‘My wife was a victim of the Yellow Plague. My son, Lennán, had already come to this abbey to study the physician’s art, so I came here and joined him. I thought it would bring me closer to him. You see, there was nothing left for me at Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
Abbot Nannid was nodding in agreement. ‘We were very happy to welcome Brother Ledbán into our community. We have a good stable. Brother Lugna has been our stable-master for many years, but he found Brother Ledbán an excellent asset. He was a good worker.’
‘A good worker until I grew old and careless,’ muttered the old man. ‘I had too many accidents. Now I am just a burden.’
‘Of course you are not,’ boomed Brother Lugna, placing a large comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘We all have accidents. I, myself, was bitten by a fretful horse.’ He briefly showed a scar on his right wrist that had long since healed.
‘So when did your son, Lennán, enter this abbey?’ continued Fidelma.
‘He was my eldest child. He came here a few years before his mother died from that fearful scourge which turned the skin yellow and from whose fever no one recovered.’
For many years the Yellow Plague had swept through the known world; prelates and princes succumbed to it – even two High Kings of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann fell to its ravages.
‘Go on,’ Fidelma urged.
‘Well, after his mother died, my son concentrated his efforts on finding a cure for the pestilence that had devoured her.’
Abbot Nannid added: ‘He was one of our most promising physicians. Then came the day when our Prince Eoganán sent the crois tara – the fiery cross, the summons to arms – throughout the clans and septs of the Uí Fidgente. As you know, he had declared that his line, the Dál gCais, were the rightful bloodline to be Kings of Muman. He raised an army to march on Cashel after your brother Colgú succeeded as King.’
Gormán stirred uneasily and glanced at Fidelma, who simply commented: ‘Those were the facts and whether they were justified or not is another matter.’
‘Just so,’ agreed the abbot diplomatically.
‘So what happened when the summons to arms reached here?’ Fidelma asked, turning to the old man.
‘My son left the abbey to accompany the Prince’s army.’
‘Understand, Brother Lennán went as a physician,’ the abbot emphasised hastily. ‘He did not go to kill but to tend to the wounded and injured during the conflict.’
‘My poor son,’ sighed the old man. ‘When I heard that he had been cut down in the rage of that battle on Cnoc Áine, I could not believe it. He was merely tending the wounded. God’s curse on him who struck that fatal blow. Survivors said that it was a man who wore the golden circlet around his neck. The Devil take them all.’
The abbot leaned forward and shook his head reprovingly.
‘The pain of your loss is understandable, Brother Ledbán. But we must remember the teaching of Christ that we must forgive our enemies.’ He glanced at Fidelma with an apologetic smile as if on behalf of the old man.
‘We can appreciate your loss,’ acknowledged Fidelma. ‘Who identified your son’s body?’
The old man seemed puzzled. ‘I do not understand.’
‘It seems someone has been making free with your son’s name,’ explained the abbot. ‘I think that the lady Fidelma wishes to make sure that he is quite dead.’
‘Did I not see the body of my own son when he was brought back here?’ demanded the old man, his voice full of bitterness.
‘Let me explain.’ It was Brother Lugna who spoke. ‘I knew poor Brother Lennán as well as any man. A report came to the abbey that he was one of the dead and so I rode to the Hill of Áine, found and brought the body back to this place for burial myself.’
‘Does anyone here have any idea why someone would come to Cashel and announce himself to be Brother Lennán of this abbey?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I find it hard to believe that anyone could have done such a wicked thing,’ replied Abbot Nannid, while the others shook their head.
‘Not only did they do so, but they used the excuse that they bore a message from you, Father Abbot, in order to approach my brother,’ Fidelma said, her emotions still very raw.
Brother Ledbán looked up at her and his old eyes were steady. ‘Then all I can say is, they have sullied my son’s name, for he gave his life for healing and not for killing.’
‘Perhaps he had a friend who decided that he would avenge him?’ suggested Eadulf.