Chalice of Blood

‘He was stabbed in the back,’ stated Brother Lugna. ‘That’s how he died. Surely that is enough.’

‘Just so, but there are details that only an apothecary or physician would notice. I presume your physician examined him?’

‘Naturally.’ Again there was a defensive tone in the steward’s voice. ‘Brother Seachlann is our physician.’

‘Then we will need to see him.’ She rose, as did Eadulf, but the abbot remained seated as if lost in thought. Then he suddenly realised they were leaving and gestured to his steward.

‘Brother Lugna will see to all your needs. However, the hour grows late. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day to begin.’

Fidelma realised that a distant bell was ringing to mark the end of the day’s work, calling those who tilled the fields to return to the abbey and cleanse themselves before the evening meal.

‘You are right, Father Abbot,’ she conceded. ‘It has been a long day.’ She glanced at Brother Lugna. ‘Has our companion, Gormán, been accommodated and our horses seen to?’

‘They have,’ the steward said. ‘And I have asked our bruigad,our hosteller, to make a chamber ready for you in our tech-óiged, our guesthouse-’

‘Separate chambers,’ interrupted Fidelma softly

‘But I thought …’ Abbot Iarnla frowned and then went on hurriedly to avoid embarrassment, ‘Of course. See to it, Brother Lugna. And perhaps you will join us in the refectorium for the evening meal when you have had your evening bathe.’

‘I have ordered your baths to be made ready,’ added the steward.

Eadulf had felt a little embarrassed when Fidelma ordered separate chambers. But he realised that life could not continue as before and there was much to be sorted out between Fidelma and himself. He said nothing as the hosteller, who identified himself as Brother Máel Eoin, guided them to the wooden building that was the guesthouse. Their chambers were separate but close to one another. A tub of hot water was waiting for him when he entered. Eadulf had long grown used to the custom of Fidelma’s people of taking a daily bath, usually in the evening, in a large tub called a dabach. Guests in any hostel or inn had the baths prepared for them with scented warm water and oils. After guests had washed, combed their hair and put on fresh clothing, they could attend the principal meal of the day, called the prainn, which was taken in the evening.

Eadulf had noticed that Brother Lugna used the Latin term refectorium instead of praintech, the usual word for an eating house. Eadulf had noticed that in many abbeys Latin terms were replacing native words for functions and places — the use of the Latin cubiculum for chamber instead of the usual cotultech; of scriptor for librarian and scriptorium for library in place of leabhar coimedach, keeper of books, and tech-screptra, library. It seemed that the abbey of Lios Mór, too, was changing. Perhaps Brother Lugna’s Roman tonsure was more significant than he had previously thought.

It was a short time later when Brother Máel Eoin came to show him and Fidelma the way to the refectorium. At the doors of the refectorium they found Gormán about to enter.

‘Are you being looked after well?’ Fidelma greeted the young warrior.

‘I have a good bed, lady,’ he replied with a brief smile. ‘I am quartered above the stables with the echaire, the stableman. I have been looking around at the new buildings. It seems the abbey is growing rapidly since last I came here. A chapel in stone and two other buildings already completed. The abbey appears to have come into great wealth.’

He was interrupted by a gesture from Brother Eoin as he opened the doors and showed them into the great hall where the community was eating. He steered them through the rows of long tables to a table set to one side of the refectorium. Many of the brethren raised their heads to observe their passage with undisguised curiosity. A low murmur arose from them. Fidelma noticed that there were few women in the hall, although there were some. Lios Mór had, she recalled, initially been a conhospitae, a mixed house, where men and women cohabited, raising their children to the service of the new religion. She remembered the story of how Carthach had come to Lios Mór with Flandait, the daughter of Cuanan, and several other women to help form the community. They found a holy woman named Caimel already living by the river. Caimel had become the head of the community of women at Lios Mór. She wondered whether Abbot Iarnla was gradually leading the religious community towards celibacy, for there was little evidence of women being co-equal as they had been when she last visited.

The fact that there were few women in the hall had also occurred to Eadulf. He had also noticed that the women who were present had been placed at the lower end of therefectorium. The abbot’s table was at the far end on a raised platform and here Abbot Iarnla, his steward and several others were seated at their meal. Eadulf presumed that the abbot’s table was filled with the hierarchy of the abbey and they were all male. Then he realised that Brother Eoin was leading them to a table to one side of the hall. Eadulf knew from experience that Fidelma, as sister to the King was usually seated as a distinguished guest. He saw that Fidelma gave no sign that she was insulted by what seemed a breach of natural courtesy. One or two of the brethren bowed their heads towards them in obvious recognition as they passed between the tables.

At the table to which they were guided they found two other guests, who introduced themselves. Glassán was a man of middle age, with even features, bright blue eyes and wiry brown hair, and a firm chin with a cleft jaw. He looked used to being outside in the elements and his clothing did not hide his well-muscled body. He seemed to assume a natural command over his companion who was introduced as Saor. He was thin and sinewy, a swarthy fellow with close-set eyes.

‘Are you guests in the abbey?’ Fidelma asked as they seated themselves. She was interested by their appearance, for neither seemed like men who would choose life in an abbey.

‘That we are,’ replied Glassán with a broad smile that was almost patronising. ‘Fairly permanent and important ones.’

‘Permanent and important?’ Gormán’s query seemed to be without irony, but his eyes were glinting. ‘What manner of men are you who honour us with your company?’

‘I am an ailtíre,’ the brawny Glassán declared without any modesty. ‘Saor, here, is my carpenter and assistant.’

‘Ah, you are a … a master builder?’ Eadulf tried to translate the technical office.

‘I am in charge of the rebuilding of the abbey,’ confirmed Glassán. Clearly he was not a man who believed in humility.

‘We saw that there had been changes,’ Gormán replied. ‘A lot of new stone buildings have appeared where I remember buildings of wood.’

‘Quite right, my young friend,’ agreed Glassán. ‘For three years now the abbey has employed me to oversee the new building work.’

‘That must be an enormous task,’ Eadulf commented. He was genuinely interested.

‘I have several men working under me, including some of the finest caisleóir, stonemasons, of the south.’

‘The abbey must be rich to engage in such rebuilding,’ observed Gormán.

The master builder grimaced. ‘That you would have to ask Brother Lugna. For my part, each fee for services is specified by the Law of the Fénechus, as is compensation for craftsmen injured in the pursuit of their work.’

Eadulf looked surprised and Fidelma explained. ‘A master builder is considered on the same level as the intended successor to a bo-aire, which would mean his honour price is worth twenty seds — the value of twenty milch cows.’

Glassán was looking at Fidelma with interest.

‘You know something of the law, Sister?’ Then he smiled. ‘Ah, of course. You are the dálaigh that the brethren here have been talking about. Someone who is going to make a report about the cleric who died.’

‘Did you know him?’