Atonement of Blood (23 page)

‘Fidelma – Eadulf! It is good to see you both,’ declared the war chieftain of the Uí Fidgente with unfeigned warmth. ‘We have not met since we were at the Abbey of Ard Fhearta.’

‘Indeed,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘And chance continues on our travels for we were at Mungairit and encountered Brother Cú-Mara, the young steward of Ard Fhearta.’

Conrí was surprised. ‘The young steward of Ard Fhearta was at Mungairit?’

‘He was just visiting, but it was fortuitous that he was there.’

Conrí glanced at Gormán who was standing awkwardly in the background.

‘This is Gormán of the Nasc Niadh,’ introduced Fidelma, interpreting the question in his expression. ‘Conrí was elected war chieftain of the Uí Fidgente after Donennach became Prince,’ she explained.

‘Welcome, Gormán. Yet you do not wear the insignia of the Nasc Niadh, and Socht whispered in my ear that you had no weapon when he encountered you. Well, that is strange for a warrior of the Golden Collar – but you are welcome. Welcome all! Seat yourselves before my hearth and let me offer you hospitality.’

Without waiting for an answer, Conrí clapped his hands and an attendant appeared and began to pour drinks as they made themselves comfortable. Socht took up a position at the side of his chieftain’s chair of office.

Fidelma did not feel like recounting how they were robbed, but Conrí was already moving on to other things as he sat relaxing with his drink.

‘When did we first meet?’ he mused.

‘Three years ago, as I recall, when we were dealing with those terrible murders at Rath Raithlen,’ Fidelma reminded him.

For a moment a shadow crossed Conrí’s face. ‘Indeed. When my brother, Dea, and his men were slaughtered. Had you not shown that the Cinél na Áeda were innocent of their deaths then another war might have erupted between our people.’ He sighed, then waved his hand around the hall. ‘Now you are welcome as a guest to my home. As I told you three years ago, we are a small impoverished people who now labour under the yoke of defeat. My fortress does not resemble the grand palace of Cashel but, such as it is, you are welcome to its hospitality.’

‘We are on our way to Dún Eochair Mháigh, but our journey was delayed by the storm. Now it grows dark, so we will accept your hospitality with gratitude.’

‘You have but to ask, and if it is in our power, then you shall have it. We hope we may provide entertainment even for a noble warrior of the Nasc Niadh,’ smiled Conrí, glancing towards Gormán.

‘There is little of nobility in my blood,’ grunted Gormán, who was not convinced that any noble of the Uí Fidgente was worthy of courtesy.

‘Then, my friend, the fact that you are of the Nasc Niadh must be proof of your nobility in other ways,’ Conrí said smoothly.

Gormán’s hand went automatically to his neck where the golden collar of the élite warriors of Cashel should have been adorning him. He frowned: was there some hidden meaning to the smile that the action drew from Conrí?

‘The Ford of Oaks is a beautiful spot, Conrí,’ Fidelma said hurriedly, sensing the tension from Gormán. ‘And your house is elegant. Do not denigrate it. Better to wake with the aroma of wood around you than cold and soulless stone. Don’t you agree, Eadulf?’

Eadulf had been lost in his own thoughts and now started at the prompt that Fidelma had given him.

‘Eh? Oh – oh, yes.’ He managed to find the memory of the last remarks. ‘I was brought up in a wood-built house in a similar situation to this. It too was a small settlement by the side of a river. My father was the
gerefa
– a
bó-aire
, you call it here and—’

‘So you see,’ Fidelma cut into Eadulf’s sudden burst of nostalgia, ‘it is not everyone who has to endure being raised in a stone palace. It is better to be among the perfumes of wood and the scents of the countryside.’

‘I would agree with you, lady,’ Conrí said pleasantly, ‘but I think Eadulf has something on his mind that is preoccupying him.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a question on her features.

‘It was something Socht said when he met us on the road,’ Eadulf mused.

Conrí’s smile broadened. ‘Which was?’ he invited.

‘He said that he had been waiting patiently for us. I was not sure that I had heard him correctly. Sometimes, my use of your language lacks subtlety. But now I reflect on it … yes, that
is
what he said. If that was so, how did he know that we would be on that road?’

Fidelma realised that Eadulf was right and that she, of all people, had overlooked the meaning of that innuendo.

Conrí glanced up at Socht and it seemed they were exchanging a silent joke. Then he turned back to them.

