Atonement of Blood (24 page)

Brother Adamrae looked confused.

‘I suggest you retire and think about it, Adamrae,’ Fidelma advised. ‘Perhaps your thoughts might take your footsteps back to where you may continue your studies. Even though you are scarce qualified to pronounce any judgement, you are qualified enough, I see, for your cheeks to become blotched – which, we are told, is the blemish of one who gives false judgement.’

The young man’s hand automatically went up to his red cheeks.

‘Go, Brother Adamrae,’ ordered Fidelma, ‘and remember that even a judgement given in ignorance can still evoke penalties.’

The young man turned and strode angrily away.

Conrí shrugged and glanced at the hanging body. ‘Even so, Fidelma, death is often better than habitual crime.’

‘Not in our law,’ she replied stubbornly. ‘Our lawgivers believe if you kill the evil-doer, you are as bad as they are. These Penitentials being adopted by the religious are foreign ideas that are simply laws of vengeance. They resolve nothing. Those who adopt them are the enthusiasts for these new teachings from Rome. Well, they have not yet replaced our own legal system. You would have been wise to wait until you found a qualified Brehon before listening to that arrogant youth.’

‘Perhaps,’ the Uí Fidgente war chief said thoughtfully. ‘I fear though that you have made an enemy in Brother Adamrae. Young, arrogant men take the questioning of their abilities as a personal insult.’

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘If I were worried about who I upset by the advocating of the law and my decisions pertaining to it, I would not have become a
dálaigh
. How did that young man come here – and how is it that you have no proper qualified Brehon?’

‘Prince Donennach left for Tara last week to see the new High King, Cenn Fáelad. In his retinue he took the Brehon who serves us locally. Therefore, for this time, we had no one to give the sanction of the law.’

‘So how did Brother Adamrae come here?’

‘About a week ago, he appeared in our settlement to join Brother Cronan at the little chapel. It seemed Brother Cronan was in poor health, for he fell ill with a fever soon after Brother Adamrae arrived. The young man therefore started to conduct the services. He preached in favour of these new ideas coming from Rome. He said that councils of the church leaders had been deciding that the religious should cease to wear the tonsure of John and adopt instead the universal tonsure of Peter; that they should follow the new rules as laid down from Rome, which was the heart and centre of the Faith. He spoke of many things that were new to us, Fidelma.’

‘And did he do so with the approval of Brother Cronan?’ queried Eadulf.

Conrí frowned. ‘Brother Cronan has been confined in his chamber at the chapel by his illness, which is said to be contagious. So it was opportune that Brother Adamrae arrived and preached for him.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘It is true that there have been many great councils in recent years in which the advocates of the new rules adopted in Rome have been victorious in debates with the churches in the Five Kingdoms, those in the island of Britain and those in Gaul. I attended the one at Streonshalh, which persuaded the King of Northumbria to follow Rome, so that all our religious had to leave the kingdom. And more recently, there was the great council at Autun in Neustria that demanded that all the abbeys and monasteries should adopt the new rules. Alas, the young man is right in that respect.’

‘But religion is one thing; law is another,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘True,’ said Conrí. ‘He spoke of the fact that he had studied law at the Abbey of Maolchai and I needed someone to judge our prisoner. I did not enquire just how much law he had studied. Perhaps I should. Now what am I to do? Chase him from this township?’

‘I would refer the matter to your own Brehon when he returns. If Adamrae simply preaches whatever interpretation of the Faith he wants to, then he may stay. But if he speaks against our law and tries to govern lives by rules that are foreign to us, then he cannot be allowed that liberty. Two centuries ago, when the Faith was officially accepted among the Five Kingdoms, when our laws were inscribed in the great law books, they were examined and approved of by the leading clerics of the country. They remain our laws.’

‘Very well, lady. We will keep a watch on the young man to see that he does not overstep his authority.’

Fidelma glanced up at the hanging body. ‘I would cut the man down now and accord him burial. He was a stupid fellow, but now he and his followers have no chance to reflect on their stupidity and make recompense to the people they have injured.’ Then she turned with a quick smile to Socht. ‘However, our thanks are due to you for retrieving our belongings. I trust none of your men were hurt in the conflict with the brigands?’

