Fidelma was contrite again.
“I apologise, Brehon Morann, if I seem to display a lack of enthusiasm for the task. I will, of course, carry it out.”
It was noon on the following day when Fidelma found herself sitting before Abbot Sionna. He was a chubby-featured man who was well past his middle years. His silver hair and wide blue eyes gave him an almost cherubic look.
“The chapel of St. Benignus?” he was saying thoughtfully, after she had explained her mission. “It is not far from here and it is only recently that Brother Mongan was sent to administer there. You will find him most helpful. He is a thoughtful man, a good scholar. He entered our abbey as the poor son of a farmer and achieved his scholarship by his own diligence. He worked in our library for a while, where he copied most of the Pauline texts from the scriptures. I was loath to see him go but he wanted experience in administering a small chapel. Don’t concern yourself, young lawyer. He will have obeyed all the laws governing the granting of sanctuary.”
“But he has not informed you of the matter yet?” Fidelma asked, picking up on the tense used by the abbot.
Abbot Sionna shook his head.
“Brother Mongan would probably have to wait until he could find someone to bring me a message. The chapel is two hours’ good riding from here and off the main highway. As he is alone at the chapel, he could not, in law, leave the fugitive there by himself. However, I will leave this matter in your hands. Report back to me as to the situation on your return.”
It was midafternoon when Fidelma spotted the oblong shape of the chapel of St. Benignus. The five kingdoms of Éirinn were abounding in vast forests, so it was usual for most of the small churches to be built of wood, although in the western parts, such as Fidelma’s own homeland of Muman, many abbeys and oratories were constructed of local stone. Here, in Midhe, the middle kingdom, it was unusual to see a limestone church building, strong like a fortress. Such, however, was the chapel of St. Benignus. It was strongly built, six metres wide and twenty-five metres in length. Its roof towered upwards, and the jambs of the main door — the only door so far as she could see — were inclined so that it was wider at the bottom than the top.
The grounds around it were planted with yew and ash. Fidelma knew that this was often called the fidnemed or sacred grove covering the area of the nemed or termonn, the sanctuary’s limits.
She approached on horseback, slowly and deliberately, but she was already some way from the gates to the sanctuary area when the door of the chapel swung inward and a thin figure in badly fitting religious robes stepped out.
“Halt, stranger!” the figure called in a harsh voice. “I have to warn you that you are approaching sanctuary land and may not enter if you seek harm to one who has claimed sanctuary here.”
Fidelma smiled inwardly. At least the religieux seemed to know the legal requirement of informing everyone approaching the church. She drew rein and sat for a moment regarding the man from her horse.
He seemed young, fair-haired with pale blue eyes. In spite of his slight build, he was pleasant-looking. He came slowly down the short path from the chapel to the gates into the fidnemed.
“What do you seek here, daughter?” he asked in a softer tone of voice.
Fidelma tried to control her smile. Daughter! The young religieux was hardly older than she was. But the New Faith was importing a lot of new phrases and concepts to their language. Priests of the New Faith were now being called Athair or Father, which was an affectation brought in from the Faith in Rome. A few even preferred the term Rúinid, confidant or counsellor.
“Are you Brother Mongan?” she asked.
A frown passed the young man’s brow.
“This is my chapel,” he acknowledged in reply.
“My name is Fidelma. I am...” she hesitated slightly, “I am a lawyer from the college of the Brehon Morann, which lies not far from here.”
“I know of it,” the young man replied, the frown deepening. “What do you seek here?”
“I would have thought that obvious.” Fidelma could not help her automatic retort. “I have been asked to come here to verify that the sanctuary you have given to the fugitive who now resides in your chapel has been accorded in strict adherence to the law.”
Brother Mongan sniffed slightly. “Had it not been, I would not have given it,” he replied with equal curtness.
“It is a legal requirement that this be checked,” Fidelma responded, trying not to make her voice sharp, as was her inclination. She did not wish to irritate Brother Mongan, realising that impatience was one of her faults.
“And I confirm it,” replied the religieux.
“I am glad to hear it,” smiled Fidelma, and swung down from her horse so that she could stand facing him. “However, there are still formalities to be gone through.”
Brother Mongan was clearly unhappy.
“Formalities?”
“Of course,” she replied, tethering her horse to a nearby bush and glancing around. There were two other horses grazing nearby among the trees. “I suppose one of those belongs to your fugitive?”
Brother Mongan glanced in the direction she was looking and nodded quickly. “But what formalities?” he pressed again.
“Sanctuary has to follow certain legal requirements,” she replied. “When the fugitive came here, did he properly identify himself?”
“He said he was Ulam Fionn of the territory of the Uí Echach Cobo. That he sought protection because he was being pursued and sought to escape impending harm.”
“That harm coming in what form?”
“He said that his life was in danger. He was falsely accused of murder. He told me that he had caused the death of someone but in self-defence. He said he was attacked by this person and had to defend himself. Those chasing him would not listen to reason and meant him harm.”
Fidelma regarded Brother Mongan thoughtfully. It was a different side of the story from that told by Faichen Glas.
“So you offered sanctuary to Ulam Fionn and accepted that you were legally entitled to act for him?”
Brother Mongan nodded but did not speak.
“You are prepared to confirm and guarantee that Ulam Fionn will not take advantage while dwelling in this sanctuary, that he will engage in no unlawful activity? That he will not use this as a base to ride out to bring harm or loss to anyone?”
“Of course.”
“And, as in the manner you have already informed me, all who come here are informed that the chapel has become a sanctuary and they must abide by the laws appertaining to that provision?”
“Yes,” agreed Brother Mongan impatiently.
So far, Fidelma thought, it seemed straightforward enough.
“Then I simply need to see this Ulam Fionn and speak with him.”
Brother Mongan hesitated and seemed about to protest. Then he shrugged.
“Wait here. He is nervous, so it is best that I speak with him first.”
He turned and made his way into the church. Fidelma turned and absently patted her horse’s muzzle. With a thoughtful frown she turned to where the other two horses were grazing.
Brother Mongan’s voice called from the door of the chapel.
“You may come in, my daughter.”