Fidelma slowly rose to her feet. ‘Very well. We must ask you to remain in the custody of Airmid until matters are sorted out. Is there anything that you want us to do in the meantime? You mentioned that you are concerned about your mother, Étromma. Do you want me to call upon her to reassure her of your welfare?’
Ciarnat hesitated a moment and then replied: ‘If you ask for the aistreóir, the doorkeeper, at the Abbey of Nechta. He also acts as uaithne.’
Seeing Eadulf’s puzzled expression, Fidelma explained: ‘Under the law of the Crith Gabhlach, an uaithne is legal officer appointed by the community whose task is to ensure the well-being of the poor and elderly.’
‘In this case that office is held by the doorkeeper of the abbey?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Yes. His name is Brother Éladach,’ confirmed the girl.
Fidelma was now growing used to surprises. ‘Brother Éladach just happens to be the uncle of Brother Máel Anfaid,’ she pointed out.
‘He is,’ confirmed Ciarnat without guile.
‘Very well,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘We will inform him and hope you will not be kept long from the care of your mother nor to the return to your duties in the prince’s household.’
Enda opened the door and followed Fidelma and Eadulf back out into the sweet scent of the herbal garden. There was no sign of Airmid as they walked through it and into the main courtyard of the fortress. Fidelma was taking them to the guest-hostel where Abbot Ségdae had met his death.
‘I presume we are going in search of Brother Máel Anfaid,’ Eadulf hazarded after a few moments.
‘Your presumption is correct,’ she said.
As they approached the door, it opened and Prior Cuán came out, followed by Brother Cuineáin. They halted at the approach of Fidelma and her companions.
‘We were looking for Brother Máel Anfaid,’ Fidelma explained after polite greetings were exchanged.
‘He is gone on some errand into the town, I believe,’ offered the prior.
‘To the abbey?’ queried Fidelma.
‘Possibly. I am not sure.’
She turned to Brother Cuineáin. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you a question. I believe you were in attendance on Prince Donennach when Gormán warned him about the fact that Gláed of Sliabh Luachra was free again and making threats?’
The steward of Mungairit said, ‘Yes, I was. Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered how Prince Donennach responded to the warning. Was he dismissive, or did he take it seriously?’
‘How else would a responsible leader act?’ the man replied testily. ‘He gave orders for his guards to be alerted and sent for the warlord, Conrí.’
‘There was no doubt in anyone’s minds that Prince Donennach was seriously concerned on hearing this news?’
‘No doubt at all. Now, if you will excuse me, I am due to meet with Abbot Nannid and Brehon Faolchair. There is still much work to be done.’ The steward turned and hurried away towards the great hall.
A moment later, Fidelma and her companions continued to make their way through the main gate and towards the township.
Brother Éladach turned out to be an elderly, pleasant-featured man, with a permanent smile on his jolly face.
‘No, lady, I have neither seen my nephew this morning nor Brother Mac Raith,’ he replied after Fidelma had introduced herself and put her question. ‘The meetings between the brethren of Imleach and Abbot Nannid have been delayed by the terrible events in the fortress,’ he added unnecessarily.
‘I understand that you are also the uaithne, appointed to look after the elderly folk of this township?’
‘That is so, lady. I have enjoyed that post for the last five years.’
Fidelma then told him of Ciarnat’s concerns about her mother.
‘I regularly call on Étromma – I have known her for many years. I expect Airmid will do so too as she often comes by here.’
‘Why does she visit here?’ Eadulf intervened.
‘Since Abbot Nannid has been here, he has suffered an ague from time to time, a shivering fever. Or so I’m told. It seems to come and go. The lady Airmid is a physician and so visits the abbot when needed.’
‘I would not think Abbot Nannid was one who was prone to fevers,’ Eadulf remarked dryly.
‘An Mháigh is called the River of the Plains, brother. Mudflats, marshlands, with much water around. At this time of year the area produces a preponderance of cuili conda – insects and midges whose bite can produce fevers.’
