Cass, who had been standing silently by, suddenly remarked: "Here is an awesome place to chasten the soul."
Fidelma smiled at him, amazed that his usually stolid mind could be so moved.
"Here is a place to elevate the soul," she corrected, "for it shows just how insignificant we are in the great scheme of creation."
"I still cannot see why you would wish to come to this isolated place," Cass muttered, gazing at the breathtaking cliffs of the island.
Fidelma decided that it was time to relent a little and reveal what was in her mind.
"Remember the vellum we found in Grella's chamber? The letter Dacán wrote to his brother, Abbot Noé? He wrote it on the evening before he was killed and said that he had traced his quarry—remembered he used that word 'quarry'?—to the monastery of Sceilig Mhichil. He was searching for the heir of the native line of kings of Osraige. I am following the belief that he was killed because of that knowledge and that the next step along the path to resolving the mysteries rests on that impregnable island which you see before you."
Cass turned his gaze from the island to Fidelma and then back at the towering gray mass. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"You expect to find whoever it was that Dacán was looking for on the island?"
"Dacán certainly did."
That Ross and his crew, like most seamen of the coastal waters, were highly skilled was demonstrated in the next few minutes as they negotiated to a landing place which had been invisible until they came within a few yards of it. The waves threatened to hurl the vessel against the crashing rocks as the water foamed around them, causing sea spray to drench everyone. It took a while to anchor close enough for anyone to land.
"It is not good that we hold ourselves against the rocks of this landing place," cried Ross, having to shout to make himself heard above the crashing of the waves and cry of the seabirds. "When you have landed we will pull back from the island and stand off until such time as you signal us to pick you up."
Fidelma raised her hand in acknowledgment and prepared herself to leap from the side of the boat onto the narrow granite ledge which constituted a natural quay.
Cass jumped first so as to secure a position and ensure he could catch Fidelma in order that she might land in safety.
As they turned along the narrow strip of rock they saw a brown-robed anchorite hurriedly approaching down a perilously steep path. They saw his brows drawn together in a frown as he examined them in obvious annoyance.
"Bene vobis," Fidelma greeted.
The monk halted abruptly and the look of irritation intensified on his features.
"We spotted a ship coming into land. This place is forbidden to women, sister."
Fidelma raised her eyebrows dangerously.
"Who is the Father Superior here?"
The monk hesitated at her icy tones.
"Father Mel. But, as I have said, sister, our brothers dwell here in isolation from the company of women in accordance with the views of the Blessed Ffnan."
Fidelma knew that there were some monasteries where women were strictly excluded; for some, like Ffnan of Clonard or Enda of Aran, believed that the scriptures taught that women were the creation of the Evil One and should never be looked upon. Such heretical teaching was an anathema to Fidelma, who was not at all approving of the support such an idea received from Rome, which was little less than an attempt to impose celibacy and the isolation of one sex from the other on the argument propounded by Augustine of Hippo that man was created in the image of God but women were not.
"I am Fidelma, sister to Colgu, king of Muman. I am a dalaigh of the court, acting on the commission of the king, my brother."
Never would Fidelma have used this form of introduction had she felt there was any other way of overcoming this officious reception.
"I am here to conduct an inquiry into an unlawful death. Now conduct me to Father Mel at once."
The monk looked horrified and blinked nervously.
"I dare not, sister."
Cass ostentatiously loosened his sword in its scabbard, gazing upwards along the path by which the monk had descended.
"I think you should dare," he said coldly, as if speaking aloud his thoughts.
The monk cast an anxious look at him and then back at Fidelma before compressing lips to conceal his angry frustration. They could see him fighting with his thoughts. After a moment or two he gestured in resignation.
"If you can follow me, then you may reach Father Mel. If not…" There was a trace of a sneer in his voice and he did not finished the sentence.
He turned and started off up the path which was a comfortable climb initially but then it suddenly narrowed. Indeed, the path almost ended and they were ascending along almost sheer falls from one rocky ledge to another although here and there steps had been cut by the monks into the precipitous sides of the rock. It was a tough ascent. The wind blew and buffeted at them, threatening at times to tear them from the climb and send them tumbling down the slopes into the turbulent frothy seas below. Several times Fidelma, her hair streaming, the head-dress dislodged, found herself going down on all fours and clinging on grimly to the rocks of the path in order to steady herself.
The anchorite, used to the ascent, merely quickened his pace and Fidelma, in anger, took chances in her attempt to keep up with the man. Cass, coming behind her, had to reach out a hand to steady her on several occasions. Then, at last, they came to a strange plateau, a small green place set between peaks with two stone crosses. From this point a series of steps led through fangs of rocks to another plateau where a stone wall, running along one side, was the only barrier between the plateau and the sheer cliff falling down to the sea.
Fidelma halted at the spectacular view to the white-capped Little Sceilig and the misty outline of the mainland beyond.
On the plateau was the monastery built by Ffnan just over one hundred years before. There were six clochans, or beehive-shaped huts of rock, with a rectangular-shaped oratory. Beyond them were other buildings and another oratory. Fidelma was surprised to see a small cemetery behind with slabs and crosses. She wondered how this inhospitable crag of an island could hold enough earth to bury anything. It was a wild, even cruel place on which to attempt an existence.
There were several brothers tending a small garden set behind an artificial shelter of stone-slabbed walls. She noticed, also to her surprise, that there were two wells.
"This is truly an amazing place," she whispered to Cass. "No wonder the brothers are so obdurate about their privacy."
The anchorite who had accompanied them had disappeared, presumably into one of the stone buildings.
They had been spotted by the gardeners who had halted their work and were muttering uneasily among themselves.
"I do not think that they are pleased to see you, Fidelma," Cass said, his hand staying on the hilt of his sword.
The anchorite reappeared with the same abruptness as he had vanished.
"This way. Father Mel will speak with you."
They found a wizened-faced old man seated cross-legged in one of the beehive-shaped huts. It was small so that they either had to follow the old man's example and seat themselves on some sheepskins which covered the floor or stay standing, slightly stooped. Fidelma gave the lead by lowering herself into a cross-legged position in front of the old man.
He gazed at her thoughtfully with bright blue eyes. His face seemed hewed out of the rock of his island. Stern and granite-like. The lines were many and were etched deeply into his weather-beaten brown face.