Chalice of Blood

acknowledged her rank.

‘I?’ Fidelma sounded surprised. ‘I want nothing more than to fulfil the task that my brother, the King, asked me to fulfil.’

‘I will not stop you,’ replied Brother Lugna ungraciously.

‘But, hopefully, you will also help me and advise others to do so? Simply not stopping someone do something is not the same as helping them do it.’

‘As I have said,’ repeated the steward, ‘the sooner this is over, the better.’

‘Then I think we have an understanding.’ She paused. ‘There was once a learned man, centuries ago, in another country, who had convinced opinions and felt that no one should disagree with those opinions. When his superior disagreed, he tried to overthrow his superior and set himself up in his stead. But his superior spoke for the vast majority of people. The man himself was eventually overthrown instead of his superior. His opinions were denounced as not conforming to what everyone else agreed. They were considered heretical and punishments were drawn up for anyone who followed the man and tried to force his opinions on others.’

Brother Lugna seemed to be watching her in the semi-light like a hunter watching his prey.

Eadulf found he was barely able to repress a shudder, a cold feeling ran along his spine in the darkness as he sensed the malignancy in the man.

‘I acknowledge my mistake in opposing your investigation, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the steward said in a begrudging tone. ‘You will have my support.’ Then he added, ‘There can be many paths to the same belief and each are entitled to their own path.’

‘That is precisely my point,’ agreed Fidelma vigorously. ‘We should be tolerant of one another; conformity of opinion, by its very nature, cannot be enforced.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Brother Lugna’s voice was almost sullen.

‘Do we have an agreement?’

‘We do.’ With that the steward turned and left them standing in the middle of the quadrangle.

‘I don’t trust him,’ muttered Eadulf as they walked to the guesthouse. ‘When he says the sooner the investigation is over, he really means that the sooner we leave the abbey, the better for him.’

‘At least we have made a little progress today,’ Fidelma said. She turned at the door of her chamber and wished Eadulf a good night.

Eadulf could not sleep. His mind kept thinking about the last few weeks; of the arguments he had had with Fidelma and the cause of them. What was it that Aeneas said about leaving Dido, the Queen of Carthage? Varium et mutabile semper femina. Was that it? Woman is ever fickle and changeable. But Fidelma was not really capricious, it was just that she had a low tolerance of faults in others. She had a low tolerance of her own faults, too. He knew that, she had allowed him close enough to know it, still her sharp criticism frustrated and angered him.

She had been right to demand to know what he wanted. It was true that he wanted to be with her and their son Alchú, but did he really want to force them to go into some religious community and settle down? Did he really think that this meant security, a means of avoiding the complexities of the world? Or was it merely a means of trying to exert his individuality? As a youth he had met the missionary called Fursa in his village of Seaxmund’s Ham, who had persuaded him to journey across the sea to the land of Éireann. He had studied in the great teaching abbey of Tuaim Brecain, a celebrated medical school of the religious, founded by Bricin. There were two other colleges in the abbey, one of poetry and one of law.

Eadulf had arrived there many years after its founder Bricinhad died. Cennfaeladh ran the school. As a youthful warrior Cennfaeladh had fought in a battle at Magh Rath and received a dangerous wound in the head. He had been taken to Bricin’s medical school where his skull had to be trepanned. It was an ancient surgical procedure that had long been practised among the Gauls as well as the Britons and people of the Five Kingdoms. As soon as he recovered, Cennfaeladh had devoted himself to studies there and eventually became head of the school.

It was Cennfaeladh who had taught Eadulf the language of the country. Then he urged Eadulf to go and study in Rome. While he was in Rome, he had been chosen to attend the great Council in St Hilda’s abbey at Streonshalh in Northumbria. Had he not been at that Council he would not have met Fidelma. Since then, he had been back to Rome, travelled extensively among the Five Kingdoms of Éireann and been to the Kingdom of Dyfed, to Burgundia, Frankia, Gaul and Bro-Waroch.

Surely he could not be accused of hiding from the world and its complexities. Maybe it was just that he was tired. Tired of the rigours of travel. And now, here he was in another strange abbey. He had been here once before but only briefly. There had been no new buildings then. New buildings …

Eadulf suddenly sat upright. That was what was worrying him. The ladder and the young boy — what was his name? Gúasach. Fidelma had not pursued the idea of the ladder and boy being the means of gaining access to Brother Donnchad’s locked cell. Yet it seemed the obvious answer. The ladder had been easily accessible on the building site. Young boys had been known to kill people before. Didn’t Fidelma always say that the obvious answer, even if unpalatable, was often the right one?

Eadulf swung off his bed. He would take a look at that ladder lying by the new building. He would at least see if it was longenough to reach Brother Donnchad’s cell. He would do it now. He would not wait until morning, as he did not want Fidelma to know that he had not accepted her dismissal of the idea. If he could argue from knowledge then …

Impatiently he lit the candle at his bedside with his tenlach-teined, the tinderbox with its steel and flint. Eadulf had, over the years, become more adept at creating the tenlam, or hand-fire, as it was called, for he had taken instruction from Gormán. Warriors prided themselves on being able to create a fire by means of steel, flint and tinder faster than most people. It was part of their training. Eadulf pulled on his robes and sandals and, taking the lantern, made his way quickly and silently down to the abbey courtyard. The dark shadows of the abbey were shrouded in silence. Here and there he saw the flicker of lamps that were kept burning all night by the main gates and outside the doors of the main buildings.

Eadulf peered around, judging his bearings and checking to see if anyone was about, but all was quiet. The moon was now sheltering behind clouds. He was thankful for the light of the lantern. He made his way quickly across the quadrangle, wishing his leather sandals did not slap so noisily on the stone flags. The splashing fountain appeared to provide a muffle to his footsteps. It seemed that the entire abbey and its occupants were blissfully asleep. Not even the lonely cry of a distant wolf outside the abbey gates seemed to disturb their slumber. As he passed the library building and reached the building site, the clouds parted and a nearly full moon provided an ethereal light. The stone walls of the lower part of the building had been built to window level; the windows needed lintels to cap them before the walls could rise higher. But the main door seemed to have its lintel in place although it appeared to be at a curious angle.

Eadulf paused and listened. He thought he had heard a sound.But it was only an owl perched somewhere in the wooden framework above him.

Eadulf looked around, trying to locate the ladder. He could not see it and moved forward, towards the doorway. Then he heard a creaking noise, a rasp of moving stone. As lifted his lantern to identify the sound, he heard a loud gasp behind him and something slammed into his back. It was such a force that the lantern flew from his hand and he was flung forward. His head smashed against something solid and unyielding. There was a moment of bright light and then utter blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Eadulf swam reluctantly back to consciousness, his head was pounding with pain. He registered that it was daylight and realised that he was lying on a bed and someone was bending over him. A voice he could not identify said, ‘Ah, good. How do you feel?’

Eadulf’s mouth was dry and he tried to lick his lips. His voice was a rasping whisper.

‘Like a building has fallen on me.’