‘Who,’ declared Fidelma, speaking in a slow, deliberate tone, ‘has the ultimate power here?’
The eyes of all the brethren now focused on the abbot. Abbot Iarnla stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes suddenly widened. An expression of horror crossed his face and he turned to look at Lady Eithne. Everyone followed his gaze.
‘This is a scandalous accusation!’ she declared, immobile in her seat. ‘Am I being accused of killing my own son? I cannot and will not stand for it.’
‘Did you kill your son, Lady Eithne?’ asked Fidelma coldly.
‘I loved my son. Anyway, it would have been physically impossible for me to do what is claimed here. There was only one key to the cell, which was found by my son’s body in the locked cell after I had left him on that final visit when Brother Lugna called me to the abbey.’
‘You had another key made,’ Fidelma asserted flatly.
‘How could I have done that?’
‘Simple. I had overlooked that you made two visits to his cell. Brother Lugna told us about the day.’ She turned to Brehon Aillín. ‘Brother Donnchad disappeared for a day but came back in the evening and locked himself in his chamber. That was four days before his death. Brother Lugna told me that he sent for Lady Eithne the next day and she came and saw him. That
was three days before his death, and later that same day Donnchad went to the
scriptorium
. Brother Máel Eoin remembered that he was upset because he had mislaid his
pólaire
, the wax tablet for making notes. He had not mislaid it, Lady Eithne had taken it during her visit.’
‘Why would I take his notebook?’
‘You pressed the key into it so that the shape of it was made in the wax. Donnchad was too preoccupied to notice your actions, or maybe you distracted him somehow. You took the tablet out concealed in your robes. I saw that you had your own smith at your fortress. It was easy to get him to make a key from the impression. The original key never left the cell. When I handled it later, when Brother Gilla-na-Naomh showed it to me, it was still slippery with wax.’
‘That is true,’ declared Brother Gilla-na-Naomh.
Lady Eithne’s mouth thinned.
‘You returned to see Donnchad on the day of his death. You returned specifically to kill him. After you had killed him, thrown the papers and books through the window to your accomplice, Brother Donnán, you were able to exit his chamber, leaving his key by his body. You locked the door with your newly made key. It was realising that you made two visits that put everything in perspective for me.’
In the brief moment of silence that followed, Brother Lugna cried out, ‘I was not involved in any of this!’
‘In a way, you are the person mainly responsible for this,’ Fidelma replied harshly. ‘Oh, you will not be found guilty of the killing nor of conspiracy to kill, but you were the malign influence over that woman,’ she indicated Lady Eithne. Then she turned back to the Brehon. ‘She had developed a fierce pride in the Faith. That pride increased when she encountered Brother Lugna and she saw in him the means to build up this abbey as a shrine to her sons Donnchad and Cathal. But Cathal
chose to remain in Tarentum as its Bishop. Only Brother Donnchad had returned here. So this was to be his shrine, a beacon for the Faith, as she called it. But, to her horror, her son was having doubts about the very fundamentals of the Faith. He was even researching and writing an essay on the matter. That could not be allowed.’
Fidelma addressed Lady Eithne again. ‘Who could you turn to to stop your son ruining your great plans for the abbey and, by association, your self-aggrandisement? Brother Lugna was actually too pious. I suspect he also thought he was making a shrine for himself. But you knew the
scriptor
was proud of the abbey, proud of the library that he had built up, and proud of its reputation. So you drew him into the plan, the plan to take the documents your son had gathered and to destroy them and any trace of writings that questioned the Faith.’
‘I was not told that she was going to kill Brother Donnchad,’ Brother Donnán suddenly said, loudly and clearly. ‘I would not have agreed to that.’
‘Shut up, you fool!’ cried Lady Eithne.
‘By the time Brother Donnán knew Donnchad had been killed, he was too involved and too frightened to do anything but continue as Lady Eithne’s accomplice.’ Fidelma looked at the librarian. ‘What did you do with the books and papers Lady Eithne threw from the chamber?’
