‘Personally, I hope Gorman is well on his way to Cashel.’ Prior Cuan spoke for the first time, helping himself to an apple.
His steward, Brother Tuaman, gazed at him aghast. ‘I must ask you to remember that this Gorman murdered Abbot Segdae.’
At that moment, there was a disturbance at the doors of the great hall which were flung open. The gaunt figure of Abbot Nannid stormed in – there was no other expression to describe his entrance, so Eadulf thought. His black cloak was flapping like giant raven’s wings, his thin features were twisted in a scowl. Almost running behind him was his steward, Brother Cuineain, clearly out of breath. Behind them came Ceit, the commander of the guard. Ceit started to make an apology to Prince Donennach but the abbot cut him short.
‘Where is he?’ the man thundered, coming to a halt before Prince Donennach. Brehon Faolchair moved forward to stand between the abbot and his prince as if some physical threat was taking place.
‘Remember that you are addressing the Prince of the Ui Fidgente,’ he warned, but his tone was nervous.
‘The murderer could not have overcome my guards without help,’ the abbot shouted. ‘He is being hidden somewhere and I shall personally track him down. Where is his woman?’
The last question was directed specifically at Fidelma, who decided not to reply.
Brehon Faolchair’s face reddened. ‘I must ask you to speak in tones of respect before your prince, Nannid of Mungairit. As for the wife of Gorman of Cashel, she is in a safe place and has been so since last night.’
The abbot blinked rapidly as if he were not expecting the response.
‘I demand that she be turned over to me,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll soon make her tell me where the murderer is hiding. I demand it by the law.’
‘To which law do you refer?’ Fidelma said. ‘I seem to recall that you have rejected the ruling of our law in favour of your own rules.’
‘What were your rules, Abbot Nannid of Mungairit?’ It was Prior Cuan who met his fellow prelate’s bluster with a raised eyebrow. ‘You held Gorman captive and so you declared it was you who could decide his fate. Qui tenet teneat, qui dolet doleat,’ he murmured. ‘He who holds may go on holding. He who complains may go on complaining. In other words, the law is with the person who is in possession, not those seeking possession. That is your declared law and you must accept it now that it applies here.’
‘There has been a conspiracy.’ Abbot Nannid’s voice was still high-pitched in anger. ‘I will get to the bottom of it.’
‘Abbot Nannid has finally said something with which I agree,’ Fidelma rejoined. She went to the table and calmly poured herself a mug of apple cider.
Uncertain looks were cast in her direction. Even the abbot seemed confused and his angry rantings died away.
‘What is it that you agree with?’ asked Prince Donennach, puzzled.
‘That there is a conspiracy here,’ Fidelma stated.
There was another pause before Brehon Faolchair spoke. ‘Are you saying that there was a conspiracy to help Gorman escape?’
‘That was not what I had in mind,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I refer to the wider conspiracy to overthrow Prince Donennach.’
‘Are you accusing the Abbot of Mungairit of such a conspiracy, apart from his disagreement with us about the law?’ Prince Donennach demanded.
‘I am not accusing the Abbot of Mungairit,’ replied Fidelma with emphasis. ‘I am accusing Nannid, a former Abbot of Mungairit.’
There were gasps of astonishment.
‘What folly are you bent on now?’ the man sneered.
‘I am accusing you, Nannid, of conspiracy. I am not accusing the Abbot of Mungairit.’
‘Fidelma,’ Prince Donennach was torn between annoyance and intrigue, ‘I would have a care with your words. Nannid is distantly related to my own family of the Ui Fidgente and has been Abbot at Mungairit for many years.’
‘But not for six months.’ It was Conri who intervened.
Everyone swung round to the tall warlord except Fidelma, who carried on sipping her drink.
‘Explain yourself,’ Prince Donennach snapped.
‘I’ll do better,’ replied Conri, and he motioned to Ceit with the words, ‘Bring in our latest arrival.’ Then he turned back to the prince. ‘It was Fidelma who finally prompted me into doing something which one of us should have done long ago. The abbot has been with us here for six months, together with his steward.’
‘I undertook to build up the religious community here and create an abbey that Prince Donennach would be proud to have under the walls of his palace!’ Abbot Nannid exclaimed but with less confidence than before.
Conri heaved a sigh. ‘Had we done what the lady Fidelma suggested, we might be in a different situation today.’
‘And what did she suggest?’ asked Prior Cuan, obviously intrigued.
‘That we send someone to Mungairit to ask some questions.’
‘But for what purpose?’ Brehon Faolchair appeared baffled.
‘Will you explain, lady?’ asked Conri.
‘It’s very simple. I was surprised that the religious community close by the chapel founded by Nechta in the township had suddenly surrounded itself with walls. The last time I was here, it was an open community indivisible from the township. I asked Brother Eladach the reason. He told me that Nannid and his steward had arrived six months ago, claiming authority as Abbot of Mungairit and senior bishop of the Ui Fidgente. He instructed walls to be built to enclose the community, renaming it the Abbey of Nechta. He then imposed the Penitentials as its rules – those rules we have been discussing so laboriously. The community accepted them solely because of his proclaimed authority, and on that basis alone.’
‘But we know that he is Abbot of Mungairit,’ pressed Brehon Faolchair.
‘He was Abbot of Mungairit,’ emphasised Fidelma. ‘Did no one think it strange that the abbot of such a great and reputable abbey was spending so much time here?’
‘Dun Eochair Mhaigh is the capital of the Ui Fidgente,’ Prince Donennach protested. ‘He had the right to spend time here.’
‘He had the right as abbot and senior bishop of this territory. Yet is it not strange that he spent so long away from his abbey? That thought occurred to Brother Eladach, but when he raised it, Nannid came up with the notion that he was going to use this venue to invite Abbot Segdae to come here to discuss the ecclesiastical problems of our people following the peace agreed by Prince Donennach and my brother, the King.’
‘Are you saying that the council was merely an excuse for him to remain here?’ Brehon Faolchair asked.
‘Not an excuse but a justification. And yet it did not ring true. Imagine abandoning Mungairit, that great abbey and school founded by Nessan, who had been appointed by Patrick. Yet Nannid came here to spend an entire six months trying to make an open community into an enclosed one.’
‘Why shouldn’t I do so?’ demanded Nannid, summoning up an effort to defend himself.
‘Several days ago I asked Conri to send to Mungairit to make inquiries. Last night he reported that the rider had returned.’
At that moment, the doors of the great hall opened and Ceit entered. By his side was an athletic-looking young man, together with a young religieux. Brother Cuineain’s features had assumed a ghastly pallor. And Abbot Nannid’s thin lips were almost invisible.
‘Do you wish to hear the words from Mungairit?’ asked Fidelma.
There was a silence which Conri took as permission to speak.
‘My messenger will confirm these words, as will the young brother from Mungairit who arrived with him. This is Brother Feradach. You will recall that in the month of Cet Gaimrid, the first of the winter months, Fidelma uncovered a conspiracy which emanated from Mungairit. The plan, as you know, intended the assassination of both Prince Donennach and King Colgu of Cashel. Glaed was part of that plot but the main instigator of it was Lorcan, son of Prince Eoghanan.