Eadulf grimaced in sympathy. Having once studied the healing arts, he continually carried in his lés, or medical bag, a jar of ointments combining honey and apple-cider which, when applied to the midges’ bites, was at least a solace and eased the irritation.
‘I have no knowledge of Airmid’s intentions,’ Fidelma was saying, ‘but Ciarnat was concerned that her mother would be worried and mentioned that you might consent to visit her.’
‘Tell her to have no fear, lady,’ Brother Éladach said kindly. ‘I shall see to Étromma. She worked hard in the prince’s household during her life, as does her daughter after her. She had two sons who were killed at Cnoc Áine when your brother’s army defeated Prince Eóganán, and that deprived her of sons to attend her. So she relies on Ciarnat quite a lot.’
Fidelma felt a curious pang of guilt as she considered this news. However, Eóganán had been leading an insurrection against her brother and many good folk on both sides died during the battle. Indeed, Eadulf himself had been captured by one of the Uí Fidgente’s supporters at the time and nearly suffered death. She decided to change the subject quickly.
‘I have already spoken to Brother Mac Raith, who tells me that he is also a relative of yours.’
‘A distant relative,’ the doorkeeper agreed. ‘When he and my nephew decided to enter the religious I tried to persuade them to join us. We were then a small open community. We had freedom. However, they decided to go to Imleach for training. The facilities to learn the art of calligraphy and illumination is renowned there. Mac Raith succeeded in achieving excellence and is now chief illustrator and scribe.’
‘I was told you were unhappy that this community had adopted the Penitentials as rules.’
Brother Éladach looked askance and gave a quick glance around as if to check that no one had overheard.
‘Why should I be unhappy at that?’ he parried.
Fidelma looked hard at the man. ‘I thought that you were also unhappy that the laws of our people were being ignored by these new church laws?’
Brother Éladach cast a second worried look around him. ‘They are the laws of God which supersede the laws of man,’ he intoned in a carrying voice. He then lowered his head so that she could not peer into his eyes and murmured, ‘It is not wise to speak of these things.’
‘I presume it is not wise while Abbot Nannid stays with you?’ She also lowered her tone.
‘It was only in the month of Dubh Luacran, the moon of the dark days, that Abbot Nannid came from Mungairit and ordered us to construct the wooden walls that surround our community. Since then we must not speak our minds.’ His voice now was barely a whisper.
Fidelma glanced meaningfully to Eadulf. ‘When we were here last, this abbey did not exist. It was a small religious community that was just part of the township. There were no walls.’
Brother Éladach swallowed, hesitated – and then seemed to make up his mind.
‘This is so. The holy lady Nechta had started to preach the New Faith under the shade of the old sacred oak in this township a hundred or more years ago. The early members of the community erected our wooden chapel close by that oak. Those who felt devoted to the Faith built their dwellings around it, each living in their separate houses, individually sustaining themselves but devoting time to the teachings of their spiritual mother, Nechta.’
‘When Nechta died, she must have appointed someone to follow her as leader of the community,’ Eadulf said.
‘In accordance wit
h our laws, it was the community who was her derbhfine, her kinfolk, who would gather and elect the best among them to preach the word of the New Faith to the community. That continued until the dark days, nearly seven months ago, when Abbot Nannid arrived.’
‘Are you saying that he has been here nearly seven whole months?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Yes. Abbot Nannid came here and declared that it was wrong that we had no barrier between our homesteads and the people of the township. While we pointed out that we were the people of the township, he ordered that whosoever felt true to the New Faith must enclose themselves behind walls and become a cenobium.’
Enda, who had been a silent listener, was puzzled. ‘Become a what?’
‘It means a religious order regulated by rules,’ Fidelma explained. ‘A few centuries ago, a community of those believing in Christ was established in the deserts of Egypt by a teacher of the religion called Pachomius. That became the model for a cenobium.’
