Chalice of Blood

‘Brother Seachlann was already at work?’

‘He was in that little place where the men sometimes go to get salves when they are cut or bruised on the site.’

‘So you told him what was wrong. Then what?’

‘When we came out, one of the brethren was passing by and the physician called to him and told him to find the steward, that there had been an accident and that Glassán was badly injured. I had already told him he was dead,’ the boy added after a pause. ‘I am not that young that I do not know what death is.’

‘Brother Seachlann went with you to the body?’

The boy nodded.

‘Then what?’

‘He confirmed that Glassán was dead, by which time the steward came and also the abbot. Then Saor appeared and he suggested that I should be taken to Brother Donnán here while they made a further examination. It was while I was coming here that I saw you and Brother Eadulf coming through the gates.’ He paused and then added, ‘I’m glad you came, Sister. Now that Glassán is gone and I am far from home, I do not know what I should do.’

Fidelma reached forward and patted the boy on the arm to comfort him. ‘I have said that you do not need to worry. Back in your own lands, where Glassán lived before he came here to work on the abbey, did he have a house? Did he keep cattle?’

The boy nodded.

‘Did he have a wife and sons?’

‘He had a farm and employed a saer-fudir to watch over it as his tenant. But he had no wife or child.’

‘In that case, I will see that you return to your father and I will send instructions to the Brehon of your clan so that the cows that your father paid to Glassán for your fosterage are returned to him. Then, if you and your father wish it, youmight find another master builder to take you as a felmacc, or pupil.’

The boy seemed slightly relieved that he was not to be cast out into the country without anyone to care for him although he was clearly confused by the legal detail that Fidelma had given him.

Fidelma glanced at Brother Donnán. ‘Perhaps it can be arranged for Gúasach to remain in the abbey until this matter is cleared up. I will ensure that things are sorted out for him.’

‘I will arrange it with Brother Máel Eoin at the hostel.’ The scriptor turned to the boy with a smile. ‘There, did I not say you had no cause to worry? All is well.’

Fidelma and Eadulf bade farewell to the boy and left the library building.

‘Will the young lad truly be looked after?’ asked Eadulf once they were outside.

‘The resolution of this situation is provided in law,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The boy was given in fosterage to Glassán, being a master builder. He was to instruct him in the craft of building. We have a set of laws called the Cáin Íarraith, the law on fosterage and fees. Basically, Glassán was his fithidir, his instructor, and he was a felmacc, a pupil. If a foster-child has to return prematurely to his father for whatever reason, then the foster fee, the íarraith, must be repaid in full. Only if Gúasach had been guilty of serious misconduct could Glassán or his heir be exempt from returning the fee. So, under law, the boy must be escorted back to his father with the entire fee and neither he nor his father loses by what has happened.’

‘I see,’ Eadulf said. ‘So, what next?’

‘We will have a look in Glassán’s room in the guesthouse. Perhaps he has left an audacht, a will. Most people engaged indangerous work do so. But first I want another word with Brother Seachlann while I think about it.’

Eadulf knew the custom of Fidelma’s people to leave a will, a set of instructions covering the disposal of their property. It was apparently an ancient custom, which dated back long before the coming of Christianity, for it was believed that death was not an ending but the gateway into the Otherworld. So before one went on the fecht-uath, or grave journey, as it was called, those who could do so made a will.

They found Brother Seachlann alone in his bróinbherg and engaged in preparing the racholl, or winding sheet, to wrap the body of Glassán for burial.

The physician looked up with a frown.

‘Do you need to examine the body again?’ he asked irritably. ‘I have already washed it.’

‘It is not Glassán I needed to speak to you about,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I hear that you recently went on a trip to Ard Mór.’

Brother Seachlann looked surprised.

‘I did,’ he admitted.

‘May I ask why?’

‘It is no secret. I went to get some herbs for preparations. There is a market there where ships from over the seas land their cargoes and often you can find herbs of great benefit to-’

Fidelma raised her hand impatiently. ‘You also visited the abbey with a message from Fhear Maighe.’

‘What of that?’

‘How did you come by that message?’

‘How?’ He frowned as if trying to think. ‘From a young man from Fhear Maighe who knew I was journeying to Ard Mór.’

Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘Who was he and how did he know you were on your way to Ard Mór?’

‘I have no idea of his name. He was a young religieux who I met in the scriptorium. The scriptor told me that he often carried messages between the abbeys. He had come from Fhear Maighe and had an urgent message for the abbot of Ard Mór. He was worried for he had also to take an urgent message to the abbey at Fionán’s Height, which is north across the mountains. As I was riding to Ard Mór that same day to get the herbs, I offered to help and we parted happily.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment. ‘What was the message?’

‘Simply that certain books were being sent by river from Fhear Maighe to Ard Mór. I forget when the barge was due to arrive, although I was told at the time, and the name of the barge. The abbot was to have payment ready when it arrived. What does all this mean?’

‘Perhaps nothing,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘Were you given the names of the books?’

‘I cannot remember now. I recall that I had the titles written down by the scriptor in case I forgot them. He did so on a piece of bark. I gave that to the abbot at Ard Mór.’

‘You definitely gave the list to the abbot at Ard Mór on your arrival?’

‘I have said so.’

‘Very well,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘I thank you for your help.’

‘And you do not want to examine this corpse further?’ Brother Seachlann asked, indicating the body of Glassán.

‘I do not. When will he be buried?’

‘It is the custom of this abbey to have a day of watching and then to bury the corpse at midnight. We did not find the corpse until the early hours of this morning but Brother Lugna has said that as he died in the night, the obsequies should be carried out tonight.’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf. ‘I thought the laithina canti, thetime of watching and lamentation, should be a full day and night.’

Brother Seachlann sniffed slightly. ‘He was not part of this abbey community. I suppose Brother Lugna takes into account that there appear to be few people willing to take part in the aire, the wake. But he has instructed that he is to be buried in the plot to the east of the abbey where other members of the brethren are laid to rest.’

‘Brother Lugna seems to be in a hurry to bury Glassán,’ observed Eadulf once they were outside. ‘Surely some of Glassán’s workmen will want to keep watch over the body according to the custom?’