Suffer Little Children by Peter Tremayne Page B

she could make out the imposing abbey church. It was a remarkable and unusual building. Most churches in the five kingdoms were built on circular patterns but this was built in a crucifix style with a long nave and a transept at right angles. Fidelma knew that this style was becoming more popular among the new church builders. Next to this was a lofty cloictheach, or bell house, from which the solemn chimes echoed across the small valley depression which led down to the sea.
    One of the children, it was the younger of the two black-haired boys again, gave a low moan and started to tremble. His brother spoke sharply but quietly to him.

    â€˜What ails him?’ Cass demanded. He was standing the closest to the two boys, the younger one being seated on his horse.
    â€˜My brother thinks that we may be harmed if we go where there are grown-ups,’ the elder replied solemnly. ‘He is scared after what happened yesterday.’
    Cass smiled gently at the younger boy. ‘Have no fear, son. No one down there will harm you. It is a holy abbey. They will help you.’
    The elder whispered sharply to his young sibling again and then, turning, said to Cass: ‘He will be all right now.’
    All the children were showing signs of fatigue now; fatigue and agitation after their terrifying experience. In fact, they were all exhausted both physically as well as emotionally. The unease and restiveness of the cold night’s halt had not refreshed them and they had experienced a hard trek that morning from the woods to the coast. Weariness showed on everyone’s face.
    â€˜I had not realised that the abbey was so large,’ Fidelma observed brightly to Cass to instil some air of normality into the depressed company. However, it was also true that she was impressed by the vastness of the buildings which dominated the inlet.
    â€˜I am told that hundreds of proselytes study here,’ replied Cass indifferently.
    The bell suddenly ceased its clamouring.
    Fidelma motioned them forward again. She felt a passing unease because she had ignored the call to prayer. Time enough to stop and pray when she and her exhausted charges were safely under the protection of the walls of the abbey. She glanced anxiously towards Sister Eisten. The plump young woman seemed to be lost in melancholy thought. Fidelma put this down to the woman’s shock at the death of the baby that morning. Soon after they had set out, she had lapsed into a malaise, a maudlin contemplation, and did not seem to be at
all conscious of her surroundings. She walked automatically, her head bent downwards, eyes on the ground, and made no response when spoken to. Fidelma had noticed that she did not even bother to raise her eyes when they had come within sight of Ros Ailithir, and heard the chiming of the bell. Yes; it was better to get the party to the abbey rather than halt to indulge in ritual prayers along the roadway.
    As they neared the walls of the abbey, she became aware of a few religieux at work in the surrounding fields. They seemed to be cutting kale, presumably to feed cattle. A few curious glances were cast in their direction but, generally, the men bent diligently to their work in the cold, autumnal morning.
    The gates of the abbey stood open. Fidelma frowned when she saw, hanging by the side of the gate, a writhe, or bundle of twisted branches of osiers and aspen. It struck a chord in her memory but she could not identify it. She was still trying to dredge her memory about the symbolism of the writhe when she had to turn her attention to a thickset, middle-aged man in the robes of a religieux who stood in the gateway waiting for them. Where his hair grew long from his tonsure, it was speckled grey. He looked a muscular man and his grim visage seemed a warning that he was not someone to trifle with.
    â€˜Bene vobis,’ he intoned in a deep baritone, making the ritual greeting.
    â€˜Deus vobiscum,’ Sister Fidelma responded