Atonement of Blood (35 page)

‘Then I have no understanding of this.’

Fidelma decided to change the direction of her questions. ‘I am told that some years ago you made a transaction with a man called Escmug.’

A frown crossed Fidaig’s features. ‘I can’t recall the name.’

‘Perhaps the name Aibell will prompt your memory.’

Artgal, who had remained standing behind his father’s chair, bent forward.

‘Aibell, Father. She is the
éludach
.’

Eadulf took a moment to identify the word, which meant a servant who had absconded. He was feeling uneasy that Fidelma had suddenly raised the subject.

The lord of the Luachra had cast a glance of disapproval at his son for admitting that Aibell was known to him. Then he shrugged. ‘The girl absconded from my fortress over a week ago. As an
éludach
, she can be offered no legal protection, not even by someone of high rank such as yourself. Where is she?’

‘She is safe enough, Fidaig. And will remain so.’

‘She was legally exchanged under the law of the
Gúbretha Caratniad
,’ protested Fidaig.

‘Her father sold her to you illegally,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The
Gúbretha
mentions that some parents have been known to sell their children into bondage, mostly to foreigners, and actually condemns the practice. It is as evil for those who buy as it is evil for those who sell. In this case, it is criminal, for the girl was of the age of choice. She was fourteen years old when she was sold to you, and therefore a free woman, not bound to her father nor bound to you. You kept her in bondage for four years without legal cause.’

‘And you can prove it?’ There was a slight sneer in Fidaig’s voice.

‘Do you doubt it?’ replied Fidelma coolly.

Fidaig stared at her for a moment and then forced a smile. ‘We should not be quarrelling over a bondservant.’

‘I am not quarrelling,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘Certainly I am not quarrelling over a bondservant but a freeborn girl whom you kept in your household against her will. There are legal consequences.’

‘By the old gods!’ Fidaig exploded in temper. ‘I doubt whether the Morrigú possessed such an uncompromising attitude as you, Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘How much did you give Escmug for the girl?’ Fidelma demanded, ignoring his anger.

Fidaig struggled visibly with his temper, but then he seemed to relax. ‘It is some time ago. I believe I gave him four
screpalls
, the honour price of the girl after he tried to claim a higher price.’

‘Ah!’ Fidelma could not help an ejaculation of triumph. ‘You have just proved that you knew she had reached her legal maturity. You have already quoted the
Gúbretha Caratniad
at me, so you must know the law. Had she been a minor, you would have had to offer far more than that, for as you know, until the age of fourteen years her honour price would be half that of her father. Escmug must have told you her proper age and held out for her full honour price.’

Fidaig had lost his smile. ‘You are a clever woman, Fidelma of Cashel. You are also a woman of courage to come into my camp and accuse me …’

‘I am an advocate of the law, Fidaig. That is all. And you invited me into your camp and offered my companions and myself hospitality. You know the consequence if, having done so, something untoward happens to us. You would find the Eóghanacht might exact compensation that you would not be happy to pay.’

Fidaig stared at her with open mouth. Eadulf held his breath, certain that Fidelma had gone too far in confronting the lord of Luachra. Moments of silence passed and then Fidaig exhaled slowly. There was a reluctant admiration in his voice as he told her, ‘Your wit is as sharp as your tongue, lady.’

Fidelma seemed unperturbed. ‘You have held a girl in bondage from the age of maturity until she was eighteen years. I would judge that compensation to be four
screpalls
per year. Sixteen
screpalls
… Ten
screpalls
to the
séd
.’

‘Ridiculous!’

‘Your own honour worth is seven
cumal
, twenty-one milch cows. Since you have now been dishonoured by knowingly and flagrantly breaking the law, then your fine will be those seven cumals that I have indicated. We will round up the fine, compensation to the value of twenty-three milch cows.’

Fidaig sat staring at her in disbelief. Behind him Artgal was fingering his sword nervously, awaiting his father’s next order.

‘Tell me, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Fidaig’s voice was cold. ‘Tell me, do you not fear that you are in the territory of the Luachra and that Cashel is far away?’

