Writ in Stone by Cora Harrison Page B

the feelings of awkwardness about his decision not to marry her which might occur if they were alone together.
    The abbot looked ill at ease when he arrived. Mara watched him amusedly. She felt a certain satisfaction that he had obeyed her summons so promptly.
    ‘Ah, my lord abbot, I would like to discuss the security arrangements about your church.’ Her voice was cool and crisp and she could see him wince.
    ‘We rely on the protection of the Almighty God, Brehon,’ he said. He tried to make his voice sound as usual, but she was pleased to note an uncertain timbre to it.
    ‘And yet a man was murdered here in the church of God,’ she said mildly.
    He bowed and did not reply and then she felt somewhat ashamed. After all, it was his own brother who had been killed and, although rumour said that there was not much love lost between them, nevertheless this must be a heavy blow. She hastened to put the meeting on a more amicable footing.
    ‘I will be glad of your help and your knowledge, my lord abbot; we need to use all the wisdom that God has given us to find out about this sad affair,’ she said portentously and he nodded.
    ‘First of all can I give you my heartfelt condolences on the death of your brother,’ she added politely.
    This time he bowed and Mara thought that his face softened slightly. But still he said nothing and there was a wary alertness about the way that he looked at her.
    ‘Just one thing puzzles me a little, Father Abbot,’ she said carefully. ‘I understand that you sent a note to Mahon O’Brien telling him that Teige had brought a message saying that King Turlough had changed his mind about the early morning vigil. Is that correct?’
    He considered this for a moment and then said stiffly: ‘That is correct.’
    ‘So why did you think that it was the king’s body that had been found?’
    He was ready for this question. He had all the mental alertness of the O’Brien family. ‘I presumed that his own bodyguards would know the king,’ he said. ‘It would not be unknown for him to change his mind,’ he added triumphantly.
    True enough, thought Mara. However, it was still strange. And there was no doubt that his eyes were uneasy. There was a tension within him as if he were a man under great strain. She glanced around. ‘Are all of these doors locked at night?’
    The abbot shook his head. ‘Only the west door,’ he said. ‘The door to the night stairs that connects with the monks’ dormitory is left open for the night services, as is the door to the lay dormitory.’
    ‘What about the door to the cloister?’ Ardal asked. The abbot turned to him in a startled and slightly affronted way.
    ‘Of course,’ he said firmly. ‘That is the way that I would enter myself from my house.’
    ‘And the west door,’ queried Mara. ‘Would Mahon O’Brien have found that open when he crossed over from the guest house, or would he have had to ask for the key?’
    ‘I opened that myself, after the service of prime had finished.’
    ‘Did any of the men in the lay dormitory attend the service of prime, other than the lay brothers, I mean?’
    The abbot shrugged. ‘I really could not tell you. My thoughts were on the service and my eyes were directed towards the altar.’
    ‘And did you open the west door before the monks departed or after?’
    ‘Before,’ he said. ‘The custom is that I leave the church first.’
    So perhaps one man could have remained within the church, perhaps hidden behind one of the beautifully carved pillars, or perhaps have stolen in afterwards.
    ‘Ardal,’ she said aloud, ‘would you be kind enough to kneel over there in front of the tomb and pull your hood over your head.’ He did so without a word, neatly avoiding the body and the large stain of blood on the tiled floor, and Mara walked over to the cloisters’ door and from there to the door that led to the monks’ night stairs and the lay night stairs and lastly to the west door. From all doorways only a