Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

‘Well, that’s that.’ Eadulf turned to Fidelma. ‘There’s nothing else to see here and-’

He winced as Fidelma struck him on the arm. He was about to protest when a dark shadow emerged in the gloom. The figure was not carrying a lantern, relying on the moonlight that lit the graveyard. It approached the freshly filled grave and stood before it.

There came a chuckle from the figure. It was a chilling sound.

‘Well, Glassán, at last. If you can hear me in the Otherworld, go with the memory that we are finally avenged. Those to whom you did wrong may now finally rest …’

They could not see the man’s face. Eadulf moved forward with the intention of seizing him and tripped over a root. He went sprawling. Stunned on the wet ground for a moment, he heard Fidelma call on the figure to halt. By the time he picked himselfup, the figure had disappeared. Fidelma had given up the chase after a few steps and was returning to him.

Eadulf rose mumbling an apology for his clumsiness. ‘Did you see who it was?’

‘I did not,’ she replied, her voice tight with annoyance. ‘I did not even recognise his voice.’ Then she added, ‘Are you hurt?’

Eadulf shook his head and then realised it was a futile gesture in the dark. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. I’m sorry, a root-’

‘I know,’ she said shortly. ‘We will have to find some other means of identifying the killer. Come on, let’s get back to the abbey before the moon disappears behind the clouds. I don’t have a lantern.’

‘At least we know our killer is a man,’ Eadulf said and then realised it was a silly thing to say.

‘Then we have a wide choice of suspects,’ Fidelma said wryly. There was no bitterness in her voice.

A tall shadow emerged from the walls of the abbey. Then a lantern glinted. For a moment they held their breath, only to realise that it was Gormán.

‘Are you all right, lady?’ he asked anxiously, holding the lantern high.

‘We are so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Has anyone just come back into the abbey?’

To her disappointment he replied in the negative.

‘No one has come this way and Brother Echen has just closed the gates for the night. So I thought I would come to meet you and guide you in by another way.’

‘So there are other ways the killer could gain entrance to the abbey?’ queried Eadulf.

‘I will show you.’ Gormán said, setting off along the eastern wall, which formed part of the new stone building where Brother Donnchad and the Venerable Bróen had their chambers. Fidelma recalled that there was a small gap in the wall.

‘Did you suspect the killer would come to the obsequies?’ Eadulf said as they squeezed through the gap.

‘I suspected the killer could not resist attending the funeral of Glassán,’ she admitted.

‘Then you must know who he is, or rather suspect who he is,’ protested Eadulf. ‘Wouldn’t it be best to share that knowledge with me?’

‘I still do not have the final link to put all this together,’ she admitted. ‘That is the frustrating thing. I can guess, but guessing is not proof.’

‘So where do we do we go from here?’

‘I need to have a further word with Lady Eithne. Have the horses ready tomorrow after we break our fast, Gormán. We will ride to her fortress in the morning.’

The clouds were piled high and fluffy against the blue expanse of the sky. Fidelma noticed several swallows flying high above them, their long pointed wings, deeply forked tails and acrobatic flight unmistakable. The signs were that the weather was going to be dry and sunny. In fact, it would be another month before the swallows would begin to flock together and disappear en masse towards the south. With Gormán leading, they left the abbey on horseback and began their journey.

The ride to Lady Eithne’s fortress was a pleasant one. This time, although a few sentinels were still in evidence along the short route, they were not challenged until they reached the gates of An Dún. Even then, they were kept only a few moments before the gates swung open to allow the three of them to enter. Once again, however, it was only Fidelma and Eadulf who were allowed into the great hall to see Lady Eithne.

‘Well, lady,’ greeted the tall woman, standing in front of her chair in the great hall, ‘I was told that you had abandoned the abbey.’

‘Indeed?’ Fidelma was puzzled. ‘Then you were told falsely.’

‘Did you not ride off with Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne to investigate some paltry complaint of his and abandon the investigation of my son’s death?’

‘No complaint is paltry, lady, when it involves death. Speaking of death, I was surprised that you did not attend the abbey last night.’

A look of uncertainty appeared on Lady Eithne’s face. ‘I do not understand.’

‘I speak of the obsequies of your master builder, Glassán.’

Lady Eithne seemed irritated. ‘Glassán? The master builder of the abbey? Why would I attend the funeral of an artisan?’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘I thought Glassán was the creator of the memorial to your son.’

‘Creator? He was merely a workman and, as such, of no interest to me. The true creator is Brother Lugna.’ Her blue eyes were cold.

The woman’s indifference chilled Fidelma.

‘You feel it is not a matter of concern that the master builder has been killed while working on a project that you are financing?’

‘The work of rebuilding the abbey is entirely in the hands of Brother Lugna, as I have explained before,’ Lady Eithne replied distantly. ‘I am not expected to be in communication with the workmen he employed to do it.’

‘Did you know that there have been several accidents on the building site? Eadulf was knocked unconscious when a stone fell on the same site.’

‘I am told that accidents can happen,’ Lady Eithne replied unemotionally. ‘Is this why you came here, to find out why I was not at this workman’s funeral?’

‘We came to clear up a few matters which I believe are related. You told us that the rebuilding of the abbey was meant as a memorial to your son, Donnchad.’

‘I did. It is.’

‘But the rebuilding started three years ago,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Did you not expect Donnchad to return from his pilgrimage when you commissioned Brother Lugna to start the rebuilding?’

Lady Eithne uttered a sound like a hiss. ‘It is a lucky thing you are a guest in my house, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ There was ice in her voice.

‘What Eadulf meant was that you could not have started out with the intention of rebuilding the abbey in honour of your son,’ intervened Fidelma quickly. ‘You will forgive him for his clumsy use of our language.’ She knew that Eadulf spoke the language almost perfectly. But Fidelma shared his curiosity about the timing of the idea of creating the abbey as a memorial to her son.

Lady Eithne appeared slightly mollified. ‘The decision to rebuild the abbey was made before the return of my son,’ she said tightly. ‘That poor Donnchad died merely made me decide to dedicate the rebuilding to his honour.’

‘It is thought among the brethren that the idea for rebuilding came from Brother Lugna,’ Eadulf suggested, unabashed by her previous rebuke.

‘It may well have been,’ she admitted coldly. ‘Brother Lugna is such a clever and far-sighted young man. Needless to say, I am totally in agreement with his ideas.’

‘I am curious as to why you did not negotiate the idea with Abbot Iarnla?’ Fidelma made the sentence into a question.

‘Abbot Iarnla has been a long time at the abbey and he is conservative in his outlook. I have already tried to suggest this to you. He would be happy if all things remained exactly the way they are or, rather, were. He has shown himself jealous of Lugna and his ideas. Indeed, my ideas. I would like to see, before I die, a great complex of buildings rising at Lios Mór as a beacon to the Faith, not just here but throughout Christendom. I am sure that your brother, the King, would approve of such tribute in stone to the Faith in his kingdom. A tribute that will last for all time.’