‘Cashel is indeed a few days’ ride from here,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But we are not speaking of Cashel. We are speaking of the Law of the Fenéchus whose writ runs everywhere in the Five Kingdoms and is respected from the High King down to the lowest
daer-fuidir
, or unfree servant. While I am an advocate of that law and offer just judgements, then what have I to fear – any more than you would fear the pronouncement of the
glam dicín
, the solemn curse which is the appropriate action that a Brehon or other member of the law courts would bring against the person who disobeys the law? Once pronounced, then it would be the duty of all, even the High King himself, to punish the wrongdoer.’

There was a strange silence as two wills clashed on some invisible plane. Speculative dark eyes challenged fiery green ones and, in the end, Fidaig blinked. He blinked for a second and then his face dissolved into a mask of mirth and he was guffawing with laughter. He banged his fist on the arm of his chair as he laughed and then motioned the attendant to refill the glasses.

‘By the gods of our ancestors, Fidelma of Cashel, I admire your courage, indeed I do. Very well, twenty-three milch cows it is and we will speak no more of this matter.’

To Eadulf’s horror, she was shaking her head. ‘But speak some more, we will,’ she said. ‘I will give you a chance to earn back your fine, so that all you will have to pay me is two extra
séds
.’

Fidaig looked surprised. ‘What game is this, lady? What is it that you now seek?’

‘It is no game. I am utterly serious. Cooperation and information is what I seek.’

Fidaig shrugged. ‘Ask away and, if it is in my knowledge to give you the information, you shall have it.’

‘Do you know a merchant from Cashel named Ordan?’

‘I have heard of him,’ Fidaig nodded. ‘He is often known to be in my territory, though he never trades with me.’

‘What does he trade in?’

‘So far as I know, anything he can get his hands on. Why are you interested in this merchant?’

‘Your son seems to have a special interest in him.’

‘My son? Which of my sons?’

‘Gláed.’

A sad expression crossed Fidaig’s features. ‘Gláed the Howler, Lord of Barr an Bheithe, the Head of the Birch Forest. Alas, he is my youngest son. His mother died, giving him life. For a while it seemed he would not survive, but he fought – yelling in his crib and hence he earned his name. Anyway, survive he did.’

‘There is a sadness in your voice, Fidaig,’ observed Fidelma.

‘Sadness because he has not been a dutiful son, like Artgal here, who is my heir apparent. Gláed goes his own way and pays me scant courtesy. When he was young he went to train as a Brehon but left barely reaching the level of
freisneidhed
. After that he was impossible to advise. Even during the Uí Fidgente war with Cashel, when I tried to keep my people out of it, he took some warriors and went to answer Eoganán’s call. The Uí Fidgente promised to make him lord of some territories they expected to conquer. He fought at Cnoc Áine and managed to survive.

‘Artgal has a wiser head and that is why he is my heir apparent. Gláed treads his own path. I found he has even become fanatical about these new rules of the Faith coming from Rome because he finds in them an excuse to mete out physical punishments on his people which I find it hard to contradict. He espouses something called the Penitentials and does not even celebrate the Pasch at the same time that we do. I have long since given up trying to influence him.’

‘What was the place you mentioned, the one that he is lord of?’

‘Barr an Bheithe, the Head of the Birch Forest? It is further west in the hills, where the An Abhainn Mór – the Great Black Water – rises. And you say he has dealings with this Cashel merchant, Ordan? Why is that of concern to you?’

‘It intrigues me, that is all. I presume there are mines around Barr an Bheithe?’

‘None that I know of.’ Fidaig looked puzzled. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Ordan trades in metals and stones. It seems that he and your son Gláed meet secretly, with Gláed disguised in religious robes and calling himself Brother Adamrae.’

Fidaig was staring at her in astonishment. ‘I have told you that he has become something of a religious fanatic. However, I know nothing of this trade. What is the purpose – do you know?’

‘I was hoping to find out.’

‘Then perhaps it is time that I paid my son a visit.’

‘Would Gláed continue his allegiance with any dissident Uí Fidgente after all these passing years?’

‘I know he has been restless and often rides forth with his small band of cronies. The times I have seen him since Cnoc Áine I can count on the fingers of one hand.’

‘So you would have no idea why Gláed would disguise himself as a religious and be seen at the Ford of the Oaks on the River Mháigh and have to kill to keep his identity a secret?’

There was no disguising the painful look of surprise on the face of the Lord of Luachra.

