‘Enough to pay the honour price of any one of the Kings of the Five Kingdoms,’ Fidelma concluded.

  ‘Enough to buy a herd of nearly fifty milch cows,’ breathed Abbess Líoch, having seated herself again. She was in a state of shock.

  Fidelma retied the bag, saying to the abbess, ‘I presume that you had no idea your steward carried such a sum?’

  The abbess shook her head slowly. ‘None at all. But why?’

  ‘We must take this into safekeeping until the matter can be resolved,’ Fidelma declared. ‘Meanwhile, you must not breathe a word to anyone about this.’

  Abbess Líoch, beyond speech, could only give an assenting gesture.

  ‘Do you think we have found the motive for her murder?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Perhaps the murderer knew she would be carrying the sum and killed her for it?’

  ‘I would have thought even someone with impaired vision would see that she was not carrying the coins on her. If they knew she was the bearer of such wealth, they would be aware that she would never carry it on her person but would place it somewhere for safety – somewhere like this hiding-place we have found. So if she was killed for this, why did they not enter here and search for it?’

  Abbess Líoch glanced nervously at her. ‘But I was asleep here all night, and only this morning did I find Sister Dianaimh missing.’

  Fidelma made no reply but stood and picked up the bag, handing it to Eadulf. It was quite heavy.

  ‘Where to now?’ he asked.

  ‘Now we shall place the money in the safekeeping of my brother,’ Fidelma said. ‘I have an idea.’

  * * *

  ‘I am getting more confused as time goes by,’ Eadulf sighed as they went towards Colgú’s apartments. ‘We start with the murder of a Saxon cleric. Then there is an attack on my brother and his companion on the river. We think they are attacked by robbers from the Déisi. The robbers are captured and killed, except for their leader. He is brought here because he says he has something which he will use as a bargain to save himself from punishment. He is then murdered. We are told a deputation from Canterbury is coming here. Then someone tries to kill us. Then we are told my brother’s companion is no religious but a thief. And now Abbess Líoch’s bann-mhaor, her young steward, is murdered. She has been carrying a fortune with her. What can we make of all this?’

  ‘A tangled skein can be untangled if one has patience,’ observed Fidelma.

  ‘But if it is true that this Venerable Victricius was a thief, what was he doing on his way here? Is that why he did not tell my brother what his purpose was?’

  ‘After we have deposited these coins with Colgú, we will search out Brother Bosa and see if he can add anything more to this matter.’

  Brother Bosa was on the walkway of the fortress walls when they found him, leaning against the parapet and gazing towards the distant mountains in the north-west.

  ‘Not my sort of country,’ he greeted them as they approached. ‘There are mountains in every direction. Give me the low hills or flatlands, the sky and the sea.’

  ‘I have been once in the Kingdom of Kent,’ Fidelma offered. ‘We were in Canterbury for a short time before going to Aldred’s Abbey. I do remember the low hills and rivers and no sign of any mountains. I suppose each to their own. We have a saying here, there is no hearth like your own hearth.’

  Brother Bosa sighed and seemed almost vulnerable compared to the arrogance he usually displayed.

  ‘We wanted to ask a few questions,’ Eadulf volunteered.

  In a moment the man’s affable expression became guarded. ‘About what?’

  ‘You will have heard that Sister Dianaimh has been murdered?’

  ‘I am told that she was found in a tavern. It’s hardly a place for a moral religieuse.’

  ‘Being murdered, she might not have been able to protest about where her body was placed after her death,’ Eadulf replied sharply.

  ‘You will understand my position as a dálaigh,’ Fidelma went on smoothly, giving Eadulf a reproving glance. ‘I need to ask some questions.’

  ‘Why of me?’ asked the scribe.

  ‘You were talking to her during the meal last night. I just wondered if she said anything that might have indicated whether she was afraid of anyone?’

  Brother Bosa shrugged carelessly. ‘I did not speak to her for long.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  The scribe said reluctantly, ‘You know by now that our mission here is to gather information about claims for a primacy in this island.’

  ‘And that is what you were asking her about?’

