The sky had already lightened and it was now bright enough for the procession to wind its way through the buildings towards the forest that grew around the abbey. One of the sisters, with a soft soprano voice, began to intone in Latin, the chorus being taken up by the other sisters:
Cantemus in omni die
concinentes uarie,
conclamantes Deo dignum
hymnum sanctae Mariae
Fidelma whispered the translation to herself as theyproceeded onwards: ‘Let us sing each day, chanting together in varied harmonies, declaiming to God a worthy hymn for holy Mary’.
They paused in a little clearing where, it seemed, a burial place for the community had been prepared, judging by the memorial stones and crosses that stood in abundance. A light dusting of flaky snow covered the ground. The abbess had conducted the bier to an isolated corner of the cemetery. Here the sisters, carrying the bier expertly, as if they had much practice, took the body from it and lowered it into the grave which had apparently been dug the day before in readiness.
Fidelma was prepared for what came next. It was an ancient custom. The wooden bier on which the body had been carried was smashed into little pieces by two sisters wielding hammers. According to ancient superstition, which the Faith had not yet destroyed, the bier must be broken for, if this was not done, the evil spirits might use it to carry off the corpse in their night excursions. If the bier was destroyed the evil spirits had to let the corpse rest.
An extremely young sister of pleasing appearance, approached carrying a huge bunch of green bushy branches. Fidelma recognised her as Sister Lerben, the young novice who had conducted her to the abbess’ chamber on the previous evening. The others formed a line before her at the graveside and as they passed the youthful-looking Sister Lerben, each took a small branch before pausing at the open grave and dropping it in. Fidelma and the disabled religieuse, helped by Sister Brónach, were standing last in line. With a gentle smile, Fidelma signalled Sister Brónach and the disabled sister to precede her before taking one of the remaining branches from Sister Lerben to deposit it in the grave and returning to her place. The birch branch was called ses sofais which not only gave the body a covering before the earth was shovelled in but was traditionally thought to protect the corpse from any malignant force.
Abbess Draigen moved forward to deposit the last piece of birch in the open grave. As two sisters began to fill the grave with earth, the abbess began to intone the words of the Biait, the Irish name for Psalm 118, the word ‘blessed’ being taken from the first line which was considered the most powerful invocation for efficacy of the suffering soul. Yet Abbess Draigen did not recite the Biait in its entirety but was selective in her rendering.
‘I call upon the Lord in my distress; the Lord answered me, and set me free.
‘The Lord is on my side; I will not fear; what can man do to me?
‘The Lord is on my side and helps me against my enemies,
‘It is better to find refuge with the Lord than to trust men;
‘It is better to find sanctuary with the Lord than to trust princes.’
Fidelma frowned at the vehemence of the abbess’s enunciation as if the words had some deeper significance for her.
Then the task was over. The poor headless corpse had been interred and the appropriate prayers and blessings had been said in accordance with the rituals of the Faith.
The sun was now well up and Fidelma could feel the faint warmth of its early morning, winter rays on her face. The woods had burst into life now, the tuneful sounds of birdsong and the soft whispering of the leaves and branches, shaking off their snow covering in the morning breeze, changed the solemnity of the proceedings to a joyous serenity.
She was aware that the sisters of the community were wending their way slowly back towards the abbey buildings. Fidelma saw the disabled religieuse, behind the others, propelling her way along the path with her stick, accompanied by Sister Brónach. A hollow cough distracted herattention and she turned to find the abbess approaching and with her was a young sister who had stood at the right hand of the abbess throughout the proceedings.
‘Good morning, sister,’ the abbess greeted.
Fidelma returned the salutation.
‘What was the strange noise in the chapel?’ she asked immediately. ‘The community seem quite disturbed by it.’
Abbess Draigen grimaced disdainfully.
‘They should know better. I have shown you our subterraneus.’
‘Yes, but any noise from that would not be heard in the chapel, surely? It does not extend under the duirthech.’
‘True enough. Yet, as I told you, there are supposed to be several caves over which the abbey was raised and we have been unable to find entrances to them apart from our store cave. Doubtless there is a cave under the chapel which probably floods and produced the sound we heard.’
Fidelma conceded this was possible.
‘So you have heard this before?’
Abbess Draigen seemed suddenly impatient.
‘Several times during winter months. It is an irrelevant matter.’ It was clear that she was weary of the subject. She turned slightly to her companion. ‘This is Sister Síomha, my steward, who discovered the corpse with Sister Brónach.’
Fidelma examined the attractive features of Sister Síomha with some surprise. They were the features of a young, angelic girl, not the experienced eyes of someone who looked like a rechtaire, the steward of a community. Fidelma tried to overcome her surprise with a belated smile but she found there was no answering warmth from the young steward of the abbey.
‘I have duties to see to, sister, so perhaps you would be good enough to ask me your questions immediately.’ The tone was abrupt, almost testy. It was so unlike the tone Fidelma had been expecting from the sweet-looking girl that she blinked and was unable to answer for a moment.
‘That I cannot do,’ she replied stolidly.
She was rewarded by seeing a disconcerted expression pass over Sister Síomha’s face.
Fidelma turned to follow the other sisters.
‘I beg your pardon, sister?’ Síomha’s voice had risen slightly in a querulous tone as she took a hesitant step after her.
Fidelma glanced over her shoulder.
‘I will be able to see you at noon today. You may come to the guests’ hostel to find me.’ Fidelma proceeded on her way before Sister Síomha could respond.
A moment or so later the abbess, who had hurried after her, fell in step. She was slightly breathless.
‘I do not understand, sister,’ she said, her brows were drawn together. ‘I thought last night that you expressed a desire to speak with my house steward.’
‘And so I do, mother abbess,’ Fidelma said. ‘But, as you’ll recall, I also promised to break my fast with Adnár this morning. The sun has already risen and I must find a way of crossing to his fortress.’
Draigen looked disapproving.
‘I do not think your visit to Adnár is necessary. The man has no jurisdiction over this matter and God is to be thanked for that.’
‘Why so, mother abbess?’ queried Fidelma.