‘I swear that man is getting more irascible each passing week,’ muttered Colgú, surprising them by his comment. It was not protocol for a King to criticise his Chief Brehon to others.
‘He is your Chief Brehon,’ Fidelma pointed out gently.
‘Yet not by choice,’ her brother reminded her.
It was true that Aillín had assumed the position by default when Áedo, the elected Chief Brehon of Muman, had been slain protecting King Colgú from an assassin only some months before. Aillín had been his Deputy only by reason of age and experience, and it had been felt, by the Council of Brehons, that he would soon retire and so being appointed Deputy Chief Brehon was a suitable acknowledgement for his service. Then Áedo had been killed. Aillín’s automatic appointment had been accepted in spite of his known prejudices, fastidious attitudes and pedantry. The delays caused by his concentration on unimportant details drove even Colgú to distraction.
The King now turned to Eadulf. ‘Do you have any ideas – about Brother Cerdic’s death, I mean?’
‘Only that I agree with Fidelma’s suggestion of having a further word with Abbess Líoch. It seems the only logical path now. Obviously, there must have been someone here in the palace who knew him well enough to have the motive to kill him.’
‘Why do you say that? Couldn’t a stranger have done this – someone who had a grudge to bear against the man’s race, or way of keeping the Faith? Don’t forget, many of our churchmen and their followers have recently been chased out of the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons after the decision at Streonshalh to follow the ways of Rome . . . Why, even some of the Angles and Saxons have sought liberty to follow their Faith by coming here – for example, Brother Berrihert and his companions who have settled in Eatharlach.’
‘A good point,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘But Brother Cerdic knew his attacker. I don’t think it was random.’
‘What is your reason for saying so?’ queried Colgú.
‘Because Brother Cerdic was not suspicious of his attacker. He allowed whoever it was to come close enough in order to inflict those two mortal wounds. The victim did not suspect what was going to happen. He died without a sound or protest.’
‘That’s a reasonable deduction,’ Fidelma commented.
Colgú suppressed a sigh. ‘Then follow your thoughts by all means. It would be good if we could resolve this matter before Bishop Arwald and his companions arrive. I do not want other distractions clouding whatever is behind the reason of their coming.’
‘We’ll do our best to resolve things. Don’t worry,’ Eadulf replied, rising.
Fidelma rose with Eadulf and moved towards the door. She was opening it when Colgú called after them: ‘
Post equitem sedet atra cura
.’
Outside, Eadulf said: ‘I didn’t catch the meaning of that.’
‘It was from an ode by Horace,’ Fidelma explained with a brief smile. ‘Behind the horseman sits black care.’
‘Even a king is not free from worry,’ Eadulf re-interpreted philosophically. ‘I must confess, there seems much to concern him.’
They collected their horses from the stables, rode across the courtyard and approached the main gates. The commander of the guard, a warrior called Luan, greeted them with a respectful salute.
‘We are just going into the township, Luan,’ Fidelma said. ‘If anyone enquires, we shall not be long.’
‘Where will you be, lady?’
‘We are going to find the lodgings of Abbess Líoch.’
‘But you have just missed her, lady.’
Fidelma exchanged a quick glance of surprise with Eadulf. ‘What do you mean, just missed her?’ she asked.
The warrior shrugged. ‘She and her companion have only just left the palace. Why, you will overtake her on her way back to the township as they are both on foot.’
Fidelma knew Luan had been at the gates when she had arrived after her morning ride with little Alchú. But she had left her friend, Líoch, and the abbess’ companion at the track leading into the township which sprawled on the southern side of the great limestone rock on whose top the palace of her brother rose. She restrained herself from asking Luan if he was sure. He would not have said so, otherwise.
‘When did the abbess arrive?’ she asked.
‘Shortly after you did, lady,’ replied the man. ‘You were talking with friend Eadulf in the courtyard and then you parted. It was just after that they arrived.’
Fidelma said thoughtfully, ‘She must have changed her mind about going into the town and followed us.’
‘But Luan has just said that she and her companion were on foot,’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘Didn’t you say that they were on horseback?’
Fidelma turned back to Luan. ‘You did say that the abbess and her companion arrived on foot?’
‘I did, lady,’ confirmed the warrior.
‘Another mystery,’ Eadulf muttered, almost to himself.
