Chalice of Blood

‘He did so.’

‘I am told that no manuscripts or arterfacts have been found in his cell.’

Lady Eithne met her eyes steadily. ‘Precisely.’ The tone was emphatic.

‘I see,’ said Fidelma, understanding her implication. ‘Then you believe whoever killed your son also took these precious manuscripts?’

‘I do.’

‘And you saw these documents when you visited your son?’

‘I did. On that very day just hours before his death.’

Fidelma sat back and glanced quickly from Abbot Iarnla to Brother Lugna, before returning her gaze to Lady Eithne.

‘There was some doubt whether these manuscripts actually existed.’

Abbot Iarnla stared at the fire while the steward flushed. Lady Eithne’s lips parted in a humourless smile but she said nothing.

‘When your son told you that he feared the theft of these books, did he mention any specific threat?’ asked Fidelma.

‘He did not.’

‘Then perhaps you could repeat his words — his exact words — so that we might try and interpret them?’ Eadulf suggested.

There was a perceptible tightening of Lady Eithne’s jaw and Fidelma, anxious that she should not take this as questioning her veracity, said hurriedly, ‘Eadulf is right. If you can give us his exact words, there might be something in them that could lead to the root of his fear.’

Lady Eithne relaxed and paused for a moment as if trying to recall.

‘He told me that the Faith was under attack from those who would deny its very message. He feared that these attackers would destroy it.’

‘People who would destroy it?’ echoed Eadulf. ‘He was not specific about names or where they could be found?’

‘Those were his words. I believe my son was killed because of his scholarship and the manuscripts he had brought back with him from the Holy Land.’

‘If possible, lady,’ Fidelma said, ‘let us turn to your last meeting with him. When you arrived here, had he locked himself in his cell?’

‘He had.’

‘But he let you in to speak to him?’

‘I am his mother. Of course he did.’

‘I am told that he had one key to that chamber. The locksmith had made the lock specially.’

‘I asked my son who held the keys to his room, since he was in such fear for his life. He told me that he had the only key.’

‘While you were in his cell and saw those precious manuscripts, did you know what they were? What sort of works were they?’

Lady Eithne sniffed, her chin rising a little.

‘My son was a great scholar. I can read and write my own language and I have a little Latin learning, but not much. I could scarcely understand the varied and unusual works that he had access to. I would not know Greek from Hebrew.’ Lady Eithne gave a shake of her head. ‘My son had several works in his room.’

‘Could one person have carried the manuscripts away with them?’

‘I suppose so. After all, he had to carry them himself on his journey from the Holy Land.’

‘He was also supposed to have brought back some artefacts,’ Eadulf said.

Lady Eithne’s hand went to the strange, ornate cross which hung round her neck.

‘Indeed. He brought back a piece of the True Cross for the abbey and he brought me this. It was a gift from both my sons, bought for me in the very town of Nazareth where Our Saviour grew up and began his work.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Not that I know of. Brother Lugna, surely you know what gifts he brought for the abbey.’

Brother Lugna shifted his weight and made an odd gesture with one hand, palm outwards. ‘A piece of the True Cross, which is now in our newly built chapel. A few icons and trinkets for decorative purposes, but that is all.’

‘So now …’ Lady Eithne suddenly rose, and they all followedher example. ‘It was merely my intention to come to greet you, Fidelma, and extend a welcome to this territory. I must return to my fortress. It is only a few kilometres to the east of the abbey but the sky is darkening. I would welcome your visit there. If there is anything else I can help you with, I shall be most willing. It is hard to lose both my sons …’ She smiled quickly. ‘Cathal is lost to me in a foreign land and now … now Donnchad …’ She ended with a shrug.

‘You have already been more than helpful, lady,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

Lady Eithne inclined her head to Fidelma and then to Eadulf, glanced at Abbot Iarnla in an almost disapproving way, and then turned towards the chamber door which Brother Lugna held open for her.

CHAPTER FIVE

After Brother Lugna had followed Lady Eithne down to the courtyard where two warriors of her escort were waiting, Abbot Iarnla reseated himself. He looked ill at ease.

‘Do I detect some tension between Lady Eithne and you?’ asked Fidelma, also sitting down again.

The elderly abbot looked up at her and his expression was not happy.

‘I preside over this abbey where her son has been murdered. In fact, I presided over it when her two sons were falsely accused of plotting the murder of her cousin, Maolochtair, Prince of the Déisi, and thereby forced them to go on pilgrimage to avoid his attentions.’

‘At my suggestion,’ pointed out Fidelma.

‘Nevertheless, I feel that I am the one she blames for all the misfortunes that have befallen her family.’

‘And do you feel that you are to blame?’

‘She believes that I am. That is enough.’

‘How powerful a person is Lady Eithne in this area?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Usually a …’ he fought for the right word, ‘a bain-trebthach … a widow … does not exercise much power.’

The abbot gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Lady Eithne was also a comthigerna, a co-lord, of the area, so that whenher husband died, even with her two sons living, she continued as lord of the area. While she answers to the senior Prince of the Déisi, Maolochtair’s successor, she has total command in this territory.’

‘A chieftain in her own right,’ Eadulf summed up.

‘That is so,’ confirmed the old abbot. ‘A bancomharba, female heir, to the lordship of this territory.’

‘Do you know what she means by these intrigues and jealousies in the abbey? Intrigues that would concern Brother Donnchad?’ Fidelma asked gently, returning to the main point.

‘I have no such knowledge. It is the first I have heard of it from Lady Eithne. But I fear that she accuses me.’

Eadulf was thoughtful. ‘Surely Brother Donnchad had an anam chara, a soul friend, with whom he discussed matters and made confession? We might be able to learn more of this from him.’

The anam chara was not exactly like the confessor priest in the Roman Church. The soul friend was someone with whom one could discuss one’s deepest and most intimate thoughts and problems; someone who shared one’s very soul and provided support and, where possible, guidance along the spiritual path. It was a concept that was ancient long before the coming of the new Faith and, Eadulf admitted, a better practice than merely the confessing of certain sins as defined by the rules of others, for which a priest could then issue punishments as penance.