The Seventh Trumpet (24 page)

‘So he might assist us?’

‘Alas, he died many years ago. I have no idea who his successor is.’

‘What are those hills to the south-east?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Could they be making for those?’

They relied on Gormán, who appeared to know something of the topography of the area, to supply the answer.

‘They are called the Sliabh Ardachaidh – the Hills of the High Field. It is not a tall range of hills but they are the highest hills that stand between the boggy plains of Osraige and the borders of Laigin further east. The men we follow would have to travel further east before they could turn on a safe road through the bogs towards them.’

They continued to ride in silence for a while, with Enda now and then checking the tracks left by the group they were pursuing. Even these tracks had come to an end now, for they had arrived at more boggy land over which, to their surprise, stretched a newly built causeway. There were many causeways of this nature throughout the Five Kingdoms on which to cross the bogs; they were constructed with quantities of timber, mainly birch for the base structure, its long, straight planks used for the supports for the upper timbers of alder, elm or hazels. There were even sections of it paved with stones that had been smashed and laid almost like flagging. Most of this was very new. Indeed, there were piles of materials lying on both sides of the road – clearly not abandoned but indicative of work in hand. It seemed as if the workers had merely left their toil for the day so that they could return home before nightfall.

‘I presume the community are trying to build a roadway from the Abbey to the river crossing into Durlus Éile,’ Fidelma said.

‘But through their efforts I have lost the tracks,’ Enda complained in exasperation, since any traces left by the walkers had now vanished.

‘Even so, I think they will stick to the easy path along the causeway and not go wandering off into the bog land,’ Fidelma replied.

Gormán had turned to her with a puzzled frown. ‘Nevertheless, the Osraige have obviously been doing a lot of new road-building here.’

She agreed that she too was surprised at the amount of new work. Eadulf knew that her people classified their roads in terms of size: the laws mentioned seven classes of roadway, starting with the five great
slige
or main highways that linked the Five Kingdoms to the High King’s seat at Tara. This new roadway was undoubtedly curious for, as Fidelma pointed out, it could only come from the old Abbey of Liath Mór. But as they rode along it, it became plain that it was no small by-road of the type that usually led to abbeys. It was what could be classed as a
ramut
, a wide highway with no fencing but open on either side so that war horses and chariots could travel from fortress to fortress. Such a road was usually the main highway from a King’s residence, to which all small by-roads led. She noted the structure with interest. This causeway, or
tóchar
, was laid first with branches of trees, earth and stones and bushes placed in layers and pressed down until they were firm enough to cover with the planks. There was room enough for two chariots, drawn by two horses apiece, to pass each other at the gallop without slowing. Four horses abreast and still space to spare … What manner of highway was this, and for what purpose?

‘It’s more like a military highway than a road leading to a religious community,’ observed Gormán, articulating her very thought.

‘New causeway or not, dusk will not be long in coming. We shall soon have to seek hospitality for tonight or sleep out on this road itself, for we have bog land on either side,’ Enda said practically.

The journey across the plain was fairly easy because of the causeway, but it provided no shelter from the wind that was rising as dusk began to show in the eastern sky. Fidelma kept her feelings of unease to herself. Osraige nominally accepted the Kings of Muman as their overlords and, as such, new roadworks of this dimension would have to have the King’s approval. However, she could not remember hearing about such new building-work among the gossip exchanged in Cashel. But Enda was right. They would have to find a bed for the night – and soon.

They had been travelling on firmer ground and over small, rocky hillocks, keeping to the newly built highway. This had led them through an unexpected, albeit small, stretch of woodland. It was an oasis in the bog land. As they emerged from the shelter of these trees, Enda, who was in the lead, gave a sharp gasp.

‘Look, lady, a fortress! That’s where the new highway leads.’

They halted on the edge of the woodland and surveyed a series of grey stone and wooden buildings that were surrounded by a high stone wall. The whole structure seemed newly built, with the roadway running towards its oppressive dark wood gates. There was what appeared to be a watchtower to one side of the gates. The whole structure was quite extensive.

