foot.’
Fidelma knew Luan had been at the gates when she had arrived after her morning ride with little Alchú. But she had left her friend, Líoch, and the abbess’ companion at the track leading into the township which sprawled on the southern side of the great limestone rock on whose top the palace of her brother rose. She restrained herself from asking Luan if he was sure. He would not have said so, otherwise.
‘When did the abbess arrive?’ she asked.
‘Shortly after you did, lady,’ replied the man. ‘You were talking with friend Eadulf in the courtyard and then you parted. It was just after that they arrived.’
Fidelma said thoughtfully, ‘She must have changed her mind about going into the town and followed us.’
‘But Luan has just said that she and her companion were on foot,’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘Didn’t you say that they were on horseback?’
Fidelma turned back to Luan. ‘You did say that the abbess and her companion arrived on foot?’
‘I did, lady,’ confirmed the warrior.
‘Another mystery,’ Eadulf muttered, almost to himself.
‘But one we can easily resolve,’ replied Fidelma, urging her horse forward through the gates.
They overtook Abbess Líoch and her companion as the women were crossing the market square of the township. They were not on foot but on horseback. As Fidelma called to her friend, the abbess turned her head and then drew rein while her companion followed suit.
‘Líoch!’ greeted Fidelma, as they rode up. ‘We missed you at the palace.’
Eadulf wondered if he had mistaken a nervous exchange of glances between the abbess and her companion, but nothing was said.
‘My brother insists that you accept the hospitality of our guest quarters and will take “no” as a personal insult,’ went on Fidelma pleasantly. Then, before the abbess could respond, Fidelma indicated Eadulf. ‘By the way, this is Eadulf, of whom you have heard me speak. Eadulf, this is Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile.’
Eadulf inclined his head in greeting. ‘I have often heard Fidelma speak of you, Abbess.’
Abbess Líoch returned his greeting with a quick scrutiny but said nothing. Eadulf could see why little Alchú had described her as ‘strange’. She was not much older than Fidelma but with dark eyebrows and deep-set, dark eyes. The features were attractive although plump; the cheeks rosy, the lips full and red without the necessity for highlighting them with berry juice. However, as Fidelma had described her, the abbess was clad in black robes from poll to feet. It was unusual dress for the country, although he had seen similar costumes worn among the elderly in Rome.
‘I am sorry. I have forgotten your name, Sister.’ Fidelma turned brightly to Abbess Líoch’s companion, ignoring the silence which greeted them.
‘This is my
bann-mhaor
,’ the abbess answered for her. ‘Sister Dianaimh.’
The abbess’ companion was, by contrast, dressed in the usual colourful robes affected by the people of the Five Kingdoms. Her fair hair showed in wisps under the
caille
– the hood or veil worn by those who entered the religious – and her features were sharply moulded but otherwise attractive and youthful. She regarded them with suspicion from bright blue eyes.
‘As I said, my brother insists that you stay in our guest quarters, especially during the visit by these foreign clerics. You cannot refuse.’
The abbess seemed to reflect for a moment and then gave a shrug. ‘If it is the King’s order, then it must be obeyed.’
Eadulf noted the reluctance in her voice.
‘We missed you when you came to the abbey,’ Fidelma persisted, a slight inflection in her voice. ‘When I left you, I thought that you were coming straight to the township.’
The abbess cleared her throat. ‘After you left, I realised that I should at least report my presence to Abbot Ségdae, for you told me that he was at the palace.’
‘Of course. The guard mentioned that you came up on foot,’
Fidelma knew Luan had been at the gates when she had arrived after her morning ride with little Alchú. But she had left her friend, Líoch, and the abbess’ companion at the track leading into the township which sprawled on the southern side of the great limestone rock on whose top the palace of her brother rose. She restrained herself from asking Luan if he was sure. He would not have said so, otherwise.
‘When did the abbess arrive?’ she asked.
‘Shortly after you did, lady,’ replied the man. ‘You were talking with friend Eadulf in the courtyard and then you parted. It was just after that they arrived.’
Fidelma said thoughtfully, ‘She must have changed her mind about going into the town and followed us.’
‘But Luan has just said that she and her companion were on foot,’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘Didn’t you say that they were on horseback?’
Fidelma turned back to Luan. ‘You did say that the abbess and her companion arrived on foot?’
‘I did, lady,’ confirmed the warrior.
‘Another mystery,’ Eadulf muttered, almost to himself.
‘But one we can easily resolve,’ replied Fidelma, urging her horse forward through the gates.
They overtook Abbess Líoch and her companion as the women were crossing the market square of the township. They were not on foot but on horseback. As Fidelma called to her friend, the abbess turned her head and then drew rein while her companion followed suit.
‘Líoch!’ greeted Fidelma, as they rode up. ‘We missed you at the palace.’
Eadulf wondered if he had mistaken a nervous exchange of glances between the abbess and her companion, but nothing was said.
‘My brother insists that you accept the hospitality of our guest quarters and will take “no” as a personal insult,’ went on Fidelma pleasantly. Then, before the abbess could respond, Fidelma indicated Eadulf. ‘By the way, this is Eadulf, of whom you have heard me speak. Eadulf, this is Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile.’
Eadulf inclined his head in greeting. ‘I have often heard Fidelma speak of you, Abbess.’
Abbess Líoch returned his greeting with a quick scrutiny but said nothing. Eadulf could see why little Alchú had described her as ‘strange’. She was not much older than Fidelma but with dark eyebrows and deep-set, dark eyes. The features were attractive although plump; the cheeks rosy, the lips full and red without the necessity for highlighting them with berry juice. However, as Fidelma had described her, the abbess was clad in black robes from poll to feet. It was unusual dress for the country, although he had seen similar costumes worn among the elderly in Rome.
‘I am sorry. I have forgotten your name, Sister.’ Fidelma turned brightly to Abbess Líoch’s companion, ignoring the silence which greeted them.
‘This is my
bann-mhaor
,’ the abbess answered for her. ‘Sister Dianaimh.’
The abbess’ companion was, by contrast, dressed in the usual colourful robes affected by the people of the Five Kingdoms. Her fair hair showed in wisps under the
caille
– the hood or veil worn by those who entered the religious – and her features were sharply moulded but otherwise attractive and youthful. She regarded them with suspicion from bright blue eyes.
‘As I said, my brother insists that you stay in our guest quarters, especially during the visit by these foreign clerics. You cannot refuse.’
The abbess seemed to reflect for a moment and then gave a shrug. ‘If it is the King’s order, then it must be obeyed.’
Eadulf noted the reluctance in her voice.
‘We missed you when you came to the abbey,’ Fidelma persisted, a slight inflection in her voice. ‘When I left you, I thought that you were coming straight to the township.’
The abbess cleared her throat. ‘After you left, I realised that I should at least report my presence to Abbot Ségdae, for you told me that he was at the palace.’
‘Of course. The guard mentioned that you came up on foot,’
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