‘I understand her name was Muirne and that she died in some accident?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘An accident?’ The abbot’s voice was sharp. ‘Yes, she drowned.’ He suddenly rose and glanced at the religieux who had brought them into the chamber. ‘Your chambers should be ready now. I will hand you over to the care of Sil … of Brother Sillán. The bell will summon you for the evening meal and I will ensure that someone is sent to collect you.’
Fidelma thanked the abbot, although the words were simply a ritual for there had been no sincerity in his offer of hospitality. In fact, had not night been upon them and had there been any alternative, she would have suggested that they leave immediately.
As Brother Sillán ushered them to the door, Brother Anfudán approached and the two men exchanged a quick word. Brother Sillán turned. ‘Your chambers are ready and water is being heated in the bathing room. Your horses are being attended to and your bags brought over from the stables.’
Their bags were piled outside the door, presumably brought by Brother Anfudán, who had now vanished. As Eadulf took those belonging to Fidelma and himself he saw a deepening frown on Fidelma’s forehead. Her head was to one side as if she had been listening to something. Their companions each picked up their own bags. Brother Sillán conducted them through several long, dark stone corridors, lit by oil lamps of the type called lepaire placed at intervals on little shelves. The lamps, crude, unglazed earthenware pots with a snout to support the wick, produced a shadowy light and gave off smoke and stifling odours in equal quantity. Eadulf’s expression was one of disapproval.
‘Some of your brethren need lessons in choosing the rush wicks that are not damp when they are dipped in the oil, and ensuring the oil is clean,’ he said. ‘That would lessen the fumes and smoke.’
‘We are a poor community and as yet have no time for such niceties,’ Brother Sillán replied over his shoulder.
Eadulf was about to retort that a community that could afford such ostentatious new buildings could afford to light them better, but he felt Fidelma’s hand squeeze his arm and he fell silent.
Brother Sillán halted before a door and threw it open.
‘This chamber is for the warriors,’ he announced, indicating the dark interior with a motion of his head.
‘There appear to be no windows,’ muttered Gormán, peering inside.
‘The chamber is placed facing towards the interior of the abbey. There are candles and oil lamps to provide enough light,’ responded their guide.
‘And where is our chamber?’ enquired Fidelma.
‘On the floor above this one, if you will follow me.’ He took them to a small wooden stair a little way along the corridor. ‘You will find a door further along from your chamber where a dabach has been prepared for you and your husband.’
A dabach was a large wooden tub or vat and it was the duty of those providing hospitality to have either such a tub or even a stone long-foilcthe or bathing vessel ready at this time, for the custom was for a full body-wash before the evening meal.
As Brother Sillán continued to lead the way, Fidelma turned to Gormán, who was about to enter the dark chamber, and motioned him and Enda to follow her.
They climbed the stair behind Brother Sillán and came up into another corridor, but this time one side of it was unenclosed and overlooked a small courtyard. It appeared to be the centre of the main abbey buildings and was open to the sky. In fact, the corridor ran around this courtyard on all four sides. A roof covered the corridor, supported by pillars. All around this flagged walkway were doors which led into various chambers. Dusk had descended but lamps had been lit and Fidelma noticed that one of the doors bore the encouraging inscription Fothrucad — bathing — engraved on it.
Brother Sillán had bent to open a door before he turned and saw Gormán and Enda behind Fidelma and Eadulf. He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut as Fidelma moved into the chamber and gave it a quick examination.
‘At least there is a window and ventilation on this floor,’ she said. Then she regarded their guide solemnly as she moved back out of the room. ‘Let us see what this next chamber is like.’
‘Lady, this is the best of our guest chambers,’ protested Sillán.
‘I do not doubt it. Now open this next chamber.’
Brother Sillán stared at her, not sure how to handle this. Before he could frame a negative response, Eadulf had pushed the door open.
‘It is a similar chamber with a window,’ he announced. ‘It looks unused and there are several cots.’
‘That will be more suitable for my warriors, rather than allowing them to be consigned to such a dark, odious chamber as the one below,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘They can be within call if they are needed by me. I believe the bathing chamber is also for their use?’
‘There is cold water for them below,’ Brother Sillán grumbled.
‘The trouble is,’ Fidelma’s voice was almost confiding, ‘that my warriors are of the élite bodyguard of my brother, the King. They have grown used to more indolent ways. We can all wash in the bathing chamber.’
It seemed that Brother Sillán had given up the trial of wills.
‘I shall see that more water is prepared,’ he replied sullenly. Then, giving the hint of a shrug, he hurried away without another word.
‘Gormán.’ Fidelma turned to the warrior with a serious expression, her voice low. ‘I am certain that Sillán was the man whom you and Eadulf were told was waiting at the shed for the abductors — the same one who said I was not the right woman who should have been taken with Torna. The timbre of his voice gives him away. He must also have recognised me as soon as we arrived. I suggest that you and Enda do not leave your weapons more than a hand’s grasp away.’
‘That might be difficult, lady.’ The warrior was clearly troubled. ‘You will recall, it is the custom that no weapons are allowed into a feasting hall and when we go for the evening meal it would be impossible to take our swords with us.’
‘Then take your gláede — you can use the excuse that you need it to eat with.’ The gláede was a sharp dagger. ‘But leave your swords and any other weapons hidden in a place where they might not think to look, if your chamber is searched.’
Gormán asked no further questions but joined Enda in the adjacent chamber.
‘Is there a bolt on this door, one on the inside?’ she asked as Eadulf closed the door.
Eadulf glanced at it and then answered affirmatively. ‘Why would there not be?’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Why? Gormán and Enda were shown to a chamber that had the bolts on the outside and none on the inside; no window nor any ventilation. We must be on our guard.’
‘Are you sure about Brother Sillán?’ he asked. ‘You are only going by the sound of his voice.’
‘I am sure. Do you not feel the antagonism in this place?’
‘I admit that I have had a more friendly welcome in the Tower of Uaman, Lord of the Passes of Sliabh Mis,’ Eadulf admitted, remembering Uaman the Leper, who had kidnapped their son and imprisoned Eadulf in his tower.
‘Have you ever known an abbey to choose a steward from someone so young and inexperienced and who has not taken vows?’
‘The abbot said he had appointed him.’
‘You should not forget that it is the fashion of our abbeys to elect both the abbot and his officials in accordance with our custom and law. How could a young — and frankly aggressive — man, lacking knowledge especially of the etiquette of such communities, be put in charge of the daily running of this place?’
Eadulf sighed deeply. ‘In our travels we have seen many peculiar things, but the whole demeanour of the abbot and the way the brethren behave are certainly at odds with their calling … Therefore I agree. I have never seen religious conduct themselves in this way.’