Fidelma stared at the construction in surprise.

‘That is no fortress,’ Gormán said. ‘Or, at least, it should not be. This was where the Abbey of Chaemóc stood. The Abbey of Liath Mór. How has the community grown from the collection of wooden buildings into such an imposing structure? I last passed this way when I was a mere youth, and the abbey was nothing like this.’

‘My cousin, Abbot Laisrán of Darú, used to say that this abbey was hardly more than two huts and a little chapel,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘It certainly appears more like a fortress than the dwelling of a religious community,’ Eadulf said.

Gormán was examining the structure with the critical eye of a warrior. ‘Those walls are built for defence – a few bowmen there could stand off an entire army. Even the watchtower does not seem a place where the bell is chimed for prayers. If I were trying to plan an attack on the place, I would be hard-pressed to choose any weak point of entrance.’

‘My friends,’ Fidelma tried to overcome her unease, ‘you will observe the surrounding countryside. What is there to defend here? From this small woodland rise, all before you is bog land. Why build a fortress in this desolate place? Why fortify an abbey? What army could march against it? There is no main track through here …’ She paused when she suddenly recalled the new causeway.

‘Well, someone is trying to build one.’ The comment came from Gormán even before she could correct herself. ‘And surely this is the territory of Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of the Osraige? He has to seek approval from Colgú of Cashel before he can build new roads or improve buildings.’

‘Perhaps we are getting a little sensitive?’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us continue on. We need to find out if there is news of those whom we pursue and, in any event, as Enda says, we need hospitality for the night before it grows late.’

They left the cover of the wood and continued along the track towards the imposing new buildings. As they approached the stern edifice, the dark oak gates swung open. Their approach had been observed from the watchtower.

A group of men clad in grey religious robes had moved forward from the darkness of the entrance and stood watching them, their arms folded in the sleeves of their robes. All had their cowls covering their heads. As Fidelma and her companions halted a short space from them, one of the brethren stepped forward and held up his hand, palm outward.

‘
Pax vobiscum
,’ he greeted in the language of the Faith. Like his companions, he remained with his head obscured by his hood. Fidelma could just see his lower face and noted that he was a cleanshaven young man.

‘
Pax tecum
,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We come seeking shelter from the oncoming night.’

To her amazement the young man responded with a negative shake of his head.

‘Our sorrow, lady, that we cannot extend our hospitality to a woman nor to wandering warriors.’

Fidelma reached over to restrain Gormán as she saw his hand slide to the hilt of his sword.

‘Is this not the Abbey of Liath Mór?’ she asked coldly.

‘It was.’

‘
Was?
I am sorry that I have been badly informed. I believed this to be the Abbey of Liath Mór in the territory of the Osraige.’

The young man’s expression did not change. ‘It is now called Dún Muirne.’

‘Dún Muirne? The Fortress of Muirne? That’s a strange name for a religious community.’

‘I should explain that the Lady Muirne was the daughter of our patron and abbot, who was drowned crossing the Suir. He desires that this place commemorates her life.’

‘And who is your abbot?’ she enquired.

‘Our abbot is Cronán.’

‘Then announce us to this Abbot Cronán.’

‘I have explained that it is not possible.’

‘Not possible?’ There was a dangerous rise to her voice. ‘Who are you?’ The second question was snapped out in the tone of authority that Fidelma had developed as an advocate of the law courts.

‘I am Anfudán – Brother Anfudán, the steward of the abbey.’ The young man remained defiant in tone.

‘Then listen closely, Brother Anfudán. Night is now quickly approaching and inhospitable bog land stretches for long distances all around us. My companions and I wish for hospitality, which this Abbey of Liath Mór is bound to give under both law and custom.’

The young steward drew himself up, thrusting out his jaw aggressively.

‘I do not have to answer to you, lady. Who do you think you are, to believe that you have the right to give orders here … to a pious community of the Faith?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King, advocate and judge qualified to the level of
anruth
. Now bring forth your abbot to answer why you have refused hospitality to my companions and me, and are thus not compliant to law and custom and the rights of your King!’

