Atonement of Blood (41 page)

‘If I cannot demonstrate my case within an hour of reaching Mungairit, then I will have failed anyway,’ Fidelma assured him.

They arrived at the gates of the abbey as darkness was falling. Lanterns and brand torches were already in evidence, lighting the courtyards and buildings. Unlike their previous visit, the arrival of some sixty horsemen caused excitement among the brethren, many of whom came crowding into the courtyard in a state of curiosity. The steward, Brother Cuineáin, came hurrying out with an expression of anger on his features as the company came to a halt.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, gazing at them all in horror. ‘This is a House of God and you have no right to bring warriors into its sanctuary.’

‘I am Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente,’ called Conrí, still seated on his horse. ‘I act in the name of Prince Donennach.’

Fidelma and Eadulf swung down from their horses and went up to the steward. His eyes looked almost malignant in the flickering light.

‘Ah,’ was all he said; the syllable expressed in a long and slow breath.

‘You will observe, Brother Cuineáin, that this time I am wearing the badge of the Golden Collar?’ Fidelma addressed him quietly.

The steward sniffed in disapproval. ‘I have noticed.’

‘You will also know what this is?’ She continued presenting the official hazel wand of office, the emblem of her authority from the King of Muman.

‘I know it.’

‘Then you know what it symbolises and the recognition that must now be accorded me and my party?’

‘It is so acknowledged,’ the man admitted reluctantly. ‘You are both representative of the law of the Five Kingdoms and of the personal authority of the King of Muman.’

‘That is good. Then you shall conduct me, and those I choose, to the chamber of Abbot Nannid immediately.’

‘But …’ the steward began to protest, throwing out an arm to encompass her warrior companions, ‘are they necessary?’

‘They are here because there is treason in these walls. Now, this is not a request,’ Fidelma expressed herself firmly. ‘Take me to Abbot Nannid. It is an order and you will carry it out
now
.’

The steward’s shoulders sagged a little in defeat.

‘Very well. But the abbot will complain to the High King and Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms.’

‘That is your right,’ replied Fidelma. She turned to her companions. ‘Conrí – your men are to secure the gates of the abbey in case of any attack on us. I do not think there will be, since I believe that the conspirators’ warriors have been sent to ambush Prince Donennach. However, we must be cautious.’

Conrí issued the orders while Fidelma gathered her party, which consisted of Marban, Temnén and the still silent Gláed, escorted by Artgal and Socht, with Eadulf, Gormán and Conrí. Ensuring that Conrí’s men had secured their positions, Fidelma instructed Brother Cuineáin to lead the way to the abbot’s chamber. As they did so, the steward noticed that Temnén was being followed by his hound, Failinis. He immediately began to protest again.

‘You can’t bring that creature into the House of the Lord. It is an affront and a sacrilege!’

Fidelma was in no mood to allow any further protests. ‘Do you then deny Holy Scripture, Brother Cuineáin?’ she snapped. ‘
Nimirum interroga iumenta et docebunt te
. Ask the animals and they will teach you … in God’s hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.’

Eadulf smiled. ‘The words of Job,’ he said, and added, ‘the creature has as much right to be here as you do.’

Brother Cuineáin gave an angry exclamation as they marched through the stone corridors towards the chamber of the abbot.

Abbot Nannid rose from his chair, his outrage obvious, as they crowded into his chamber. Before he could speak, however, Fidelma pre-empted him by holding up her wand of office.

‘Look closely on this, Abbot Nannid. I am here first to speak with the voice of the law and then with the voice of the King of Muman.’

‘You do not speak with the authority of the Church,’ snapped Abbot Nannid. ‘You have no authority within these abbey walls. You have admitted that you are no longer a member of the religious. You come here by the power of the sword – so I refuse to acknowledge your right to be here!’

‘You will find that I also act by the authority of Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach,
comarb
of the Blessed Ailbe and Chief Bishop of this kingdom.’ Eadulf’s voice rang out as he moved forward and, to Fidelma’s surprise, produced a small round, silver object from his leather bag. He laid it on the table before the abbot. ‘I carry the seal of Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, Chief Bishop of Muman. So the authority of the Church
is
upheld. Do you recognise it?’