‘Well, to be honest, we did not know where you would turn up. I had sent riders south to Dún Eochair Mháigh as the most likely place that you would head for. I had entirely forgotten that the Abbey of Mungairit might be another natural place for you to make your goal.’

Fidelma was looking bewildered. ‘But how did you even know that I was in the territory of the Uí Fidgente?’ she asked.

‘You must forgive me, lady – and forgive me, friend Eadulf. I was enjoying the superiority of confusing you. Indeed, Fidelma, I was hoping that you would solve the mystery so that you might add another story to your fame as one from whom it is impossible to hide a secret.’

Fidelma was growing irritable but tried to disguise it. ‘In this case, I have little enough information to present a solution to your conundrum, Conrí.’

‘Then I will show you.’ The warlord clapped his hands for his attendants again. Fidelma and her companions rose and followed him to a table at one side of the hall. The top was covered with a large linen sheet and it was clear there were objects underneath. The attendants hurried forward and, at a nod from Conrí, they grasped the cloth, removing it from the table and revealing the items that had been concealed from them.

Everything was there; everything that had been stolen from them when they had camped at the Hill of Ulla. Had it really been only the day before yesterday? There were the golden torcs that signified Gormán and Fidelma to be members of the Nasc Niadh. There was Fidelma’s wand of office, Eadulf’s ornate crucifix and the various pieces of jewellery. What Eadulf was particularly relieved about was the sight of the silver seal that Brother Conchobhar had given him. And there was Gormán’s prize sword. All that had been taken from them now lay before them on the table.

Gormán recovered from his astonishment first and swung round to Conrí. ‘Were they your men?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowed in fury. ‘Were those brigands your warriors sent to rob us?’

Socht had now taken a step forward, hand on his sword, ready to check Gormán’s threatening stance.

‘Have a care, warrior of Cashel,’ he said softly. ‘Were you not travelling in the company of the lady Fidelma, you might have to answer for unjust accusations.’

Conrí raised a hand. ‘Peace. Peace. I did not mean to provoke anger by playing my game of mysteries. No, Gormán, those brigands were
not
my warriors in disguise.’

‘Then you’d best explain,’ Fidelma suggested.

‘Perhaps it would be easier to show you.’ Conrí gestured for them to follow him and took them to a door which led to the back of the fortress. Socht trailed in the rear keeping a careful watch on Gormán. They passed through the kitchen area and went across a back yard to the perimeter of the fortress where it seemed Conrí’s warriors had their sleeping quarters.

‘Prepare yourself, lady,’ he instructed, ‘for we of the Uí Fidgente are not as merciful as you of Cashel. We believe that in extreme cases, extreme penalties may be applied. Mercy was the old law of the Brehons and now we have been advised otherwise.’

‘I do not understand, Conrí,’ Fidelma said, puzzled by the elaborate prelude the war chieftain was going through.

He did not reply but moved on through a copse to a clearing. A few men were gathered there, but it was not these upon whom Fidelma and her companions fixed their immediate attention. There was a tall oak to one side of the clearing and from one of the branches a body was hanging. The twisted head in the rope had a shock of sandy hair and a beard. Fidelma did not even have to look for the livid white scar made by a sword from forehead across the eye, nose and cheek to recognise who it was.

‘We came across him and his gang of cut-throats in the forest,’ Conrí said sombrely. ‘When we counted their spoils, we recognised your wand of office and the emblems of the Nasc Niadh. Before he died, we persuaded this fellow to tell us what had happened to those he took these things from. He described you so that we knew it was you, lady. He swore that he had let you go unharmed.’

‘You are not the first travellers that this man and his companions have robbed,’ added Socht. ‘We have been seeking him for some time. His crimes are many.’

‘So that is how we came to be searching for you,’ Conrí ended.

‘And so this man was hanged,’ Eadulf stated the obvious. ‘What of his men? He had four companions when he robbed us.’

It was Socht who answered. ‘They were given the opportunity to surrender or to die fighting. They chose to die. Their bodies were buried where they fell. This one,’ he jerked his thumb towards the dead man, ‘seeing his men fall, pleaded for mercy, and threw down his sword. So we brought him here. For such a man, justice was swift. Perhaps it was too swift.’

‘He should have been heard before a Brehon,’ Fidelma said sternly.

‘He was,’ Conrí replied, to her surprise.

