‘I was on the road outside the abbey, on my way to see Lady Eithne, when I saw Glassán riding off on some errand. Hepaused long enough to tell me that Brother Lugna had just seen Cumscrad and was in a rage, for he had learned that the library at Fhear Maighe held the Celsus book. I knew Lady Eithne would be interested.’
‘Interested to send her warriors to Fhear Maighe. So all Brother Donnchad’s papers are now destroyed?’
Brother Donnán shrugged.
‘One thing that Lady Eithne and Brother Donnán did not know,’ Fidelma said to Brehon Aillín, ‘was that her son had already written a brief account of his findings and his thoughts. Oh, not the great reference work that he was planning, citing those writers of centuries ago who presented their criticisms against the new Faith. This was only a short account of his ideas. He included the fact that he had tried to talk to you, Lady Eithne, his own mother, about his doubts. Instead of discussing them, you threatened him if he spoke out. He believed that you would attempt to steal his work and suppress it. He mistakenly believed that your accomplice was Brother Lugna. He even thought Brother Lugna might contemplate physical violence against him. That’s why he asked Abbot Iarnla for a key to his cell.’
There was a deathly silence as Fidelma paused, shaking her head.
‘There were other matters to be considered along the way. When Lady Eithne heard that Abbot Iarnla had sent for me, she sent two of her mercenary warriors to waylay us on the road here. They were to ambush and kill my companions and me. They did not succeed and one of them was killed by Gormán, and the other, a bánaí, fled. He was later to die in the attack on Fhear Maighe. It seemed he was the leader of a band of mercenaries from a kingdom called Kernow on the island of Britain. A band of mercenaries that you hired, Lady Eithne. I have since found that your clan, the Déisí, has a small settlementin that kingdom. The mercenaries were disguised as Uí Liatháin. Then, of course, there was the earlier attack on the barge by warriors dressed as Uí Liatháin. One of these attackers was wounded. And you felt you should send for the physician, Brother Seachlann, to attend to the man’s wound. That was part of your undoing, lady. You have more than once demonstrated to me your complete lack of concern for those you consider beneath your rank. That is why you did not attend the funeral of Glassán.
‘You told Seachlann your warrior was wounded practising with his sword. So it was Brother Seachlann who provided me with an important piece of information. The two knife thrusts that killed Brother Donnchad showed some knowledge of anatomy, in that they were struck in points in the back where death was fairly certain. Brother Seachlann, when examining your warrior, realised you possessed a good knowledge of anatomy. You could have treated the man yourself and not aroused suspicion.’
Colgú was frowning. ‘Why the subterfuge? Why would Lady Eithne have her warriors disguised as Uí Liatháin? To create war between them and the Fir Maige Féne? To spread alarm and dissension?’
‘For an even more sinister purpose,’ replied Fidelma. ‘She knew of the tensions between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin and she knew they were often blamed for many things. Her intention was to create a conflict between them. She had hired an unusual number of mercenary warriors. I believe that she intended to use the ensuing conflict to step in as a peacemaker and claim, as a reward, some of the territories of the two clans to extend her own power around this abbey. Moreover, she needed the extra revenue from the new territories to finance her rebuilding of the abbey.’
Fidelma turned to Brehon Aillín.
‘I have rarely encountered a crime that sickens me so to the depths of my soul. This is the crime of fingal, or kin-slaying, which strikes at the very heart of our society, based as it is on kin, on clans and our relationship with one another. Our laws stress that this is the most horrendous crime of all. It is impossible to atone or compensate for such a crime. It is said that the fortress of a leader who has committed the crime can be erased so that all memory of it may be lost. It is a crime of such malevolence that-’
As she was speaking there came the sound of horses clattering through the abbey gates. Lady Eithne rose from her seat and glanced around. Her companions, the three warriors she had brought with her, drew their weapons and defensively closed around her.
The brethren began to move away from her but Brehon Aillín seemed unperturbed. ‘I presume this gesture is an admission of guilt,’ he said.
Colgú had signalled to Gormán and his two companions at the door, who had drawn their swords, as had Caol, standing behind the King.
‘You will have to deal with my warriors before you can walk out of here, Lady Eithne,’ Colgú warned. ‘There is no escape.’
Lady Eithne laughed harshly. ‘I am afraid you have not been very clever, Colgú of Cashel. While you may have a few of your bodyguard with you, they are not enough to challenge my warriors. Fidelma was right. I have increased my war band by hiring some of the best professionals I could find. Do you think I entered here with just these few men without making a plan? I suspected your sister might stumble on the truth.’ She turned to Fidelma. ‘Unfortunately for you, lady, when you came to see me a few days ago, I read the distrust in your eyes. Your companion, Eadulf, almost confessed your suspicions. Forewarned is forearmed. Mywarriors now surround this abbey. A moment ago, you heard my advance guard enter.’
Cries of alarm rose from the hall but Colgú remained relaxed in his seat, a curious smile on his face. Brehon Aillín called for quiet. When the hubbub had died away, he said softly, ‘So what do you intend, Lady Eithne of the Déisi? You say you have surrounded this abbey with your hired bands. Now what? You intend to kill me? To kill all the brethren here?’
‘As you leave me with no option,’ Lady Eithne replied evenly. ‘There will be an attack on this abbey by the Uí Liatháin who have long coveted the abbey and these lands.’
‘That is not true,’ cried Uallachán, springing from his seat. ‘I have no hand in this. My warriors will not attack this place.’
‘There will be enough evidence left to identify the attackers as your men,’ replied Lady Eithne icily. ‘Your own body will be found slain at the head of your warriors, bloody sword in hand. In the attack, you will have slain your arch-enemy, Cumscrad. Indeed, even the King and his retinue will not survive.’
Abbot Iarnla was staring at Lady Eithne in horror. ‘You are mad, lady. You intend to wipe out all these brethren, your kin and the others gathered here? You intend to kill the King and his advisers? How do you think you can get away with it?’
‘I am quite serious. Everyone will perish. This abbey will be cleansed of the faint-hearted. Purified, it will rise again under the leadership of its new abbot — Lugna. I appoint him as the new abbot.’ She gestured to Brother Lugna who was sitting in a state of shock, white-faced, as if unable to comprehend what was happening.
It was only then that Fidelma realised that not only was Lady Eithne a fanatic for the Faith, she was completely insane.
‘It will be reported that the Uí Liatháin are the culpritsand they will be punished,’ Lady Eithne said gleefully. ‘And now-’
The door of the refectorium swung open and several warriors stood there. The cries of alarm began to rise. Lady Eithne’s malicious smile faded when she saw Colgú grinning broadly. He rose and held up his hands, palm outwards. She swung round and noticed that the warriors at the door all wore the golden torc emblems of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of the King of Cashel.
‘It is done, Colgú,’ called the leading man, his voice booming over the panicking hubbub. Brehon Aillín started calling for calm, telling the brethren that they had nothing to fear. The noise started to subside.