milk. On that day you were supposed to become my cetmuintir.’
For nearly a year now Fidelma and Eadulf had been joined as ban charrthach and fer comtha, partners for a year and a day, a legal marriage under the law, but a temporary one. After a year and a day, if incompatible, they could go their separate ways without blame and without payment of compensation to one another.
Fidelma examined Eadulf with a sad expression.
‘Do you have cause to doubt that it will happen?’ she asked softly.
Eadulf raised an arm in a brief gesture almost of helplessness and let it fall.
‘Sometimes I am not so sure. We seem to be constantly drifting from one drama to another.’
‘Then let me tell you this,’ Fidelma said earnestly. ‘It was my brother’s wish that I should come here, not my response to Conri, which would have not been enthusiastic in the circumstances. My brother is king. My decision was made in response to the wishes of the king. I tried to explain that to you before we set out.’ As Eadulf opened his mouth to reply, she held up her hand, as if to silence him, and went on. ‘A resolution of this particular drama, as I said, is important to my brother’s kingdom, Eadulf. And since we have arrived here at Ard Fhearta we find the drama has intensified because the Venerable Cinaed has been murdered. The Venerable Cinaed is known and respected throughout all five kingdoms and is admired by the High King himself. His death will create a greater
Fidelma’s brother, Colgu, had certainly made the political importance of helping Conri clear enough when they had spoken together. If Cashel could respond to an Ui Fidgente call for help in solving the mystery at the abbey of Ard Fhearta, it would be important in helping to heal the rift that had for so long set the rulers of the Ui Fidgente and the kings of Muman against one another.
‘I know what Colgu has argued,’ acknowledged Eadulf with asperity. ‘He is not the one who has had to enter Ui Fidgente country without escort and chance the dangers…’
Fidelma suddenly smiled mischievously.
‘Why, Eadulf! Are you saying that you are solely concerned for my safety?’
Eadulf grimaced in irritation at her levity. Then he said: ‘I am concerned for the safety of both of us. The warriors of your brother’s guard should have escorted us. Men we could trust. Now we have to rely on Conri and the goodwill of the Ui Fidgente.’
Fidelma shook her head in disagreement. ‘I put my trust in Conri.’
‘I remember very clearly my time as a prisoner of the Ui Fidgente. You cannot expect me to trust them.’
‘Yet you went alone through Ui Fidgente territory in search of Alchu,’ Fidelma reminded him. ‘You were not concerned with safety then.’
‘I had only myself to worry about. You were safe in Cashel.’ Fidelma shook her head, smiling.
‘As it turned out, I was not,’ she reminded him. ‘I was a prisoner of the rebel Ui Fidgente myself. And it was Conri who helped me escape.’
‘Fidelma, I will never win an argument with you.’ Eadulf raised his hands as if fending off some imaginary attacker. ‘I should know better than to try. Since we are here, let me be at peace with my concerns.’
‘That I will find hard,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘Anyway, we shall soon be meeting Abbot Erc. I hope you will overcome any antagonism you feel. There appears enough antagonism here as it is. I need your mind and support to help me in this matter. Remember Muirgen and Nessan are nursing little Alchu in the safety of my brother’s fortress. The plans that we have set for the feast day of Imbolc remain in place and they will happen. And here we are, together, with a problem to face and to solve. What better situation can there be?’
Eadulf reluctantly smiled at her infectious enthusiasm.
‘Very well, Fidelma. I will put a curb on my fears. But I shall look forward to the day when we can return to Cashel.’
There was a movement at the door as Sister Sinnchene returned.
‘The water will be ready when you are, Sister.’
‘Excellent.’ Fidelma rose immediately, picking up her ciorbholg, her comb-bag in which all Irish women carried their toilet articles. ‘Show me to this bathhouse, Sister, for I am ready now.’
Sister Sinnchene led Fidelma along the corridor to a room in which stood a large wooden tub called the dabach. It was already steaming. A cauldron of water was simmering on a fire in the far corner. There were shelves on which were displayed bars of sleic and linen cloths. Nearby were little jars of oil and extracts of sweet- smelling herbs boiled into a liquid to anoint the body. The place was well equipped with a scaterc — a mirror of fine polished metal — and a selection of clean combs.
‘I shall attend you, if it is your wish,’ said the young sister.
Fidelma nodded absently. It was usual to have an attendant to pour the heated water and pass soap and drying cloths.
She undressed and climbed into the dabach. The water was not too hot and she relaxed with a sigh, lying back while Sister Sinnchene passed her a bar of soap.
‘Have you been long in this abbey, Sister?’ asked Fidelma as she began to lather herself.
Sister Sinnchene was checking on the heat of the water.
‘I have been here ever since I reached the age of choice,’ she replied.
The age of choice, the aimsir togu, was the maturity of a girl arrived at her fourteenth birthday.
‘I would say you have not yet reached twenty summers?’ hazarded Fidelma.
‘I am twenty-one,’ corrected the girl, turning to pick up a big metal jug and scoop water from the cauldron. She brought it to the tub and poured it in, carefully so as not to scald Fidelma.
‘I presume that you knew the Venerable Cinaed?’
There seemed some hesitation and Fidelma looked up. She was surprised to see a red tinge had settled on Sister Sinnchene’s cheek.
‘We are a small community, Sister,’ the girl returned with an abruptness of tone that caused Fidelma’s eyebrow to rise slightly.
‘Of course,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘I am sorry. Naturally you are upset by his loss.’
‘He was a kind and generous man,’ replied the other with a catch in her throat.
‘Do you have any idea how he came by his death?’
The young woman frowned, facing Fidelma as if seeking some other significance to her words.
‘Everyone knows his head was smashed in while he was in the oratory.’
‘Are there any ideas circulating in the abbey about who could have done such a thing?’
For a moment the young sister looked as if she were about to give vent to the tears that she was trying so desperately to hide. Her face contorted for a moment and then she controlled herself.
‘It is not my place to speculate about gossip,’ she finally said. ‘You must asked the abbot.’
‘But you must know…’ began Fidelma.
‘If that will be all, Sister…?’ Sister Sinnchene interrupted pointedly. ‘I have other duties that I must attend to.’
Fidelma said nothing but inclined her head. She knew when to back away from questions that people did not want to answer. Sister Sinnchene went quickly out of the bathhouse, leaving Fidelma gazing after her with a thoughtful frown.
CHAPTER THREE
T he evening meal had been eaten and the brethren had departed to their various tasks before retiring for the night. Abbot Erc, who had only formally greeted Fidelma and Eadulf before the meal, which — according to a tradition set by the founder of the abbey — was consumed in total silence, now invited them, together with Conri, to accompany him to his chamber to discuss matters. Abbot Erc was elderly and grey-haired, with a sharp angular face, thin lips, small dark eyes and a permanent look of disapproval. Conri had already warned Fidelma that the abbot, who had been a supporter of the old Ui Fidgente regime, did not entirely approve of the presence of Fidelma in the abbey. It seemed that he shared the views of his steward, Brother Cu Mara, who accompanied them to the abbot’s chamber.
