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blessed Aidán arrived in this land. They could not even write down their own language, far less construe the languages of others.’
    The Abbess Hilda was banging a staff on the stone floor for attention. Reluctantly, the members of the assembly were returning to their benches. The muttering of their voices began to die away.
    ‘Light has returned and so we may continue. Has the Abbess of Kildare joined the proceedings yet?’ Sister Fidelma turned her mind back to the matter in hand and found herself bewildered. The space assigned to the Abbess Étain still remained unfilled.
    Wilfrid of Ripon had risen with a smirk.

    ‘If the chief speaker of the church of Columba is not willing to join us, perhaps we should proceed without her?’
    ‘There are plenty more who will speak on our behalf!’ shouted back Cuthbert, not bothering to rise this time.
    Again the Abbess Hilda banged her staff of office.
    Then for the second time the assembly was abruptly interrupted by the great doors swinging open. This time a young sister with white face and staring eyes entered the sacrarium. It was obvious that she had been running – her hair was in disarray, spilling beneath her headdress. She paused, her eyes searching the vast chamber. Then she hurried directly to where the Abbess Hilda stood in bewilderment, just below the king.
    Wonderingly, Fidelma watched as the sister moved swiftly to the Abbess Hilda, who bent forward so that the woman might whisper into her ear. Fidelma could not see Hilda’s face, but she saw the abbess rise and move immediately towards the king, bending and repeating whatever message had been brought.
    The sacrarium was now silent as the churchmen and delegates sat watching the new drama.
    The king rose and left, followed a short while later by Hilda, Abbe, Colman, Deusdedit, Wighard and Jacobus.
    There was sudden uproar in the chamber as those gathered turned excitedly to each other to see if any knew the meaning of this curious behaviour. Voices were raised in speculation.
    Two Northumbrian religieuses from Coldingham who were seated behind Fidelma were of the opinion that an army of Britons had invaded the kingdom, taking advantage of the king’s preoccupation with the synod. They could remember the invasion of Cadwallon ap Cadfan, king of Gwynedd, which had ravaged the kingdom and caused the slaughter of many during one ill-fated year. But a brother of a house at Gilling,
seated in front, interrupted with the opinion that it was more likely that the Mercians were invading, for had not Wulfhere, the son of Penda, sworn to re-establish Mercian independence from Northumbria and already begun to re-assert its dominance south of the Humber? The Mercians were always looking for a chance to avenge themselves on Oswy, who had slain Penda and, for three years, ruled Mercia. And even though Wulfhere had sent a royal representative to the synod it was just the sort of dirty trick the Mercians would play.
    Fidelma was intrigued to hear the political speculation but for one not well acquainted with the position of the Saxon kingdoms it sounded very confusing. It was so unlike her native land, where there seemed a clear order under law and where the High King and his court were the final authority in the land. Even though some petty kings might dispute with the High King they at least acknowledged the nominal rule of Tara. The Saxons always seemed to be quarrelling among themselves and using the sword as the only arbiter in law.
    A hand fell on her shoulder. A young sister leaned across her.
    ‘Sister Fidelma? The Mother Abbess requires your presence in her chambers immediately.’
    Surprised and somewhat bewildered, ignoring the looks of open curiosity from Sister Gwid and Brother Taran, Sister Fidelma rose and followed the young religieuse away from the pandemonium and confusion of the sacrarium and along the quieter corridors until she found herself ushered into the chamber of the Abbess Hilda. The abbess was