Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

‘Glassán had agreed the contract and therefore the responsibility was his own,’ Fidelma said. ‘I would have made him pay the honour prices of the dead to their families as well. The Brehon was lenient. I find it difficult to accept that Abbot Iarnla and Brother Lugna can feel confident employing such a man to be in charge of this great building work.’

‘When did this disaster happen?’ Eadulf asked Gormán. ‘Did the stableman say?’

‘About ten years ago.’

‘Ten years? That is a long time. And he started on this work two or three years ago, soon after Brother Lugna arrived here from Rome,’ mused Fidelma.

‘I wonder how Brother Lugna knew him,’ Eadulf said thoughtfully.

‘I can tell you that.’ Gormán smiled. ‘Or at least Brother Echen had the information. There was talk that Glassán went into exile in Connachta and was doing building commissions.’

‘And Brother Lugna comes from Connachta,’ Eadulf added.

‘Glassán was apparently specialising in making underground storage areas. He became a master of uamairecht — cellar-making.’

‘Cellar-making?’ Fidelma swung round and headed determinedly back to the chapel. ‘That is something I totally forgot,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Come on. We neglected to finish our search.’

Eadulf, with a wary glance at the high roof of the chapel, went after her. In some bewilderment, Gormán followed them into the chapel.

‘Is someone going to tell me what I said?’ he asked plaintively.

‘We need to find out if this building has a cellar or vault to it. If there is, the entrance is concealed,’ Fidelma told him.

It was some time before they re-emerged. The floor of the chapel was solid. There was no sign of any entrance leading to vaults beneath the building. Disappointment showed on Fidelma’s features. Once again she had to conclude that this was not the “mound of the dead” where Brother Gáeth might have hidden whatever it was Brother Donnchad had given him.

She look up at the sky and sighed.

‘We just have time to prepare before the bell sounds for the evening meal,’ she said. She walked rapidly to the guest hostel. Eadulf hurried after her while Gormán stood watching them, totally bewildered.

Eadulf knocked gently on Fidelma’s door to escort her to the evening meal. His eyes widened as she opened it.

Fidelma was not wearing her simple and practical robes; she had put on the clothing that was hers by right to wear as both daughter and sister of a king of Muman. Eadulf had not seen her wear such finery since she had made a plea before the Airechtais , the Great Assembly of the High King, at Tara a year before. He had, of course, seen her wearing such clothes several times before but never when a guest in an abbey.

Her gown was of deep blue satin with intricate gold thread patterns. It fitted snugly at the waist and then flowed out into a full skirt that came to her ankles. The sleeves were of a style called lamfhoss , tight on the upper arms but spilling out just before the elbow in an echo of the lower part of her dress. Over this was a sleeveless tunic, called an inar , which covered the top of the dress but ended at the waist. From her shoulder hung a short lummon , a cape of contrasting red-coloured satin edged with badger’s fur. The cape was fastened on the left shoulder by a round brooch of silver and semi-precious stones. On her feet were specially decorated sandals, sewn with pieces of multicoloured glass, called mael-assa .

She had put on bracelets of complementary coloured glassaround her wrists and round her neck she wore her golden torc which proclaimed not only her royal position but that she was of the élite Nasc Niadh of Muman, the bodyguards of the Eóghanacht. In her fiery red hair was a band of silver with three semi-precious stones at the front — two emeralds from the country of the Corco Duibhne, in the west of the kingdom, and a glowing red stone which reflected the stones in the silver brooch that held her cape. The headband served to keep in place a piece of silk that covered her hair but left her face unobstructed. It was called a conniul and indicated her married status.

‘Are you being wise?’ Eadulf finally asked, having found some difficulty articulating his thoughts.

Fidelma had that mischievous look on her face. ‘Firstly, I need to prove something. Secondly, I need to assert something. Have no fear, Eadulf, I know what I am doing. And now, the support of your arm, please. I suspect that I may need the support of more than your arm before the evening is over.’

Eadulf sighed. He felt incongruous clad as he was in a simple religious robe. But he said nothing.

The bruigad , Brother Máel Eoin, was waiting for them outside the refectorium , with Gormán. The hosteller registered some surprise and then bowed his head in acknowledgement to her. The young warrior grinned broadly and straightened a little as if to salute her.

‘It is good to see an Eóghanacht reassert their presence,’ he said simply.

He preceded Fidelma and Eadulf into the refectorium and led them to the table they had been assigned. As they passed by the tables of the brethren, a silence fell throughout the hall and glances of astonishment were cast towards Fidelma. Then a muttering began to rise from the lines of seated brethren. Ignoring it, Fidelma and her companions reached the table where Glassán and Saor sat opened-mouthed at her change ofappearance. Then a sharp voice cried from the table of the abbot, ‘This is an affront, a sacrilege!’

Fidelma, with Eadulf and Gormán at her side, turned slowly to face the abbot’s table. It was not Abbot Iarnla but his steward, Brother Lugna, who was on his feet. His face was red and almost quivering in his indignation.

‘Sacrilege, Brother Lugna?’ Fidelma’s voice cracked like a whip.

‘How dare you come into this refectorium in … in those shameless garments?’ cried the steward.

Fidelma drew herself up a little. ‘Do you insult the Eóghanacht? You have been too long in Rome, Brother Lugna. You are now in the kingdom of Muman and in the presence of an Eóghanacht princess.’

‘What … what did you say?’ demanded the steward, taken aback.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she went on in the haughty manner that Eadulf knew she could assume at will. ‘I am sister to Colgú, King of Muman. Have I not been requested to come to this place as the guest of your abbot, the Abbot Iarnla, who presides over this abbey and this refectorium ? Am I not an honoured guest in this abbey … an abbey that, I must remind you, is part of my brother’s kingdom? For his is the ultimate authority over all the chieftains, nobles, abbots and bishops of this land. Am I not here as sister to your King as well as a dálaigh, come to investigate a matter on behalf of my brother your King. If Abbot Iarnla wishes to withdraw his request for my presence, let him do so and I will return to Cashel and report this insult to the King and his advisers.’

The blood had drained from the face of Abbot Iarnla, sitting at the side of the risen figure of Lugna. He seemed mesmerised, as if he had no part in the scene being enacted before him.

‘There are rules in this abbey-’

‘There are rules everywhere. Usually, the rules are agreed upon by the community and not imposed on them,’ Fidelma cut across him.

‘We are talking about the rules of dress among the religious,’ spluttered Brother Lugna. ‘For you to enter our refectorium in those clothes … that dress …’ He seemed at a loss for words.

‘You object to my dress which distinguishes me as the sister of your King and a dálaigh ?’ challenged Fidelma.