‘Do not be alarmed, lady,’ he whispered. ‘I need to talk with you.’

  It was dark, apart from a faint glow from the ashes in the fireplace.

  ‘I cannot talk to you in darkness, Feradach,’ she replied calmly, recognising his voice. ‘Can you light the lamp which is somewhere over there?’

  The warrior felt his way over to the small table and picked up the oil lamp. She could make out his shadow as he moved across the room to the door. A lamp was still alight in the corridor, and Feradach had no problem in transferring its flame to the wick of the oil lamp. He came back, closing the door behind him, set down the lamp and then looked round. There was a chair against one wall and he lowered himself into it. Fidelma had thrown a robe around herself while he had gone into the corridor and now she sat on the bed and regarded him gravely.

  ‘What business is it that you must come and disturb me in the middle of the night?’

  Feradach actually chuckled. ‘Not quite the middle of the night, lady. The birds will start to sing in the dawn fairly soon.’

  ‘It is too early or too late to play semantics, Feradach.’

  The warrior became serious. ‘My apologies, lady. Something is worrying me. I do not think Abbot Saran was volunteering the whole truth.’

  She stared at him for a moment in surprise. ‘About what?’ she asked, bemused.

  ‘About the treasure of the abbey.’

  ‘You mean there is no gold treasure taken from the local quarries?’

  ‘Oh, indeed there is. The Abbot has, in the last ten years or so, built up a very respectable treasure. The abbey has used some of it to become involved in trade through its strategic position on the river here. You have seen where the treasure is kept.’

  ‘But he admitted as much,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘In what way has he been frugal with the truth?’

  ‘It is said there was another great treasure and I believe that this is what the young man and woman were seeking when they were discovered.’

  Fidelma was silent for a moment. ‘That is quite a presumption, my friend, unless you have precise information. Perhaps you had better explain? But first tell me why you come to me with this story and at such a time? After all, you are a warrior of Osraige, as you have told me quite clearly. You serve the Abbot. Isn’t your duty to the Abbot or your Prince?’

  Feradach gave a grimace as if to dismiss the suggestion. ‘It is true that my duty is to Tuam Snámha, Prince of Osraige, and the Abbot is his cousin. But you reminded me that the law stands above duty to princes. Anyway, Tuam Snámha has a binding treaty of peace and friendship with your brother, Colgú of Cashel. He pays tribute to the Kingdom of Muman. So my duty should be to your brother as well.’

  ‘A fair enough argument, although I often find that the duties of a warrior of Osraige sometimes conflict with loyalty to Cashel,’ she replied cynically.

  ‘In this case, not so,’ said the warrior. ‘I think there is something more at stake here than the riches the abbey has acquired in recent years.’

  ‘You intrigue me,’ Fidelma said frankly. ‘Very well – continue.’

  ‘Do you know the story of the foundation of this abbey?’

  ‘I have vaguely heard of it.’

  Feradach inclined his head for a moment. ‘Let me start at the time Cainnech came here. That was in my grandfather’s time. This was one of the last great centres of the Old Faith. The defenders of the old gods and goddesses had been forced to retreat before the enthusiastic advocates of the New Faith. Everywhere, the old sanctuaries were being destroyed, rebuilt or converted to the New Faith, or even abandoned. From every corner of Ireland the Druids were leaving. Many were even converting to the Faith of Christ.’

  Fidelma was a little impatient. ‘This is basic history, my friend.’

  ‘Indeed. But seventy years ago, this very mound on which this abbey was built was regarded as the last sanctuary of the Old Religion. The man who claimed the title of Chief Druid, together with his followers, had retreated here, and here they sought sanctuary, clinging to the beliefs that our ancestors had followed from the time before time.’

  ‘So I have heard,’ Fidelma nodded.

  ‘Cainnech took this as an affront to the New Faith. He declared that the adherents of the old ways should be eliminated, and this spot consecrated to the New Faith, even as Pope Gregory had commanded. Cainnech was certainly no man of peace. He gathered an army and marched on this hill. I am told that he was an old man at that time for he died not long afterwards when he was eighty-four years old.

