‘Before he came to the abbey,’ the hosteller went on, ‘Abbot Iarnla was strong and independent. Then Brother Lugna came with his strange ideas. Whenever anyone questions them, he says this is done in Rome or that is the rule of Rome. We cannot argue when we are also told that Rome is the centre of the Faith and where the Holy Father dwells. Brother Lugna persuaded sufficient numbers of the brethren to support him in becoming the steward of the community. It was afterwards that things began to change.’
‘And these changes are not liked?’
‘The changes have upset many of us and, I have to be honest, lady, it has been sad to see how he is usurping Abbot Iarnla’s position. The abbot seems unable to stand against him. We feel that it is Brother Lugna who is in control and not the abbot.’
‘Do you know why that should be?’ asked Eadulf.
‘It is as if Brother Lugna has some power over him,’ replied Brother Máel Eoin. ‘What it is, I do not know. But I felt I must
warn you to be careful, lady. Be very careful.’ The hosteller turned and left them.
After a few moments, they rapped sharply on Abbot Iarnla’s door and entered.
Abbot Iarnla was seated in his usual chair, while Brother Lugna was standing to one side and a little behind him.
‘What was the meaning of your exchange in the
refectorium
, Fidelma?’ the abbot demanded at once. ‘I have no understanding of it.’
‘I think your
rechtaire
understands,’ replied Fidelma coolly.
Brother Lugna scowled, shifted his weight but said nothing.
Abbot Iarnla looked up at him with a trace of his old assertive self.
‘Well, Brother Lugna, will you explain?’
When the steward remained silent, Fidelma said, ‘Brother Lugna was kind enough to inform me, when we arrived here, that he did not favour my coming. He believed that this investigation should be an internal matter.’
‘I did not hide my view,’ Brother Lugna said sullenly.
‘You did not,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But when the abbot overruled your objections and insisted I came here, that should have been an end to the matter, should it not?’
Abbot Iarnla appeared troubled again. ‘Of course that was an end to it. You have complete authority to make your investigation.’
‘Yet I do not think Brother Lugna shares that view.’ Fidelma was looking straight at the steward.
‘Explain,’ demanded the abbot.
Brother Lugna’s mouth was a tight, thin line.
‘What Brother Lugna is going to explain,’ went on Fidelma, ‘is why he went round to those I wanted to question and told them not to cooperate with me. He told them to answer questions as sparsely laden with facts as possible.’
Brother Lugna’s jaw rose aggressively. ‘I suppose the simpleton has been telling you a story,’ he sneered.
‘If you refer to Brother Gáeth, it was certainly not he who revealed this to me. And we find that he is no simpleton. I shall not tell you who it was who told me but be assured it was not Brother Gáeth. I shall not be happy if I hear some punishment falls on him because of such a suspicion.’ There was no belligerence in her quiet voice. She made a statement of fact.
Abbot Iarnla looked scandalised. ‘Of course nothing will happen to Brother Gáeth.’ Then he paused, again uncertain and nervous. He turned to his steward. ‘Are you admitting that what Fidelma says is correct, Brother Lugna? Did you tell members of our brethren not to cooperate with her?’
When the steward hesitated, Fidelma went on, ‘I thought the manner in which the physician responded to my questioning was extraordinary. A physician trying to avoid questioning by a
dálaigh
of the courts is unprecedented in my experience. I soon found out that he had been told to behave in that manner.’
‘But why, Brother Lugna, why?’ demanded the abbot.
The steward shrugged. ‘My views have not altered since you rejected my advice, Abbot Iarnla,’ he said defiantly. ‘This abbey has no need of outsiders poking their noses into the affairs of the community.’
‘This abbey is not independent of the kingdom,’ Eadulf observed. ‘It has to conform to the laws of the kingdom.’
‘What would you know of this, Saxon?’ The steward’s voice was taunting.
‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is my husband and stands foremost among those whose advice is sought by my brother, the King,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘And he advises correctly. This abbey is not above obedience to the law.’
‘Many abbeys adopt the Penitentials and claim a right to their own rules,’ replied Brother Lugna.
‘The Penitentials again?’ snapped Eadulf. ‘They do not run in this abbey.’
‘There should be no husbands and wives among the religious, ’ retorted the steward.
‘But there are. There is no rule of celibacy in the Faith, even in Rome.’
‘Not yet.’
‘And it is to be hoped there never will be, for that would be to reject our human condition created by God,’ Eadulf returned angrily. ‘And isn’t that an insult to God’s creation rather than a happy acceptance of it?’
Fidelma suddenly smiled and laid a hand on Eadulf’s arm. ‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But we are not talking about how we interpret the Faith. We are talking of the law, of which I am a representative. There is a set list of fines for those who try to conceal evidence from a
dálaigh
in a case of murder, Brother Lugna.’ Fidelma turned to address the abbot. ‘Perhaps Brother Lugna did not realise that a person who conceals or gives false evidence, or persuades others to do so, according to the
Din Techtugad
text, loses their honour price. Of course, if Brother Lugna can convince a Brehon that he acted in ignorance, the fines will be halved and he may keep half his honour price.’
Brother Lugna’s mouth was a thin line again, his eyes staring maliciously at her. He said nothing.
Abbot Iarnla spread his hands helplessly. ‘I am sure that if Brother Lugna did do what you accuse him of, he must have acted without appreciating the law of the kingdom.’ The abbot’s voice was almost pleading.
‘I am sure he did,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘No one would be so stupid as to put his honour price in jeopardy. The fact that he went against your ruling as abbot is a matter for your internal discipline. I will accept that it was his adherence to his
belief that made him think he was above the law and your decisions as abbot. So we will leave it with a simple reminder of the law. But now we would be grateful to Brother Lugna if he would accompany Brother Eadulf and me across the quadrangle to the guesthouse.’