The young man stood staring at her from under his cowl, and then an interesting thing happened. One of his companions hurried forward and whispered in the steward’s ear. The latter waited with head bowed for a moment and then nodded. The man who had whispered to him had turned and hastened back through the gates. Then the steward cleared his throat.

‘You and your companions may enter our courtyard and dismount while I seek clarification in this matter.’ He gestured for the brethren who were with him to stand well back so that Fidelma and the men with her could enter.

Beyond the gates they were in a fairly large courtyard, where some of the brethren were already lighting torches against the approaching night. Fidelma quickly registered the numerous outbuildings, storehouses, a smithy’s forge, and what looked like the ornate entrance to a chieftain’s hall rather than a chapel. The abbey was unlike any that she had ever seen before. She could now entirely agree with Gormán that it was more like a fortress than a community for the Faithful.

The young steward, Brother Anfudán, was curt. ‘You may dismount and wait here.’ He then marched away in the direction of the main building.

‘That sounded more like a military command than a request,’ Gormán murmured.

Behind them, the great oak gates were swinging shut and a bar was pushed into place to secure them. Eadulf shivered slightly. He felt like a prisoner being shut in.

Members of the brethren had not dispersed but stood nearby, almost as if on guard. The newcomers were aware of figures moving along the walkways on the high wall, like sentries patrolling the battlements. Fidelma did not like the situation. Had she been wrong in insisting on her rights and revealing her identity? It was too late now. She had let her irritation get the better of her. They should have ridden on and learned more about how Liath Mór had come into its new existence.

‘What now, lady?’ whispered Gormán, edging forward. He sensed what was going through Fidelma’s mind. ‘This is no abbey. Surely, it is the custom of most abbeys to bring water to wash the feet of travellers when they enter?’

‘This place has already revealed the fact that it does not share the customs of hospitality common in other abbeys,’ she sighed.

‘How do we proceed?’

‘We continue to behave as any normal traveller would, in their own land,’ she said quietly. ‘We will wait and see. After all, it is not we who have broken the laws of hospitality but the arrogant young steward, Anfudán. We will see if he really denied us on the instructions of his abbot and, if so, how this is justified by the abbot himself. We must have a care. This place does not inspire feelings of tranquillity.’

There seemed an inordinate passing of time before one of the brethren came back from the hall, without Brother Anfudán. Fidelma thought it was the same man who had given some instruction to the young steward at the gate.

‘Will you and your companions follow me, lady?’ He spoke in a gruff but respectful tone. ‘My men – my brethren – will attend to your horses.’ He turned to those nearby and, raising his voice, issued orders. Members of the brethren came forward and took their horses and led them away towards buildings that looked like stables.

Their guide then motioned them to follow him towards the main building. They went up some stone steps and found themselves in a massive hall that would have done justice to that of a petty-king. In the centre of this was a large hearth with a smouldering turf fire. In those areas of the Five Kingdoms where wood was scarce, particularly in the vast boggy plains like the surrounding one, people cut the turf or peat moss, where plants and matted roots combined to present a fuel called
móin
suitable for slow-burning fires. The intensity of the warmth was marked as they entered. Before this fire were several chairs and a table.

A man sat in one of the chairs. At his side and slightly behind his left shoulder stood the young steward, his head still covered by his cowl.

Their guide approached and bowed before the figure in the chair before turning and moving to one side.

It was clear that the man was tall, in spite of being seated. His head was uncovered, showing his bald pate, and his robes were tight upon him as if his entire frame was muscular. His facial features were full and tanned. Fidelma noticed a livid scar on one cheek. It was clearly an old wound. The man stared at them with pale, almost colourless eyes, which seemed to glint, like glass, against the light given by a nearby lamp. They were close-set, with bushy eyebrows, emphasising the long, thin nose that gave a curiously aggressive cast to his appearance. The thin red lips were tightly compressed. Overall, he had the unkempt appearance of a man more used to the countryside than existing within the shady confines of an abbey.