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Redefining ageing in Sri Lanka

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by Prof. M. W. Amarasiri de Silva

I have often pondered the factors that have allowed me to reach the age of 78, a milestone that stands in stark contrast to the shorter lifespans of the generations before me, with my father passing away at 68 and my grandfather at just 49. It is both a humbling and fascinating realisation to know that I am currently the longest-living person in my family’s known lineage, yet this milestone naturally invites a deeper reflection on how best to account for such a distinct disparity. A closer look at our familial history reveals the stark realities of earlier eras: my grandfather passed away in 1931, shortly before my father’s marriage, and my father ultimately succumbed to thrombosis in 1974. Yet here I am, decades later, still going strong at 78. Solving this puzzle of longevity requires looking beyond mere chance to consider the powerful interplay of generational advances in public health, modern cardiovascular medicine, shifting dietary and lifestyle habits, and the gradual reduction of environmental stressors across the decades. How, then, do these converging historical and medical shifts help us truly make sense of such a remarkable generational transformation?

Sri Lanka’s demographic journey

For more than a century, Sri Lanka’s demographic and epidemiological journey have served as a global paradigm for what can be accomplished when a nation prioritises social investment over raw economic output. Long before the term human development index gained currency in international policy circles, our island had already begun laying the groundwork for a public health system that was radically egalitarian in its design and astonishingly effective in its execution. In the decades immediately preceding and following independence, the narrative surrounding Sri Lanka’s medical achievements was anchored in the heroic conquest of acute mortality.

The rapid expansion of a free, state-funded medical network, the aggressive eradication of endemic malaria through widespread spraying and vector management, the introduction of universal childhood immunisations, and the relentless lowering of maternal and infant mortality rates collectively transformed a post-colonial tropical society into an outlier of longevity. When post-independence health planners first measured the life expectancy of the average Sri Lankan citizen in the mid-twentieth century, a newborn child could expect to live barely past fifty years. Today, robust demographic data confirms that average life expectancy in Sri Lanka has surged to nearly seventy-eight years, with women routinely living past seventy-nine—a figure that stands head and shoulders above our South Asian neighbours and rivals the health profiles of many high-income Western nations.

Yet, this extraordinary victory over acute infectious disease and early death has brought Sri Lanka face to face with a second, far more insidious health crisis. The very success of our twentieth-century public health campaigns ensured that millions of citizens survived childhood and mid-life infections, only to age into an environment increasingly characterised by urbanisation, dietary shifts, sedentary occupations, and psycho-social stress. As a direct consequence, the island’s disease burden has undergone a dramatic structural flip. Non-communicable diseases—specifically type 2 diabetes mellitus, essential hypertension, ischemic heart disease, cerebrovascular accidents, chronic kidney disease, and various forms of malignancy—now account for more than eighty percent of all deaths nationwide. For much of the past forty years, our healthcare infrastructure struggled to adapt to this shifting terrain. The legacy system, designed primarily to treat sudden, acute episodes of illness like respiratory infections, dysentery, or acute trauma, applied that same reactive logic to chronic condition management. Patients were conditioned to seek medical intervention only after a physical crisis had manifested—when severe retrosternal chest pain signalled a myocardial infarction, when unmanaged hyperglycaemia caused irreparable blurred vision or peripheral gangrene, or when a sudden ischemic stroke left a family patriarch or matriarch permanently paralysed. That era of reactive, crisis-driven medicine is finally ending, yielding to a quiet but profound revolution in how health is monitored, preserved, and restored.

Age of paradigm shift

We are entering the age of paradigm shift powered by the convergence of early molecular diagnostics, low-cost wearable health technologies, point-of-care digital sensors, minimally invasive surgical techniques, and advanced interventional cardiology. Modern clinical science is moving decisively away from the blunt rescue operations of the past toward a model of continuous, predictive risk management. Rather than waiting for organs to fail or arterial walls to rupture, contemporary medicine seeks to identify biological vulnerabilities at the cellular and metabolic level long before a single outward symptom appears. In doing so, it is not merely adding passive years to the human lifespan; it is fundamentally altering the biological trajectory of human aging in Sri Lanka, preserving physical autonomy, cognitive clarity, and productive vitality well into the twilight years.

