brother’s kingdom,’ Eadulf said.
For the first time during this conversation, Brother Metellus cleared his throat and bent in deferential manner towards the Abbot.
‘Sister Fidelma is a legal advocate in her own land,’ he began to explain.
‘When is this merchant, Biscam, due to arrive here?’ asked Fidelma, cutting in sharply, and determined to draw the conversation back to the immediate problem.
‘Biscam? He should be here within the next day or two. He and his brothers have been trading with us for many years.’
‘Then we shall trouble you no further, Abbot Maelcar.’ Fidelma glanced about the abbey grounds as if noticing them for the first time and commented: ‘You have a beautiful place here.’
The Abbot’s eyes widened at the change of subject. ‘It was a spot chosen by the Blessed Gildas,’ he replied.
‘Your herb garden is especially fragrant and well kept.’
‘God blesses the hands of our brethren in their tending of the plants.’
‘I saw that the abbey has a cat and I presume that you keep it to fend off the pests that sometimes dominate in a garden.’
This time Abbot Maelcar looked puzzled. ‘The abbey does not have a cat,’ he replied.
‘No?’ Fidelma feigned surprise. ‘The abbey does not have a large black cat?’
‘We have no cat at all.’
‘But I saw it wandering through the gardens.’
‘Then it must be one from the village. And now…’ The Abbot left the sentence unfinished as a token of dismissal.
‘Of course. Forgive me. We have kept you for too long from your duties.’
‘We will doubtless meet again before you leave our community,’ the Abbot said, before turning and walking back towards the single-storey building.
Brother Metellus had been standing in silence, his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him. He sighed and stirred as the Abbot left them.
‘He has told me to look after you until the arrival of Biscam,’ he explained in a resigned voice. ‘I had been hoping to use this fair weather to get back to the island.’
Fidelma could not resist a quick smile at his grumbling.
‘It seems that Abbot Maelcar is not the friendliest of people. There is something about his manner…’ She ended with a shrug.
‘He is convinced that the correct path to a communication with God is through vows of celibacy and in following the order of the Blessed Benedict. The rites and rituals of the churches of the Britons, and those in your own land, are anathema to him. You must make allowances.’
‘We are indebted to him, and to you, for all you have done for us, Brother Metellus,’ Eadulf said hurriedly, lest the man think they were ungrateful.
Brother Metellus did not reply except to indicate, with a movement of his head, the north of the quadrangle. ‘The village lies beyond these woodlands.’
There was a small area of woodland between the abbey buildings and the small hamlet beyond. They stood overlooking the same sandy bay in which they had landed. It was a practical village and not a picturesque one. The squat buildings were ugly, functional and no more.
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Fidelma, curiously.
‘To the Widow Aourken,’ he replied.
‘And she is…?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘An elderly widow woman. Her husband, I am told, was a fisherman. Now she lives alone and so has room in her house.’
‘We would not like to give her trouble.’
‘You will not. She often offers the hospitality of her home to wayfarers. I think you will like her for she is also a woman of strong opinions.’
If it were merely physical strength that he was referring to, then Brother Metellus’ description seemed an accurate one. Aourken was almost as wide as she was tall. The broad arms were muscular and her shoulders could, in Eadulf’s imagination, take a heavy sack on them without effort. Her hands were twice as big as his own and he felt that one of them could squeeze an apple into a pulp. Yet her face was kindly, the eyes slightly melancholy and of an indiscernible colour. The hair, which reached beyond her shoulders in ragged tails, was white, streaked here and there with dark grey. Her teeth were bad but she maintained a twisted smile that seemed to disguise them. She stood at the door of one of the single-storey stone buildings, hands on hips, watching their approach.
‘Greetings, Brother Metellus.’
These were the only words that Fidelma understood as the woman spoke rapidly in her own language. The words were so accented that she lost track.
There was a quick exchange and then, to Fidelma’s surprise, the woman turned to her and began to speak in Latin — hesitantly, it was true, but in a form that was quite literate.
‘You are welcome here. You are both welcome here.’
‘Thank you,’ returned Fidelma at once. ‘We do not wish to cause you any problems.’
‘Brother Metellus has informed me of your situation. God be praised, that you have survived the ravages of those pirates.’
Fidelma looked interested. ‘You have heard of them?’
The woman spread her large hands. ‘On this coast, there are always tales of sea-raiders. But in recent times, some of the farms on this coast have been attacked by brigands landing from the sea.’
‘You speak good Latin,’ interposed Eadulf.
Aourken smiled her crooked smile. ‘I served the Faith for many years. Then I met my late husband and he convinced me a better life was serving him. Well, we had a good time while it lasted. God’s blessing was on us. Brother Metellus has told me your story and I will do my best to make you comfortable until Biscam, the merchant, arrives. My house is your house.’
‘We are very grateful for your hospitality,’ Fidelma said again.
‘It is nothing. Come inside and I will show you where you will sleep, and perhaps you would care for something to eat and cider to drink? I am sure that Abbot Maelcar would not have offered you anything.’
‘You seem to know the Abbot well?’ Fidelma smiled.
‘In our youth, we studied together. We had decided to join the community of Gildas together. It was then, as other religious houses still are, a community of men and women serving the Faith and raising their children to do so. I knew Maelcar when he first arrived here from Brekilien, before he started to read the works about Martin of Tours and hear the stories of the dedication of those religious out in the eastern deserts and other inaccessible places who became hermits and vowed celibacy. That was when he decided to follow their example.’
‘The abbey is not exactly in an eastern desert,’ pointed out Fidelma dryly. ‘But I have heard of this place Brekilian. Where is it?’
‘It is north of here and still within the kingdom. Brekilian is a great expanse of forest where Maelcar was raised and which he oft-times returns to. In fact, he is not long returned from some such a visit. Not that visits to his home do anything to sweeten his temper, but rather make his disposition worse. I understand he returned muttering about the loose morality of King Alain’s court where a provincial servant could fornicate with the King’s offspring.’
‘So Abbot Maelcar likes the secluded religious life?’
Aourken gave her a knowing smile and shook her head.
‘Not far from here is an island which is now called Enez ar Manac’h — the Island of Monks. Maelcar initially went there to live out the hermit’s life. He did not remain there long, however, but came back to the abbey. He lived a pious life and the old Abbot made him his steward. The community thought well of him, and when the Abbot died, he was elected to the post. No sooner was he settled in that office than he expelled all the females from the abbey and told the members that they must take vows of celibacy and agree to follow the rule of Benedict. And that is how it is in the Abbey of Gildas today.’
