Atonement of Blood (36 page)

She seemed on the point of exasperation and then Eadulf shrugged.

‘I know there are complications,’ he said. ‘It is just that I feel we are adding unnecessary ones.’

‘A search for the truth is like following a river. It does not always run straight,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It twists, turns and has many little tributaries. Show me a line that you think is truly straight and I shall show you the kinks in it.’

‘Even if we confront this Gláed, do you think that the truth will be revealed?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Remember, he tried to kill you once.’

‘Trying to kill someone in the dark and in secret is not the same as doing so in the open in front of his father.’

‘His father … whom we do not trust?’

‘My mind is made up,’ she declared firmly.

Eadulf had seen Fidelma in such obstinate moods before and he knew that no powers of persuasion could convince her that she was wrong.

At that moment the sounds of music came to their ears.

‘It seems Fidaig’s feasting has started,’ Fidelma said. ‘We had best go to join it.’

They left the tent and made their way to a square which had been laid out before the
pupall
of the chieftain. Branches, rushes and ferns, and bundles of sedge grass had been laid out in order to lessen the amount of mud that would be churned up on the ground where the feasting was to be. In the centre, a great fire had been lit and round this were makeshift tables and log benches that had been erected for those who would sit down to the feast.

To one side were a group of musicians with their instruments – those playing the pipes, trumpet players with wide-mouthed horns, and even chain men, who produced music from chains and bells by shaking them in rhythms, along with bone men who beat out their music.

‘Fidaig provides well for his warriors when they travel,’ Eadulf observed, glancing around.

Once again Fidelma was reminded that this was only a ‘marching camp’ but containing a hundred warriors and their supporting attendants, travelling from place to place to collect tribute for the Lord of the Luachra. It was an entirely male gathering that could, if need be, have been turned into an aggressive war party. But the men were well prepared with entertainment and food. And it was only by the fires and lanterns that now lit up the encampment that she saw the heavy wagons drawn up around it. These were the wagons in which the tribute was gathered and, at the same time, they served as a form of protective barrier after the camp was set up.

In the flickering light they met Gormán, who was standing surveying the construction of the camp.

‘The person who planned this encampment has a good eye,’ he greeted Fidelma. ‘All arranged in an orderly fashion … but I am concerned, lady.’

‘Concerned?’

‘Look at the area before the chieftain’s tent. It is an oblong space, bounded by poles – and on each pole is a lantern, giving light onto the area. I saw the like of this when I was training as a warrior at the school of the Glendamnach – and I am wondering what sort of entertainment is planned.’

Fidelma was considering the matter when Fidaig emerged from his tent and greeted them.

‘Come, lady, you and your companions must sit by me,’ he instructed, before turning back to those gathering round. A silence fell on the camp, even before he held up his hand.

‘Tonight, my friends, is a night to feast – for this is the last day of gathering in the tribute. We should all be able to drink our fill and look forward to returning to our beds and our women.’

‘Whose women?’ called out a bawdy voice, which sparked laughter among the warriors.

‘A good question,’ responded Fidaig. There was an expectant silence. Fidaig waved a hand towards Fidelma. ‘Tonight we are honoured with the presence of the lady Fidelma, sister to King Colgú in Cashel, her husband Eadulf and one of her brother’s bodyguards, a warrior of the Golden Collar.’

A ripple of interest went through the assembly. Eadulf and Gormán exchanged an anxious look.

‘The lady Fidelma is a
dálaigh
, an advocate of our ancient law,’ Fidaig went on. ‘It is apposite that she should be with us tonight, for this evening we have to resort to an ancient ordeal to determine a dispute. It is the
fír cómlainn
– the truth of combat.’

Eadulf noticed that Fidelma had gone very pale. By his side Gormán leaned towards him. He was also looking nervous, his hand resting tensely on the hilt of his sword. ‘That means a single combat to the death,’ he whispered. ‘I thought it was illegal.’

Fidaig overheard and turned to Fidelma. ‘Is single combat illegal, lady?’

Fidelma stirred uneasily. ‘It is not illegal. No Brehon council had felt it necessary to proscribe it as it is so ancient that it is almost irrelevant. The idea of quarrels being agreed by the sword is thought to be uncivilised when our law provides for arbitration.’

‘Then you are in an uncivilised land, lady,’ grinned Fidaig. ‘I thought the law provided for the settlement of dispute by single combat.’

‘So it does,’ admitted Fidelma. ‘However, there are stringent rules laid down for deciding whether the cause itself is legal. Who has issued the challenge?’

