Atonement of Blood (33 page)

‘Where now, lady?’ asked Gormán as they rejoined him.

‘I think we will return to Flannait’s farm. There are some further questions I would like to ask.’

‘The old woman was still very angry,’ remarked Eadulf, after they had quickly told Gormán what had happened.

‘I cannot believe someone of the Nasc Niadh could do such a thing,’ the young warrior said. ‘It goes against all our training, all our code of chivalry.’

‘Yet it must be true,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Warriors have sometimes been known to betray their code as well as loyalty to those they claim to hold dear and to serve until death.’

‘It is hard to accept that a warrior of the Golden Collar could have done this thing, but if the evidence shows it then we must accept it,’ Eadulf said sadly. ‘We must then find out who is the man responsible and secure his punishment.’

‘If only Suanach had not forgotten his name,’ replied Fidelma. ‘She is certain she saw him lead the attack, but only because he wore a golden collar.’

‘And carried a shield,’ added Eadulf. ‘Remember? The shield bore the symbol of a bejewelled stag rampant on it.’

Gormán’s reaction was a sharp tug on his reins so that his horse came to an abrupt halt. He turned a pale face to them.

‘You did not mention this before,’ he grated.

Eadulf looked at him in bewilderment. ‘Is there something I should know?’ he asked uneasily, recalling Fidelma’s reaction when Suanach had mentioned it.

‘There is only one person who is allowed to carry on his shield a bejewelled stag rampant.’ Fidelma’s voice was almost inaudible.

‘The stag rampant is the symbol of the Eóghanacht. That shield is only carried by the King of Muman,’ Gormán added grimly.

They rode on in silence for a while. It was Eadulf who finally broke it.

‘If the old woman was the sole survivor of the attack, then she must have told someone who also knew who carried such a shield.’

‘Suanach did not know the meaning of the shield,’ Fidelma objected.

‘But the person she told might have done. That person thought it was your brother, and if we find the person she told, we know the assassin. Don’t we need to go back and ask who she has told?’

‘You believe that the assassin came to Cashel to claim blood vengeance?’ Fidelma was reflective. ‘I am not sure. The fact that he cried “Remember Liamuin!” and not “Menma” would indicate that he sought vengeance for her and no other. It is logical, but then why wait all these years?’

‘Time? Opportunity? And isn’t there a saying that vengeance is a dish best served cold?’ offered Gormán.

‘This is true,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘But there are many things that concern me about this explanation. Suanach did not know who this warrior was. She merely described his gold torque and then the emblem on the shield of the attacker. I have never known my brother to lie. He claimed that the name Liamuin meant nothing to him. If he had stayed at Menma’s rath for the time it was said, he must have been known. His warriors had just defeated the Uí Fidgente. What was he doing here? How could he have stayed here long enough to have an affair with Liamuin? And then what purpose would have been served by this massacre?’

‘All good questions,’ Eadulf replied thoughtfully.

‘Better if we had answers,’ muttered Gormán.

‘And that is why we are going back to Flannait’s farmstead,’ Fidelma said.

‘And there is another question to be answered,’ added Eadulf. ‘Lachtine was the name of the local apothecary who attended Suanach, and he too was in love with Liamuin. He bore the same name as the apothecary at the Ford of Oaks. Is this a coincidence, or was he the same man and is there a connection?’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Fidelma replied. Then she indicated the farm buildings that spread before them on the lower slope of the hill. ‘Let us hope we shall now learn more from Flannait.’

As they approached Flannait’s farmstead, a swarthy man, of medium stature, was emerging from the cabin. Ice-blue eyes stared out from a face that wore an expression of curiosity mixed with anxiety. He called something over his shoulder and was joined in a moment by the woman Flannait, who said something hurriedly to him before coming forward to greet them. This time Fidelma slid from her horse.

‘Well,
dálaigh
, did you find Suanach?’

‘We did,’ Fidelma replied. The others dismounted and Eadulf joined her while Gormán secured the horses to a nearby wooden fence. The swarthy man had taken his place beside Flannait.

‘This is my man,’ muttered the woman by way of introduction.

‘My name is Cadan, lady,’ he introduced himself. ‘How may we serve you?’

Fidelma smiled reassuringly. ‘Just a few questions more. I understand that after the attack took place on Menma’s rath, you and your son were the first to arrive there and that you managed to rescue Suanach?’