To fully grasp the magnitude of this transformation, one must examine the devastating trajectory of type 2 diabetes in South Asia and how new diagnostic and monitoring tools are systematically dismantling its reign. For generations, metabolic disease was understood as an inevitable accompaniment of aging or an unavoidable genetic fate. South Asian populations possess a well-documented genetic predisposition toward central adiposity and insulin resistance at significantly lower body mass index thresholds than their Western counterparts. Historically, diabetes was detected through basic fasting blood sugar tests administered only when a patient presented with classic symptoms such as excessive thirst, frequent urination, or unexplained weight loss. By the time those symptoms emerged, however, subtle metabolic damage had already been accumulating quietly within the body for a decade or more. Microvascular damage to the retina and kidney glomeruli, along with macrovascular stiffening of the coronary and carotid arteries, had already taken root.

Timeline rewritten

Modern diagnostic protocols have completely rewritten this timeline. The widespread clinical adoption of Glycated Haemoglobin testing, alongside advanced assays measuring fasting insulin and homeostatic model assessment of insulin resistance, now allows clinicians to spot subtle metabolic dysregulation long before blood glucose levels breach the threshold of clinical diabetes or even standard prediabetes. Doctors can now inform a forty-year-old patient that while their blood sugar appears superficially normal on a standard panel, their pancreas is hyper-secreting insulin to clear that glucose—a clear warning sign that metabolic exhaustion is looming five to ten years down the road.

Even more transformative than early laboratory screening is the rapid miniaturisation and commercialization of personal monitoring technology, most notably Continuous Glucose Monitors. These small, water-resistant sensors, affixed painlessly to the upper arm, utilise microscopic filaments embedded in interstitial fluid to continuously record glucose concentrations twenty-four hours a day. Through wireless telemetry, they stream real-time glycaemic data directly to a user’s smartphone. For the first time in medical history, the invisible dynamics of human metabolism are rendered instantly visible to the individual. A user in Colombo or Kandy wearing a continuous monitor no longer must guess how a heavy lunch of refined white rice, a late-night sweet meat, or a forty-minute brisk walk affects their blood chemistry. They can observe the precise glycaemic spike in real time and watch how physical activity accelerates glucose clearance into muscle tissue.

This immediate biofeedback loop transforms the patient from a passive recipient of quarterly doctor’s orders into an empowered, active manager of their own biology. For individuals in the early prediabetic spectrum, continuous visibility provides the behavioural trigger required to implement targeted dietary modifications, stress management, and exercise routines that can completely arrest or reverse the progression toward overt diabetes. For those already living with diagnosed diabetes, continuous monitoring paired with modern pharmacotherapy—such as SGLT-2 inhibitors and GLP-1 receptor agonists that not only manage glucose but directly protect renal and cardiac tissue—drastically dampens dangerous glycaemic variability. By preventing severe spikes and nocturnal hypoglycaemic crashes, these technologies protect the delicate microvascular bed of the kidneys and eyes, virtually eliminating the tragic secondary complications of blindness and end-stage renal disease that historically plagued aging Sri Lankans.

A parallel revolution

A parallel revolution is unfolding in the management of systemic hypertension, the proverbial silent killer responsible for most stroke deaths and heart failure hospitalizations in our country. Hypertension is notoriously insidious because elevated arterial pressure causes no physical discomfort until catastrophic vascular damage occurs. For decades, the standard method for diagnosing hypertension was an opportunistic blood pressure reading taken with a manual sphygmomanometer during a sporadic visit to a hospital OPD or private dispensary. This method was notoriously fraught with diagnostic error. Patients frequently suffered from white-coat hypertension, where the stress of being in a clinical setting artificially elevated their reading, leading to over-prescription of medication. Conversely, others suffered from masked hypertension, where normal clinic readings concealed dangerously high blood pressure spikes during routine working hours or sleep.