‘As you said, I gathered them up and later took them to Lady Eithne’s fortress.’
‘You met Brother Gáeth along the way and said you were simply taking books from the library to her. But how were you able to alert her about the copy of Celsus’s book at Fhear Maighe just as we were setting off there?’
‘I was on the road outside the abbey, on my way to see Lady Eithne, when I saw Glassán riding off on some errand. He
paused long enough to tell me that Brother Lugna had just seen Cumscrad and was in a rage, for he had learned that the library at Fhear Maighe held the Celsus book. I knew Lady Eithne would be interested.’
‘Interested to send her warriors to Fhear Maighe. So all Brother Donnchad’s papers are now destroyed?’
Brother Donnán shrugged.
‘One thing that Lady Eithne and Brother Donnán did not know,’ Fidelma said to Brehon Aillín, ‘was that her son had already written a brief account of his findings and his thoughts. Oh, not the great reference work that he was planning, citing those writers of centuries ago who presented their criticisms against the new Faith. This was only a short account of his ideas. He included the fact that he had tried to talk to you, Lady Eithne, his own mother, about his doubts. Instead of discussing them, you threatened him if he spoke out. He believed that you would attempt to steal his work and suppress it. He mistakenly believed that your accomplice was Brother Lugna. He even thought Brother Lugna might contemplate physical violence against him. That’s why he asked Abbot Iarnla for a key to his cell.’
There was a deathly silence as Fidelma paused, shaking her head.
‘There were other matters to be considered along the way. When Lady Eithne heard that Abbot Iarnla had sent for me, she sent two of her mercenary warriors to waylay us on the road here. They were to ambush and kill my companions and me. They did not succeed and one of them was killed by Gormán, and the other, a
bánaí
, fled. He was later to die in the attack on Fhear Maighe. It seemed he was the leader of a band of mercenaries from a kingdom called Kernow on the island of Britain. A band of mercenaries that you hired, Lady Eithne. I have since found that your clan, the Déisí, has a small settlement
in that kingdom. The mercenaries were disguised as Uí Liatháin. Then, of course, there was the earlier attack on the barge by warriors dressed as Uí Liatháin. One of these attackers was wounded. And you felt you should send for the physician, Brother Seachlann, to attend to the man’s wound. That was part of your undoing, lady. You have more than once demonstrated to me your complete lack of concern for those you consider beneath your rank. That is why you did not attend the funeral of Glassán.
‘You told Seachlann your warrior was wounded practising with his sword. So it was Brother Seachlann who provided me with an important piece of information. The two knife thrusts that killed Brother Donnchad showed some knowledge of anatomy, in that they were struck in points in the back where death was fairly certain. Brother Seachlann, when examining your warrior, realised you possessed a good knowledge of anatomy. You could have treated the man yourself and not aroused suspicion.’
Colgú was frowning. ‘Why the subterfuge? Why would Lady Eithne have her warriors disguised as Uí Liatháin? To create war between them and the Fir Maige Féne? To spread alarm and dissension?’
‘For an even more sinister purpose,’ replied Fidelma. ‘She knew of the tensions between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin and she knew they were often blamed for many things. Her intention was to create a conflict between them. She had hired an unusual number of mercenary warriors. I believe that she intended to use the ensuing conflict to step in as a peacemaker and claim, as a reward, some of the territories of the two clans to extend her own power around this abbey. Moreover, she needed the extra revenue from the new territories to finance her rebuilding of the abbey.’
Fidelma turned to Brehon Aillín.
‘I have rarely encountered a crime that sickens me so to the depths of my soul. This is the crime of
fingal
, or kin-slaying, which strikes at the very heart of our society, based as it is on kin, on clans and our relationship with one another. Our laws stress that this is the most horrendous crime of all. It is impossible to atone or compensate for such a crime. It is said that the fortress of a leader who has committed the crime can be erased so that all memory of it may be lost. It is a crime of such malevolence that—’
As she was speaking there came the sound of horses clattering through the abbey gates. Lady Eithne rose from her seat and glanced around. Her companions, the three warriors she had brought with her, drew their weapons and defensively closed around her.
