Chalice of Blood

Lios Mór. It was an unusual building, for most of the others in the complex, except the chapel, were made of wood. But it was clear that there was much new building work taking place across the abbey where the elderly wooden structures were replaced with ones of stone.

Abbot Iarnla moved swiftly for an elderly and rather portly cleric. Without pausing in his pace, he entered the stone building and climbed the flight of stairs to the upper floors with Brother Lugna hurrying after him. The door at the far end of the corridor on the top floor was the entrance to Brother Donnchad’s cubiculum, literally a ‘sleeping room’ in Latin. Abbot Iarnla halted before it but did not knock, as was the custom. He seized the handle and turned it. The door failed to open; it was locked.

Irritated, the abbot took a step back and raised his fist, giving three sharp blows on the dark woodwork.

‘Open, Brother Donnchad. It is I, Abbot Iarnla.’

He waited a few moments but there was no response.

Behind him, Brother Lugna coughed nervously. ‘As I told you, this aberrant behaviour is now usual. He does not respond to any of our entreaties to open.’

Abbot Iarnla raised his fist again and gave several sharp blows to the door. Then he paused and announced in a stentorian tone, ‘This is the abbot, Brother Donnchad. You are commanded to open this door.’

There was still no response. The abbot’s features grew grim and bright spots of red on his cheeks showed his mortification.

‘Brother Donnchad, if you do not open this door, I shall summon the means to break it open.’

As the silence continued, the abbot turned to Brother Lugna.

‘Summon Brother Giolla-na-Naomh.’

Brother Lugna hurried off. When he eventually returned with the Abbey’s blacksmith, Abbot Iarnla was waiting impatiently.

‘Break it open,’ he ordered.

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh was a tall, muscular man, as befitted his calling. His strength and willingness to do hard physical work had earned him his name ‘Servant of the Saints’ soon after he had arrived at the abbey and his original name had long been forgotten. The blacksmith examined the door critically for a moment. Then, waving the others to stand aside, he turned his back to the door, balanced on his left foot and with his right foot gave the lock a powerful back kick. There was a splintering of wood around the metal lock and the door crashed inwards. The lock hung for a moment from the jamb before it slowly fell with a clatter to the floor.

‘You may go,’ Abbot Iarnla told the blacksmith, before proceeding across the threshold. ‘Brother Donnchad, I warned you-’

The abbot’s voice stopped abruptly.

Brother Lugna peered into the room over his shoulder.

They could see inside clearly, for a window lit the cubiculum. Below it was the wooden cot and on it was stretched the occupant of the room, lying as if asleep, quiet and still.

Brother Lugna squeezed past the frozen figure of the abbot and moved to the bed. He bent down and touched the features of the man who lay there, withdrawing his hand quickly as if he had been scalded. He looked at the abbot.

‘Brother Donnchad is dead,’ he said flatly.

‘Attende Domine, et miserere …’ The abbot began to softly intone the injunction for God’s mercy.

To the abbot’s surprise, Brother Lugna turned the body over on to its side so that the back was towards him. He stared at it for a moment and finally let it fall back into its original position.

The abbot paused in his prayer. ‘What are you looking for, Brother Lugna? Do you think he took his own life?’

The steward stood upright and turned to the abbot. His face was paler than usual and he wore a troubled expression.

‘Took his own life? Not unless he was able to stab himself twice in the back before he climbed on to the bed and lay down,’ he rejoined drily.

The abbot’s ruddy face blanched and he performed the sign of the Cross.

‘Lux perpetua lucent eis. Qui erant in poenis tenebrarum …’ he began to mutter. ‘Let perpetual light shine unto them which were in the pain of darkness.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘Are you telling me that you are rejecting the Faith, Fidelma?’ Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach, demanded in a scandalised voice.

Fidelma stood before the abbot in the private chamber that was always set aside for his visits to the palace of Cashel. By virtue of his ecclesiastical role as Chief Bishop of Muman, Ségdae was always treated with the greatest respect when he came to see his King.

‘I am not rejecting the Faith, only the life of a religieuse,’ Fidelma replied patiently.

Abbot Ségdae examined her with suspicion. ‘This is not good. I know that you have had concerns over the years …’

Fidelma raised a hand and Abbot Ségdae paused to allow her to speak.

‘When I attended the school of the Brehon Morann and qualified in the study of law, which was my passion, my brother was not then King of Muman, and I needed the means of supporting myself before I could make a reputation as an advocate, a dálaigh of the courts. My cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú, suggested I join the house of Brigid at Cill Dara, because they needed someone with legal ability. It is some years ago since I shook the dust of that place from my sandals for reasons that I think you know well.’

Abbot Ségdae shrugged. ‘One bad apple does not mean that the entire crop is ruined,’ he commented.

A smile crossed Fidelma’s features but there was little humour in it.

‘It seems that there are many bad apples in this world. During the seven or so years that I have practised the legal arts, I have come across more than I care to enumerate — even in the palace of the Holy Father in Rome. Anyway, since leaving Cill Dara, I have based myself at my brother’s court here in Cashel and sought to serve him and this kingdom, and even the High King, to the best of my ability when my opinion has been sought. The Church has little need of me to serve the Faith, but the law does have need of me.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ Abbot Ségdae demanded.

‘That I will no longer be a member of the religieuse in name. Many years have passed since I was truly a Sister of a community. Even before I went to Cill Dara, I was never committed to the rules and regulations of the religieuse. It was only a means of security in an uncertain world. Now, my brother often needs me at his side to advise and sit with him in matters of law and this kingdom.’

The abbot frowned briefly. ‘I hear what you say, Fidelma. I hear it and am concerned by it. Is this matter something to do with Brother Eadulf?’

A flush came to Fidelma’s face.

‘Eadulf? Why do you say that?’ she demanded defensively.

The abbot sat back and examined her closely. ‘It has been observed, Fidelma, that since your return from the Council of Autun, and the problems you encountered after you left the port of Naoned, you and Brother Eadulf have led separate lives. Why is that?’

‘It is … it is a private matter,’ Fidelma said hesitantly.

The abbot shook his head sadly. ‘Anything that affects thewell-being of the King’s sister, that causes her to withdraw from the religieuse, must surely be of concern to me as the King’s chief spiritual adviser.’

‘My decision has nothing to do with Eadulf,’ she insisted in annoyance. ‘I needed time at Cashel while Eadulf wanted to spend some time in contemplation with the community of the abbey of the Blessed Rúan north of here. That is all.’

‘All?’