Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

‘Well, let’s find out why Brother Lugna was asking after us.’

They left Gormán helping Brother Echen tend their horses and walked slowly across the quadrangle towards the guesthouse. They were halfway across when Brother Lugna appearedon the far side, calling to them with a disapproving expression on his face.

‘Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne has arrived here and demands to see you,’ he announced without preamble as they turned in his direction.

‘Demands?’ queried Fidelma mildly.

‘He had no idea that you were at the abbey until he spoke to the abbot and now he feels he must see you,’ replied the steward indifferently.

‘Where is Cumscrad now?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Abbot Iarnla has received him in his chamber and requested your presence as soon as you returned.’

‘Very well. Tell the abbot we will come immediately we have washed ourselves after our journey.’

Brother Lugna hesitated at this dismissal, then turned and hurried off. Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a shake of her head.

‘I wonder why Cumscrad wishes to speak to me? The Fir Maige Féne are not exactly robust in their loyalty to the Eóghanacht of Cashel.’

‘But surely they acknowledge the authority of your brother as King?’

‘With the same reluctance as the Uí Fidgente. They are hostile to the Eóghanacht and one of the few clans in Muman who claim no relationship to the line of the Eóghanacht succession. Even the Uí Fidgente claim to be Eóghanacht. But the Fir Maige Féne claim their ancestry is far older and more distinguished than ours.’

‘I seem to have heard that they are talked about as being involved in the black arts.’ Eadulf tried to dredge up a memory.

Fidelma smiled. ‘It is their claim that their ancestor was Mug Róth, a one-eyed Druid whose breath could raise a tempest and who flew like a bird on a chariot made of polished silver and lustrous gems, which made night shine as bright as day. It was called the wheel of light. Not far from Cashel, at Cnámhchaill,is a pillar of stone which local people say was once a fragment of that great wheel.’

Eadulf shuddered. ‘How can they boast such an ancestor?’

‘He was probably the old god of the sun before the coming of Christianity. When the Faith denied the existence of such gods, he took on human form in our eyes. In ancient times the clan were renowned for their knowledge of ancient lore and even supplied the kings at Cashel with their Chief Druid. This was before King Oenghus was converted to Christianity.’

They washed their faces and hands, refreshed themselves from the short journey and then made their way to the abbot’s chamber.

Cumscrad was a tall man with a deep voice that made him seem intimidating. He was sallow of skin, with thick black hair to his shoulders and a beard to match. His eyes, also black, like shiny pebbles, were shadowed by a ridge across his forehead. But his features were well formed and his face had a handsome quality to it. His manner and bearing suggested a person used to command. Nevertheless, he rose with courtesy when Brother Lugna showed Fidelma and Eadulf into the abbot’s chamber.

‘Ah, the Lady Fidelma. I have not seen you since your marriage at Cashel.’ His voice resonated in the stone chamber. He turned to Eadulf. ‘We meet again, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Eadulf returned the courtesy. He vaguely remembered meeting Cumscrad when all the nobles of the kingdom had come to attend the ceremonies at Cashel which had marked his official marriage to Fidelma.

‘I trust we find you well, Cumscrad?’ Fidelma inquired.

‘Well in body but not in spirit,’ he replied.

When Fidelma seated herself, he sank back into his seat next to Abbot Iarnla, who wore his usual worried expression.Brother Lugna and Eadulf remained standing to one side of the chamber.

‘Cumscrad comes with disturbing news,’ the abbot said. ‘When I told him that you were here in your official capacity, he asked that he might make some representation to you.’

Fidelma turned to face Cumscrad. ‘Representation?’

‘I came to asked Abbot Iarnla’s advice and now I find that you are here and I can ask your advice instead. Perhaps, through you, I can make an official complaint to your brother, the King.’

There was a silence while Cumscrad gathered his thoughts.

‘You may know that my people trade along the river here,’ he began. ‘The Great River is a watery highway that runs from our territory, past this community and then turns south to the great sea at Ard Mór. Our people have traded along its reaches for centuries beyond measure.’

Fidelma knew well the geography of An Abhainn Mór.

‘I know your smiths and metalworkers rely on the river for trade,’ she acknowledged.

‘Indeed, our smiths are dependent on it. As you well know, our territory is also known as Magh Méine, the plain of the minerals. Our mines provide the ores that allow our smiths to make their goods — goods that are eagerly sought as far away as Connachta and Ulaidh. Even beyond the great sea.’

‘All this is well known, Cumscrad. Is there a purpose in reminding me of it?’ inquired Fidelma mildly.

‘There is,’ snapped the chief. ‘The complaint I wish to make is that two days ago, one of our barges was attacked as it came along the river. It was a vessel taking goods to the abbey at Ard Mór.’

‘What happened?’

‘The barge was not far out of Fhear Maighe when warriors, having blocked the river with their own vessel, attacked the crew and took over the barge.’

‘Were there survivors of this attack?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Every one of the crew survived. A few were wounded in the attack but the crew were unarmed merchants. They were simply seized, bound and placed ashore, while the attackers continued on in the barge. They must have passed this community.’

Abbot Iarnla spread his hands in a helpless gesture and felt compelled to explain. ‘None of the brethren working along the river noticed anything untoward. Some of them saw the passing of the river barges, but many barges use the river here so no one questioned what they saw.’

‘The attackers who took charge of the boat disguised themselves as bargemen,’ Cumscrad said.

‘And you have no idea who these robbers may be?’ asked Fidelma.

A grim smile spread across Cumscrad’s features. ‘Oh indeed, lady. We know right well who they are.’ He paused, as if for dramatic effect. ‘The attackers were our southern neighbours, the Uí Liatháin.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I have said that our crew survived. The master of the barge, Muirgíos, as well as his crewmen, were able to identify them.’

‘There was no mistake?’

‘I trust Muirgíos. He has sailed the river for many years. The attackers made no attempt to conceal their identity. Furthermore …’ He hesitated. ‘Furthermore, one of our bargemen, Eolann, who also trades along the river, was returning from Ard Mór and saw Muirgíos’s barge passing him on its way south. He was about to greet his comrade but found he did not recognise any of the crew. He felt it wise not to challenge them. Eolann is a clever man. He was in a small craft and so he backtracked along the river and saw the vessel turn west up the river Bríd that joins The Great River south of here.’

‘I know it. It is the river which provides the boundary between your people and the Uí Liatháin,’ Fidelma said.

‘You are right, lady. Eolann tied up his craft and waited awhile before setting off again upriver. He did not wish to be observed following. When he did set off, he had not far to go. He soon found the vessel tied up and deserted. Eolann came back and reported it to me and I came here to ask the abbot’s advice. We must do something about the thieves.’