‘But one we can easily resolve,’ replied Fidelma, urging her horse forward through the gates.
They overtook Abbess Líoch and her companion as the women were crossing the market square of the township. They were not on foot but on horseback. As Fidelma called to her friend, the abbess turned her head and then drew rein while her companion followed suit.
‘Líoch!’ greeted Fidelma, as they rode up. ‘We missed you at the palace.’
Eadulf wondered if he had mistaken a nervous exchange of glances between the abbess and her companion, but nothing was said.
‘My brother insists that you accept the hospitality of our guest quarters and will take “no” as a personal insult,’ went on Fidelma pleasantly. Then, before the abbess could respond, Fidelma indicated Eadulf. ‘By the way, this is Eadulf, of whom you have heard me speak. Eadulf, this is Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile.’
Eadulf inclined his head in greeting. ‘I have often heard Fidelma speak of you, Abbess.’
Abbess Líoch returned his greeting with a quick scrutiny but said nothing. Eadulf could see why little Alchú had described her as ‘strange’. She was not much older than Fidelma but with dark eyebrows and deep-set, dark eyes. The features were attractive although plump; the cheeks rosy, the lips full and red without the necessity for highlighting them with berry juice. However, as Fidelma had described her, the abbess was clad in black robes from poll to feet. It was unusual dress for the country, although he had seen similar costumes worn among the elderly in Rome.
‘I am sorry. I have forgotten your name, Sister.’ Fidelma turned brightly to Abbess Líoch’s companion, ignoring the silence which greeted them.
‘This is my
bann-mhaor
,’ the abbess answered for her. ‘Sister Dianaimh.’
The abbess’ companion was, by contrast, dressed in the usual colourful robes affected by the people of the Five Kingdoms. Her fair hair showed in wisps under the
caille
– the hood or veil worn by those who entered the religious – and her features were sharply moulded but otherwise attractive and youthful. She regarded them with suspicion from bright blue eyes.
‘As I said, my brother insists that you stay in our guest quarters, especially during the visit by these foreign clerics. You cannot refuse.’
The abbess seemed to reflect for a moment and then gave a shrug. ‘If it is the King’s order, then it must be obeyed.’
Eadulf noted the reluctance in her voice.
‘We missed you when you came to the abbey,’ Fidelma persisted, a slight inflection in her voice. ‘When I left you, I thought that you were coming straight to the township.’
The abbess cleared her throat. ‘After you left, I realised that I should at least report my presence to Abbot Ségdae, for you told me that he was at the palace.’
‘Of course. The guard mentioned that you came up on foot,’ Fidelma said, with an air of innocence. ‘It is surely tiring to do so when you could have ridden up?’
‘The horses were fatigued.’ There was a sudden edge to the abbess’ tone, which was unexpected. Seeing their expressions, she added less abruptly, ‘We thought to rest them and saw a youth by the track. We asked him to remain with our horses while we climbed up to the palace.’
‘Ah, so you saw the abbot?’ Eadulf asked.
Abbess Líoch shook her head quickly. ‘He was nowhere to be found, and so we returned to get our mounts and look for somewhere to stay in the town.’
‘A wasted journey, then?’ commented Fidelma.
‘Just so,’ replied the abbess dryly.
‘Come,’ Fidelma said, turning her horse back towards the palace. ‘Let us get you settled at our guest quarters. At least we can offer you better food than you might otherwise find in the township.’
After a moment or two, during which Eadulf wondered whether the abbess might refuse, she and her companion also turned their horses. Eadulf also wondered whether Fidelma was going to neglect the purpose of their seeking out of Abbess Líoch until later, but Fidelma suddenly said: ‘My brother and, indeed, Abbot Ségdae, are perplexed about this deputation. You said that the Saxon emissary, Brother Cerdic, came to your abbey and suggested you attend?’
‘I did,’ frowned the abbess.
‘We have no understanding of why this Bishop Arwald should be coming here. Did Brother Cerdic mention the reason for this visit?’
‘Only that they came with some ecclesiastical authority.’
‘Interesting that he stopped at your abbey before he journeyed on to Imleach to see Abbot Ségdae.’
The abbess was keeping her gaze firmly on the track before her, as if concentrating on guiding her horse.