‘A few bruises and minor cuts, lady, that is all,’ replied Socht more cheerfully.

They made their way back to the hall and were grateful for the
corma
that Conrí’s attendants provided. Albeit used to encountering unnatural deaths, Fidelma still felt a sense of outrage when people were killed wrongly in the name of the law. The death penalty was no deterrent, merely vengeance. The ancients were right to emphasise that punishment must be coupled with repayment to the victim. Death was too easy. No one benefited from it, not the dead or the living.

Gormán went to the table, collected the items and handed them back to each of their owners. It gave them all a sense of security that their emblems of office were now returned.

‘So, what are you doing in the land of the Uí Fidgente?’ asked Conrí when they were settled.

‘You have not heard the news from Cashel?’ asked Fidelma.

‘We heard news of an attack on your brother in which the Chief Brehon Áedo was killed. But we were told that King Colgú had survived. News travels fast these days.’

By the time Fidelma explained the details, Conrí had assumed a worried look.

‘Brother Lennán was a name well known among the Uí Fidgente,’ he said. ‘He was respected as a physician.’

‘He came from the outskirts of Dún Eochair Mháigh,’ Socht said. ‘I remember him as a boy, before we went our separate ways to study.’

Conrí nodded thoughtfully. ‘The story was that he had been killed in the battle and, being a physician, that created a scandal here. He was also a religieux at Cnoc Áine and was there to tend the injured. If someone was using his name, that must mean the person knew the story. Perhaps it was a vengeance killing?’

‘That was what we came to find out,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘We had a word with his father, Ledbán, at Mungairit, but it did not help.’

‘Ledbán?’ Socht was frowning at the memory. ‘Yes – that was his father’s name. I remember him. He ran a stable for one of the lesser nobles and his wife died of the Yellow Plague. So Ledbán went to join his son at Mungairit? He must be very old now.’

‘He is dead,’ Eadulf said dryly. ‘He died the night we arrived at the abbey.’

‘Well, I suppose he must have been an old man,’ Socht mused. ‘But it was surely a sad coincidence that he died just when you turned up there.’

‘If coincidence it was,’ Fidelma said. ‘Anyway, he was strong enough to speak with us when we arrived. It was during that night that he died.’ She did not wish to say any more about the circumstances until she was on sure ground. ‘But tell me, Socht, you say that you knew him and his son, Lennán?’

‘When I was young, the family were well known along the river hereabouts.’

‘When did Ledbán’s wife die?’

‘That was some eight years ago. It was when the Yellow Plague devastated the country.’

Conrí shivered. ‘The Yellow Plague! We had several deaths from that pestilence here. Thankfully it was not as bad here as it was in many places, but no one was exempt once it struck. Not kings and bishops, warriors or cowherds.’

‘Ledbán …’ muttered Socht. ‘It comes back to me now. They were a sad family. He hated his daughter’s husband and that is why he decided to go and end his days in Mungairit with his son.’

‘A daughter?’ Fidelma was suddenly interested. ‘Ledbán had a daughter? What was her name and what happened?’

Socht thought for a moment. ‘I think she married a river fisherman who sometimes ran a ferry and—’

‘It was a man who kept a boat at Dún Eochair Mháigh,’ interrupted Conrí. ‘Something bad happened. Didn’t his wife run away and later he was found dead in the river?’

Socht was suddenly excited. ‘I think the man’s name was Escmug.’

‘What happened to him? You say he was found dead in the river?’ Fidelma tried to hide her interest at the news.

‘Maybe he drowned. But this was about the time of the Battle at Cnoc Áine. No one at that time was worried about the stray dead body. There were too many bodies and all had unnatural endings.’

‘This daughter of Ledbán, do you recall her name?’ asked Eadulf.

‘It was not Liamuin, was it?’ Fidelma was watching their reaction to the name, but it did not seem to mean anything to either of them.

‘Perhaps someone at Dún Eochair Mháigh would know it,’ offered Conrí.

Fidelma suddenly glanced at the windows and realised it was rapidly growing dark.

‘I want to see Brother Cronan before the hour grows too late,’ she told them. ‘There are a few questions to which I would like the answers.’

