Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

‘Usually one finds that the perpetrator in fact passed through the door or the window,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘I have never come across a murder committed by a wraith or any other spirit.’

The hostel keeper frowned glumly. ‘Of course, lady. I merely echo what travellers say.’

The conversation turned to other local gossip, mainly on the current condition of the roadway over the mountain, for each section of road, by law, had to be maintained in good order by the local chief or noble responsible for the land through which it passed.

A short time later, the three were testing the conditions themselves. The roadway was now no more than a well-kept track, over the broad shoulder of Cnoc Mhaol Domhnaigh. The track led through a small gap in the mountains, with the summit of the mountain to the west of them and another peak to the east, called Cnoc na gCnámh, which Eadulf interpreted as the Mountain of Bones. On the southern slopes, the track dropped, winding through a wooded valley that was called the Caoimh, which meant ‘gentle’ and ‘calm’, after the name of the clan who dwelt there. They descended sharply, keeping a gushing stream to their right and crossing it before it was joined by a larger river descending from the left. Fidelma explained to an inquisitive Eadulf that it was called the river of the rough glens. From here they could now see southwards to the broad stretch of An Abhainn Mór, The Great River, and beyond it to where a complex of buildings, surrounded by wooden walls, rose on its southern bank.

‘Lios Mór,’ Fidelma remarked in satisfaction. ‘We shall be within the abbey long before nightfall.’

Gormán was frowning. ‘It is some time since I was last at Lios Mór, lady,’ he said slowly, ‘but there appear to be a lot of changes.’

Fidelma looked again towards the complex. Then she nodded. ‘There seems to be a great deal of new buildings.’

‘There are men still at work there,’ pointed out Eadulf as hegazed at the distant abbey. ‘New buildings suggest that the abbey is prospering.’

‘Not just new buildings either,’ Gormán observed. ‘They seem to be replacing the wooden buildings with ones of stone. Someone must have endowed the abbey with wealth.’

Fidelma and Eadulf were relaxing in chairs before the glowing fire in the chamber of Abbot Iarnla. One of the brethren who attended the abbot had presented them with the traditional cup of mead to refresh themselves after their journey, before withdrawing. Now they were alone with the Abbot and his dour-faced steward. The abbot reclined in his comfortable chair to one side of the hearth while his rechtaire , Brother Lugna, sat upright in his chair on the other. He was clearly not at ease. But it had been the steward who had greeted them, albeit somewhat stiffly, at the gates of the abbey before he brought them to the abbot’s chamber. They had left Gormán in the hands of the echaire , who looked after the stables, so that he could help attend to the horses and ensure their comfort.

‘It is some time since I have visited Lios Mór,’ Fidelma was saying. ‘It seems that the abbey is prospering.’

‘How so?’ inquired the abbot.

‘I see that much building work is going on here.’

‘We have to move with the times,’ Brother Lugna intervened defensively. ‘The old wooden buildings were fine for our founders over three decades ago but our community has grown quickly and now we must put up buildings that will last and proclaim the importance and purity of the community.’

‘As you say, it is some time since you were here,’ the abbot added, ‘and it is sad that your coming now is caused by the death of a distinguished member of our brotherhood.’

‘Other than yourself and your steward, who knew that we were coming to Lios Mór?’ Eadulf asked.

The elderly abbot frowned for a moment, considering the question. ‘I did not think it a secret,’ he replied. ‘I suppose the word has spread through the community, and I certainly informed the Lady Eithne, the mother of poor Brother Donnchad.’

‘Is there something the matter?’ asked Brother Lugna. ‘Should your coming have been kept quiet?’

‘We were attacked on the road here,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It was almost as if the attackers were lying in wait for us.’

Abbot Iarnla registered his surprise. ‘Are you saying that this attack had some connection with your coming to investigate Brother Donnchad’s death?’

‘Perhaps there was no connection at all,’ Fidelma replied quickly. ‘They could simply have been robbers waiting to attack any passer-by. But it does seem curious that they attacked with the obvious intention of killing us rather than merely threatening and robbing us. They had the advantage of the ambush.’

‘What happened to them?’ Brother Lugna asked.

‘Gormán, our bodyguard, killed one and the other ran off.’

There was a silence. Abbot Iarnla looked shocked. His steward frowned as he considered the matter.

‘Therein is the answer to your question,’ Brother Lugna’s tone was dismissive. ‘They saw you had a warrior with you, a member of the King’s bodyguard, and rather than pit their strength against his, they decided to attack first. They were just cowardly robbers, no doubt. I will be frank with you, Sister Fidelma. I was not in favour of the abbot’s decision to bring you here.’

Fidelma regarded him with surprise at his abrupt change of subject. She smiled thinly. ‘May I ask why not?’

‘I believe-’

‘My rechtaire believed that the matter should be resolved within the abbey community,’ Abbot Iarnla intervened hastily, with an uncomfortable glance at Brother Lugna. ‘He believes that, as abbot, I have the power of judgement and punishment in such matters. But this abbey does not subscribe to the Penitentials.’

The steward gave a disdainful sniff and Eadulf noted the tension between him and the abbot. ‘So I take it you believe in the Penitentials, Brother Lugna,’ he observed. ‘I see that you wear the tonsure of Saint Peter and so favour the Rule of Rome.’

‘As do you, Brother Eadulf. I studied five years in Rome.’

‘Where do you originate from, Brother Lugna?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I do not hear the local accents of this kingdom in your voice.’

‘I am from Connachta, of the Uí Briuin Sinna of the Plain of the Sea.’ The announcement was a simple statement of fact, without pride.

‘Then you are a long way from home, Brother Lugna.’

‘The Faith is universal and whether one is in Rome or Lios Mór, or even in Connachta, one is among brethren if they follow the true teachings.’

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Eadulf was aware of a growing dislike for the arrogant young Brother Lugna.

Abbot Iarnla gave a hesitant smile. ‘Well, we are glad no harm befell you and your companions on your journey here, Fidelma. The news of the attack on you, for whatever cause, is alarming. We will offer a special prayer of thanks in the chapel tonight for your safe arrival. I believe your coming here to preside over this important matter is necessary. I would trust no one else with it.’ He glanced at his steward with a curious expression they could not interpret. ‘That is why I have overruled the advice of my steward. Your judgement,at the time when Maolochtair tried to harm both Donnchad and Cathal, saved them from a greater harm as well as saving Maolochtair from his own fantasy. That is why I requested that you come to help us.’

It sounded almost as if he were trying to explain his reasons to his steward.

‘I understand that Brother Cathal remains in Tarentum and may never return to Lios Mór,’ Fidelma observed.