Abbot Iarnla shrugged. ‘The law favours Lady Eithne. I disagree with the way my steward runs the affairs of the community but that is not an argument that carries weight in either the law or in the rules of the religious. They would merely say that in my old age I am fearful of fresh blood and ideas.’
‘And fearful of appealing to my brother and his Chief Bishop?’ Then she paused. ‘Do you suspect these matters have anything to do with Brother Donnchad’s death?’
The abbot’s eyes widened. ‘Heaven forfend! Do you think that when Brother Donnchad returned to the abbey, Brother Lugna thought his position here weakened? That Lady Eithne would reject him in favour of her own son, Brother Donnchad? That Lugna murdered him in order to retain her support?’
‘More terrible things than that have happened,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘However, it seems unlikely, for if that is what happened, I would have thought Brother Lugna would have been more subtle about the way he has been conducting himself. Nonetheless, I shall not discount it.’
‘This used to be a place of happiness, even in the latter days of Maolochtair, when the old chieftain had become senile and saw threats lurking in every corner. Today, I walk through the abbey and see these new stone edifices rising but feel it has become a dark, evil and threatening place.’
Fidelma leaned forward and placed a sympathetic hand on the old man’s arm. ‘We will overcome this evil, Abbot Iarnla. Dabit Deus his quoque finem — God will grant an end even to these troubles. I am sure of that. Brother Lugna has tested his strength against mine and found that I am not wanting. I do not think he will be foolish enough to try to block my path in the future. But I will continue to keep a careful watch on him. However, I need to find out more from Lady Eithne. I meanto question her further about Brother Donnchad so tomorrow Eadulf and I, with Gormán, will ride to her fortress and speak to her.’
The abbot rose to his feet and took his lantern.
‘This conversation must remain a secret,’ he said sadly.
‘Don’t worry. Brother Lugna will not hear of it, and nor will Lady Eithne. But I must confide in Eadulf. And at the end of this investigation I shall be duty bound to bring the matter to the attention of my brother and to Abbot Ségdae.’
Abbot Iarnla seemed suddenly very old. ‘I thank you for that, Fidelma. I hate to think such thoughts but it is almost providential that Brother Donnchad’s death provided the means to bring you to Lios Mór so that you can help restore the abbey and its community to happiness once again.’
‘That, indeed, is not a good thought and best forgotten,’ Fidelma replied. ‘By the way, can you confirm my assumption that it was Brother Lugna who brought Glassán to the abbey? Did you know of the builder’s work before he came here?’
‘As far as I was aware, Lady Eithne recommended him. But then, as I have said, she supports Brother Lugna’s choices in all things,’ replied Abbot Iarnla with a frown. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Nothing that is relevant as yet,’ Fidelma returned. She rose and went to the door, opened it quietly and peered outside. The passage was still dark and silent. There was no one about. She stood aside and without another word the abbot went out, shielding his lantern before him. For a moment Fidelma was left in darkness and then the moon raced out from behind a cloud, leaving her with light to shut the door and return to her bed.
Automatically, she picked up the bundle of clothes and returned them to the back of the chair and then sat down on the bed. Shesat there for a long time, turning over in her mind what the abbot had said. Sleep took her unaware and the next thing she knew, the light that shone through the window was the rising sun and not the pale light of the moon.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An Dún, the fortress of Lady Eithne, lay no more than two kilometres due east of Lios Mór, overlooking the main road from Cashel where it forded An Abhainn Mór, The Great River. It had been built in ancient times to guard the roadway. Fidelma had passed it many times but had never visited it. All she had ever known of Lady Eithne was that she was very pious, a staunch upholder of the Faith, as befitted the mother of two sons who had become scholars of reputation at Lios Mór. The fortress lay a little way south of the river crossing, on a dominant hill. The track from Lios Mór ran through cultivated lands that belonged to the abbey, just north of a series of hills, to join Rian Bó Pádraig. The hills were no more than rounded hummocks, on which some ancient mounds, like carbuncles, rose. The fortress dominated. Its walls were imposing, a mixture of wood and stone.
Gormán, riding behind them, drew Fidelma’s attention to the dark silhouettes of several figures on top of the fortress walls.
‘There are many warriors there,’ he observed. ‘I thought this lady was more given to religion than to war.’
‘There does seem more than the usual number of bodyguards a chieftain is entitled to,’ agreed Fidelma, looking towards the figures.
They had just turned up an incline where the track formed an avenue between yew trees, leading towards the great wooden gates of the fortress, when a harsh voice called on them to halt. A moment later a heavily armed warrior stepped from behind the cover of some trees. His sword was drawn and he examined them in a professional manner. His eyes came to rest on Gormán.
‘Disarm yourself and dismount, warrior,’ he snapped in an accent that they did not recognise.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, come to speak with Lady Eithne,’ Fidelma said sharply, edging her horse forward.
The man looked at her closely, and saw the torc emblem she was wearing round her neck.
‘You and your religious companion may go on up, lady,’ he said with more respect, ‘but I am under orders not to allow any strange warriors beyond this point.’
‘This man is no strange warrior. He wears the insignia of the Nasc Niadh, the King’s bodyguard, and has the King’s authority. Where I go, he goes,’ Fidelma replied firmly.
‘I have my orders, lady,’ he said awkwardly.
‘From your accent, I take it you are a stranger to this land.’
‘I am a Briton in the employ of Lady Eithne,’ the man said defensively.
‘A mercenary?’ sneered Gormán.
‘My sword is bought by Lady Eithne,’ admitted the man. ‘She has the right to be apprehensive for her security. Her son has been murdered. To the south are the Uí Liathán and to the west are the Fir Maige Féne. She trusts neither clan. Even to the east, among her own people, the Déisi, there are some chiefs who cast envious eyes on this territory.’
‘Are you telling me that Lady Eithne has been threatened from these sources and needs mercenaries from a strange land to defend her?’ Fidelma frowned.
‘It is not for me to say. I obey her orders.’
‘Well, here is an order. I am sister to the King of Muman, a dálaigh of the courts. I order you to let me pass to the fortress with my companions. Is this order understood?’
The man looked as if he would argue for a moment. Gormán’s hand was already on his sword hilt, his body tensed. Then the opposing warrior shrugged as if the matter were no longer of concern to him. He stood back and they proceeded at a walking pace until they came to the closed gates of the fortress.
They were uncomfortably aware of archers on the ramparts above them, with bows unslung, ready to be drawn. The dark oak gates of the fortress were forbidding. Gormán looked up at the figures on the wall and shouted, ‘This is Fidelma of Cashel who comes to speak with Lady Eithne.’
There was movement and the sound of a whispered exchange above them. Then a voice replied, ‘Wait.’
It seemed an eternity before they heard the noise of large wooden bolts being slid back. Then one of the gates creaked and moved. It swung open with a rasp of its hinges and another warrior appeared and gestured for them to enter. As they halted in the inner courtyard, they saw several warriors on either side with bows in their hands. The gate swung shut behind them with a crash. Then a warrior, who seemed in command, approached.