‘It’s more like a military highway than a road leading to a religious community,’ observed Gormán, articulating her very thought.
‘New causeway or not, dusk will not be long in coming. We shall soon have to seek hospitality for tonight or sleep out on this road itself, for we have bog land on either side,’ Enda said practically.
The journey across the plain was fairly easy because of the causeway, but it provided no shelter from the wind that was rising as dusk began to show in the eastern sky. Fidelma kept her feelings of unease to herself. Osraige nominally accepted the Kings of Muman as their overlords and, as such, new roadworks of this dimension would have to have the King’s approval. However, she could not remember hearing about such new building-work among the gossip exchanged in Cashel. But Enda was right. They would have to find a bed for the night — and soon.
They had been travelling on firmer ground and over small, rocky hillocks, keeping to the newly built highway. This had led them through an unexpected, albeit small, stretch of woodland. It was an oasis in the bog land. As they emerged from the shelter of these trees, Enda, who was in the lead, gave a sharp gasp.
‘Look, lady, a fortress! That’s where the new highway leads.’
They halted on the edge of the woodland and surveyed a series of grey stone and wooden buildings that were surrounded by a high stone wall. The whole structure seemed newly built, with the roadway running towards its oppressive dark wood gates. There was what appeared to be a watchtower to one side of the gates. The whole structure was quite extensive.
Fidelma stared at the construction in surprise.
‘That is no fortress,’ Gormán said. ‘Or, at least, it should not be. This was where the Abbey of Chaemóc stood. The Abbey of Liath Mór. How has the community grown from the collection of wooden buildings into such an imposing structure? I last passed this way when I was a mere youth, and the abbey was nothing like this.’
‘My cousin, Abbot Laisrán of Darú, used to say that this abbey was hardly more than two huts and a little chapel,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘It certainly appears more like a fortress than the dwelling of a religious community,’ Eadulf said.
Gormán was examining the structure with the critical eye of a warrior. ‘Those walls are built for defence — a few bowmen there could stand off an entire army. Even the watchtower does not seem a place where the bell is chimed for prayers. If I were trying to plan an attack on the place, I would be hard-pressed to choose any weak point of entrance.’
‘My friends,’ Fidelma tried to overcome her unease, ‘you will observe the surrounding countryside. What is there to defend here? From this small woodland rise, all before you is bog land. Why build a fortress in this desolate place? Why fortify an abbey? What army could march against it? There is no main track through here …’ She paused when she suddenly recalled the new causeway.
‘Well, someone is trying to build one.’ The comment came from Gormán even before she could correct herself. ‘And surely this is the territory of Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of the Osraige? He has to seek approval from Colgú of Cashel before he can build new roads or improve buildings.’
‘Perhaps we are getting a little sensitive?’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us continue on. We need to find out if there is news of those whom we pursue and, in any event, as Enda says, we need hospitality for the night before it grows late.’
They left the cover of the wood and continued along the track towards the imposing new buildings. As they approached the stern edifice, the dark oak gates swung open. Their approach had been observed from the watchtower.
A group of men clad in grey religious robes had moved forward from the darkness of the entrance and stood watching them, their arms folded in the sleeves of their robes. All had their cowls covering their heads. As Fidelma and her companions halted a short space from them, one of the brethren stepped forward and held up his hand, palm outward.
‘Pax vobiscum,’ he greeted in the language of the Faith. Like his companions, he remained with his head obscured by his hood. Fidelma could just see his lower face and noted that he was a cleanshaven young man.
‘Pax tecum,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We come seeking shelter from the oncoming night.’
To her amazement the young man responded with a negative shake of his head.
‘Our sorrow, lady, that we cannot extend our hospitality to a woman nor to wandering warriors.’
Fidelma reached over to restrain Gormán as she saw his hand slide to the hilt of his sword.
‘Is this not the Abbey of Liath Mór?’ she asked coldly.
‘It was.’
‘Was? I am sorry that I have been badly informed. I believed this to be the Abbey of Liath Mór in the territory of the Osraige.’
The young man’s expression did not change. ‘It is now called Dún Muirne.’
‘Dún Muirne? The Fortress of Muirne? That’s a strange name for a religious community.’
‘I should explain that the Lady Muirne was the daughter of our patron and abbot, who was drowned crossing the Suir. He desires that this place commemorates her life.’
‘And who is your abbot?’ she enquired.
‘Our abbot is Cronán.’
‘Then announce us to this Abbot Cronán.’
‘I have explained that it is not possible.’
‘Not possible?’ There was a dangerous rise to her voice. ‘Who are you?’ The second question was snapped out in the tone of authority that Fidelma had developed as an advocate of the law courts.
‘I am Anfudán — Brother Anfudán, the steward of the abbey.’ The young man remained defiant in tone.
‘Then listen closely, Brother Anfudán. Night is now quickly approaching and inhospitable bog land stretches for long distances all around us. My companions and I wish for hospitality, which this Abbey of Liath Mór is bound to give under both law and custom.’
The young steward drew himself up, thrusting out his jaw aggressively.
‘I do not have to answer to you, lady. Who do you think you are, to believe that you have the right to give orders here … to a pious community of the Faith?’
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King, advocate and judge qualified to the level of anruth. Now bring forth your abbot to answer why you have refused hospitality to my companions and me, and are thus not compliant to law and custom and the rights of your King!’
The young man stood staring at her from under his cowl, and then an interesting thing happened. One of his companions hurried forward and whispered in the steward’s ear. The latter waited with head bowed for a moment and then nodded. The man who had whispered to him had turned and hastened back through the gates. Then the steward cleared his throat.
‘You and your companions may enter our courtyard and dismount while I seek clarification in this matter.’ He gestured for the brethren who were with him to stand well back so that Fidelma and the men with her could enter.
Beyond the gates they were in a fairly large courtyard, where some of the brethren were already lighting torches against the approaching night. Fidelma quickly registered the numerous outbuildings, storehouses, a smithy’s forge, and what looked like the ornate entrance to a chieftain’s hall rather than a chapel. The abbey was unlike any that she had ever seen before. She could now entirely agree with Gormán that it was more like a fortress than a community for the Faithful.