  ‘My understanding was that she had been trained at an abbey called Sléibhte which was already in existence when Patricius came to administer to the faithful here. While we were in Laighin, we heard a rumour that they might contend for the primacy against Ard Macha. King Fianamail of Laighin supported another abbey called Cill Dara, which would certainly not be considered by the Holy Father because its abbot was subservient to an abbess.’

  ‘So you were asking Sister Dianaimh if the Abbot of Sléibhte, Abbot Aéd, was pressing his own case to be regarded as a primacy?’ clarified Fidelma.

  ‘The Venerable Verax wanted an assurance, so I thought that I would ask her.’

  ‘And did you get the information you wished?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘So why did you think that Sister Dianaimh, who was bann-mhaor to Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile, would have any particular information about Sléibhte?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘As I said, I was told she had links with the Abbey of Sléibhte,’ muttered Brother Bosa.

  ‘Could it have been that she had recently been observed at Sléibhte by Brother Cerdic? And would that have been the reason why she was invited especially to Cashel to meet with your deputation?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘We have been trying to understand why Abbess Líoch and her steward Sister Dianaimh had been invited by Brother Cerdic to attend here. It was pointed out to the abbess that it was in her interest to do so. If the purpose of your deputation was merely to gather such information – as could have been obtained by other simple means – why invite the abbess of a new and small community that would not rank in such research?’

  ‘We did not know Brother Cerdic had extended such an invitation,’ protested the scribe.

  ‘But he did. Apparently he went to Sléibhte and saw Sister Dianaimh there. It occurs to me that he, or your deputation, needed Sister Dianaimh at this meeting in Cashel. He could not openly invite her as an individual, but if he invited Abbess Líoch, then she would naturally bring her steward.’

  Brother Bosa was looking blank. ‘You have lost me, lady,’ he said.

  ‘The mystery is,’ Fidelma was reflective, ‘why go to all that trouble, simply to get such information? Had your deputation gone to the High King’s palace at Tara and sat with Cenn Faelad and his Brehon Sedna, you would have learned all this, without the necessity of a journey to each kingdom. It makes me wonder if there is some other, hidden purpose to your deputation.’

  Brother Bosa flushed. ‘What other purpose could there be?’ he blustered.

  ‘Are you selling anything?’ Eadulf blurted out, even surprising Fidelma.

  ‘Selling…? What do you mean?’ demanded the scribe, startled.

  ‘I had the impression last evening that I was being asked if Abbot Ségdae would give something – presumably pay out for some sort of approval if he made a claim for the primacy. I am told you appeared to be asking the same question of Sister Dianaimh about Abbot Aéd.’

  ‘King Fianamail had already told us that Abbot Aéd was supporting the claims of Abbot Ségéne of Ard Macha,’ replied Brother Bosa angrily, then realised he had confirmed his interest.

  ‘So is that why you are here?’ smiled Eadulf. ‘You are here to find the highest bidder among the abbots of these kingdoms for the recognition of the primacy by Rome?’

  The muscles in Brother Bosa’s face had tightened. ‘What nonsense is this?’ he spluttered. ‘Do you really think the Holy Father would countenance the buying and selling of such office?’

  ‘Why not?’ replied Eadulf easily. ‘Buying favours seems a natural human failing.’

  ‘Absolute nonsense,’ snapped Brother Bosa. ‘Now, if you will excuse me!’ He pushed roughly past them and headed to the steps leading down into the courtyard.

  ‘Well, well,’ breathed Eadulf after he had gone. ‘That seemed to upset him. But I cannot understand why Abbot Aéd would support Ard Macha, if his abbey has a prior claim of seniority.’

  ‘Simple enough,’ returned Fidelma. ‘It is a matter of politics rather than religion. The first Bishop and Abbot of Sléibhte, Fiacc, was a prince of the Uí Bairrche. They were once the ruling clan of Laighin. But Fiacc’s brother, Prince Oénghus, slew Crimmthan, a prince of the Uí Cennselaigh. And so the Uí Cennselaigh have gradually erased the power of the Uí Bairrche from all their strongholds in Laighin in retribution. Abbot Aéd is of the Uí Bairrche and he knows that ecclesiastical and political overlord-ship work in tandem. He doubtless fears that the Uí Cennselaigh will take over his great abbey. If he has agreed to recognise Ard Macha as having primacy over his abbey, and thereby receive its protection, then he has obviously been moved by the politics of power.’

