our services in the language of the sacred texts — which is Greek — when we were in Rome, I observed little for me to object to.’
‘Then you are welcome to participate in the service with me.’
By evening, the wind was beginning to die away and the sea was changing colour once again, losing its white billows and becoming calmer.
When they gathered for the meal later, Brother Metellus greeted them with a warm smile as if the intensity of their discussion that afternoon had not existed.
‘I think we will be able to set sail in the morning,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘We’ll leave at first light as we originally intended to do this morning.’
This time the weather grew tranquil during the night.
The day dawned calm and warm, with the sun beating down from an almost cloudless sky. The few clouds that did drift high above were fluffy white balls, like the fruiting puffs of groundsel. What was more, there was a soft morning breeze blowing from the south.
With the single sail hoisted, it quickly filled and the small boat, with Brother Metellus at the tiller, was gliding swiftly out from the bay, leaving a small knot of islanders waving their goodbyes on the foreshore. The journey across the water to the mainland seemed swift, and so calm was the sea that even Eadulf did not have time to feel queasy. Brother Metellus was an excellent sailor, manoeuvring his sailing boat with consummate skill, shifting every time there was a subtle change in the wind to re-catch the force of it in his sail. Fidelma observed that the monk knew the waters well, for there was a series of rocky shoals through which he navigated with ease. They did not speak much during the short voyage over the distance that separated the island of the Little Duck from the low-lying stretch of land that Brother Metellus identified as the Rhuis peninsula.
Fidelma was aware of the sheer numbers of seabirds as they approached the coastline. The ringed plover, with their distinctive black ring and bright orange bill and legs, were heading along the shoreline in search of shellfish in the mudflats. High up, marked by their white crowns and underparts, but dark brown upper feathers, two osprey wheeled, alternatively flapping and gliding, as they hunted for fish swimming near the surface. A sudden pause, as if they were hovering, and then with partly closed wings, the birds dived on their kill. Fidelma had seen osprey before, but it was always a spectacular sight, watching them make their kill. Even the gulls, emitting cries like souls in torment, seemed to avoid these hunters.
‘The abbey is around that headland,’ called Brother Metellus, pointing to a rocky headland with a large green mound. The area was covered with thickly growing woodland. There seemed no place to effect a landing.
‘Don’t worry, we shall come into the west of that, where there is an open sandy beach,’ Brother Metellus said, correctly guessing the thoughts that were passing through their minds.
Indeed, Fidelma had already spotted the sandy strip stretching to the north-west towards another rising headland, which she estimated must be five kilometres away.
‘They call this the Great Mount and the one over there the Little Mount,’ explained Brother Metellus.
There was a tide with them now as well as the wind, and they came swiftly onto the sandy beach among several other craft that were pulled up there. Fishermen and some women sat in little groups, some mending nets, while others were simply talking and cooking fish over open fires. Two of the fishermen came trotting down into the surf to help draw the small craft up onto the dry sand, and one courteously helped Fidelma out. Greetings were exchanged in the local language and then Brother Metellus led the couple from the beach and up a winding path through a very green and fertile area, most of which appeared thickly forested. Fidelma noticed it was filled with broadleaf trees, mainly thick oaks and beeches, with a few conifers sprinkled here and there when a thinning of the woodland provided space.
‘There is good hunting here and the nobles of Bro-Waroch often come to hunt in this area. The peninsula is fertile with game and with wild boar,’ Brother Metellus explained. Fidelma had the impression they were crossing back towards the large headland overlooking the sea. ‘Beyond that rise to the north is the fortress of the
‘Mac Hiern?’ Fidelma tried to repeat the phonetics.
‘
‘Surely, then, he would be in a better position to help us than your Abbot?’ Fidelma suggested.
Brother Metellus disagreed. ‘Better that we firstly speak with Abbot Maelcar. He is strict about protocol and might take it amiss if we went directly to Lord Canao.’
While Fidelma had the impression that this was a hurried excuse, Eadulf saw nothing amiss.
‘Canao?’ queried Eadulf. ‘You have mentioned that name before.’
‘I did,’ agreed Brother Metellus easily. ‘The Lord of Brilhag is a descendant of the old rulers of Bro-Waroch, many of whom had that name.’
They emerged abruptly from the surrounding trees and bushes to find themselves faced with a stretch of cultivated fields. Fidelma and Eadulf saw that many of them contained vines. In the centre of these fields stood a group of low sandstone buildings that must constitute the Abbey of Gildas. The buildings were not impressive, even though the Abbey was, according to Brother Metellus, about one hundred years old. There were basically four separate buildings placed around a quadrangle. To one side was the chapel, identifiable by its architecture. It was fairly small, topped with the traditional cross of the churches of the western islands, a cross mainly contained within a circle. Two of the other buildings rose to three storeys in height while the fourth one on the last side of the square was a one-storey structure and quite ornate by comparison with its fellows. The square itself was given over to a herb garden, from which an assortment of scents assailed their nostrils. However, compared with those great buildings that Fidelma and Eadulf had seen in their travels, the whole complex of the abbey was modest.
There were a few religious about, some of whom greeted Brother Metellus by name, while others hurried by with faces averted from them as though shocked by the sight of Fidelma in their midst. Indeed, some stared, scandalised at a woman’s presence in the abbey precincts. Brother Metellus ignored them and they followed him through the small entrance between the buildings into the quadrangle gardens.
‘This is the Abbey of the Blessed Gildas,’ Brother Metellus announced, unnecessarily, with a slight gesture of his hand as if to encompass the buildings around them. ‘If you will wait here, in the herb garden, I will go and inform Abbot Maelcar of your presence.’ He hesitated a moment and then explained awkwardly: ‘As I have said, this abbey follows the celibacy rule and is for males only. It is not a mixed house.’
‘Do not worry,’ Fidelma replied, and Eadulf discerned her slightly mocking tone. ‘We will await your Abbot here so as not to outrage the abbey’s sense of propriety.’
There was a rough carved wooden bench nearby and Fidelma promptly seated herself on it. Brother Metellus hesitated a moment more before making his way to the single-storey building and disappearing inside. Eadulf gave a little sigh before going to sit by her.
‘This is certainly no port where ships from any of the Five Kingdoms will put in,’ he observed.
‘Our intention is to be directed to such a port,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But first, I want to ask some questions of the Abbot.’
‘You hope that he might have information about the ship that attacked us?’
‘He may know something. I would like to get some information as to the identity of that murderous captain and his vessel before we return home.’
‘Returning home is our main aim. Don’t forget that we are destitute,’ Eadulf reminded her.
‘We will hope that the charity of these brethren will help us. Also, I still have one emerald ear-clip left. Perhaps we can barter the stone for food or other things.’
Eadulf was sceptical. ‘I doubt that will take us far,’ he said. ‘I think it would be better to seek out this Lord Canao. He might be able to guide us to King Alain, who would surely help us as Bressal negotiated the treaty with him?’
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But it is a long way back to Naoned, and that is where Bressal said he had last seen the King. Even so, I want to find out more about these pirates before we set out for Naoned again.’
Eadulf saw the set of Fidelma’s jaw and realised it was not worth arguing. Once she had made up her mind, the only way to change it was persuasion by example.
‘So far as I can see, we will have to go where the tide takes us at the moment until we can find a benefactor,’ he said dourly.