  ‘My grandfather was still a young man when Cainnech and his army surrounded this hill. They were merciless: men, women and children who had adhered to the old gods and goddesses were destroyed. The hill ran with blood, every building was stained red. Fires then cleansed what was left. And finally, Cainnech ordered a church to be built to honour his victory. He blessed it and consecrated this hill, which had once been the sanctuary of the Druids, to the New Faith. Cill Cainnech is now the chapel of this abbey.’

  ‘I have heard the tale roughly told, without as much detail,’ Fidelma said. ‘But is it worth disturbing a night’s sleep for? I thought you came to tell me about a treasure.’

  Feradach’s expression was serious. ‘I was not telling you this story just to disturb you, lady. Legend has it that during those last days before Cainnech’s army overwhelmed them, the Chief Druid and his followers had managed to hide a sacred treasure. It was hidden on this very hill and no one has ever discovered it after the citadel fell to the New Faith.’

  ‘So you are trying to tell me that there is some pagan Druid treasure buried under the abbey?’ Fidelma raised her voice in apparent surprise. ‘And that this was the treasure that Ultan and Ultana came searching for?’

  ‘And never found,’ affirmed the warrior. ‘But lower your voice, lady. The abbey walls carry sound and we must be circumspect.’

  ‘You suspect that Abbot Saran knows all about it and, moreover, knows where it is hidden?’ she said, just as loudly.

  Feradach cast a nervous glance around. ‘I do, but we must be quiet, lady. We don’t want anyone to hear us.’

  ‘And are you saying that he ordered Ultan and Ultana to be pursued and poisoned?’

  Feradach gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘I cannot make that claim. But it might be worth examining the chapel. The story among many people is that the treasure was put there – where the chapel now stands. That was where the sanctuary to the old gods and goddesses once stood. Would that not be the most likely spot to hide a treasure? It would explain why that couple were caught searching there.’

  Fidelma was dubious. ‘If Cainnech had no compunction in wreaking such destruction here, I doubt whether he would have left a treasure intact and built over it.’

  ‘True,’ agreed the warrior, ‘unless it was so well hidden that he missed it. We know that Ultan and Ultana were not interested in the gold, silver and other precious artefacts that the abbey has acquired from the quarries and from trade over recent decades. So if they were not searching for those riches … what, then, were they searching for?’

  ‘Let us presume that they were searching for this pagan treasure…’ Fidelma paused as a thought occurred to her. Feradach waited for her to break the silence into which she had fallen. Then she raised her head. ‘You might be right. Do you know much about this abbey and its history?’

  The warrior smiled grimly. ‘There’s not been much history in a hundred years apart from the founding of this abbey and the growth of trade.’

  ‘The Abbot implied that he had built the abbey?’

  ‘That’s right. Until he came, this was just a small church. In ten years things have altered drastically.’

  ‘So he rebuilt everything?’

  ‘Not everything. I am told that he left the chapel as it was and built his grand abbey around it.’

  ‘Where did you get your knowledge of this matter?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

  ‘My grandfather came from nearby. I heard tales from him. Seventy years ago is not so long in the minds of some people. My grandfather used to tell me that those adherents of the Old Religion who settled here possessed great wealth.’

  ‘Those who settled here?’ Fidelma repeated the phrase softly. ‘Does that mean they were from elsewhere?’

  ‘He said that those of the Old Religion had retreated here from many places all over Ireland. The Chief Druid, for instance, had fled here from one of the northern kingdoms.’

  Fidelma looked up, alert. ‘Did he know which one?’

  ‘If he did, I do not remember.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting, Feradach? What is the point of all this?’ Her voice rose again, although she had hither to kept to a fairly normal speaking level.

  ‘I thought we could take advantage of this darkness to go to the chapel and see if there was a purpose in Ultan trying to move the altar stone. Perhaps he was right and the pagan treasure does lie beneath it. If we go now, then the abbey is still asleep and we will not be disturbed.’