  For a moment or two, Eadulf stood digesting this information.

  ‘But that doesn’t seem to fit with what the warrior, Muiredach, told us he saw at Sléibhte. What was it that Sister Dianaimh was meant to acquire – and was her bag of valuable coins to be used to purchase it?’

  Fidelma leaned against the wall, her hands clasped before her as she gazed out at the green swathe below. Eadulf waited nervously, in case he had said the wrong thing.

  ‘It is an interesting point,’ he added in justification.

  Fidelma finally turned to him. ‘Interesting? It is a very important question that needs an answer.’

  ‘Do you really think that Vitalian would give the primacy to someone who offered him money?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’replied Fidelma, to his immediate disappointment. ‘Nevertheless, it still remains a good question. Why did Sister Dianaimh carry all that money? What did she hope to achieve with it? To buy something? But what?’

  Eadulf uttered a sigh. ‘I am beginning to think that our friend Deogaire was right.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘That this deputation – and he did describe it as a deputation from the east – has been sent by the devil. So far, it has brought four deaths, including this mysterious Victricius – eight if you count the boatmen.’

  ‘Plus an attempt to kill us,’ Fidelma reminded him with a wry smile.

  She pushed herself away from the wall and stretched. There were clouds in the sky but it was still dry and not too cold for the time of year. She examined the wall where it ran towards the south of the fortress complex.

  ‘I have an idea,’ she said suddenly, starting to move along the walkway. Eadulf trotted after her. There were one or two sentinels on the walkway who stood back respectfully as they passed. One of them, however, called a warning.

  ‘Be careful of the south-west corner, lady. That’s where the stones crumbled. The builders are still at work there with their scaffolding.’

  She raised her hand in acknowledgement. It was precisely to that point she was heading, cursing herself for not having remembered it before.

  A mason was at work dressing a stone down on the scaffolding as they came up. Seeing them approaching, he stopped working with his hammer and chisel and saluted them.

  ‘Have a care, lady,’ he said politely. ‘It is dangerous here.’

  ‘I shall be careful,’ Fidelma assured him. She leaned forward cautiously and peered down through the wooden structure that went all the way to the ground. There were several workmen below, cutting and hoisting stones to repair the wall which had been damaged in a rock-slip.

  ‘Is it easy to come up and down that way?’ she asked.

  ‘Bless you, lady, it’s very easy to the trained. That is our job.’

  ‘What if one was not skilled – could it still be done? I see ladders in place. Are they always there?’

  ‘The ladders are lashed to the structure, lady, for security. It would be time-wasting to keep removing them and replacing them each day. Already the steward of your household is chiding us about the length of time it is taking to finish. But we are working as quickly as we can.’

  ‘So they are there during the night?’

  ‘They are so. But you need have no fear of an enemy attack from here, lady.’ The man chuckled at the idea. ‘The structure is easily defended from the wall.’

  ‘But anyone could climb up or down without any skill?’

  ‘There’s no skill in climbing a ladder, lady.’

  Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a smile. ‘I think we might have resolved one more question,’ she said in an undertone before turning back to the stonemason. ‘I am going to climb down,’ she announced. ‘I want to test how easy it is.’

  The man was astounded. ‘But, lady, we cannot afford it if you slip or have some accident.’

  ‘If anything happens, Eadulf is witness that I make this climb of my own volition and you are absolved from making any recompense if I injure myself.’

  Without a further word, she swung over the wall and, gripping the wooden supports of the structure, lowered herself to the first platform where the stonemason was working. With the astonished man still mumbling protests, she trod carefully over to the first ladder. Eadulf, having stifled his own protests, gave a groan and he, too, swung after her. At the third ladder, she paused and reached forward to where the wood was splintered. Several strands of dyed wool had been caught on the jagged edge. She picked them off carefully. They were of the same material as might be used in a religious robe.