‘That’s correct,’ Brother Éladach agreed. ‘And Abbot Nannid said we should be a cenobium, a religious order regulated by these new religious rules – the Penitentials, as they are called.’
‘Are you saying that he gave you no option?’ Fidelma was astounded.
Brother Éladach shrugged. ‘Abbot Nannid of Mungairit is a powerful man and the Chief Abbot and Bishop in the land of the Uí Fidgente. He not only ordered our workers in wood – I was a carpenter – to construct the walls, but told those of the township that it was their duty to help us if they believed in the New Faith. Within two months the walls, as you see, were built to surround our community and separate us from the people.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Let me be perfectly clear on this, Brother Éladach. Are you saying that Abbot Nannid and Brother Cuineáin came here seven months ago and ordered you to construct a walled community, a cenobium, and they have remained here ever since?’
‘Exactly so.’
‘Then Abbot Nannid and his steward did not come here recently just for the council with Abbot Ségdae of Imleach?’
‘He had been settled here for many months before he suggested the council,’ agreed the aistreóir.
‘And you are also telling us that Abbot Nannid has more or less taken over as abbot of your community?’ Eadulf pressed.
‘I suppose he has. As I said, we did not have an abbot leading our community before. Nannid told me that I should regard myself as doorkeeper of the community and no one should be allowed in or out of the cenobium without his permission or without authority. In previous days, the townsfolk could move freely among us, and us among them. We were indivisible with the townsfolk. They even came to our little gatherings at the chapel and under the oak.’
‘Is it not strange that the abbot of such a large community as Mungairit, which is renowned for its scholars, suddenly comes to your community, deserting his own community, and chooses to stay for such a long while, exerting his authority over you?’ mused Fidelma.
‘He is chief over all the monasteries,’ sighed the doorkeeper. ‘I suppose he can stay where he wants.’
‘He is abbot of one of the great teaching centres of the Five Kingdoms. Does it not make you curious? Is there any communication between here and Mungairit?’
Brother Éladach shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I am not aware of any messengers that he sends. I know he raised gold and silver from us to send there. I hope you will not tell him that this conversation took place?’
Fidelma saw the pleading look in his eyes. ‘Of course. We merely came in search of your nephew,’ she said. ‘Is there any other place where he might go, outside of the fortress or this community?’
‘Well, he often takes a stroll by the river, along where the trading boats are moored and some of the merchants conduct business.’
‘We will look there. But should you see him before we do, kindly tell him that we are looking for him.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Brother Éladach queried anxiously.
‘No. I just need to ask him a question or two,’ she reassured him before she turned to leave.
With Eadulf and Enda, she strolled across the market square in the direction of the wooden quays. There seemed to be a lot of people moving among the boats tied up alongside, and the stalls. Women as well as men were making purchases from traders who were landing goods along the quays. Their cargoes mainly consisted of foodstuffs – sacks of grain, vegetables, fish and meat. However, there were other goods such as metalwork and pottery, although the visitors had already noticed that the township had its fair share of smiths and potters. There were a few places where one could buy food and drink, which apparently served the traders while they conducted business. These were hardly more than shacks and certainly nothing like the inns where people might stay the night.
Fidelma seemed deep in thought but Eadulf could no longer contain himself.
‘I was wondering whether our trust in Ciarnat’s word might be misplaced.’
Fidelma glanced at him. ‘Do you think I have been trusting her completely, then?’ she asked.
Eadulf pulled a face. ‘I had. But the fact that two of her brothers died at Cnoc Áine might put a different complexion on matters.’
‘In what way?’
‘She might not be as supportive of the Eóghanacht as she pretends to be. Her brothers were killed by your brother’s warriors. Now she has to support her elderly mother in their place.’
‘Cnoc Áine happened several years ago and Eóganán’s successor, Prince Donennach, has made peace with my brother.’
‘Nevertheless, everyone except Ciarnat claims that Gormán’s warning was taken seriously. If she was wrong about that, or if she lied deliberately, what else has she told us that might be wrong?’