  There was a movement outside the door and Aidan’s voice came to their ears. ‘Are you all right, lady? I heard voices.’

  ‘Come in,’ Fidelma called out. When Aidan entered, glancing with surprise at Feradach, she said: ‘Feradach was suggesting that I go to the chapel with him to see if there is something hidden under the altar stone. Perhaps that is a good idea. We shall all go. Take Feradach and wake Enda and meet me outside. I must get properly dressed.’

  Within a few moments all four were making their way to the chapel.

  ‘What do you think happened to Ultan and Ultana after they fled from here?’ Fidelma asked as they entered the gloom of the abbey sanctuary.

  ‘It is hard to hazard a guess, lady,’ Feradach replied. ‘They just disappeared, as we told you. Great marshlands lie to the west of here, beyond the mountains. They say that many people dwell there who do not acknowledge the New Faith.’

  ‘You think that Ultan and Ultana went to hide there?’

  ‘Perhaps, although they spoke with northern accents for I have heard the same accents from emissaries from the northern kingdoms. But perhaps they were part of some fanatical group sent to find whatever it was that the Druids hid here.’

  ‘So you believe Abbot Saran knew what they were looking for, surprised them when they were trying to move the altar; they attacked him and then they fled.’

  ‘Something like that,’ the young man agreed. ‘But I am merely a warrior and not a dálaigh.’

  ‘Did you discuss this with Brother Failge? He says he is qualified in law and therefore could perform the duties of a Brehon until a more senior and qualified judge was summoned.’

  ‘I hesitated. Brother Failge is a good man but he is very supportive of the Abbot. I suppose he would be, being the steward here. However…’ Feradach sighed. ‘It is difficult to accuse the Abbot without proof.’

  Fidelma looked round the chapel. She glanced through the window and saw there was a softening in the darkness of the sky. The birds were beginning to orchestrate their chorus to the coming dawn.

  ‘We will not have long before the morning prayers,’ Feradach urged. ‘They will ring the bell soon. We have spent too long in talk.’

  It was, indeed, only moments before a bell started tolling and there was the noise of the members of the community moving through the stone corridors of the abbey towards the chapel. Feradach’s face was a picture of disappointment.

  ‘We will wait until after the service,’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us take our position at the back of the chapel.’

  It seemed that Abbot Saran favoured some of the new Roman usages of Latin and instructed the recitation of the declaration of belief with ‘Angelus Domini nuntiavat Mariae…’ instead of the Greek forms which were generally used in many of the Irish abbeys. It had been in Greek that the word of the New Faith had initially been spread among the Five Kingdoms. However, Saran celebrated the service behind the altar and facing the congregation. Fidelma knew that most Roman Church clerics celebrated their services facing the altar with their backs to the worshippers.

  It seemed an age before the service concluded and everyone disappeared about their daily tasks. The four waited until the chapel was abandoned and silent. It was so quiet that they could almost hear the sound of one another’s breathing. Fidelma led the way to the altar, a solid-looking rectangle made of black marble. There were two candles still burning on it and these were removed at her request.

  ‘Abbot Saran was attacked when he came into the chapel having discovered Ultan and Ultana trying to move this,’ she stated.

  Feradach nodded agreement. ‘I think they suspected there was a means of moving the altar stone to reveal whatever it was they were looking for.’

  ‘Do you mean that there might be a mechanism?’ she asked.

  ‘It seems logical,’ the warrior said. ‘Look at those carvings. Any one of those could act as some kind of handle.’

  She knew the black marble was quarried locally. The craftsmanship was fairly crude. It looked like a simple table until one examined the base. Around it were a number of carved figurines marking a type of border where it rested on the flat limestone flags of the chapel. Fidelma went down on her knees and began to examine each figurine carefully, touching and pulling at it, watched in mystification by Aidan and Enda.

  ‘I am sure that there is a movement in this somewhere,’ she announced eventually. ‘I think Feradach is right. I believe the altar is meant to be pushed to one side.’