The farmer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides in his nervousness.

‘That is right, lady. We brought her back here.’

‘I understand. Can you tell me any reason why Menma’s rath should have been burned?’

The man raised his shoulder expressively. ‘It was an Eóghanacht attack,’ he said, as if that should explain everything.

‘So I am told. But why was only Menma attacked? It makes no sense.’

‘Menma was a
bó-aire
. He had the biggest and richest farmstead,’ Flannait said almost defensively. ‘I suppose they attacked it for those reasons – or because of Menma’s rank.’

‘Did they sack it or carry off anything?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘Nothing was taken as far as we could see,’ replied the farmer.

‘Then there was no question of it being done for profit or gain,’ Eadulf decided. ‘It was a case of simple destruction. People killed, the place torched.’

‘Who knows the reason? It was done by the man who stayed there. The Eóghanacht warrior.’

‘I need to know more about this man,’ Fidelma said. ‘Can you tell me anything at all about him?’

‘It was long ago.’

Fidelma looked round. ‘You said your son was with you. Perhaps he might remember something?’

Cadan and Flannait looked uncomfortable.

‘Maolán? He is no longer with us, lady,’ Cadan said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Soon after the attack he left us to join the religious. He was very …’ the man chose his words carefully, ‘very sweet on the woman who was staying with Menma.’

‘Liamuin?’

‘That was her name. He took her death very badly.’

‘But she was in love with the warrior who stayed with them?’

‘So she was. But Maolán had his hopes. So did others, like our local apothecary, Lachtine. He also left us not long after. Liamuin was an attractive woman and she had plenty of admirers. We tried to persuade our son not to leave us. We have no other children. Who will look after us when the winter of our days comes upon us, which must surely be soon?’

‘Did he know that it was the warrior she apparently had affection for, the one who carried out the attack?’ asked Eadulf.

‘He did. For he left after Suanach had recovered and told her story.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘Alas, we don’t know. Maolán was talented and set out to make his way in the world. He had an eye, that boy.’

‘An eye?’ asked Eadulf curiously, not understanding the expression.

‘He was a good copyist. He went off to do that as a means of earning his living.’

‘So is there nothing you can tell me that would help identify this warrior?’ Fidelma asked in frustration, returning to the main question. She was looking intently at Cadan as she spoke and he tugged at his lower lip with one hand under her scrutiny.

‘What sort of things?’ he countered. ‘I only saw him once or twice from a distance. All I know is that he wore the Eóganacht golden collar.’

‘Was he old or young? Fair or dark? That sort of thing,’ intervened Eadulf.

‘He was not a boy, he was a young man. That is all I recall.’

‘Surely you could tell whether he was fair or dark.’

‘Fair.’

‘Not red-haired,’ Fidelma suddenly said. ‘Say red hair like mine?’

The farmer looked at her red tresses and then shook his head. There seemed an easing of tension in Fidelma’s body.

‘Presumably this warrior with fair hair carried a shield? A warrior has on his shield his
suaicheantas
, his emblem, by which his friends and his enemies alike would know him,’ Eadulf said.

Cadan’s brows drew together in concentration as he tried to remember. ‘His shield was plain. There was no motif upon it except …’ He paused. ‘No, the shield was coloured red with a single, narrow blue strip across it.’

Fidelma glanced at Gormán, who shook his head.

She knew that the warriors of the Golden Collar who formed the
Lucht-tíghe
, the house company, were the chosen élite among the bodyguards of the King. But each had his own individual emblem or insignia. These men were classed as the
ridire
or champions. Beyond them the King could call on larger forces in times of danger, but he usually kept one
Catha
or battalion, of 3,000 warriors, permanently on call throughout the kingdom. These were divided into various units: each unit was marked by a shield emblem.

‘Is there no way of identifying which unit held such an emblem?’ asked Fidelma, knowing vaguely that the position of the stripe on the shield had some significance. ‘After all, the man wore a golden collar as well.’

Gormán took out his sword and traced the outline of a shield on the wet soil.

‘Now, you say the narrow blue strip was placed this way?’ He drew the line.

Cadan the farmer looked at it quizzically and shook his head.

‘No, the other way – horizontally, as if dividing it in half.’