Brother Lugna moved forward unwillingly. Then frowned. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ Fidelma said softly, ‘a
dálaigh
has requested you to do so.’
They left the abbot gazing in dismay after them.
The waxing moon was now bright and they had no need of lanterns to cross the stone flags.
‘He is a sweet old man,’ Fidelma remarked as they reached the fountain in the centre of the quadrangle where she suddenly halted. ‘I do not want him to be troubled unduly over this matter of Brother Donnchad’s death. In order to spare him, I am sure you will cooperate with me now that my position here is clear.’
Brother Lugna breathed out slowly as if in resignation.
‘The sooner this matter is resolved, the better,’ he replied.
‘Then a few questions. How did you come to choose Glassán as your master builder?’
Whatever questions Brother Lugna was expecting, it did not appear to be that one. There was a momentary stiffening of his shoulders. He had his back to the moon and it cast too many shadows for them to make out his expression.
‘He was a master builder in my own land, in Connachta,’ he replied firmly.
‘Oh? I thought he was from the Kingdom of Laighin?’
There was an awkward silence.
‘What is it you want, Fidelma of Cashel?’ Brother Lugna asked sharply. It was the first time he had acknowledged her rank.
‘I?’ Fidelma sounded surprised. ‘I want nothing more than to fulfil the task that my brother, the King, asked me to fulfil.’
‘I will not stop you,’ replied Brother Lugna ungraciously.
‘But, hopefully, you will also help me and advise others to do so? Simply not stopping someone do something is not the same as helping them do it.’
‘As I have said,’ repeated the steward, ‘the sooner this is over, the better.’
‘Then I think we have an understanding.’ She paused. ‘There was once a learned man, centuries ago, in another country, who had convinced opinions and felt that no one should disagree with those opinions. When his superior disagreed, he tried to overthrow his superior and set himself up in his stead. But his superior spoke for the vast majority of people. The man himself was eventually overthrown instead of his superior. His opinions were denounced as not conforming to what everyone else agreed. They were considered heretical and punishments were drawn up for anyone who followed the man and tried to force his opinions on others.’
Brother Lugna seemed to be watching her in the semi-light like a hunter watching his prey.
Eadulf found he was barely able to repress a shudder, a cold feeling ran along his spine in the darkness as he sensed the malignancy in the man.
‘I acknowledge my mistake in opposing your investigation, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the steward said in a begrudging tone. ‘You will have my support.’ Then he added, ‘There can be many paths to the same belief and each are entitled to their own path.’
‘That is precisely my point,’ agreed Fidelma vigorously. ‘We should be tolerant of one another; conformity of opinion, by its very nature, cannot be enforced.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Brother Lugna’s voice was almost sullen.
‘Do we have an agreement?’
‘We do.’ With that the steward turned and left them standing in the middle of the quadrangle.
‘I don’t trust him,’ muttered Eadulf as they walked to the guesthouse. ‘When he says the sooner the investigation is over, he really means that the sooner we leave the abbey, the better for him.’
‘At least we have made a little progress today,’ Fidelma said. She turned at the door of her chamber and wished Eadulf a good night.
Eadulf could not sleep. His mind kept thinking about the last few weeks; of the arguments he had had with Fidelma and the cause of them. What was it that Aeneas said about leaving Dido, the Queen of Carthage?
Varium et mutabile semper femina
. Was that it? Woman is ever fickle and changeable. But Fidelma was not really capricious, it was just that she had a low tolerance of faults in others. She had a low tolerance of her own faults, too. He knew that, she had allowed him close enough to know it, still her sharp criticism frustrated and angered him.
She had been right to demand to know what he wanted. It was true that he wanted to be with her and their son Alchú, but did he really want to force them to go into some religious community and settle down? Did he really think that this meant security, a means of avoiding the complexities of the world? Or was it merely a means of trying to exert his individuality? As a youth he had met the missionary called Fursa in his village of Seaxmund’s Ham, who had persuaded him to journey across the sea to the land of Éireann. He had studied in the great teaching abbey of Tuaim Brecain, a celebrated medical school of the religious, founded by Bricin. There were two other colleges in the abbey, one of poetry and one of law.
Eadulf had arrived there many years after its founder Bricin
had died. Cennfaeladh ran the school. As a youthful warrior Cennfaeladh had fought in a battle at Magh Rath and received a dangerous wound in the head. He had been taken to Bricin’s medical school where his skull had to be trepanned. It was an ancient surgical procedure that had long been practised among the Gauls as well as the Britons and people of the Five Kingdoms. As soon as he recovered, Cennfaeladh had devoted himself to studies there and eventually became head of the school.
It was Cennfaeladh who had taught Eadulf the language of the country. Then he urged Eadulf to go and study in Rome. While he was in Rome, he had been chosen to attend the great Council in St Hilda’s abbey at Streonshalh in Northumbria. Had he not been at that Council he would not have met Fidelma. Since then, he had been back to Rome, travelled extensively among the Five Kingdoms of Éireann and been to the Kingdom of Dyfed, to Burgundia, Frankia, Gaul and Bro-Waroch.
Surely he could not be accused of hiding from the world and its complexities. Maybe it was just that he was tired. Tired of the rigours of travel. And now, here he was in another strange abbey. He had been here once before but only briefly. There had been no new buildings then. New buildings …
Eadulf suddenly sat upright. That was what was worrying him. The ladder and the young boy – what was his name? Gúasach. Fidelma had not pursued the idea of the ladder and boy being the means of gaining access to Brother Donnchad’s locked cell. Yet it seemed the obvious answer. The ladder had been easily accessible on the building site. Young boys had been known to kill people before. Didn’t Fidelma always say that the obvious answer, even if unpalatable, was often the right one?