Brother Cuineáin made one last effort to challenge them. ‘You did not present these authorities before,’ he began. ‘Why—’

It was Conrí who answered this time. ‘You were told that brigands had robbed the lady Fidelma and her companions. Thankfully, my men encountered the thieves and thus we were able to return these symbols of authority.’

The abbot was still staring at the silver seal. Then he looked from Eadulf to Fidelma, and then at those who had crowded into his chamber, sweeping them with a puzzled gaze. He did not even question the presence of Temnén’s large hound, who now sat patiently by the foot of his master.

‘What do you want here?’ he asked Fidelma.

‘To prevent a plot that would provoke civil war among the Uí Fidgente,’ she replied evenly. ‘To stop a war that will cause bloodshed throughout all Muman. To resolve the unlawful bloodshed that has already marred this kingdom, and to identify the culprits.’

The abbot raised his arms a little way then let them fall in a hopeless gesture. ‘I know nothing of such things,’ he said. ‘When you were here last, you claimed it was Brother Lennán who tried to assassinate your brother, the King. But Brother Lennán had been dead these many years. Have you now managed to resurrect him? Do your powers extend that far?’ Somehow the abbot found the courage to be sarcastic.

‘You hold a key to the door of a certain room,’ Fidelma said, ignoring the abbot’s gibes. ‘You will unlock it for me.’

Abbot Nannid shook his head. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

Fidelma turned to Brother Cuineáin. ‘If the abbot has no knowledge of the room of which I speak, I am sure that
you
do. It is the room in which the items are stored that are kept in remembrance of Cnoc Áine.’

The steward started nervously and glanced at the grim-faced abbot.

‘You have acknowledged my authority,’ Fidelma said forcefully. ‘You do not need the abbot’s permission to respond to my request.’

Abbot Nannid leaned back in his chair with a sigh. ‘That room?’ There was a thin smile on his lips. ‘Come, come, lady. There is nothing in that room that needs such suspicion as I see on your face. Brother Cuineáin may unlock it if he will, but I can tell you already what is in there. Some years ago, I authorised Brother Cuineáin to gather some of the sad debris that was left on the battlefield of Cnoc Áine. We have placed it there as a reminder of the evils of war. Isn’t that correct, Brother Cuineáin? It is a shrine.’

‘A shrine it is,’ Brother Cuineáin agreed quickly.

‘I have a mind to see this shrine,’ replied Fidelma. ‘And we will see it now.’

With another quick glance towards the abbot, Brother Cuineáin pointed to a small door to one side of the abbot’s chamber.

‘It is through there,’ he mumbled.

‘Take us inside,’ Fidelma instructed. She paused only to turn to the two Luachra warriors guarding Gláed, saying, ‘Keep him safe here. The others will come with us and that means you as well, Abbot Nannid.’

‘It is unnecessary. I know what it is in the room.’

‘But I do not want you to accuse anyone here of placing something in it that was not there before,’ she warned him.

They moved in a body, led by Brother Cuineáin, through the door – which opened onto a long corridor. Along one side, high windows would have emitted daylight, had it not been well past nightfall. The sounds of horses showed they were either near a courtyard or the stables. Brother Cuineáin asked Marban to light some lanterns to help and then, with Marban and Temnén holding them aloft to light the way, he preceded them along the corridor until he paused before a stout oaken door.

From his leather belt, he took a bunch of keys, selected one with his left hand and thrust it into the lock. It turned easily and he pushed the door open. Marban had set down one of the lamps on a nearby wooden shelf so that the steward could see to open the door.

‘Brother Cuineáin, the lantern please,’ said Fidelma as she moved into the room.

The steward, still holding the keys in his left hand, bent to pick up the lamp in his right but that hand shook so much that Eadulf took the lantern from him.

‘It is a palsy,’ the steward hastily explained. Eadulf glanced at the steward’s wrist without comment.

With Eadulf now holding the lantern above shoulder height, they moved forward into a small storeroom. Conrí and Gormán came behind while the abbot and the others followed.

‘This is a shrine of the weapons used at Cnoc Áine,’ explained the abbot. ‘What else other than the debris of war should be gathered to show its futility?’

‘Except,’ Conrí pointed out, ‘these weapons seem highly polished and well-maintained for a battle fought over four years ago.’