The widespread availability of affordable, clinical-grade digital blood pressure monitors, smart wristbands, and ambulatory blood pressure cuffs has rendered sporadic clinic readings obsolete. Individuals can now capture comprehensive, multi-day home blood pressure profiles that accurately reflect their cardiovascular reality across morning, evening, and resting states. Automated smart wearables can detect subtle arterial stiffness and wave velocity trends, alerting users to early vascular aging long before persistent resting hypertension becomes established.

The clinical payoff of catching mild blood pressure elevations in their earliest phases is immense. Early lifestyle interventions, such as dietary sodium restriction, increased potassium intake through local produce, weight management, and low-dose antihypertensive agents like ACE inhibitors or calcium channel blockers, can easily reset arterial pressure back to optimal ranges. Maintaining arterial elasticity over decades prevents the hypertrophy of the left ventricle of the heart, preserves the delicate filtration barriers of the renal capillaries, and shields the cerebral vasculature from micro-aneurysms. Consequently, the incidence of devastating haemorrhagic strokes and vascular-dementia-induced cognitive decline—conditions that historically stripped elderly Sri Lankans of their dignity and independence—is declining among populations with access to early vascular management.

Interventional advancements

When cardiovascular disease does breach these early preventive barriers, modern surgical and interventional advancements ensure that an acute cardiac event no longer carries the death sentence or permanent disability that it did a generation ago. The field of interventional cardiology has evolved from major open operations toward extraordinarily precise, minimally invasive procedures. Half a century ago, a severe coronary artery blockage required open-heart surgery, complete with a sternotomy, heart-lung bypass machinery, weeks of intensive hospital care, and months of painful recovery. Today, through advanced transradial cardiac catheterization, an interventional cardiologist can enter the arterial system via a tiny puncture in the patient’s wrist under local anaesthesia. Utilising high-resolution fluoroscopic imaging, intra-vascular ultrasound, and fractional flow reserve technology, the cardiologist can navigate directly into the coronary vessels, clear the occluding atherosclerotic plaque, and deploy state-of-the-art drug-eluting stents to restore full myocardial perfusion within hours.

Moreover, surgical innovations have dramatically expanded the upper age limits of who can safely undergo complex structural heart procedures. Historically, an elderly patient in their late seventies or eighties suffering from severe aortic valve stenosis was considered far too frail to survive the trauma of traditional valve replacement surgery. Today, the advent of Transcatheter Aortic Valve Replacement allows cardiac teams to deliver a fully functional biological valve through a femoral catheter directly into the heart while it continues to beat. Similarly, electrophysiological breakthroughs—including tiny, leadless pacemakers implanted directly into the cardiac chambers and sophisticated implantable cardioverter-defibrillators—continuously monitor cardiac rhythm, firing micro-electrical shocks to instantaneously terminate fatal ventricular arrhythmias without any human intervention. These mechanical and surgical triumphs mean that a cardiac diagnosis in late life no longer signals an irreversible descent into bedridden invalidity. Instead, septuagenarians and octogenarians are routinely restored to functional physical capacity, walking, traveling, and living independently.

The convergence of these preventive diagnostic tools, wearable monitoring gadgets, metabolic therapies, and minimally invasive cardiac surgeries is driving a profound paradigm shift in how we conceptualise the aging process itself. For centuries, biological aging was viewed as an inescapable, uniform process of decay characterised by progressive frailty, multi-organ breakdown, and loss of functional independence. Today, geroscience—the study of the biological mechanisms driving aging—has demonstrated that the physical decline traditionally associated with old age is largely the cumulative result of unmanaged, low-grade chronic pathology. By systematically neutralising chronic hyperglycaemia, hypertension, sub-clinical inflammation, and vascular occlusion early in life, modern medicine is successfully decoupling chronological age from physiological decline.

