Fidelma was careful not to personalise things.
Abbess Draigen flushed.
‘I can have no control over your thoughts, sister, or your interpretation of what you see about you.’ She began to turn away and then paused. ‘If you have it in mind to break your fast with Adnár this morning, then it will be a long walk around the shoreline to the headland on which Adnár’s fortress is set. However, you will find a small boat tied to our quay. You may use it, if you will, for it takes ten minutes to row across the inlet from this point.’
Fidelma was about to thank her but the abbess was already walking away.
The abbess was right. It was a short and pleasant crossing in front of the mouth of the small river, emptying into the inlet between the headland on which the abbey had been built and the bald promontory of rock on which the circular stone fortress of Adnár stood. What was it that Ross had called it? The fortress of the cow-goddess - Dun Boí. Fidelma had to admire the foresight of the builders of the fort for the promontory it stood on commanded not only the open gateway to the sea but the entire inlet, which was several miles across. The forests had been cleared from the promontory so that the lookouts’ view across the inlet was totally
unimpeded and from the wooden buildings which rose beyond its grey granite walls, the woods cut down had been put to good use in the construction of the fortress itself.
As Fidelma rowed across the shallow bay which separated the abbey from the fortress, she heard a shout from a dark silhouette on the fortress wall. She gave a half glance over her shoulder and saw another figure running. Her coming had obviously been spotted and the news was being relayed to Adnár.
Indeed, by the time Fidelma worked her small craft alongside the wooden jetty below the fortress, Adnár himself was standing with a couple of his warriors to welcome her ashore. He bent forward, smiling and was courtesy itself as he helped her from the boat.
‘Welcome, sister. The journey was not arduous?’
Fidelma found herself returning his smile.
‘Not arduous at all. It is but a short distance,’ she added, pointing out the obvious.
‘I thought I heard a service bell tolling earlier?’ The comment was put more in the form of a question.
‘Indeed, you did,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘It was the burial service for the corpse that was found.’
Adnár looked startled.
‘Does that mean that you have discovered the identity of the corpse?’
Fidelma shook her head. For an odd moment she wondered whether she had detected a note of anxiety in the chieftain’s voice.
‘The abbess decided that the corpse should be buried without a name. If she had delayed any longer then the matter would have become a danger to the health of the community.’
‘A danger?’ Adnár seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts for a while and then he realised what she meant. ‘Ah, I see. So you have come to no conclusions on the matter as yet?’
‘None.’
Adnár turned and motioned with his hand up the short pathway which led from the jetty to a wooden gate in the grey walls of the fortress.
‘Let me show you the way, sister. I am pleased that you have come. I was not sure whether you would or not.’
Fidelma frowned slightly.
‘I told you that I would break my fast with you this morning. What I say I will do, I do.’
The tall, black-haired chieftain spread his hands apologetically as he stood aside to allow her through the gate first.
‘I meant no insult, sister. It is just that the Abbess Draigen has no love for me.’
‘That I could witness for myself yesterday,’ Fidelma replied.
Adnár turned up a short flight of stone steps to a large wooden building made from great oak timbers. The double doors were ornately carved. She noticed that the two warriors who had been surreptitiously accompanying them now took a stand at the bottom of the steps as Adnár pushed open the doors.
Fidelma gave a quick intake of breath at the scene which greeted her. The feasting hall of Adnár was warm, a large fire roared in a great hearth. The whole room was richly decorated and far beyond the standard which she would have expected of a simple
bó-aire,
a cow chieftain of no landed property. The building was mainly of oak but the walls were inset with panels of polished yew. Burnished bronze and silver shields hung around the walls between rich foreign tapestries. There were even some book satchels hung on the walls and a lectern for reading them. Animal skins, such as otter, deer and bear, were strewn across the floor. A circular table had already been set for the meal, piled with fruits and cold meats and cheeses and jugs of water and wine.
‘You keep a fine house, Adnár,’ Fidelma commented, gazing at the munificence of the table’s contents.
‘He keeps it only when he knows that special guests will grace the table, sister.’
Fidelma turned sharply at the sound of the pleasant tenor, male voice.
A thin-faced young man had entered the room. Fidelma found herself taking an instant dislike to the man. He was clean shaven, but the stubble grew almost blue against his thin jowls. In fact, his whole body was thin, the nose angular, the lips red but little more than a slit, and his eyes were large black orbs which never seemed to stay still for longer than a few seconds. They darted constantly, giving the man a furtive expression. Over his saffron shirt he wore a sleeveless sheepskin jerkin, belted around the middle. A red-gold necklace adorned his neck. Fidelma saw that he also carried a bejewelled dagger in a leather sheath at his side. Only men and women of high rank were allowed to carry a dagger into a feasting hall where no greater weapons were ever allowed.
The young man was not much older than the ‘age of choice’, his maturity. Fidelma placed him at no more than eighteen years of age — perhaps nineteen at the most.
Adnár moved forward a pace.
‘Sister Fidelma, allow me to present Olcán, son of Gulban the Hawk-Eye, prince and ruler of the Beara, whose territory you are now in.’
The hand that the young man extended was damp and limp. Fidelma felt a slight shudder go through her body as they touched hands in greeting. It was like touching the flesh of a corpse.
Fidelma knew that she was wrong to take a dislike to Olcán simply on account of his appearance. What was the line from Juvenal?
Fronti nulla fides.
No reliance can be placed on appearance. She, above all people, should be warned against hasty judgments made solely on what the eye perceived.
‘Welcome, sister. Welcome. Adnár has told me that you had arrived and why.’