  She bent again and, using her fingers, carefully explored each figure once again.

  Suddenly there was a hoarse cry from the chapel door. Abbot Saran was framed in the doorway, a look of shock on his face.

  ‘This is sacrilege!’ he croaked.

  Fidelma rose to her feet and brushed the knees of her garment. ‘Not sacrilege, no,’ she replied calmly. ‘I am performing the duty of a dálaigh.’

  A moment later the figure of the steward, Brother Failge, appeared behind the portly Abbot.

  ‘What is happening?’ he boomed, looking from Fidelma to Feradach and back again.

  ‘Ultan and Ultana were looking for something here. It was not the wealth you have laid up in your treasure chamber. They knew well where that treasure was kept – and ignored it. No, they were after something else.’

  ‘And so?’ The Abbot coughed. ‘Does that give you the right to profane the altar of Christ?’

  ‘You found Ultan in this chapel, trying to move this altar. Then you were attacked…’

  ‘After which they fled,’ Brother Failge said bitterly. ‘Had there been anything worth finding, with the Abbot lying unconscious, they would have had time to carry out their task.’

  ‘Perhaps they were in too much of a panic to stay,’ Fidelma commented.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Brother Failge exclaimed. ‘Sister of King Colgú or not, you have no right…’

  Feradach silenced him with a discreet cough.

  ‘I have to point out, Brother Failge, that a dálaigh has many rights. One of them is the right to ask questions and expect answers.’

  The Abbot turned to him with a surly expression. ‘Your duty is to Osraige, Feradach, and the welfare of this abbey.’

  ‘Feradach is right,’ Brother Failge said. ‘I do not like to admit it, but the law is not restricted by borders. The Law of the Fénechus is for all the people of the Five Kingdoms.’

  Abbot Saran swallowed painfully. For a moment it looked as though he would argue with them, but Brother Failge reached forward, laid a thin hand on the Abbot’s arm and said gently, ‘Let the dálaigh ask her questions and let us resolve this matter.’

  Fidelma smiled briefly at the steward. ‘Thank you for your wisdom in this matter. I am told that this chapel stands as it was originally built after Cainnech destroyed the Druid sanctuary that was previously here?’

  ‘The workmen whom the Blessed Cainnech ordered to build it did their job well,’ conceded the Abbot in his grating voice. ‘It is of good limestone, as you see, and they made excellent use of black marble.’

  ‘Later you authorised the abbey to be built around it?’

  Abbot Saran shrugged. ‘I knew enough to let good work alone. We did not disturb the chapel.’

  ‘You are aware of the stories that were told about this hill on which we now stand?’

  ‘Stories!’ snorted the steward. ‘Tales for children to tell at bedtime.’

  ‘You may be right, although it is said that there is many a truth in a fairy story,’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘I am aware of all the stories,’ conceded the Abbot in a weary tone. ‘Indeed, most of our abbeys and churches are built on the remains of the places where our people worshipped the old gods and goddesses. Seventy years ago, Gregory – the first of his name to be Bishop of Rome – wrote that the temples of the idols should not be destroyed. He ordered that holy water should be sprinkled over them. New altars dedicated to the Christ should be erected and the places converted to the worship of the True God. He was wise, for people who had attended such places of worship for thousands of years would continue to go to them. What better way to convert people to the New Faith?’

  ‘Then you might have heard of the Golden Stone?’

  They had been expecting a question about treasure but not the specific subject, and Fidelma’s words brought strange expressions to the faces of the Abbot and his steward. Expressions that passed so fleetingly that Fidelma could easily have missed them.

  ‘Golden Stone?’ Abbot Saran grimaced. ‘That is a story from some ancient myth. What has it to do with this abbey?’

  Fidelma waited a moment, looking from one man to the other. Brother Failge remained silent.

  ‘Perhaps we should see?’ she mused. ‘Ultan and Ultana were trying to push this altar stone aside when you entered the chapel. Is that not correct, Abbot Saran?’

  ‘Push it aside? I thought they were trying to destroy it!’ rasped the Abbot.