Chalice of Blood

‘As a matter of fact I do recall encountering him one day on his way back from the scriptorium. He mentioned that somethief had taken it. I pointed out that it was a serious accusation, especially if he was accusing someone among the brethren. He called me a fool and walked away. That was shortly before his mother came to the abbey to speak to him about his behaviour. After that visit he refused to open his door to anyone. What makes you ask?’

‘He apparently flew into a rage when it went missing. We wondered why that was. Surely he could obtain another such notebook easily within the community?’

‘Brother Donnchad’s behaviour was always curious insofar as I was concerned. I presumed that he had important notes still on the writing tablet and that was what annoyed him. That would be a logical conclusion.’

‘Of course.’ Fidelma smiled, as if the problem had been solved. Then she glanced around. ‘I see the building work is going well,’ she remarked, changing the subject. ‘The new chapel looks truly magnificent.’

‘It is indeed.’ Eadulf could almost swear that the steward’s chest expanded with pride. ‘Soon our name will resound throughout Christendom for the purity of the abbey and its teachings.’

‘The purity of its teachings?’ queried Fidelma softly, as if the words had a special meaning.

Brother Lugna gazed sharply at her before replying: ‘There is a difficult task before us, to cleanse the lax and impure ways that have been allowed to develop among the community. That is my task, as I see it. Absolution is given too freely to those who do not adhere to strict obedience to the disciplines of the Faith. Those who turn away from the truth and then think they can return and be immediately forgiven for …’ He halted, as if he realised he had said too much. With a curt nod of his head, he left them, striding quickly away. Fidelma looked long and thoughtfully after him.

‘There is something about that man,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘He is not the most likeable of people,’ she agreed. ‘Come, let us follow up the matter the abbot told us about. The matter of Brother Gáeth placing something in the “mound of the dead”. We’ll start with the chapel.’

The daimhliag — the usual term now applied to churches built of stone — was quite imposing, built of substantial stone blocks, carefully cut and smoothed. Like many churches, it was built on an east west axis, the entrance being at the west end and the altar at the east. Already, the brethren had begun to plant trees around the new building, mainly yew for ornament, so that a symbolic sanctuary encircled it, called the fidnemed, or grove of the sanctuary. It was considered sacrilege to cut down or despoil these sacred groves. It was a custom that had been adopted since the days before the Faith had arrived in the Five Kingdoms. They wondered whether Brother Lugna approved of this ancient custom.

The stone church was not as big as many abbey chapels that Fidelma had seen. It was twenty-five metres long and six metres wide. From base to apex the long sloping roof was about nine metres. Beside the main door at the western end was a bell and a rope, used to summon the congregation to services. The oak door was well built; as was usual, the jambs of the door and the windows were angled so that the bottom of the opening was wider than the top. Round them were set large stones, with a horizontal lintel. The windows were long and narrow with a triangular top. The steep, sloping roof was covered with flat, thin stones.

Inside, the walls were hung with woollen tapestries depicting scenes from the life of the Blessed Carthach, or Mo-Chuada, the founder of the abbey. At the eastern end, the altar was of carved oak, behind which, as was the custom, the priest would face the congregation to conduct the services, although some of thosenow following the Roman liturgy performed the service facing the altar, with their back to the congregation. The congregation stood; there were no benches, unlike some continental churches that Fidelma had seen.

Fidelma and Eadulf stood gazing around.

‘This seems a curious place to hide something,’ Eadulf remarked.

‘Let’s find the tombs of the abbots,’ replied Fidelma.

In fact, the tombs lay beneath their feet. The memorial stone to the Blessed Carthach lay immediately in front of the altar. The stone was part of the flagged flooring, with a Chi-Ro symbol engraved on it and the single name Mo-Chuada. The foot of the slab was at the eastern end and the head at the western end, in accordance with the custom that one should be buried with one’s feet towards the east. The memorial to the second Abbot of Lios Mór, Mo-Chuada’s maternal uncle, Cuanan, was placed in similar fashion but on the southern side of the chapel. They searched around the tombs for a while and Eadulf even examined under the altar but there was no sign of any place where anything could be hidden.

‘I suppose we will have to ask Brother Gáeth what it was Donnchad gave him and where he put it,’ sighed Eadulf.

‘Do you really think he will respond to such a question?’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘He did not volunteer the information for a reason and will never do so if we confront him with the fact that he was not open with us. Use your sense, Eadulf.’

Eadulf coloured hotly at her rebuke.

‘One of the things I find difficult about you, Fidelma, is that there are two people in you.’ His words flooded out in reaction.

She turned to stare at him in surprise. She had never seen him lose control of his tongue before.

‘There is the person I fell in love with,’ the words continued to rush out, ‘the companion who is humorous and sensitive. Then there is the person who is arrogant, with an acid-sharp tongue; a confrontational and aggressive person whose attitude I do not like; the person who is ready to chastise, to criticise without listening to the reason for my comments or actions. It is as if I do not count when you are undertaking these investigations. My opinions may be just as valid as yours, sometimes more so. I do not criticise you because I take the trouble to understand what you are thinking, even if I disagree with your thoughts. I prefer to ask the question why, although you always take that as censure of your ability.’

Fidelma stood still, as if she had been slapped in the face. There was shock in her expression. Then her jaw tightened. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

‘So, perhaps we are getting to the truth of your views about me.’ Her voice was cold and hard.

Eadulf, red in the face, was now in control of himself.

‘Do not react until you have considered what I am saying. I am not so uncaring that I cannot see both sides of you. But I have to tell you that I am weary of being a …’ He tried to think of an Irish term. ‘I am weary of being an idbartach.’ He chose the word for ‘sacrifice’ and hoped that it would convey the idea of someone who was used as a victim.

Fidelma’s face had become a mask. He waited for the explosion he presumed would come. Then, amazingly, her frozen features seemed to dissolve into a troubled expression. She said in a quiet voice, ‘What is it that you want in life, Eadulf?’

He did not reply immediately, too surprised by the softness of her tone.

‘What do I want for the future? I don’t want to live without you or our son, Alchú. But I want to be regarded as someone whose feelings should be considered as equal.’

‘Do you think that forcing me to give up the law, as you tried to do, and move to some enclosed community would be a recipe for happiness?’

‘Perhaps I was wrong to think it. But I don’t want to be a mere appendage of Fidelma of Cashel,’ he replied firmly. ‘I want to be my own person. I want to be regarded for my own worth and not for your sake.’

‘You don’t think that you are already?’ she asked with a frown.

‘I certainly do not,’ he returned immediately. ‘Although I have spent many years here, I am not of your country, Fidelma. I rely on your charity for my subsistence.’

She shook her head with a sad smile. ‘We knew that life together would not be easy. That was why I insisted on pursuing our custom of living with each other for a year and a day before we took our final vows of marriage.’

‘I know, I know. Perhaps it was my fault. There was little Alchú to consider,’ he muttered angrily.

‘Eadulf, all I can say is that I am sorry you feel that you are not regarded for your own worth. I know I am cursed with a temper. I cannot stop the criticism that springs from my tongue when I am distracted. But let me tell you this. As far as I am concerned, without you, your advice, your ability to analyse, I would not have succeeded in many of the investigations we have undertaken. Remember the time when you were able to understand the Law of