It was true that the pile of swords and other equipment seemed almost new, but Fidelma appeared uninterested by them. She had taken note of several gold torcs placed on a tabletop, but was intent on looking for something special. Then she spotted a pile of shields in a corner and, beckoning Eadulf to bring the light closer, she began to look through them. It was only a short while before she gave a small grunt of satisfaction and picked one out.

‘Very well. I have seen enough,’ she announced.

They returned silently to the abbot’s chamber. Fidelma placed the shield on the table. It was a red shield on which was an emblem of a stag rampant, picked out with semi-precious stones.

‘I shall be glad to return my brother’s shield to him,’ she said coldly.

‘I did not know your brother had lost his shield on the field of battle,’ Abbot Nannid said. ‘I am glad that we have become the means of saving it so that it can be safely returned to him.’

‘Indeed. I am sure he will be grateful for its return and for the restoration of his good name,’ she replied solemnly.

‘His good name?’ queried Brother Cuineáin, running his tongue around his dried lips.

‘Oh yes,’ Fidelma said. ‘There is a story, which I am now able to tell you. All the pieces now fit together.’

‘Is it connected to this plot to overthrow Prince Donennach?’ queried Conrí eagerly.

The abbot exchanged a nervous glance with his steward. Fidelma pretended not to notice. ‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘The plot has been a long time in the hatching. Perhaps it was first conceived on the bloodied slopes of Cnoc Áine, when Eoganán was killed and many of his nobles fled.’

Abbot Nannid was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Are you claiming that there is a plot in my abbey to use those weapons from Cnoc Áine to overthrow Prince Donennach? Why, there are scarce enough weapons to arm a company of warriors!’

‘The arms were not significant,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, all will be explained in good time. I shall tell you a story – and here stand witnesses to various parts of it, if I go wrong.’ She indicated the assembly. ‘Of course, Gláed of the Luachra has preferred to remain silent. I doubt, therefore, he will bother to correct anything I say.’

‘Except to say it is all lies!’ spat the young man, finally speaking.

‘Even to your attack on me and the slaughter of Lachtine the apothecary?’ she replied. ‘Well, no matter. We shall proceed. Oh …’ She turned. ‘Socht, would you bring the stable-master here? I am sure he will not be far away, fretting about how to deal with an extra sixty horses gathered into his abbey.’

Socht was not gone long before he returned with Brother Lugna.

‘Ah, Brother Lugna. I am sorry to bring you here but I need you to witness some things I have to say.’

The man looked around, seemingly puzzled by the company, and gave a quick shrug.

‘You did not want me to make arrangements for the horses, lady?’

‘Not for the moment. I just wanted you to confirm a few things about your old friend, Brother Ledbán, and his son.’

‘Brother Ledbán and Brother Lennán were good men and I will defy anyone who says otherwise,’ asserted the stable-master with spirit.

‘That is fair enough.’ Fidelma paused, collecting herself. ‘I am afraid that I have to start with the Battle of Cnoc Áine. When Eoganán and his standard-bearer were cut down during the battle, Brother Lennán was tending the wounded and dying. In accordance with the rules of war, as the Blessed Colmcille postulated before the Brehons at Druim Ceatt, he was not to be harmed by either side, being a non-combatant. He found the body of Eoganán’s standard-bearer. Next to him lay the
Cathach
of Fiachu, the battle emblem of the Uí Fidgente, which was considered sacred by your people. Its haft had been splintered and, being of gold, the more delicate parts of the metalwork had been broken off. Brother Lennán stooped to pick it up.

‘As he did so, he was attacked and mortally wounded by a warrior who desired the emblem above his honour. Lennán turned and saw the threatening face above him. Even as he did so, the man thrust his sword into him. Lennán recognised him as Lorcán son of Eoganán …’

Brother Lugna winced. ‘My poor misguided brother,’ he muttered sadly. ‘God be merciful to his soul.’

‘Realising what would happen if the sacred battle emblem fell into the wrong hands, Lennán found a horse, and taking it, rode from the field. He was dying. It was a painful ride but he knew that his sister, Liamuin, dwelled only a short distance from the battlefield. She was married to a fisherman on the nearby River Mháigh. Lennán handed the standard to his sister with the instruction to hide it. He then tried to return to the battlefield in order not to give his sister away. His body was found near the battlefield where loss of blood from his wound had overcome him.