‘I think it was one of the units that fought at Cnoc Áine and belonged to the
amuis
command.’ The
amuis
were companies raised in times of conflict, often hired from territories outside the immediate clanland of the King.

Fidelma sighed and shook her head.

‘Well, it might help us a little.’ She turned back to the puzzled farmer and his wife. ‘As far as you were aware, was there anyone else in the vicinity of Menma’s rath when it was attacked?’

‘As soon as I saw smoke rising, my son and I went running across the hill,’ the man replied. ‘It took us a while to get there as we have no horses. When we reached the rath, there was no one else there.’

‘What of other neighbouring farmsteads? As I approached these hills I thought I saw several rath-like buildings spaced along them.’

‘We were the nearest. After those times, some of the farms fell into disuse.’

‘Did Menma answer Prince Eoganán’s call to arms?’ Eadulf suddenly asked.

‘He did not agree with the cause,’ replied the farmer with a shrug.

‘So what you are saying is that no one saw the rath on fire except yourself?’

‘So far as I know.’

‘Who is the lord of this territory?’ asked Gormán. ‘Rather, who was lord in Menma’s time?’

Cadan looked quizzically at him. ‘You mean who was Menma’s lord?’

‘Was there anyone who could tell us something about him? I mean, someone more local than the Prince at Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

‘These are the borderlands, the edge of the lands controlled by the Múscraige Luachra. Beyond the hills behind us are the mountains of the Luachra. Although we are of the Uí Fidgente here, Fidaig of the Luachra claims tribute from us.’

‘That is correct, lady,’ the farmer’s wife nodded. ‘Once a year, after harvest, Fidaig sends his warriors to collect tribute from us. We are Uí Fidgente but some of those who dwell here among us are Luachra.’

‘I thought his territory was further south in the mountains?’ Fidelma said.

‘It is not far enough away,’ Flannait remarked bitterly.

‘So, is he not a good lord?’

Flannait seemed to be suppressing a sour remark but Cadan said quickly: ‘I have known worse.’

‘How did he stand in the rebellion?’ asked Gormán.

‘Rebellion?’ queried the farmer uncertainly.

‘The war against Cashel,’ Fidelma said, with a frown at Gormán for giving away their allegiances.

‘Oh, Fidaig likes to see which way the wind is blowing before he commits himself.’

‘He did not support the Uí Fidgente at Cnoc Áine?’

‘He did not, even though he owed allegiance to Prince Eoganán. His excuse was that his warriors were needed to guard the southern borders against the Eóganacht Locha Lein and the Eóganacht Glendamnach. But it was at Cnoc Áine that the Eóganacht attacked.’

‘So Fidaig remained neutral in the war?’

‘Neutral while the wind blew against him,’ muttered Flannait. ‘He abandoned the Uí Fidgente.’

‘How did Menma stand in this conflict?’

‘Menma was first and foremost a farmer and had little time for the politics of ambitious princes. He and his sons believed their first duty was to the land. Those days were bad when death and disaster ravaged this land.’

‘But peace is restored and the kingdom is one,’ pointed out Eadulf.

‘Blood never wiped out blood,’ the farmer commented dourly. ‘The Uí Fidgente will never be at peace with Cashel.’

‘One more question,’ said Fidelma, ignoring the comment. ‘You had an apothecary here who helped nurse Suanach back to health. His name was Lachtine.’

The farmer nodded.

‘I am told that he too was in love with Liamuin.’

The farmer grimaced. ‘That he was. Just like my son, Maolán. Soon after the attack, he left here. I heard he became the apothecary in a town further downriver – ah, yes, a place called the Ford of the Oaks.’

They had taken their leave of Cadan and Flannait and ridden back down the hill towards the plains.

‘Where to now, lady?’ enquired Gormán.

‘There is nothing left but to return to Cashel. We need to speak to Ordan again, but above all, we must find out something about the warriors who served in the
amuis
company at that time.’

‘There are many questions to be answered,’ Eadulf said, ‘but are you sure that all the answers lie back in Cashel?’

They had barely reached the bottom of the hill and started along the track in the direction of the eastern hills when a whistling sound caught their ears, followed by a sudden thud. An arrow transfixed itself to a tree at the side of the track. Gormán was attempting to pull free his sword as the silence was abruptly pierced by shouting and the thunder of hooves.