Once more the abbot decided to respond on behalf of them all. ‘Brother Saxon, may I remind you that Paul wrote to the Romans: sed date locum irae scriptum est enim mihi vindictam ego retribuam dicit Dominus. Is it not written “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” saith the Lord?’
‘That is true, yet it is not a teaching that is universally obeyed, for even your own law provides reasons why, under certain conditions, vengeance killings may be excused,’ replied Eadulf coolly. ‘And I am not a Saxon but an Angle.’
Fidelma glanced at him in rebuke. She knew that Eadulf had discovered this ancient law when they were dealing with the mystery of the death of Brother Donnchadh at Lios Mór, but now was not the right time to debate such points with the abbot.
‘Brother Eadulf makes a valid point,’ she conceded. ‘Would anyone spring to mind if we were seeking someone close to Brother Lennán whose emotions might well lead them to overlook the teachings of the Faith? Perhaps they might be thinking that they were acting under the ancient law?’
She was looking directly at the old man when she asked the question. There was no guile in his expression when he replied, ‘There was no one other than myself who was as close to poor Lennán. Certainly, no one who would do this thing.’
‘Very well,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘Oh, one more question. Perhaps it might mean something to you. When the person calling himself Brother Lennán struck the blows, he shouted a name. He shouted, “Remember Liamuin!” Does that—?’
She stopped abruptly, aware that the old man was completely still, staring at her with an expression that was almost akin to horror. Then a pale hue crossed his features. It spread noticeably, making his lips almost bloodless. His eyes rolled back and he slid unconscious from his chair to the floor.
Brother Lugna gave an exclamation of dismay and started forward, but Eadulf sprang up and was by the old man’s side in a moment.
‘He has fainted. Have you water?’
Brother Cuineáin went to lift a nearby pitcher of water to pour into a beaker but his hands were shaking and the water was spilling. Brother Lugna reached forward to take the beaker from him. The steward was apologetic.
‘Sorry, it is an ague I suffer from which sometimes stops me picking up things unless I am careful.’
Eadulf ignored him and turned to the prone figure on the floor. They gathered round in a concerned circle while Eadulf tried to revive the man by coaxing the water between his lips. Brother Ledbán spluttered and coughed but he did not come back to full consciousness.
The abbot stood undecided for a moment. ‘We’d best remove him to his chamber.’
‘I can manage that, Father Abbot,’ said Brother Lugna.
‘Brother Cuineáin will help you carry him there.’ Then Abbot Nannid added to his steward, ‘You had best send for the physician to attend him.’
The steward and the stable-master picked up the inert man and carried him from the room.
After they had left, the abbot turned to Fidelma with a sad shake of his head. ‘Poor Brother Ledbán is an old man. We have exerted too much pressure on him, conjuring painful memories. It is good that he has such a friend and patient helper in Brother Lugna.’
‘He seems a kind person,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Brother Lugna has been working at the stables of this abbey since he was seventeen years old, over twenty years. He is a generous and pious soul. He ran away from … from a good family to come here. Anyway, I hope Brother Ledbán will be better in the morning. A good night’s rest is in order.’
‘Perhaps in the morning he will be able to finish answering my question,’ Fidelma said. ‘We will leave matters until then.’
The abbot was quick to agree. ‘It will soon be time for the evening service and meal. I will get someone to show you to the guest house.’ He picked up a hand bell and shook it several times. In moments, there was a knock on the door and another religieux entered, waiting while the abbot issued instructions. ‘A bell will be rung for the evening services which are held just before the meal. Either follow the sound of the bell or ask any of the brethren to take you to the refectory.’
The Abbey of Mungairit was obviously a rich one. In spite of the frugality of the entrance chamber where Brother Cuineáin had greeted them, once beyond that the wealth became obvious. The fact that it possessed its own large stables should have been an indication. When Nessán had founded the abbey, it was under the patronage of Lomman, son of Erc, Prince of the Uí Fidgente. When Nessán died it was endowed by Prince Manchin, son of Sedna, who claimed descent from Cormac Cas, who maintained that his people were senior to the Eóghanacht in their claim to the Kingdom of Muman. It was a claim that the Eóghanacht denied.