‘But the contagious disease …’ protested Conrí. ‘No one has seen him since he fell ill. That is how young Adamrae came to take over his role here.’

Fidelma smiled. ‘Tell me, where does Brother Cronan live?’

‘He had a small cell which adjoins the chapel,’ replied Conrí. ‘It is part of the building – a little annexe and you enter from inside the chapel itself. But you must be wary, Fidelma. If it is a contagious disease, you may be at risk.’

‘You say that Brother Adamrae has been nursing him during the week? And Brother Adamrae moves freely among you? Then if there was some contagion it would be too late to prevent its spread among you now. If the good Brother Adamrae has survived these many days, I doubt whether it is a disease that we need fear too much.’

Conrí suddenly realised the logic of her statement. ‘I had not thought of that, lady,’ he said contritely.

‘No harm.’ Fidelma was cheerful. ‘Doubtless we shall talk more of it and of Brother Adamrae. Is the chapel far?’

‘Just a few moments’ walk across the square from the fortress gates. You can’t miss it – but you’d best take a lantern as it is growing dark,’ Conrí advised. ‘I was going to suggest that my attendants prepare the evening bath for you before the meal. We may be poor here but we can set a good table for honoured guests. And I will get chambers made ready for you; you must be our guests for the next few days.’

‘That is excellent and we are honoured by your offer. I shan’t be long so you may give your instructions as soon as you like.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ Eadulf said as he and Gormán rose.

‘It does not require all of us to visit a sick man,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘I won’t be long. You and Gormán may take your baths to save time.’

Although it was still early evening, it was already a dark and cloudy night, for winter had distorted the hours of daylight. However, the settlement at the Ford of the Oaks was still active and there were lights from the bullrings around the square. Fidelma had taken the lantern, although she did not really need it now that she crossed the square towards the wooden chapel which stood apart from the other buildings and was surrounded by its own green space. A flickering light was provided by a lantern hanging at the side of the door of the chapel, and using this, she was able to follow the path from the gate to the entrance of the building.

She pushed through the gate, and the noise of the hinge was suddenly answered by the alarmed call of a nightjar and the hoot of disapproval from an owl. She moved cautiously up the muddy path towards the door. There was no sound inside the chapel and she hoped that she was not going to disturb Brother Cronan; however, there were questions that she felt had to be answered now.

She paused outside the chapel door before pushing it open. It was dark inside and she was glad that she had brought the lantern with her. She moved forward a few paces and then called softly: ‘Brother Cronan?’

There was no answer, but spotting a side door, she felt that this must be the entrance to the living quarters.

At least Brother Adamrae was nowhere about. She did not want to encounter him before she spoke to Brother Cronan. Had he been in the chapel, he would have surely answered her call. Holding the lantern before her, she began to make her way towards the door.

It was no more than a slight intake of breath that alerted her: that and the instinctive feeling of someone behind her. She began to turn but not before a piece of wood had struck her arm, knocking the lantern from her hand and plunging the interior of the chapel into darkness. Had she not moved, the wood would have descended on the back of her head. As it was, her arm was stinging from the blow. She was aware of a grunt of frustration and the dark shadow of an upraised arm again, upon which she fell into a defensive crouch.

Ever since she was a young girl Fidelma had practised the art called
troid-sciathaigid
– battle through defence. When the missionaries of the Five Kingdoms had set out for strange lands to preach the new Faith and bring their learning and literacy to pagans, they could not carry weapons to protect themselves in case of attack from thieves and robbers. It was an ancient philosophy that went back to the time before time, when the ancient men and women of wisdom travelled among people of darkness. So to protect themselves they turned back to an ancient form of defence without weapons, a way of protection without returning aggression.

Now, as the figure advanced with weapon upraised, Fidelma slipped under the upraised arm and reached towards it, to use the momentum of the attacker to drag the figure forward and deflect the aim. At the last minute, the attacker seemed to guess her intention and sprang to one side. It was a clever move and for a second the thought passed through her mind that her opponent knew the art of combat as well as she did. She had leaped forward as the figure had moved sideways and it was her attacker who recovered first. As she tried to regain her balance, the figure turned, the weapon still upraised. In a split second she had a realisation of what was going to happen. The wood struck the side of her head. Then there was blackness.