‘Salve,’ she greeted him in the Roman fashion, making the words of the new Christian greeting in Latin seem ironic. ‘Peace on you, brother, and upon this community.’
The man frowned uncertainly. ‘And to you — peace,’ he muttered, as if irritated at being reminded of his manners. ‘What do you seek here?’
Fidelma sighed deeply before addressing him. ‘I assumed that we had come to a Christian community. What else could we be seeking but the customary hospitality?’ she began.
‘But you are not,’ he argued. ‘Although two of you are dressed as in the manner of religious, your companions are warriors. So I doubt if you are just wanderers preaching the Faith and seeking Christian hospitality and alms.’
He was clearly hostile and the rest of the brethren were regarding them in a sullen and watchful manner. The young man at the side of the speaker held his sword as if waiting for the word to leap forward to attack. Eadulf was aware that the other members of the religious, each grasping staves and other objects that could be used as weapons, were beginning to form a semi-circle at their backs, although not yet closing in. He hoped Fidelma would do nothing precipitous.
‘You have sharp eyes. We have come from Tara seeking Bishop Luachan,’ she replied, remaining calm.
‘Luachan is not here,’ was the uncompromising response.
‘Then tell us where he is and we will bother you no further,’ Fidelma said.
‘All I can tell you is that he is not here,’ replied the other doggedly.
‘That is not helpful,’ she observed quietly.
‘I cannot be responsible for the effect of the information that I give you,’ snapped the rotund man. ‘I can only give you the information.’
Caol could not restrain himself.
‘Do you know to whom you speak?’ he roared. ‘This is Fidelma of Cashel, the dálaigh requested by the Great Assembly of the five kingdoms to investigate the assassination of Sechnussach. Shame on you and on your manners!’
The rotund man’s eyes narrowed a little and an expression of uncertainty crossed his face.
‘Of Cashel? Are you the sister to King Colgú? Fidelma the dálaigh?’
‘This is she,’ replied Caol belligerently before Fidelma could answer. ‘Therefore, I suggest-’
Fidelma held up a hand to still his outburst, then reached into her saddlebag and took out the wand of office, which Cenn Faelad had given her.
‘Do you recognise this?’
The man’s eyes goggled. ‘I do,’ he said.
‘Know then that this is my authority. We come here meaning you no harm. There is no need for your men to finger their weapons so anxiously. We wish to speak with Bishop Luachan, that is all.’
The man held her gaze for a while and then glanced at Eadulf and then at Caol and Gormán. He turned to his companion and nodded a dismissal. The younger man reluctantly lowered his sword and waved to the others to disperse.
‘Please,’ the stocky man said, his voice moderating from belligerency to apology, indicating that they should dismount, ‘forgive this poor welcome but we live in fractious times. Indeed, we live in fear of our lives. But, let me greet you properly. I am Brother Céin and I am steward to Bishop Luachan and, in his absence, am in charge of our poor community.’
Fidelma introduced her companions as they dismounted.
Brother Céin greeted each before continuing: ‘Have you ridden directly from Tara? Let me take you into the hostel and offer you refreshment.’
Fidelma indicated her assent and fell in step with him, while the others followed; the young man with the sword announced that he would see to their horses and have them rubbed down, watered and fed.
‘So, is it true that Luachan is not here?’ she asked. ‘And why are you and your brothers in fear of your lives?’
Brother Céin shrugged. ‘It is true the bishop is not here,’ he confirmed, ‘and the why and wherefore are long in the telling. Come in and take refreshment first.’
The travellers were seated, drinks were brought and a meal served, as it was well past midday. It was only after they had been served that Fidelma returned to the subject.
‘So, tell us what has happened to put you in such fear, Brother Céin,’ she invited.
The steward’s expression was sad.
‘Three days ago, Bishop Luachan was summon to attend a farmer’s wife who was said to be dying. The bishop had known the farmer and his wife for many years. Their farm is not far from here so he left on hismission of mercy. The man who brought this message presented himself as a passing traveller. When Bishop Luachan did not return by nightfall, the next morning, we sent one of the brethren to find out why he was delayed. Imagine his astonishment on encountering the farmer’s wife in robust health and claiming never to have sent a message at all. A search was made but the bishop had vanished.’
‘I see. There was no mistake? The bishop was not summoned elsewhere? ’
‘He was not. Ever since young Brother Diomasach was killed last week Bishop Luachan had been fearful, and that is why he persuaded us to view any strangers, particularly warriors, with suspicion. He advised that we find weapons and kept them to hand.’
‘Who was Brother Diomasach?’
‘He was the bishop’s scribe who wrote a good hand and spoke several languages.’
‘How was he killed?’
‘He disappeared from the nearby fields one day and was found floating in the Daoil, the river yonder. It looked as though he had been beaten — tortured, even — before he had been killed. God grant him peace.’
‘Did Bishop Luachan have any suspicion as to why Brother Diomasach was killed? Who did he fear, that he suggested that you be so wary?’
‘There have been several raids on isolated members of the Faith.’
‘Dibergach?’ queried Eadulf, practising the new-found word he had learned.
Brother Céin shrugged. ‘Brigands? Perhaps. But they say there is a vigorous movement arising in the west that seeks to bring back the old religion. We have heard that these particular dibergach take pleasure in raiding Christian churches and communities.’
Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment. ‘So it was felt that Brother Diomasach was attacked because he was simply one of the Faith and had been found alone in the fields?’
Brother Céin looked uneasy.
‘There is more?’ pressed Fidelma, catching his expression.
‘What brought you here in search of the bishop?’ countered the steward instead.
‘No secret to that. Bishop Luachan visited the High King and took him some sort of gift. That was the very night before the High King was assassinated. There is now no sign of the gift and no one claims to have seenit. I was curious. What was this important gift? Did it have any bearing on the assassination of the High King? As Delbna Mór lay on our route to the country of the Cinél Cairpre, whose former chieftain is known to have been the assassin, I thought I might discuss this mysterious gift with Bishop Luachan.’
Brother Céin’s face grew longer and he sighed deeply.
‘I do not pretend to know all the answers, lady. But I have some knowledge which may be of help.’ He glanced at the sky through the window and nodded half to himself. ‘There is daylight left. If you have refreshed yourselves sufficiently, I would show you something but it is a short walk from here.’
Fidelma looked at Eadulf for his reaction.
‘Come,’ urged Brother Céin. ‘You can bring your warriors and their weapons with you.’ He rose and took an oil lamp from a table. Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a curious glance for, as the steward had said, it was still daylight outside. They followed as he left the refectory and led them through the wooden buildings. They turned in a southeasterly direction, not more than 400 metres along a thickly wooded pathway.