The young steward, Brother Anfudán, was curt. ‘You may dismount and wait here.’ He then marched away in the direction of the main building.
‘That sounded more like a military command than a request,’ Gormán murmured.
Behind them, the great oak gates were swinging shut and a bar was pushed into place to secure them. Eadulf shivered slightly. He felt like a prisoner being shut in.
Members of the brethren had not dispersed but stood nearby, almost as if on guard. The newcomers were aware of figures moving along the walkways on the high wall, like sentries patrolling the battlements. Fidelma did not like the situation. Had she been wrong in insisting on her rights and revealing her identity? It was too late now. She had let her irritation get the better of her. They should have ridden on and learned more about how Liath Mór had come into its new existence.
‘What now, lady?’ whispered Gormán, edging forward. He sensed what was going through Fidelma’s mind. ‘This is no abbey. Surely, it is the custom of most abbeys to bring water to wash the feet of travellers when they enter?’
‘This place has already revealed the fact that it does not share the customs of hospitality common in other abbeys,’ she sighed.
‘How do we proceed?’
‘We continue to behave as any normal traveller would, in their own land,’ she said quietly. ‘We will wait and see. After all, it is not we who have broken the laws of hospitality but the arrogant young steward, Anfudán. We will see if he really denied us on the instructions of his abbot and, if so, how this is justified by the abbot himself. We must have a care. This place does not inspire feelings of tranquillity.’
There seemed an inordinate passing of time before one of the brethren came back from the hall, without Brother Anfudán. Fidelma thought it was the same man who had given some instruction to the young steward at the gate.
‘Will you and your companions follow me, lady?’ He spoke in a gruff but respectful tone. ‘My men — my brethren — will attend to your horses.’ He turned to those nearby and, raising his voice, issued orders. Members of the brethren came forward and took their horses and led them away towards buildings that looked like stables.
Their guide then motioned them to follow him towards the main building. They went up some stone steps and found themselves in a massive hall that would have done justice to that of a petty-king. In the centre of this was a large hearth with a smouldering turf fire. In those areas of the Five Kingdoms where wood was scarce, particularly in the vast boggy plains like the surrounding one, people cut the turf or peat moss, where plants and matted roots combined to present a fuel called móin suitable for slow-burning fires. The intensity of the warmth was marked as they entered. Before this fire were several chairs and a table.
A man sat in one of the chairs. At his side and slightly behind his left shoulder stood the young steward, his head still covered by his cowl.
Their guide approached and bowed before the figure in the chair before turning and moving to one side.
It was clear that the man was tall, in spite of being seated. His head was uncovered, showing his bald pate, and his robes were tight upon him as if his entire frame was muscular. His facial features were full and tanned. Fidelma noticed a livid scar on one cheek. It was clearly an old wound. The man stared at them with pale, almost colourless eyes, which seemed to glint, like glass, against the light given by a nearby lamp. They were close-set, with bushy eyebrows, emphasising the long, thin nose that gave a curiously aggressive cast to his appearance. The thin red lips were tightly compressed. Overall, he had the unkempt appearance of a man more used to the countryside than existing within the shady confines of an abbey.
He made no effort to rise to greet them. When he spoke, it was in a sharp staccato tone.
‘I am told that you are Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú. What do you want here?’
Eadulf heard Fidelma’s slow intake of breath. It was not a good sign.
‘Yes, I am Fidelma of Cashel. It grieves me to find you unwell, Abbot Cronán.’
Eadulf frowned, wondering what she meant. The abbot obviously shared the same thought; his gathered brows showed that he was puzzled.
‘I? Unwell?’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Had you been well, I presume that you would have risen to greet me, as is protocol and custom. For even if I were not the sister of the King of Muman, of which this territory is part, I am also a dálaigh of the rank of anruth, and thus able to seat myself in the presence of the Kings of the Provinces without seeking permission.’
The abbot stared at her, a range of emotions struggling on his features. Then, reluctantly, the man pushed himself up out of his chair and inclined his head towards her.
‘Your forgiveness, lady.’ He almost muttered the words. ‘There is much on my mind at present. Please seat yourself and I will order refreshment for you and your companions.’
Fidelma turned to Eadulf and introduced him before seating herself and indicating that Eadulf should take the seat next to her. Gormán and Enda took their places, standing warily just behind them.
The abbot then lowered himself back into his chair and ordered their guide to arrange for refreshments to be brought. Brother Anfudán remained close at hand, his expression sullen, judging from the shape of his lips underneath his cowl.
‘And now, Fidelma of Cashel, how can we be of service to you?’ The abbot tried to sound polite but his tone was strained.
‘Has your steward not informed you of what service we require?’ Her voice was mild.
The young man shifted his weight awkwardly at the abbot’s side.
‘As you have seen for yourself, our abbey is but newly constructed and lacks facilities,’ the abbot replied, spreading his hands and trying to sound apologetic. ‘Perhaps my steward did not explain-’
‘No explanation was necessary,’ Fidelma replied easily. ‘The law and custom is firm on this point. Were this but a lowly shepherd’s hut, the law would still be the law. This abbey, I believe, was first constructed by Chaemóc seventy years ago. I see that much building has been done since then, but that does not mean all etiquette is lost nor the law ignored.’
‘The rebuilding is not yet complete,’ the abbot said with a frown. ‘We do not have facilities for a person of rank such as you, lady. My steward was merely thinking of your comf-’
Fidelma cut him short. ‘Anyone thinking of the comfort of myself and that of my companions would not have arbitrarily consigned our fate to find hospitality in the surrounding bogs at night-time.’
The abbot appeared to struggle with himself; and then he forced a weak smile.
‘Of course, you and your companions are welcome to our hospitality for this night. I regret that there has been any misunderstanding and apologise that my steward was not able to make himself better understood. He is new to the task.’
‘So I observe,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘And, as I observe, new to the religious.’
The abbot looked uneasy. ‘I do not understand, lady.’
‘Your steward is so new that he has not taken cognisance of the rules of a religious community,’ she replied. ‘That is why he covers his head at a time when the custom of all religious orders dictates that the cabhail should not be worn. Can it be that he is so new to the religious that he has not even acquired a tonsure?’
Brother Anfudán expelled his breath with an angry hiss and took a step forward. His head jerked back so that it succeeded in dislodging his hood. Her guess was correct. He had a shock of thick black hair and no sign of a tonsure. But it was the gesture of his right hand that caused a look of satisfaction to pass across Fidelma’s features. The hand went to his left side as if seeking a sword.