‘It is true.’
‘Have you known Midach long?’
‘Most of my life. He was a friend of my father’s and introduced me to the abbey.’
Fidelma wondered how best to approach the subject on her mind and decided that the best way was the most direct.
‘You do not have to put up with abuse, you know,’ she said. She remembered Midach’s rough handling of the young religieuse; of the slap on her head.
Sister Necht flushed.
‘I am not sure what you mean,’ she countered.
Fidelma grimaced in conciliatory fashion. She did not want the girl to feel humiliated by another seeing her being abused.
‘It is just that I overheard Midach giving you a tongue-lashing for something and thought he might have maltreated you. It was in the herb garden a week ago just before I left.’
Fidelma realised there was something more than humiliation in the eyes of the novice. There was something akin to fear.
‘It was … was nothing. I had failed to perform a task for Midach. He is a good man. Sometimes his temper becomes a little frayed. You will not report this to the abbot? Please?’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly.
‘Not if you do not want me to, Necht. But no one, especially no woman, should put up with verbal abuse from others. The Bretha Nemed makes it an offence in law for a woman to be harassed and especially to be verbally assaulted. Did you know this?’
Sister Necht shook her head, gazing at the floor.
‘No woman need stand by and be abused by anyone,’ went on Fidelma. ‘And the abuse need not be a physical assault but if a person mocks a woman, criticises their appearance, draws attention to any physical blemish or wrongfully accuses them of things that are not true, then they have redress under the law.’
‘It was not so serious, sister,’ Necht said, with a furthershake of her head. ‘I thank you for your interest but, really, Midach meant me no harm.’
The midday Angelus was sounding and Sister Necht muttered an excuse and hurried off.
Fidelma sighed deeply. There was something more to that matter, she felt. There was definitely an aura of fear about the young girl when Fidelma had mentioned the scene in the herb garden. Well, she could do no more than advise Necht of her rights under law. Perhaps she ought to have a word with Midach himself.
She found Cass at the door of the guests’ hostel.
‘Have you heard the news?’ His voice was excited.
‘Which news?’ she demanded bitterly.
‘Why, about the coming here of the High King. It is all over the abbey.’
‘That!’ The word was almost an ejaculation.
Cass frowned. ‘I thought it would be important to you. It does not leave you much time to prepare a defence of Muman against the claims of Laigin.’
Fidelma set her jaw firmly and said in measured tones: ‘Truly, Cass, I do not have to be reminded of my responsibilities. There is worse news than the imminent assembly and that is that someone has stolen some of our evidence from Brocc’s chamber. Apparently, the stupid man mentioned the fact that I had left it there to several people and so certain items have been taken from my marsupium which I left there.’
Cass raised his eyebrows.
‘Certain items?’ He repeated. ‘Why not steal the entire bag?’
Fidelma jerked her head up as his words registered. She had overlooked the obvious. Only the Ogham stick and the vellum had been taken. Yet the bindings and Grella’s skirt, from which they had been taken, were left. What did that signify? Why was the thief so selective about what evidence they had removed?
She considered matters for a moment and then gave a sigh of frustration.
‘Where are you off to now?’ demanded Cass as Fidelma suddenly began striding away across the courtyard that separated the hostel from the abbey church.
‘There is something I should have done before we left for Sceilig Mhichil,’ she called across her shoulder. ‘Sister Necht had just reminded me of it.’
‘Sister Necht?’
Cass trailed after her. He was beginning to be exhausted by Fidelma’s abrupt changes and wished she would confide in him more readily than she did.
‘It seems that we are running here and there and the more we move the less close we get to our goal,’ he complained. ‘I thought that the ancients taught that such excessive motion does not necessarily mean progression?’
Fidelma, engrossed in her own anxieties, was irritated by what she perceived as the warrior’s bland remark.
‘If you can solve this puzzle by sitting in a room, staring at the wall, then do so.’
The sourness in her tone caused Cass to wince a little.
‘I am not criticising you,’ he said hurriedly, ‘but what good will a visit to the abbey church do?’
‘Let us discover,’ Fidelma replied curtly.
Brother Rumann, the steward, was coming out of the door of the abbey as they went up the steps.
‘I heard that you had returned from Sceilig Mhichil,’ he greeted in his wheezy tones, full of affability. ‘How was your journey? Have you learnt anything?’
‘The journey was fine,’ she replied evenly, ‘but how did you know we went to Sceilig Mhichil?’
The even tone disguised the fact that she was suddenly on guard. She had, in fact, been very careful not to tell even her cousin, the Abbot Brocc, where she was going. No one in the abbey should have known.
Rumann looked uneasy and frowned.
‘I am not sure. Someone mentioned it. I think it might have been Brother Midach. Was it a secret?’
Fidelma did not reply but changed the subject.
‘I am told that the tomb of the Blessed Fachtna is contained within the abbey church? Can you tell me where it is located?’
‘Of course.’ Rumann positively preened himself. ‘It is a place of pilgrimage on the fourteenth day of the feast of Lunasa, his feastday. Let me show you, sister.’
Rumann turned and began to move wheezily along the lengthy nave beyond the transept to the High Altar.
‘Have you heard the story of how Fachtna was blind when he came to this spot and, thanks to the intercession of a great miracle here at Ros Ailithir, where there was then nothing but open lands, he received his sight back and, in gratitude, built this abbey?’ asked Rumann.
‘I have heard the story,’ replied Fidelma, though not responding to the steward’s enthusiasm for his subject.
Rumann conducted them up the steps that surrounded the slightly raised area on which the High Altar stood and then move around behind it into the apse, the vaulted curved recess behind the altar where the officiating priest or abbot usually conducted the rituals of the ‘dismissal’ in accordance with the rites of the Church. In the apse lay a large sandstone slab which stood three inches above the rest of the floor. Incongruously, at the head of the slab, on a small stone plinth stood a statue of a cherub. At the foot of the slab was a similar plinth with a seraph upon it.
‘You will see just a simple cross,’ pointed Rumann, ‘and the name Fachtna in the ancient Ogham script.’
‘Do you read Ogham?’ she asked innocently.
‘My rôle as steward of the abbey requires me to be proficient in many forms of learning.’ Rumann’s fleshy face was complacent.
Fidelma turned back to the stone slab.
‘What lies beneath this stone?’ she queried.
Rumann looked puzzled.
‘Why the sepulchre of Fachtna, of course. It is the only tomb within the abbey walls.’
‘I mean, what sort of tomb is it? A hole in the ground, a cave or what?’
‘Well, no one has ever opened it since Fachtna was interred there over a century ago.’
‘Really? Yet you described it as a sepulchre.’
‘It is true that it is known as the sepulchre,’ replied Rumann. ‘Perhaps it is some sort of catacomb or cave. It would be sacrilege to enter to confirm that. There are several such caves hereabouts. We have other interesting tombs of that sort at Ros Ailithir but most of them lie without the walls of the abbey.’