Peter Tremayne - Badger's Moon

The tanist Accobrán, who had sat quietly for a long time, rose with a positive smile. ‘Well said, Brother Saxon. That sounds an excellent idea. Do you object to this, Brocc?’

The millwright’s brother hesitated and kicked at the ground.

‘Whatever way gets to the truth,’ he growled in annoyance.

Fidelma looked relieved.

‘It is only the truth that we are all wanting to find, Brocc,’ she said quietly but firmly.

The abbey dedicated to the Blessed Finnbarr, nestling in the shelter of the tall hill about which they had heard so much, was not large. A wooden wall or palisade surrounded several buildings dominated by a large wooden chapel. The gates were shut and two stern-looking Brothers stood sentinel at a watchtower. Only when Accobrán was recognised did one of them shout down and the gates swung inwards.

A young, anxious-looking religious, a thin, wiry individual with fair hair and features, came out to greet them. He saw Brocc and immediately scowled at the millwright’s brother. Brocc stood slightly behind the tanist as if seeking shelter. The young man’s glance encompassed them all and then he addressed himself to the tanist.

‘ Deus tecum , Accobrán. What brings you here — and in the company of that man?’ He indicated Brocc.

‘God be with you, Brother Solam. I bring the dálaigh from Cashel,’ Accobrán said. ‘This is Fidelma of Cashel and her companion, Brother Eadulf.’

The young man turned to Fidelma and Eadulf and smiled shyly in greeting. ‘Fidelma of Cashel?’ He almost stuttered in his nervousness.

‘This is Brother Solam, the steward of the abbey, lady,’ Accobrán announced.

The young man was bowing nervously to Fidelma. ‘Fidelma of Cashel.’ His voice was breathless. ‘Who has not heard of you?’

Fidelma looked positively embarrassed at the young man’s obsequiousness.

‘I should imagine that a great many people have not,’ she assured him with a serious expression, although something sparkled in her eyes. ‘We have come to see Abbot Brogán.’

‘I will inform him of your presence directly, lady. Please enter.’ Brother Solam hesitated a moment and glanced suspiciously towards Brocc and then at Accobrán. ‘Who will be responsible for the good behaviour of that man?’

‘I will,’ said the young tanist, shifting his hand ostentatiously to the hilt of his sword. ‘The brethren need have no fear of him while I am here.’

They followed Brother Solam into the courtyard beyond the gates as they swung shut behind them.

‘Please wait here a moment, and I will inform the abbot,’ Brother Solam instructed them.

‘Only Brother Eadulf and I want to see the abbot initially,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Accobrán and Brocc can wait here.’

‘It is warm at the smith’s forge,’ the Brother volunteered, indicating across the courtyard, where there was a seat and some shelter.

‘Good enough,’ agreed Accobrán. ‘Let me know when you require our presence, lady.’

Brother Solam frowned slightly, not understanding. Fidelma did not enlighten him of the proposal that she had discussed with Accobrán on their way to the abbey, and in a moment he hurried away.

A few minutes later, he was showing them into the presence of Abbot Brogán.

The abbot was still a handsome man in spite of his age and he welcomed them with a grave smile and courtesy.

‘This is an honour, Sister Fidelma. I have heard much of your work. I am told that even in Tara your name is known.’

‘I have done some small service for the High King,’ Fidelma acknowledged, as the abbot then extended his hand to Eadulf.

‘Welcome also, Brother. Forgive me, I find difficulty pronouncing Saxon names. They seem so difficult. Yet I have heard of you. You were at the great Council of Whitby, I believe?’

‘You have been well informed, abbot,’ said Eadulf.

‘Well, I am pleased that you have both accepted Becc’s invitation to come to Rath Raithlen. There is much evil in this place and panic has seized our people so that they forget all sense of proportion and shame and even attack us, the religious.’

‘Brother Solam has probably told you that we have brought Brocc, the millwright’s brother, with us?’

The abbot inclined his head gravely. ‘Indeed. And he has told me that the tanist Accobrán attends him with his sword, so we are not alarmed.’ He waved them to seats and asked Brother Solam to fetch wine or mead in accordance to their preference.

‘I am told that the abbey shelters three strangers, and that it is fear of these strangers that cause the people to attack you,’ began Fidelma.

‘Alas, people always fear the unknown, and hate is born out of that fear,’ said Abbot Brogán, after a pause to allow Brother Solam to distribute the beverages.

‘We would agree,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Our task in coming here today is simply to assure ourselves that there is no other cause for the three visitors now under this roof to be suspected of involvement in the three deaths.’

Abbot Brogán stared at her for a moment in surprise. ‘Then you would have me send for the strangers to question them?’

‘That would be for the best,’ Fidelma said softly.

The abbot turned to his steward and gave orders for the strangers to be sought out and asked to attend him.

‘How long have you known these men?’ Eadulf asked.

‘They came here two months ago,’ the abbot responded. ‘I am not sure that I can say that I know any of them. They arrived here from Molaga’s house on the coast. They had been saved from a shipwreck, recovered and expressed a wish to study here. We have a library which some are envious of.’ He smiled when he saw Fidelma look surprised. ‘It is true that we are a poor community. No more than twenty of us at this house. But we have saved many wand-books and manuscripts which is our wealth and our claim to respect among the larger houses.’

‘So these visitors are strangers from beyond the seas?’

Abbot Brogán smiled broadly. ‘That you will see for yourselves.’

Just then Brother Solam entered again and stood aside, holding the door open.

‘The three guests are here, lord abbot,’ he intoned solemnly.

Three tall men entered the room, dwarfing the rest of the company. They were lean and muscular and wore their simple undyed white woollen robes with elegance, like royal apparel. Each wore an ornate crucifix of silver on a chain which was unlike any Fidelma had seen before, even in Rome. Their faces were strikingly handsome, their eyes watchful, but Fidelma found their expressions unfathomable, as if they had purposely eliminated all emotion from their features. They halted in a line before the abbot and, as if at a hidden signal, all three inclined their heads in deference at precisely the same time with one brief movement. They were physically intimidating but both Fidelma and Eadulf could not hide their momentary surprise at the ebony blackness of their skins against the white and silver of their apparel.

‘You summoned us, lord abbot?’

It was the man in the middle who spoke. He used the language of Éireann, although his tones were heavily accented.

‘I did. This is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to our King Colgú. She is what we call a dálaigh — a judge of our law courts.’

Fidelma was about to intervene to make the interpretation more accurate but realised that the abbot was speaking in very simple terms, doubtless so that the foreigners would understand.

The tall stranger spoke rapidly to his companions and all three turned towards Fidelma. This time each man laid his right hand upon his breast and all three bowed in unison towards her. She felt slightly embarrassed but decided to rise from her seat and reply in kind.