‘The Lady Eithne will see you and Brother Eadulf,’ he told Fidelma. ‘But my lady says nothing of the warrior. He must await you here.’
Fidelma slid from her horse and glanced apologetically at Gormán.
‘You will have to wait with our horses while we speak to Lady Eithne.’ Then she turned to the warrior who seemed in charge. ‘I trust you will see my companion is refreshed and our horses watered.’
‘He can take the horses over to the blacksmith’s forge,’ the warrior said, pointing to where a smith was working his bellows in a corner of the yard. Then he guided them across the courtyard towards the main building. The wooden doors opened immediately into the great hall where Lady Eithne waited to welcome them with her sad smile
‘It is good to see you both again. Come, be seated with me and take refreshment.’
She indicated two comfortable chairs adorned with cushions and coverings before a fire at the far end of the hall. She seated herself in a third chair before motioning with a slim hand towards a servant. Moments later wine and sweet pastries were brought and served.
‘We are told that you fear some attack, lady,’ Fidelma said after the courtesies had been exchanged. ‘Who do you fear?’
Lady Eithne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who says I fear attack?’ she demanded softly.
‘Your warriors proclaim the obvious. Mercenaries as well.’
Lady Eithne suddenly smiled and shrugged. ‘What is there to say? My son is murdered and we know not how or why. My other son has chosen to remain in some foreign land. I am but a poor widow. In the days of old Maolochtair of the Déisi, both my sons were threatened, as you know, and perhaps the spirit of that threat lives on among certain chiefs of our people. Old Maolochtair was my husband’s cousin and he thought my sons wanted to wrest the chieftainship from him. Some of his relatives who live beyond the boundaries of The Great River still think our family nurse that ambition. In such circumstances, and because of the murder of poor Donnchad, should I not take to myself some protection?’
‘No blame to you for doing so, lady,’ agreed Fidelma lightly. ‘So there is no specific threat, for example from the surrounding clans — the Uí Liatháin and the Fir Maige Féne?’
‘A flock of swallows is a good sign of rain,’ she replied, using the old proverb that meant one should be prepared in case of trouble.
‘Yet both clans owe allegiance to Cashel, just as you do,’ Fidelma pointed out.
Lady Eithne stiffened slightly. ‘This is true. But the Uí Fidgente to the north are also supposed to be loyal and subservient to Cashel and yet their history of insurrection is well known.’
‘There is no denying that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Therefore, it is good that your warriors train in preparation. I heard that one of them injured himself while training. I trust his wound is healing.’
Lady Eithne seemed slightly taken aback. ‘Who told you this?’
‘I believe that you had cause to send for the physician from the abbey.’
‘Brother Seachlann?’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Yes, I did send for him. I do not have my own physician here. I have seen men die from small wounds that have been neglected.’
‘So Brother Seachlann was able to successfully attend the man? That is good.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘It seems that he returned to the abbey after nightfall and his lateness in returning caused some concern.’
‘I am afraid I sent for him in the evening,’ Lady Eithne said. ‘I am glad that he returned without mishap. Sometimes, one has to be careful of wolves in these hills. They come down to The Great River to drink at night. Even in the day they have been known to roam abroad without fear.’
‘Brother Seachlann met with no mishap,’ Fidelma confirmed.
‘Good. But I am sure that you have not come here simply to ask about the health of one of my warriors.’
‘Indeed. There are a few matters we need to clear up.’
‘I have said that I would help you in any way to find the murderer of my son. Ask your questions.’
‘I was wondering whether you could tell us any more about the intrigues and jealousies which your son feared within the abbey?’
There was a sudden brightness in Lady Eithne’s blue eyes. ‘My son, Donnchad, accused no one by name but I would look to those of a jealous nature.’
‘People who were jealous of his learning?’ queried Eadulf.
‘Many were jealous of his piety and learning,’ replied Lady Eithne. ‘He could have been the greatest scholar of the Faith. Some were even willing to besmirch his reputation with false accusations of some heresy or other.’
‘Do you suspect someone in particular?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘It is not for me to sow suspicion when there might be no grounds at all. I make no accusations. You will surely be able to pick out those who resent the young and talented.’
‘Let me get this clear, Lady Eithne. Are you saying that there are some in the abbey who resent people younger than themselves who might be more talented than they are?’ Fidelma asked in an even tone. It seemed clear that once again she was pointing a finger at Abbot Iarnla.
‘I do.’
‘Furthermore, do you believe that they might have killed your son out of jealousy?’
The woman’s mouth hardened for a moment before she said, ‘You asked for my thoughts. That had occurred to me.’
‘What of Brother Lugna?’ Eadulf asked with an innocent air. ‘He arrived at the abbey a few years ago when your sons were both on their pilgrimage. Might he not have resented the return of your son Donnchad? Brother Lugna seems to have created a powerful position for himself at the abbey.’
A dark shadow crossed her features and Lady Eithne spent a moment or two fighting some emotion.
‘Brother Lugna is a pleasant and devout young man. He isthe best thing to have happened to the abbey since my sons left. He has my full confidence and support.’
Fidelma nodded. ‘You know him well?’
‘I offered him hospitality when he returned from several years in Rome. He was returning to Connachta, which was his home.’
‘I am told that you persuaded him to stay here and join the abbey.’
Lady Eithne did not deny it. ‘I think he liked this place so much that he needed little persuading. But the abbey is lucky to have the services of such a talented young man. A learned man, a devout man, one who has such an aura of saintliness about him. He may one day become the most famous abbot of the community here.’ Her voice had grown strident with enthusiasm. Then she paused and shook her head sadly. ‘It was a role that I was hoping that one of my sons would fulfil. But this was not to be.’
Eadulf tried to keep his tone even. ‘There is no point, then, in asking you whether you fully support the changes that Brother Lugna is making in the abbey. I mean the changes to the liturgy and practices native to churches here in favour of ideas emanating from Rome. For example, Brother Lugna tells us that he wants to introduce the Penitentials as the Rule of the abbey in place of obedience to the Law of the Fénechus.’
‘I am sure that whatever changes he is making will strengthen the community there and make Lios Mór venerated throughout Christendom,’ Lady Eithne firmly assured him.
‘In spite of the resentment against his ideas?’ Eadulf asked.
Lady Eithne grimaced as if in distaste. ‘From small-minded people, that is all,’ she replied curtly. ‘I suppose it is in the nature of the old to feel jealous of the young. But I will support those ideas that will strengthen and propagate the Faith in this land with all my power. Brother Lugna’s knowledge and pietyare not to be questioned. God has sent him to us. I will tell you this: until Brother Lugna began to show me the true path, I did not know what the way of Christ really was.’