‘You had best tell me the entire story, lady,’ he said quietly.

Fidelma told him as simply as possible what had happened at the Ford of the Oaks, mentioning how she had later identified Adamrae as Gláed at Marban’s mill.

Fidaig was left silent; his bewilderment obvious. ‘I have no understanding of these matters,’ he confessed. ‘But I swear that I shall have answers. Tomorrow I shall take my men across the hills to Barr an Bheithe and seek those answers from my son.’

Fidelma hesitated for a moment and then said: ‘Perhaps we should come with you.’

Fidaig seemed to shake himself, as a dog might shake off water after an immersing. ‘Very well. Then tonight, you shall both be my guests at the feasting and entertainment. Tomorrow we will set off to Barr an Bheithe and ask for an account from Gláed. He will be called to account for the death of the apothecary and for his attack on you.’

Later, having ensured that Gormán was informed of the situation and was comfortable, Fidelma and Eadulf were escorted to a small tent and provided with water to wash themselves and prepare for the evening feasting.

Eadulf was direct. ‘Do you trust him?’

‘Fidaig is a wolf but in wolf’s clothing. He does not hide his nature and so we can trust one thing – that he can be treacherous,’ Fidelma replied.

Eadulf commented, ‘That is a curious way of expressing trust.’

‘He tries to make his son Gláed appear like a disobedient child,’ Fidelma replied, ‘but I think he suspects there is something deeper behind this.’

‘Don’t you feel we shall be in danger by going to Barr an Bheithe and confronting Gláed or Adamrae, whatever he is called?’

‘One cannot eat an egg without taking off the shell,’ she replied enigmatically. ‘So we are at the mercy of fate.’

Eadulf stared at her for a moment. ‘I thought you believed in the teachings of Pelagius, that we are the masters of our own destiny, and that you did not believe in fate.’

‘Now is not the best time for a discourse on theology, Eadulf,’ she admonished. ‘However, when you cast a stone into a pond, the ripples are inevitable. It is important how you deal with the ripples.’

‘Which means putting ourselves in harm’s way?’

‘We were in harm’s way the moment that we entered the country of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘Our main task was to find out who the assassin really was and why he attempted to kill your brother.’

‘I have not forgotten that,’ Fidelma said irritably.

‘Then surely we should be about that task, not chasing after this Adamrae or Gláed!’

‘Eadulf.’ Her voice was patient, ‘I am sure that I don’t have to point out the connections. There is a link between all these matters.’

‘Do you never allow for mere coincidence?’ he countered. ‘This matter of Gláed and what he did at the Ford of the Oaks may have nothing to do with what happened at the rath of Menma or, indeed, at Cashel. We are merely wasting our time on it. Let Fidaig discipline his own son, if discipline is needed.’

Fidelma sat back on the rushes and soft branches that had been provided for a bed.

‘Tell me how you interpret the events of the attack on my brother.’

‘Easy enough. There was a warrior who seems to have been a member of your brother’s bodyguard. After the defeat of the Uí Fidgente at Cnoc Áine, he was sent into this country, as were many others, to keep the peace until the Uí Fidgente concluded the treaty with your brother. He stayed at the rath of Menma. For some reason he turned on his host and slaughtered him and his family. That included this woman, Liamuin.

‘Suanach had seen this warrior with a shield which bore your brother’s emblem on it. She did not know what it was but she described it well enough for it to be recognised. She certainly told someone else who recognised it. That someone knew or was very close to Liamuin. We are told that Liamuin was someone with whom men easily fell in love. That person came to Cashel and tried to kill your brother in revenge … seeking an atonement of blood.’

‘And what of the questions that arise?’ Fidelma asked with an indulgent smile.

‘Such as?’

‘Why would this lovesick fury wait four years to seek vengeance? Why take the name of Liamuin’s own brother, an apothecary killed on the slopes of the Hill of Áine? Why did he come to Cashel on the very night that Liamuin’s own daughter came there? Why did they go to the very same woodman’s hut, but at differing times? And what was Ordan’s role in all of this, having come from this very area … And from there we get into his connections with Gláed, who called himself Adamrae.’ She threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture. ‘Oh Eadulf, Eadulf! Don’t you see that this is not like following a single strand of string until we reach the end? It is like … like …’