The brethren began to move away from her but Brehon Aillín seemed unperturbed. ‘I presume this gesture is an admission of guilt,’ he said.
Colgú had signalled to Gormán and his two companions at the door, who had drawn their swords, as had Caol, standing behind the King.
‘You will have to deal with my warriors before you can walk out of here, Lady Eithne,’ Colgú warned. ‘There is no escape.’
Lady Eithne laughed harshly. ‘I am afraid you have not been very clever, Colgú of Cashel. While you may have a few of your bodyguard with you, they are not enough to challenge my warriors. Fidelma was right. I have increased my war band by hiring some of the best professionals I could find. Do you think I entered here with just these few men without making a plan? I suspected your sister might stumble on the truth.’ She turned to Fidelma. ‘Unfortunately for you, lady, when you came to see me a few days ago, I read the distrust in your eyes. Your companion, Eadulf, almost confessed your suspicions. Forewarned is forearmed. My
warriors now surround this abbey. A moment ago, you heard my advance guard enter.’
Cries of alarm rose from the hall but Colgú remained relaxed in his seat, a curious smile on his face. Brehon Aillín called for quiet. When the hubbub had died away, he said softly, ‘So what do you intend, Lady Eithne of the Déisi? You say you have surrounded this abbey with your hired bands. Now what? You intend to kill me? To kill all the brethren here?’
‘As you leave me with no option,’ Lady Eithne replied evenly. ‘There will be an attack on this abbey by the Uí Liatháin who have long coveted the abbey and these lands.’
‘That is not true,’ cried Uallachán, springing from his seat. ‘I have no hand in this. My warriors will not attack this place.’
‘There will be enough evidence left to identify the attackers as your men,’ replied Lady Eithne icily. ‘Your own body will be found slain at the head of your warriors, bloody sword in hand. In the attack, you will have slain your arch-enemy, Cumscrad. Indeed, even the King and his retinue will not survive.’
Abbot Iarnla was staring at Lady Eithne in horror. ‘You are mad, lady. You intend to wipe out all these brethren, your kin and the others gathered here? You intend to kill the King and his advisers? How do you think you can get away with it?’
‘I am quite serious. Everyone will perish. This abbey will be cleansed of the faint-hearted. Purified, it will rise again under the leadership of its new abbot – Lugna. I appoint him as the new abbot.’ She gestured to Brother Lugna who was sitting in a state of shock, white-faced, as if unable to comprehend what was happening.
It was only then that Fidelma realised that not only was Lady Eithne a fanatic for the Faith, she was completely insane.
‘It will be reported that the Uí Liatháin are the culprits
and they will be punished,’ Lady Eithne said gleefully. ‘And now—’
The door of the
refectorium
swung open and several warriors stood there. The cries of alarm began to rise. Lady Eithne’s malicious smile faded when she saw Colgú grinning broadly. He rose and held up his hands, palm outwards. She swung round and noticed that the warriors at the door all wore the golden torc emblems of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of the King of Cashel.
‘It is done, Colgú,’ called the leading man, his voice booming over the panicking hubbub. Brehon Aillín started calling for calm, telling the brethren that they had nothing to fear. The noise started to subside.
Colgú glanced at Fidelma and he inclined his head before turning to the now bewildered Lady Eithne, whose guards still stood ready to defend her.
‘There was just one problem with your plan, Lady Eithne,’ Colgú said. ‘You were right that my sister suspected you. When she sent for me she had specific instructions. This morning, after you and your escort had left your fortress for this place, a full
catha
, a battalion of my army, moved from the mountains across the river and surrounded your fortress just as your men were getting ready to follow you here.’
The leader of the newly arrived warriors approached the King and spoke urgently in his ear. The King smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, Enda.’ He looked at Lady Eithne. ‘I am pleased to say, lady, that your mercenaries thought the better of fighting and surrendered their arms.’