‘Then I’ll take the second,’ Fidelma insisted, drawing hercloak closer around her shoulders in a vain effort to create more warmth from the garment.
It was a long, cold night but apart from the baying of distant wolves and the cry of other nocturnal creatures, nothing happened to disturb their uneasy peace.
When they all awoke in the grey, listless light of the morning, with the ice chill of the new day, it was Sister Eisten who discovered that the baby had died in the night. No one mentioned the yellow hue to the waxy texture of the babe’s skin.
Cass dug a shallow grave with his sword and, against the bewildered sobbing of the younger children, Sister Fidelma and Sister Eisten uttered up a quiet prayer as they buried the tiny corpse. Sister Eisten had not been able to recall its name.
By then, the clouds had rolled away and the anaemic autumnal sun was hanging low in the pallid blue sky — bright but without warmth. Cass had been right about the change in the weather.
Chapter Four
The midday Angelus bell was sounding as Fidelma and her party came within sight of the abbey at Ros Ailithir. The journey had taken longer than she had estimated for, though the day was warm and bright, the road was still sodden and muddy and the passage was difficult.
The abbey was larger than Fidelma had imagined it would be; a vast complex of grey stone buildings standing, as she had already been informed, on the hillside at the head of a narrow inlet of the sea. It was an inlet too long and narrow to be called a bay. She noticed briefly that there were several ships riding at anchor there before turning her gaze back to the diversity of grey buildings. There were several large structures all contained behind tall dark granite walls which followed a oval course around them. At their centre she could make out the imposing abbey church. It was a remarkable and unusual building. Most churches in the five kingdoms were built on circular patterns but this was built in a crucifix style with a long nave and a transept at right angles. Fidelma knew that this style was becoming more popular among the new church builders. Next to this was a lofty cloictheach, or bell house, from which the solemn chimes echoed across the small valley depression which led down to the sea.
One of the children, it was the younger of the two black-haired boys again, gave a low moan and started to tremble. His brother spoke sharply but quietly to him.
‘What ails him?’ Cass demanded. He was standing the closest to the two boys, the younger one being seated on his horse.
‘My brother thinks that we may be harmed if we go where there are grown-ups,’ the elder replied solemnly. ‘He is scared after what happened yesterday.’
Cass smiled gently at the younger boy. ‘Have no fear, son. No one down there will harm you. It is a holy abbey. They will help you.’
The elder whispered sharply to his young sibling again and then, turning, said to Cass: ‘He will be all right now.’
All the children were showing signs of fatigue now; fatigue and agitation after their terrifying experience. In fact, they were all exhausted both physically as well as emotionally. The unease and restiveness of the cold night’s halt had not refreshed them and they had experienced a hard trek that morning from the woods to the coast. Weariness showed on everyone’s face.
‘I had not realised that the abbey was so large,’ Fidelma observed brightly to Cass to instil some air of normality into the depressed company. However, it was also true that she was impressed by the vastness of the buildings which dominated the inlet.
‘I am told that hundreds of proselytes study here,’ replied Cass indifferently.
The bell suddenly ceased its clamouring.
Fidelma motioned them forward again. She felt a passing unease because she had ignored the call to prayer. Time enough to stop and pray when she and her exhausted charges were safely under the protection of the walls of the abbey. She glanced anxiously towards Sister Eisten. The plump young woman seemed to be lost in melancholy thought. Fidelma put this down to the woman’s shock at the death of the baby that morning. Soon after they had set out, she had lapsed into a malaise, a maudlin contemplation, and did not seem to be atall conscious of her surroundings. She walked automatically, her head bent downwards, eyes on the ground, and made no response when spoken to. Fidelma had noticed that she did not even bother to raise her eyes when they had come within sight of Ros Ailithir, and heard the chiming of the bell. Yes; it was better to get the party to the abbey rather than halt to indulge in ritual prayers along the roadway.
As they neared the walls of the abbey, she became aware of a few religieux at work in the surrounding fields. They seemed to be cutting kale, presumably to feed cattle. A few curious glances were cast in their direction but, generally, the men bent diligently to their work in the cold, autumnal morning.
The gates of the abbey stood open. Fidelma frowned when she saw, hanging by the side of the gate, a writhe, or bundle of twisted branches of osiers and aspen. It struck a chord in her memory but she could not identify it. She was still trying to dredge her memory about the symbolism of the writhe when she had to turn her attention to a thickset, middle-aged man in the robes of a religieux who stood in the gateway waiting for them. Where his hair grew long from his tonsure, it was speckled grey. He looked a muscular man and his grim visage seemed a warning that he was not someone to trifle with.
‘Bene vobis,’ he intoned in a deep baritone, making the ritual greeting.
‘Deus vobiscum,’ Sister Fidelma responded automatically and then decided to dispense with the rest of the usual courtesies. ‘These children need food, warmth and rest,’ she said without further preamble, causing the man’s eyes to widen in astonishment. ‘So does the Sister here. They have had a bad experience. I have to warn you that they have been exposed to the Yellow Plague so your physician needs to examine them immediately. Meanwhile, my companion and I wish to be taken to Abbot Brocc.’
The man stuttered in his surprise that a young anchoress should utter so many orders before she had been ritually admitted to the hospitality of the abbey. His brows drew together and he opened his mouth to voice his protest.
Fidelma interrupted before he could speak.
‘I am Fidelma from Cashel. The abbot should be expecting me,’ she added firmly.
The man stood with open mouth, gulping like a fish. Then he drew himself together as Fidelma swept by him, leading her charges through the gates. The monk turned and hurried after her, catching up with her as she entered the large, stone flagged courtyard beyond the gate.
‘Sister Fidelma … we, that is …’ He was clearly flustered at the abrupt manner of her entrance. ‘We have been expecting you this last day or so. We were warned … told … to expect you … I am Brother Conghus, the aistreóir of the abbey. What has happened? Who are these children?’
Fidelma turned to the doorkeeper and replied tersely: ‘Survivors from Rae na Scríne which has been burnt by raiders.’
The religieux stared from the pitiable children to the plump, young Sister Eisten. His eyes widened as he recognised her.
‘Sister Eisten! What has happened?’
The young woman continued to stare moodily into space and did not acknowledge him.
The monk turned back to Fidelma clearly disconcerted.
‘Sister Eisten is known to us in this abbey. She ran a mission at Rae na Scríne. Destroyed by raiders, you say?’
Fidelma inclined her head in brief acknowledgment.
‘The village was attacked by a group of men led by someone called Intat. Only Sister Eisten and these children survived. I demand sanctuary for them.’
‘You also mentioned something about plague?’ Brother Conghus seemed confused.