‘She says she was told this by Brother Máel Anfaid. Now we must find him and hear what he has to say.’
They moved on along the quays. They saw a few religious and questioned them but with negative results. There was no sign of Brother Máel Anfaid. One man, an ale-seller at one of the shacks, volunteered that he had seen the religieux from Imleach pass by some time earlier. He knew the brother by sight for he had often paused for a mug of ale on previous days. But there was certainly no sign of him along the riverbank now.
A sudden cry from behind made them turn. It was Conrí, on horseback. He came trotting up. There was an unreadable expression on his features.
‘Lady,’ he called down without dismounting, ‘you must all come back to the fortress at once.’
‘What is wrong?’ Fidelma was alerted by the unusual note in his voice.
‘It’s Ciarnat, lady. She has been found hanged.’
CHAPTER TEN
Conrí, once dismounted, led them across the courtyard of the fortress, towards Airmid’s herb garden and apothecary. They had barely entered the gate into the garden when Airmid emerged to meet them. Her attitude was one of anger and aggression.
‘What did you say to her?’ she almost shouted at Fidelma. ‘What did you say that made that young girl take her own life?’
Fidelma halted, shocked at the verbal assault. The accusation that she had caused the death of Ciarnat stunned her for the moment.
‘Nothing was said that threatened her – in fact, the very opposite,’ Eadulf intervened, coming to Fidelma’s defence. ‘She was only depressed by her incarceration but we promised her that it wouldn’t be long until we showed that she had not been involved in the escape of Gormán.’
Brehon Faolchair had now emerged from the living quarters behind the apothecary and apparently had overheard the exchange. He was shaking his head sadly.
‘It is true, Airmid. I spoke to Ciarnat after Fidelma left. I was passing your apothecary and saw Fidelma and her companions leaving. Ciarnat came to the gate and we had a conversation. She did not seem troubled, nor was she unduly depressed.’
Fidelma turned to the Brehon inquisitively. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘She was asking how long she would be confined here in the hou
se of Airmid. I told her that, in spite of Abbot Nannid, it would not be for much longer. She also asked if I had seen Brother Máel Anfaid. I wondered why she should be looking for him. She did not tell me … but it was the third question which I found most curious. She asked me the same question that you were asking this morning: had Prince Donennach taken Gormán’s warning about Gláed to heart?’
‘How did you respond?’
‘I told her, as I told you that the matter had caused the prince grave concern. When she heard that, she seemed puzzled.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing of consequence. She merely thanked me and passed back into Airmid’s house. Meanwhile I went on to the laochtech. I wanted to see if there was anything I could find out relating to the release of the guard.’
Airmid had calmed down somewhat but she was still reluctant to accept that nothing had been said to upset the girl. ‘Whatever made her hang herself must have happened soon after she saw Fidelma,’ she observed suspiciously.
‘Tell me the sequence of the events,’ pressed Fidelma. ‘When was she found? Who discovered her?’
Airmid gathered her thoughts before answering. ‘I was working in the apothecary when my dog started to bark from the house. I waited a while, thinking that Ciarnat would deal with it, but the noise went on. So I finally left my work and went to the house, intending to chide the girl for not attending to the dog. It was I who found her. She was hanging from a roof beam with the dog at her feet, gazing up and howling.’ She paused and sniffed loudly. ‘I was not strong enough to take down the body. I rushed out and spotted Conrí and one of his men passing and called out to them. They came in and …’
Fidelma turned to Conrí. ‘Better you should tell me what you saw.’
‘I was with Socht,’ he nodded to the warrior standing behind Brehon Faolchair. ‘We accompanied the lady Airmid into the house and saw the girl just as she described. While Socht supported the body I stood on a chair and cut the rope. The poor lass had choked to death. I sent Socht immediately for Brehon Faolchair but, knowing your involvement in this, I came straightway to find you.’
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 16