She had never met Olcán before but she knew that his
father Gulban claimed descent back to the great king of Muman, Ailill Olum, who had ruled three or four centuries before and from whom her own family had descended. From this descent her own brother now sat on the throne of Cashel. Yet, she also knew that Gulban was chieftain of only one sept of the greater clan of the Loigde.
‘I had no idea that you resided here, Olcán,’ she said.
The young man shook his head swiftly.
‘I do not. I am only a guest enjoying the hospitality of Adnár. I am here to fish and to hunt.’
He half turned as a hollow cough sounded in the shadows.
Behind him, a broad-shouldered, good-looking man in a religieux robe came forward. He was about forty, perhaps even in his mid-forties. Fidelma took in his pleasant features. His red gold hair, whose lights shone like burnished metal in the sun that permeated the windows, was cut in the tonsure of St John, the front half of his head shaven back to a line from ear to ear. His eyes were wide and blue, the nose slightly prominent but the lips were red and humorous. Yet his appearance was made slightly sinister by the fact that the religieux had stained his eyelids black with berry juice. It was an old custom of some religieux; a custom, so it was said, which dated back to the time of the Druids. Many Irish missionaries going abroad often adopted the style.
Again it was Adnár who moved quickly forward to make introductions.
‘This is Brother Febal, sister,’ he announced. ‘He is my
anam-chara
and tends to the spiritual needs of my community.’
It was the custom in the church to have a ‘soul-friend’ in whom to confide one’s spiritual problems and confusion. The custom, Fidelma knew, differed in the Church of Rome where people were encouraged to confess their sins to a priest. But in the five kingdoms the
anam-chara
was more a confidant and a spiritual guide than one who simply allotted punishment for spiritual transgressions. The handsome
religieux smiled warmly and his handshake was firm and sure. Yet there was something Fidelma found she did not trust about the man. Something that conjured up ladies’ bedchambers and softly turning door handles. She tried to shake the thought from her mind.
Olcán seemed to have taken over as host in Adnár’s feasting hall and waved Fidelma to take a seat near him while Adnár and Brother Febal sat opposite them at the round table. As soon as they were seated, a youthful attendant hurried forward to pour wine for them.
‘Is your brother, Colgú, well?’ asked Olcán. ‘How goes it with our new king?’
‘He was well when I last saw him at Ros Ailithir,’ replied Fidelma cautiously. ‘He returned to Cashel just before I came away.’
‘Ah, Ros Ailithir!’ Olcán cast her an appraising look. ‘All Muman thrilled to the news of how you solved the mystery of the murder of the Venerable Dacán there.’
Fidelma stirred with embarrassment. She did not like her work to be considered anything out of the ordinary.
‘It was a puzzle to be solved. And it is my task as an advocate of the courts to probe conundrums and perceive the truth. However, you said
all
Muman thrilled at my solution. I doubt this could be true among your people, the Loigde? Salbach, your former chieftain, did not come well out of that situation.’
‘Salbach was an ambitious fool.’ Olcán pursed his lips sourly at her response. ‘My father, Gulban, had often clashed with him when attending the clan assembly. Salbach was not welcome in this land.’
‘Yet the people of Beara are a sept of the Loígde,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Our first allegiance is to Gulban and his allegiance is then to the chieftain who sits at Cuan Dóir. Anyway, Salbach is no longer chieftain but Bran Finn Mael Ochtraighe. Personally, I have no interest in politics. For this, my father and I are—’
he grinned, ‘are estranged. My view is that life is to be enjoyed and what better means than hunting …?’ He was about to go further but hesitated and then ended: ‘However, you did well in ridding our people of an ambitious incompetent.’
‘As I have said, I performed no more than my duty as an advocate.’
‘A task that not everyone is as adept at. You have earned a reputation of being very accomplished. Adnár tells me that it is just such a mystery as brings you hither. Is this true?’
He passed her a plate of cold meats which she declined, preferring to help herself to a bowl of oats and nuts with fresh apples to follow.
‘That is so,’ Adnár intervened quickly.
Brother Febal had appeared uninterested in the opening conversation and was devoting himself, head down, to concentrating on his meal.
‘I have come at the request of the Abbess Draigen,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘She asked the Abbot Brocc to send a
dálaigh
to her abbey.’
‘Ah,’ Olcán sighed deeply, apparently studying the dregs in his wine goblet as if interested by them. Then he raised his gaze to Fidelma. ‘I am told that the abbess has something of a reputation in this land. She is not regarded as, how can I say it?, “spiritually advanced”? Isn’t that so, Brother Febal?’
Febal raised his head quickly from his plate. He hesitated and swung his blue eyes to Fidelma, staring at her for a moment, before dropping his gaze back on his plate.
‘It is as you say, my prince. The Abbess Draigen is said to have unnatural tendencies.’
Fidelma leaned forward, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on Brother Febal.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to be more explicit, brother?’
Brother Febal jerked his head up again, his expression startled, and glanced nervously to Olcán and Adnár. Then he reset his features almost woodenly.
‘Sua cuique sunt vitia,’
he intoned.
‘Indeed, we all have our own vices,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘but perhaps you will tell us what you discern are the vices of the abbess?’
‘I think that we all know what Brother Febal means,’ Adnár interrupted petulantly, as if annoyed at Fidelma’s lack of understanding. ‘I think that if a young female corpse were found in the abbey, and I were conducting an investigation, then I would look no further than the abbey for a suspect and, for a motive, no further than base and perverted passion.’
Sister Fidelma sat back and regarded Adnár curiously.
‘And is this what you have invited me here to tell me?’
Adnár inclined his head in a brief gesture of affirmation.