‘A shrine it is,’ Brother Cuineáin agreed quickly.
‘I have a mind to see this shrine,’ replied Fidelma. ‘And we will see it now.’
With another quick glance towards the abbot, Brother Cuineáin pointed to a small door to one side of the abbot’s chamber.
‘It is through there,’ he mumbled.
‘Take us inside,’ Fidelma instructed. She paused only to turn to the two Luachra warriors guarding Gláed, saying, ‘Keep him safe here. The others will come with us and that means you as well, Abbot Nannid.’
‘It is unnecessary. I know what it is in the room.’
‘But I do not want you to accuse anyone here of placing something in it that was not there before,’ she warned him.
They moved in a body, led by Brother Cuineáin, through the door – which opened onto a long corridor. Along one side, high windows would have emitted daylight, had it not been well past nightfall. The sounds of horses showed they were either near a courtyard or the stables. Brother Cuineáin asked Marban to light some lanterns to help and then, with Marban and Temnén holding them aloft to light the way, he preceded them along the corridor until he paused before a stout oaken door.
From his leather belt, he took a bunch of keys, selected one with his left hand and thrust it into the lock. It turned easily and he pushed the door open. Marban had set down one of the lamps on a nearby wooden shelf so that the steward could see to open the door.
‘Brother Cuineáin, the lantern please,’ said Fidelma as she moved into the room.
The steward, still holding the keys in his left hand, bent to pick up the lamp in his right but that hand shook so much that Eadulf took the lantern from him.
‘It is a palsy,’ the steward hastily explained. Eadulf glanced at the steward’s wrist without comment.
With Eadulf now holding the lantern above shoulder height, they moved forward into a small storeroom. Conrí and Gormán came behind while the abbot and the others followed.
‘This is a shrine of the weapons used at Cnoc Áine,’ explained the abbot. ‘What else other than the debris of war should be gathered to show its futility?’
‘Except,’ Conrí pointed out, ‘these weapons seem highly polished and well-maintained for a battle fought over four years ago.’
It was true that the pile of swords and other equipment seemed almost new, but Fidelma appeared uninterested by them. She had taken note of several gold torcs placed on a tabletop, but was intent on looking for something special. Then she spotted a pile of shields in a corner and, beckoning Eadulf to bring the light closer, she began to look through them. It was only a short while before she gave a small grunt of satisfaction and picked one out.
‘Very well. I have seen enough,’ she announced.
They returned silently to the abbot’s chamber. Fidelma placed the shield on the table. It was a red shield on which was an emblem of a stag rampant, picked out with semi-precious stones.
‘I shall be glad to return my brother’s shield to him,’ she said coldly.
‘I did not know your brother had lost his shield on the field of battle,’ Abbot Nannid said. ‘I am glad that we have become the means of saving it so that it can be safely returned to him.’
‘Indeed. I am sure he will be grateful for its return and for the restoration of his good name,’ she replied solemnly.
‘His good name?’ queried Brother Cuineáin, running his tongue around his dried lips.
‘Oh yes,’ Fidelma said. ‘There is a story, which I am now able to tell you. All the pieces now fit together.’
‘Is it connected to this plot to overthrow Prince Donennach?’ queried Conrí eagerly.
The abbot exchanged a nervous glance with his steward. Fidelma pretended not to notice. ‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘The plot has been a long time in the hatching. Perhaps it was first conceived on the bloodied slopes of Cnoc Áine, when Eoganán was killed and many of his nobles fled.’
Abbot Nannid was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Are you claiming that there is a plot in my abbey to use those weapons from Cnoc Áine to overthrow Prince Donennach? Why, there are scarce enough weapons to arm a company of warriors!’
‘The arms were not significant,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, all will be explained in good time. I shall tell you a story – and here stand witnesses to various parts of it, if I go wrong.’ She indicated the assembly. ‘Of course, Gláed of the Luachra has preferred to remain silent. I doubt, therefore, he will bother to correct anything I say.’