anyone where he had been. When he returned, he locked himself in his chamber. Having felt that his behaviour was becoming even more abnormal, Brother Lugna sent for his mother to speak to him but she had no effect. So, finally, you both went to remonstrate with him and found him dead, murdered in his cell, yet the door was locked, and you maintain that it could only have been locked from the inside. Am I right?’