  It was a quick and easy descent, from each ladder to each platform and so on, until they had reached the bottom and were gazing up towards the towering walls of her brother’s fortress. As Eadulf, sweating and nervous, joined her, Fidelma was standing with a satisfied smile on her face. Puzzled workmen were standing nearby, gazing astonished at their unexpected descent.

  ‘So now we know how Sister Dianaimh could have secretly left the fortress without the necessity of coming through the gates!’ she exclaimed in triumph. She showed the strands of wool to Eadulf. ‘I will wager with you that when we examine the robe that Sister Dianaimh was wearing, we will find a match.’

  ‘I would have believed you without the need for a practical demonstration,’ Eadulf replied glumly. Then he glanced over his shoulder. ‘It is certainly an easy walk from here to Rumann’s inn. But that would mean she was going to meet someone there.’

  ‘I believe she was going to meet someone,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Someone she knew and with whom she was—’

  ‘Going to negotiate a payment with the sack of coins?’ Eadulf interrupted.

  ‘Well, she did not carry them with her,’ Fidelma pointed out, ‘but I think I am beginning to see some light in this dark matter.’ And before Eadulf could say anything further, she added brightly: ‘Well, do you prefer to walk round to the main gate and surprise our guards, or would you like to climb back up?’

  Eadulf screwed up his face as if in agony. ‘I would willingly walk three times around The Rock than climb back up those ladders,’ he replied in a tone of fervour.

  They turned and began to walk along in the shadow of the citadel towards the main gate.

  ‘Having discovered how Sister Dianaimh could leave the palace without being seen,’ Eadulf speculated, ‘there is another thought that occurs to me.’

  ‘Which is?’ Fidelma asked in high good humour.

  ‘If it was easy for her to leave, it was just as easy for someone else to gain entrance.’

  It was a thought that had already occurred to Fidelma but she gave a quick nod. ‘I will tell my brother that he should have a guard permanently mounted there,’ she said quietly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Brother Conchobhar was working in his apothecary and looked up with a welcoming smile as Fidelma and Eadulf entered.

  ‘I received your message,’ he greeted them. ‘I’ve checked my missing medications and it seems that Deogaire took the correct ones for the conditions you described. I plan to check on her condition as soon as I can.’

  ‘Then Eadulf and I will join you,’ Fidelma told himself, ‘as it will be interesting to see this woman.’

  ‘Meanwhile, I have some news for you – so I am glad you came by,’ went on the old man. They detected a suppressed excitement in his tone. ‘It is about that band of lambswool. The Keeper of Books finally found a reference to it which confirmed what we had thought: a generation or more ago, it was worn by all the bishops when they performed the rites of the Mass. It then dropped out of use in the churches of the Five Kingdoms as we set more store by our abbots.’

  Fidelma’s face fell. ‘Nothing more?’

  Brother Conchobhar’s smile broadened. ‘He also told me that it was called a pallium but that its symbolism has changed in the last hundred years or so. The Bishop of Rome, the one they called Gregory, ordered that it could only be worn by bishops of special rank. He wrote to Bishop John of Ravenna nearly a century ago about pastoral rules and mentioned what it symbolised. It is now a symbol given by the Bishop of Rome only to those appointed as Chief Bishops or Archbishops. Its use is limited. No one else is allowed to wear it without the approval of the Bishop of Rome.’

  ‘You mean that it was used only by an Archbishop such as Theodore of Canterbury?’ asked Eadulf in astonishment.

  ‘It is apparently the symbol of the new Roman power, to be worn as a liturgical vestment only in the church and during the Divine Mass unless otherwise authorised by the Bishop of Rome,’ confirmed the old apothecary. ‘Our Keeper of Books remembered that he had seen some such reference to its change of use. Apparently we have a copy of that book of pastoral rules in our tech screpta.’

  ‘So this pallium is a symbol of an Archbishop…’ Fidelma considered the implications.

  ‘If Rudgal had stolen it in the attack on the river, what does it mean?’ Brother Conchobhar asked. ‘Was it being brought to a bishop here? The churches of the Five Kingdoms recognise no Chief Bishop over them. Bishops are subordinate to abbots among our churches.’