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed. ‘The spirit of our law is compensation for the victims and rehabilitation for the wrongdoer. He could have been made a bondservant and worked for the rest of his life to compensate for his crimes. What Brehon would sanction death as a punishment except in very exceptional circumstances?’

As if in answer, Conrí turned to the group of men and waved one of them forward, a man in religious robes with his head almost covered by a cowl. Beneath the shadow of his cowl, he was revealed as a youthful man but one who had obviously not shaved for days. He carried himself with an air of self-importance as he approached.

‘This is Brother Adamrae who served me temporarily as my Brehon,’ said Conrí before introducing Fidelma.

‘I am told that you sanctioned the hanging of this man.’ Fidelma’s tone was curt and she did not spend time on niceties.

The young man’s eyes glinted in the shadow of his cowl. ‘I did,’ he replied and there was truculence in his tone.

‘Under what law?’

Brother Adamrae’s jaw came up aggressively. ‘Under the just laws of the Penitentials, the Canon of the Church. Does not Canon Four state that a thief found in possession of stolen goods may be put to death?’

For a moment or two Fidelma stared at the man in surprise.

‘You have allowed the taking of this man’s life under these Penitentials which are contrary to our laws. Tell me, young Brehon,’ there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, ‘where did you study and qualify in law?’

‘I studied at the Abbey of the Blessed Machaoi on the island of Oen Druim,’ he replied after a slight hesitation.

‘In the country of the Dál nÁraide of Ulaidh? I have heard of it,’ Fidelma said. ‘But I do not hear the accents of the Kingdom of Ulaidh in your voice. Your voice has the accent of these parts.’

The young man shrugged. ‘That is because I was sent to be fostered by Uí Fiachrach Aidne before I return to my own clan.’

‘The Uí Fiachrach Aidne? Their territory touches on the northern border of this kingdom. I would have placed your accent further to the south. Anyway, it is a long way even for fosterage links.’

‘It was my family’s choice,’ asserted the man in a stubborn tone. It was hard for Fidelma to decide whether he was a youth or just youthful-looking.

‘And what is your degree?’

It seemed for a moment that Brother Adamrae was going to refuse to answer. Then he said: ‘I am of the level of
freisneidhed
.’

‘You have studied law for three years only?’ Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘It is enough when there are laws yet to be written to bring our barbaric society into keeping with the laws of the Church,’ retorted the man.

‘Ah, so you make up the law as you proceed?’ Fidelma’s tone was sarcastic. She turned to Conrí, who now seemed uncertain. ‘I would advise you to have a care of who you appoint as your advisers as to law. After three years of study, this youth has a lot to learn about the laws of the Fénechus.’

‘What right have you to say so?’ protested Brother Adamrae in anger.

Gormán, who had so far been silent, moved threateningly forward. ‘You are speaking to Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú,
dálaigh
of the courts of the Five Kingdoms, qualified to the level of
anruth
. That is her right to say so.’

Brother Adamrae’s reaction was marked. Almost as if he had received a blow, he took a step backwards. His features tightened.

‘An Eóghanacht?’ he breathed in surprise.

‘You have a problem with that?’ snapped Gormán.

‘I had not realised the lady’s legal rank,’ muttered the man. The qualification of
anruth
was only one below the highest degree that the secular or ecclesiastical colleges could award.

‘What brings someone from Ulaidh to the land of the Uí Fidgente?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I came to turn people from the ways of heresy and to teach the law of the True Faith.’

‘Did you now?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Would it not be best to return to the Abbey of Oen Druim and learn something of the laws of your own people before coming and misleading others with your own?’

Brother Adamrae flushed. ‘I protest,’ he replied. ‘The laws of the Faith take precedence over barbarian laws. We should adhere to the words of the truth Faith coming from Rome and—’

‘I think even a student in their first year would know the introduction to the first of our law texts, Brother Adamrae,’ Fidelma said.

‘I don’t understand,’ he replied hesitantly.

‘I quote that introduction – “What did not clash with the word of God in written Law and in the New Testament, and with the consciences of the believers, was confirmed in the laws of the Brehons by Patrick and by the ecclesiastics and the princes of Éireann, and this is the
Senchus Mór
”. Do you not know that Patrick, and his blessed companions, the bishops Benignus and Cairnech, agreed to confirm those laws on behalf of the new Faith?’