Conceptual shift

This conceptual shift is best reflected in the growing clinical focus on healthy life expectancy, or health span, as opposed to raw lifespan. Life expectancy merely measures the total number of years an individual lives from birth to death; health span measures the number of those years lived in full physical health, free from chronic disease, functional disability, or severe cognitive impairment. Historically, even as Sri Lanka’s total life expectancy expanded during the late twentieth century, our average health span lagged significantly behind, creating a painful decade-long gap at the end of life spent battling chronic invalidity, reliance on family caregivers, and heavy financial burdens from constant hospitalizations.

By pushing the onset of chronic disease into the extreme final years of life—a phenomenon known in epidemiology as the compression of morbidity—modern health technologies enable citizens to preserve their vitality, cognitive sharpness, and muscular mobility well into their seventies and eighties. Older adults are no longer forced by physical frailty into early social and economic isolation. Instead, they remain active, productive participants in their communities, continuing to teach, write, advise, manage businesses, and contribute their accumulated wisdom to the nation’s social and economic capital. Aging in contemporary Sri Lanka is gradually ceasing to be defined by decline and dependency, evolving instead into a prolonged phase of active, self-directed life.

However, as we celebrate these triumphs of science and engineering, we must confront a critical societal question: how can Sri Lanka ensure that this revolution in longevity is democratised across all segments of our population, rather than remaining an exclusive privilege reserved for the urban affluent? Advanced continuous glucose monitors, high-end smart wearables, drug-eluting stents, and specialized interventional care carry significant financial costs. In a nation currently navigating complex economic recovery and tight fiscal constraints within the public health sector, there is a very real danger that a widening technological divide could create a two-tiered aging experience—where wealthy urban citizens enjoy healthy longevity while low-income and rural populations remain vulnerable to unmanaged chronic disease and premature death.

Bridging the gap

Bridging this gap requires an intentional, forward-looking public health strategy. The Ministry of Health’s ongoing expansion of Healthy Lifestyle Centres across island-wide primary healthcare networks represents an important step in the right direction. These centres must be equipped not merely with basic blood pressure cuffs and weighing scales, but with digital point-of-care diagnostic tools capable of measuring HbA1c, lipid profiles, and renal function markers instantaneously in remote rural clinics. Furthermore, public health policy must leverage our national mobile telecommunications infrastructure to deploy community-level digital health tracking. Telemedicine platforms, automated SMS health reminders, and subsidized digital monitoring devices distributed to high-risk individuals in rural agricultural and industrial districts can democratize preventive care, catching metabolic and cardiovascular risks in tea plantation workers and paddy farmers just as effectively as in Colombo executives.

Ultimately, the story of health in Sri Lanka has always been one of extraordinary resilience and institutional ingenuity. Just as our public health pioneers in the mid-twentieth century proved to the world that a developing nation could eradicate tropical diseases and achieve high life expectancy through free public education and universal healthcare, our contemporary medical system must now demonstrate that preventive longevity can be made accessible to all. The tools to detect disease before it strikes, to monitor bodily health in real time, and to surgically repair failing organs are already in our hands. By integrating these modern technologies into our public health fabric, Sri Lanka can ensure that the gift of long life is matched by the gift of enduring health, productivity, and human dignity for generations to come.



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Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka

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World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future

by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?

These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.

World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.

We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.

Making more of what we already have

Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.

Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.

The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.

Stop wasting the food we produce

Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.

Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.

Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.

Nutrition and food safety come first

Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.

Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.

Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.

A food system that can cope with climate change

Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.

Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.

Give young people a bigger role

Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.

A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.

A pathway designed for Sri Lanka

We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.

The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.

The choices we make today

The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.

So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?

The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.

A better food future begins with the choices we make today.

Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara

Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna

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20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried

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Aftermath of the terror attack

By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan

The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.

It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.

By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.

I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.

When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.

The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.

The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.

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‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’

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Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24

I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.

The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.

The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.

After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.

Clark

The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.

Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.

Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.

He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.

Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.

Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.

Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.

Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.

So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.

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