‘He came from Laighin, therefore Cill Náile lies on the road before Imleach,’ she pointed out. ‘It is natural he and Brother Rónán would pass it before they went on to Imleach.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Fidelma lightly. ‘However, why would he have come to you with this request? You gave me the impression earlier this morning that it was a specific request for you to attend.’
Abbess Líoch tutted in annoyance and Fidelma gave her an apologetic smile. ‘You must forgive me, my friend,’ she said soothingly. ‘You know that I am a
dálaigh
, and isn’t it a lawyer’s manner to ask silly questions? Questions are now second nature to me but I have no wish to pry in matters that are not my affair.’
‘I have no wish to give the impression that I resent your questions,’ Abbess Líoch said.
‘So, apart from geography, why would Brother Cerdic call at Cill Náile and ask you specifically to attend this council?’
Abbess Líoch thought for a moment. ‘I can only presume that he had heard that I had lived and worked in the Kingdom of Oswy of Northumbria. Perhaps he thought I could be useful, for I have some knowledge of the tongue of his people.’
‘Indeed. So you had not met Brother Cerdic during your time in Oswy’s Kingdom? I remember that you were in our party when we crossed to I-Shona and came with us on the journey to Streonshalh. As I recall, you did not accompany us to Hilda’s abbey and attend the council. Didn’t you decide to stay and work in a place . . .?’
‘Laestingau,’ supplied the abbess. Her voice was sharp. ‘The Abbey of Laestingau. In answer to your first query, no, I had not met Brother Cerdic before he arrived at Cill Náile. Why do you ask these questions, Fidelma?’
Fidelma turned and looked at her. She said quietly: ‘I do not want to cause you alarm but I must tell you that Brother Cerdic has been found murdered.’
Abbess Líoch pulled on her horse’s reins so roughly that the animal whinnied in protest and its forelegs kicked at the air in front of it before returning to a standstill. Her face was white, and she looked in the direction of Sister Dianaimh, who remained silent although it was clear from her expression that she was troubled.
‘I presume that you did not see Brother Cerdic when you came to the palace to look for Abbot Ségdae?’ Fidelma went on, apparently ignoring their reaction.
‘We did not,’ replied the abbess immediately. ‘Are you saying he has only recently been found?’
‘He was found dead in the chapel,’ Eadulf confirmed. ‘I found him.’
‘And he was murdered, you say?’
‘Stabbed to death,’ confirmed Eadulf, deciding to leave aside the fact that his throat had been cut.
‘That will cast a blight over this visit,’ muttered Abbess Líoch.
‘Whatever this visit is about,’ Fidelma said, adding, ‘I was hoping that you might be able to shed some light on it, as no one else seems able to do so.’
‘I can tell you no more than I have already. All I know is that this deputation is coming to discuss some matters with the King and our Chief Bishop, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach. The rest is beyond my understanding.’
‘I hoped that you might know more. No matter. I presume you saw nothing while you were looking for Abbot Ségdae?’
‘What, for instance?’
‘Perhaps you went near the chapel?’ Fidelma suggested. ‘You might have seen someone nearby; someone entering or leaving?’
‘We saw no one,’ the woman replied firmly.
They had reached the gates of the palace and Luan, still on guard duty, came forward.
‘Get the
echaire
, the stable-master, to take our guests’ horses,’ instructed Fidelma. ‘Then send someone to find Beccan so that he may arrange accommodation for the abbess and her steward.’
A few moments later, Fidelma and Eadulf watched as Beccan conducted the abbess and her companion away towards the guest quarters.
‘Do you believe her?’ Eadulf asked.
Fidelma sighed. ‘It will not help us at this stage to confront her. What should we confront her with, anyway? Something is definitely not right here . . . yet the Líoch I knew was never given to subterfuge. However, I have not seen much of her since she returned from Oswy’s Kingdom and became Abbess of Cill Náile. She appears to have changed considerably. The carefree young girl I knew has gone. She seems so morose! You noted the black mantle she now wears, and her manner of speaking to me as if she is speaking to a stranger?’
‘And was that how she greeted you earlier when she met you and Alchú on the track here?’
‘It was, although I did not set any store by it then.’
‘And now?’
‘There is little we can do until we obtain some more information.’
‘We can question her companion,’ Eadulf suggested. ‘If Abbess Líoch is not forthcoming, perhaps she will be.’