Suffer Little Children

Cass jumped first so as to secure a position and ensure he could catch Fidelma in order that she might land in safety.

As they turned along the narrow strip of rock they saw a brown-robed anchorite hurriedly approaching down a perilously steep path. They saw his brows drawn together in a frown as he examined them in obvious annoyance.

'Bene vobis,' Fidelma greeted.

The monk halted abruptly and the look of irritation intensified on his features.

'We spotted a ship coming into land. This place is forbidden to women, sister.'

Fidelma raised her eyebrows dangerously.

'Who is the Father Superior here?'

The monk hesitated at her icy tones.

'Father Mel. But, as I have said, sister, our brothers dwell here in isolation from the company of women in accordance with the views of the Blessed Ffnan.'

Fidelma knew that there were some monasteries where women were strictly excluded; for some, like Ffnan of Clonard or Enda of Aran, believed that the scriptures taught that women were the creation of the Evil One and should never be looked upon. Such heretical teaching was an anathema to Fidelma, who was not at all approving of the support such an idea received from Rome, which was little less than an attempt to impose celibacy and the isolation of one sex from the other on the argument propounded by Augustine of Hippo that man was created in the image of God but women were not.

'I am Fidelma, sister to Colgu, king of Muman. I am a dalaigh of the court, acting on the commission of the king, my brother.'

Never would Fidelma have used this form of introduction had she felt there was any other way of overcoming this officious reception.

'I am here to conduct an inquiry into an unlawful death. Now conduct me to Father Mel at once.'

The monk looked horrified and blinked nervously.

'I dare not, sister.'

Cass ostentatiously loosened his sword in its scabbard, gazing upwards along the path by which the monk had descended.

'I think you should dare,' he said coldly, as if speaking aloud his thoughts.

The monk cast an anxious look at him and then back at Fidelma before compressing lips to conceal his angry frustration. They could see him fighting with his thoughts. After a moment or two he gestured in resignation.

'If you can follow me, then you may reach Father Mel. If not…' There was a trace of a sneer in his voice and he did not finished the sentence.

He turned and started off up the path which was a comfortable climb initially but then it suddenly narrowed. Indeed, the path almost ended and they were ascending along almost sheer falls from one rocky ledge to another although here and there steps had been cut by the monks into the precipitous sides of the rock. It was a tough ascent. The wind blew and buffeted at them, threatening at times to tear them from the climb and send them tumbling down the slopes into the turbulent frothy seas below. Several times Fidelma, her hair streaming, the head-dress dislodged, found herself going down on all fours and clinging on grimly to the rocks of the path in order to steady herself.

The anchorite, used to the ascent, merely quickened his pace and Fidelma, in anger, took chances in her attempt to keep up with the man. Cass, coming behind her, had to reach out a hand to steady her on several occasions. Then, at last, they came to a strange plateau, a small green place set between peaks with two stone crosses. From this point a series of steps led through fangs of rocks to another plateau where a stone wall, running along one side, was the only barrier between the plateau and the sheer cliff falling down to the sea.

Fidelma halted at the spectacular view to the white-capped Little Sceilig and the misty outline of the mainland beyond.

On the plateau was the monastery built by Ffnan just over one hundred years before. There were six clochans, or beehive-shaped huts of rock, with a rectangular-shaped oratory. Beyond them were other buildings and another oratory. Fidelma was surprised to see a small cemetery behind with slabs and crosses. She wondered how this inhospitable crag of an island could hold enough earth to bury anything. It was a wild, even cruel place on which to attempt an existence.

There were several brothers tending a small garden set behind an artificial shelter of stone-slabbed walls. She noticed, also to her surprise, that there were two wells.

'This is truly an amazing place,' she whispered to Cass. 'No wonder the brothers are so obdurate about their privacy.'

The anchorite who had accompanied them had disappeared, presumably into one of the stone buildings.

They had been spotted by the gardeners who had halted their work and were muttering uneasily among themselves.

'I do not think that they are pleased to see you, Fidelma,' Cass said, his hand staying on the hilt of his sword.

The anchorite reappeared with the same abruptness as he had vanished.

'This way. Father Mel will speak with you.'

They found a wizened-faced old man seated cross-legged in one of the beehive-shaped huts. It was small so that they either had to follow the old man's example and seat themselves on some sheepskins which covered the floor or stay standing, slightly stooped. Fidelma gave the lead by lowering herself into a cross-legged position in front of the old man.

He gazed at her thoughtfully with bright blue eyes. His face seemed hewed out of the rock of his island. Stern and granite-like. The lines were many and were etched deeply into his weather-beaten brown face.

'In hoc loco non ero, ubi enim ovis, ibi mulier… ubi mulier… ibi peccatum,' intoned the old man dispassionately.

'I am aware that you have no wish to associate with women,' Fidelma replied. 'I would not intrude on your rule unless there was a greater purpose.'

'Greater purpose? The association of the sexes in the Faith is contrary to the discipline of the Faith,' grunted Father Mel.

'On the contrary, if both sexes forsook each other there would soon be no people, Faith or church,' returned Fidelma cynically.

'Abneganbant mulierum administrationem separantes eas a monasterus,' intoned Father Mel piously.

'We can sit here and discourse in Latin, if you like,' Fidelma sighed. 'But I am come on more important matters. I do not wish to impose myself where I am unwelcome, though I find it hard to believe that there are places within the five kingdoms of Eireann where our laws and customs have been so sadly rejected. However, the sooner I can get answers to my questions then the sooner I can depart from this place.'

Father Mel allowed an eyebrow to twitch in irritation at her response.

'What is it you wish?' he demanded coldly. 'My disciple told me you were a dalaigh with a commission from the temporal king of this land.'

'That is so.'

'Then what must I do to help you fulfill your commission and allow you to depart swiftly?'

'Do you have anyone from the land of Osraige in this monastery?'

'We welcome everyone into our brotherhood.'

Fidelma checked her irritation at the unspecific response.

'That was not what I asked.'

'Very well, I am from Osraige myself,' replied Father Mel with diffidence. 'What would you ask of me?'

'I believe that some time ago someone from Osraige found sanctuary here. A descendant of the native kings. An heir of Illan. If that is so, then I wish to see him for I fear his life is in danger.'

Father Mel almost smiled.

'Then perhaps you wish to talk to me? Illan, of whom you speak, was my cousin, though I would not consider myself heir to any temporal glory.'

'Is this true?' Dacan had said the heir of Illan was being looked after by his cousin but she was hardly