Fidelma made no response.
‘I knew something like this would happen,’ muttered Gormán. ‘We should have turned back and picked up other means of identity before coming into Uí Fidgente land.’
‘The word “should” is as negative a word as “if”, Gormán,’ Fidelma said, her voice waspish. ‘We have to deal with reality and not lament decisions that do not prove the right ones.’
‘What now?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I can see no alternative but to find a place of safety for the oncoming night and then seek the help of my nearest cousin of the Eóghanacht Áine – and that’s over a day’s ride to the east.’
Fidelma was about to mount her horse when a shout came from the other side of the courtyard.
‘Sister! Sister Fidelma!’
A young religieux was hurrying across the flagstones towards them, waving his hand in a manner undignified for one of his calling.
Fidelma turned to stare at the young man and then moved to meet him with a smile on her face; her hands were held out in greeting.
‘Brother Cú-Mara!’
The young man came up slightly breathless and caught her hands. There was ill-concealed excitement on his youthful features.
‘I thought I recognised you. What are you doing here?’ He turned and clapped her companion on the back. ‘And Brother Eadulf! I did not think to see you in this corner of the world.’
‘It is good to see you again, Brother Cú-Mara,’ Fidelma replied, smiling at the effusiveness of his greeting. ‘And I might ask the same question of you? You are a long way from the Abbey of Ard Fhearta.’
The young man chuckled. ‘I am, indeed, but on a visit to bring a copy of one of the books from our tech screptra, our library, to that of this abbey. I am due to return to my abbey tomorrow.’
Brother Cú-Mara was the steward of the Abbey of Ard Fhearta. He had once studied the art of calligraphy under Fidelma’s own cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú. It was while they were staying at Ard Fhearta that Fidelma and Eadulf had been able to resolve the evil threat of the person known as the ‘Master of Souls’.
‘It seems we might be in luck to have found you here before your return to the coast,’ Eadulf said dryly.
Brother Cú-Mara looked puzzled. ‘Why so, Brother Eadulf?’
Eadulf glanced over his shoulder to where Brother Cuineáin had been standing at the doorway, and was startled to find that the steward had moved forward and was now close behind him. He was staring at Brother Cú-Mara.
‘Am I to understand that you know these people and can identify them?’ he demanded in a heavy tone.
The steward of Ard Fhearta looked at Brother Cuineáin in astonishment.
‘I do not know the warrior who accompanies them, but of course I know them! I thought everyone knew Sister Fidelma and her husband Brother Eadulf. If they did not know them in person, then their reputation is spread among the Five Kingdoms. I know them personally, for only a few years ago they spent time at our abbey and saved the kingdom from relapsing into war.’
The steward of Mungairit appeared flustered. A look of embarrassment began to spread across his features.
‘Then it is up to me to offer my apologies.’ He almost mumbled the words, addressing Fidelma. ‘I have to say that in refusing you entry here I was only acting by the rules and best intentions to protect our abbey from the many threats with which it is surrounded. I now offer you and your companions the hospitality of the abbey.’
‘We will accept not only your apology but your offer,’ replied Fidelma graciously, ‘and with many thanks for we are exhausted since our experiences on the road here.’
Brother Cú-Mara was puzzled as he tried to follow the conversation.
Eadulf took pity on him. ‘We were attacked on the road here by brigands. They stole what valuables we had, including all our means of identification, the symbols of office.’
‘Ah!’ the young man exclaimed. ‘I begin to understand why the steward, if he did not know you, was reticent about your admittance to this abbey. You may recall the abbey was recently attacked by Étain of An Dún? But we must talk later for I have to meet the leabhair coimedach, the librarian, to conclude my business here. We will meet at the evening meal.’ Then, with a wave of his hand, the young man was gone.
‘He turned up at an opportune moment,’ muttered Gormán.
Brother Cuineáin had signalled for his assistant and gave orders for their mounts to be taken to the stables. And, with their saddle-bags removed, he motioned them to follow him.
‘I will ensure that the hospitality of the abbey is yours and beg your forgiveness, Sister.’