‘Exactly so,’ sighed Brocc, turning to motion them back to their seats while resuming his own. ‘It appeared a week ago. A Laigin ship of war sent to remind me that Laigin holds me accountable for Dacán’s death. It sits there in the inlet, day in and day out. To emphasise the point, when it initially arrived, its captain came ashore to inform me of the intention of the king of Laigin. Since then no one from the ship has come to the abbey. It just sits at the entrance of the inlet and waits — like a cat waiting for a mouse. If they mean to destroy my peace, then they are succeeding. Doubtless they will wait there until the High King’s assembly makes its decision.’
Cass flushed angrily.
‘This is an outrage to justice,’ he said fiercely. ‘It is intimidation. It is a physical threat.’
‘It is, as I have said, a reminder that Laigin demand their eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. What does the scripture say? If a man destroy the eye of another man, they shall destroy his eye?’
‘That is the law of the Israelites,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘It is not the law of the five kingdoms.’
‘A moot point, cousin. If we are to believe that the Israelites are the chosen of God, then we should follow their law as well as their religion.’
‘Time for theological debate later,’ snapped Cass. ‘Why do they hold you responsible, Brocc? Did you kill the Venerable Dacan?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then Laigin has no reason to threaten you.’ To Cass the matter was simple.
Fidelma turned to him chidingly.
‘Laigin abides by the law. Brocc is abbot here. He is the head of the family of this abbey and, in law, deemed responsible for anything that happens to his guests. If he is unable to pay the fines and compensations due, then the law says his family must do so. Because he is of the Eóganachta, the ruling family of Muman, then the whole of Muman is now held to hostage for the deed. Do you follow the logic now, Cass?’
‘But that is no justice,’ Cass pointed out.
‘It is the law,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘You should know this.’
‘And often law and justice are two things which are not synonymous,’ Brocc observed bitterly. ‘But you are right to state the case as Laigin sees it. There is not much time to present a defence before the High King’s assembly meets at Tara.’
‘Perhaps, then,’ Fidelma tried to stifle a yawn, ‘you had best tell me the essential facts so that I may work out some plan by which my investigation may be conducted.’
Abbot Brocc did not notice her fatigue. Instead, he spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of bewilderment.
‘There is little I can say, cousin. The facts are these; the Venerable Dacán came to this abbey with permission fromKing Cathal to study our collection of ancient books. We have a large number of “rods of the poets”, ancient histories and sagas cut in the Ogham alphabet on wands of hazel and aspen. We pride ourselves on this collection. It is the finest in the five kingdoms. Not even at Tara is there such a collection of genealogical tracts.’
Fidelma accepted Brocc’s pride, She had been instructed in a knowledge of the ancient alphabet which legend said had been given to the Irish by their pagan god of literature, Ogma. The alphabet was represented by a varying number of strokes and notches to and crossing a base line and texts were cut on wooden rods called ‘rods of the poets’. The old alphabet was now falling rapidly in disuse with the adoption of the Latin alphabet due to the incoming of the Christian faith.
Brocc was continuing:
‘We take exceptional pride in our Tech Screptra, our great library, and our scholars have shown that it was our kingdom of Muman which first brought the art of Ogham to the peoples of the five kingdoms. As you may know, this abbey was founded by the Blessed Fachtna Mac Mongaig, a pupil of Ita, nearly a hundred years ago. He established this place not only as a house of worship but a repository of books of knowledge, as a place of learning, a place where people from the four corners of the earth could receive their education. And they came and have been coming here ever since; a never-ending stream of pilgrims in search of knowledge. Our foundation of Ros Ailithir has become renowned throughout the five kingdoms and even beyond them.’
Fidelma could not suppress amusement at the abbot’s sudden burst of enthusiasm for his foundation. Even among the religious, who were supposed to be the examples of humility, conceit was often never far from the surface.
‘And that is why the abbey is named as the promontory of pilgrims,’ Cass said softly, as if he wished to show that he had some knowledge to contribute.
The abbot regarded him with cold appraisal and inclined his head slightly.
‘Just so, warrior. Ros Ailithir — the promontory of pilgrims. Not just pilgrims in the Faith but pilgrims of Truth and Learning.’
Fidelma gestured impatiently.
‘So the Venerable Dacán, with the permission of King Cathal, came here to study. This much we know.’
‘And to do some teaching as a repayment for access to our library,’ added Brocc. ‘His main interest was in deciphering the texts of the “rods of the poets”. Most days he worked in our Tech Screptra.’
‘How long was he a guest here?’
‘About two months.’
‘What happened? I mean, what were the details concerning the manner of his death?’
Brocc sat back, placing both hands, palm downwards, on his table.
‘It happened two weeks ago. It was just before the bell sounded the hour for tierce.’ He turned to Cass, to explain pedantically: ‘The work of the abbey is done between tierce in the morning and vespers in the evening.’
‘Tierce is the third hour of the canonical day,’ explained Fidelma when she saw Cass frowning in bewilderment at the abbot’s explanation.
‘It is the hour when we start our studies and when some of the brothers go into the fields to work, for we have cultivated lands to tend and animals to feed and fish to harvest from the sea.’
‘Go on,’ instructed Fidelma, becoming irritated at the length of time the account was taking. Her eyelids were feeling scratchy and she longed for a short rest, a brief sleep.
‘As I have said, it was just before the bell was due to sound for tierce when Brother Conghus, my aistreóir, that is the doorkeeper of the abbey, who also has the duty to ring thebell, came bursting into my chambers. Naturally, I demanded to know why he could so forget himself …’
‘He then told you that Dacán was dead?’ interrupted Fidelma, trying her best to stifle her impatience at her cousin’s long-winded approach.
Brocc blinked, unused to interference when he was speaking.
‘He had been to Dacán’s cubiculum in the guests’ hostel. It appears that Dacán had not been seen at jentaculum.’ He paused and turned condescendingly to Cass. ‘That is the meal by which we break our fast on rising.’
This time Fidelma did not bother to stifle the yawn. The abbot looked slightly hurt and went on hurriedly.
‘Brother Conghus went to the hostel and found the body of the Venerable Dacán laying on his cot. He had been bound, hand and foot, and then, so it appeared, stabbed several times. The physician was called and made an examination. The stab wounds were straight into the heart and any one could have been fatal. My fer-tighis, the steward of the abbey, was given the task of making an investigation. He questioned those in the abbey but none had heard or seen anything untoward. No explanation of why or who could have done the deed came to light. Because of the fact that the Venerable Dacán was such a distinguished guest, I immediately sent word to King Cathal at Cashel.’
‘Did you also send word to Laigin?’
Brocc shook his head immediately.
‘There was a Laigin merchant staying at the abbey at the time. We have a busy sea route along this coast to Laigin. Doubtless this merchant took word of Dacán’s death to Fearna and to Dacán’s brother, the Abbot Noé.’