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their minds.
    Indeed, Fidelma had already spotted the sandy strip stretching to the north-west towards another rising headland, which she estimated must be five kilometres away.
    ‘They call this the Great Mount and the one over there the Little Mount,’ explained Brother Metellus.
    There was a tide with them now as well as the wind, and they came swiftly onto the sandy beach among several other craft that were pulled up there. Fishermen and some women sat in little groups, some mending nets, while others were simply talking and cooking fish over open fires. Two of the fishermen came trotting down into the surf to help draw the small craft up onto the dry sand, and one courteously helped Fidelma out. Greetings were exchanged in the local language and then Brother Metellus led the couple from the beach and up a winding path through a very green and fertile area, most of which appeared thickly forested. Fidelma noticed it was filled with broadleaf trees, mainly thick oaks and beeches, with a few conifers sprinkled here and there when a thinning of the woodland provided space.
    ‘There is good hunting here and the nobles of Bro-Waroch often come to hunt in this area. The peninsula is fertile with game and with wild boar,’ Brother Metellus explained. Fidelma had the impression they were crossing back towards the large headland overlooking the sea. ‘Beyond that rise to the north is the fortress of the mac’htiern of Brilhag.’
    ‘Mac Hiern?’ Fidelma tried to repeat the phonetics.
    ‘ Mac’htiern ,’ carefully repeated Brother Metellus. ‘It is the title of the Lord of Brilhag, who is the ruler of this area.’
    ‘Surely, then, he would be in a better position to help us than your Abbot?’ Fidelma suggested.
    Brother Metellus disagreed. ‘Better that we firstly speak with Abbot Maelcar. He is strict about protocol and might take it amiss if we went directly to Lord Canao.’
    While Fidelma had the impression that this was a hurried excuse, Eadulf saw nothing amiss.
    ‘Canao?’ queried Eadulf. ‘You have mentioned that name before.’
    ‘I did,’ agreed Brother Metellus easily. ‘The Lord of Brilhag is a descendant of the old rulers of Bro-Waroch, many of whom had that name.’
    They emerged abruptly from the surrounding trees and bushes to find themselves faced with a stretch of cultivated fields. Fidelma and Eadulf saw that many of them contained vines. In the centre of these fields stood a group of low sandstone buildings that must constitute the Abbey of Gildas. The buildings were not impressive, even though the Abbey was, according to Brother Metellus, about one hundred years old. There were basically four separate buildings placed around a quadrangle. To one side was the chapel, identifiable by its architecture. It was fairly small, topped with the traditional cross of the churches of the western islands, a cross mainly contained within a circle. Two of the other buildings rose to three storeys in height while the fourth one on the last side of the square was a one-storey structure and quite ornate by comparison with its fellows. The square itself was given over to a herb garden, from which an assortment of scents assailed their nostrils. However, compared with those great buildings that Fidelma and Eadulf had seen in their travels, the whole complex of the abbey was modest.
    There were a few religious about, some of whom greeted Brother Metellus by name, while others hurried by with faces averted from them as though shocked by the sight of Fidelma in their midst. Indeed, some stared, scandalised at a woman’s presence in the abbey precincts. Brother Metellus ignored them and they followed him through the small entrance between the buildings into the quadrangle gardens.
    ‘This is the Abbey of the Blessed Gildas,’ Brother Metellus announced, unnecessarily, with a slight gesture of his hand as if to encompass the buildings around them. ‘If you will wait here, in the herb garden, I will go and