Fidaig raised his hand and beckoned. A tall warrior stepped forward. He was fully armed and clad with fighting helmet and shield. To the other side emerged Artgal, Fidaig’s own son, who was also fully armed.

‘Loeg issued the challenge and Artgal has accepted it.’

‘And what is the dispute?’

Fidaig chuckled almost lewdly. ‘Over a woman, what else? The wife of Loeg is now the mistress of Artgal.’

Fidelma pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Surely the law is sufficient to deal with this matter? We have enough grounds for separation and divorce in our laws.’

‘It may be so, lady, but the Luachra prefer the challenge to combat when there is a dispute over their women.’

Fidelma regarded the would-be combatants with disapproval. ‘It is said that there are three kinds of men who fail to understand women: young men, old men and middle-aged men.’

Fidaig laughed. ‘That may be so as well – but the challenge remains. Will you be the judge of it?’

Fidelma realised that the wily lord of the Luachra had placed her in this position in order to test her determination and courage. He was trying to force her into an arbitrary decision. Here, in this time and this place, it was impossible to make a judgement without precedent. She had to follow the only path left open.

‘The challenge has been issued, you say? And has been accepted?’

‘It has.’

‘Have both men offered to submit to law before proclaiming the combat?’

‘Both men have agreed that they felt no recourse to deciding the matter than by combat until death.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment or two, trying to think of a means to stop the fight. But the existing legal criteria had been fulfilled. Both men, it seemed, were determined to pursue the matter.

‘Very well. Let them step forward.’ When the combatants did so, Fidelma addressed each of them in turn. ‘There is no other way you will resolve this?’

The warrior Loeg said, ‘There is no way but death!’ and Artgal was smiling as he agreed. ‘Loeg challenged me this morning and I accepted. Now it shall be resolved.’

Fidelma was about to confirm the proceedings when she paused. ‘When did you say that the challenge was issued?’

‘This morning. We agreed,’ replied Artgal in a confident tone.

‘They have witnesses,’ Fidaig said quickly, seeing a smile on her lips. ‘I recalled the law and there stand the witnesses on each side. Each combatant has sworn to abide by the result of the fight.’

‘But the fight will
not
take place, for it is illegal,’ Fidelma stated firmly.

Fidaig gazed at her in astonishment. ‘What squeamish judgement is this, lady?’ he sneered. ‘I have ensured that everything is done within the law, as you have heard.’

‘All except one thing, Fidaig. You should know that according to the
Senchus Mór
, five full days must elapse between the challenge and the duel.’

Fidaig clenched a fist in annoyance. ‘Where does it say this?’ he demanded. ‘This is not right.’

‘There is a story of two famous champions – Conall Cernach and Laegaire,’ explained Fidelma. ‘They quarrelled and challenged each other to a single combat in legal form. The Chief Brehon Sencha decreed that five days should elapse for them to cool their tempers before they fought. Thus all other combats since then can only be held five days after the formal challenge is made.’

Fidaig struggled to find an answer and could not. Fidelma ignored him and dismissed the combatants and their companions. ‘At least it gives them five more days to think it over,’ she explained quietly to Eadulf.

Even as they were finally relaxing and someone had signalled for the music to restart, there came the sound of a warning horn piercing the darkness close by with three short blasts. Gormán looked round, wondering what new threat was emerging.

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Fidaig called immediately. ‘It is a signal from one of our sentinels.’ Then he frowned. ‘Curious. We expect no other guests.’

He was looking towards the edge of the camp where the bulky shape of a wagon had emerged, having just crossed the river. It was being escorted by a couple of warriors.

‘I thought all my wagons had been safely gathered in for the night.’ Fidaig was surprised by the new arrival. ‘I do not know this one.’

The wagon had halted on the rim of the encampment with the other wagons. The stocky driver had climbed down. One of Fidaig’s warriors was escorting him towards the
pupall
. They noticed that he was not so much guiding him as propelling him forward with the point of a sword.

The driver of the wagon was a balding man of stout proportions. He came wheezing before them, his head lowered, his pudgy hands rubbing together.

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf in surprise before turning back to the newcomer.

‘Well, Ordan, I did not expect to meet you again so soon and in this place.’

T
he merchant recovered quickly from his obvious shock and forced a sickly smile to spread over his fleshy features.

‘Lady Fidelma,’ he bowed his head briefly. ‘I, also, hardly expected to find you here and in such distinguished company.’ He looked at Eadulf and made his curious bow again. His small glittering eyes missed nothing, observing Gormán behind them. Then he turned to Fidaig and made an artificial obeisance.

Fidaig simply ignored him but raised a questioning eyebrow to the warrior who had escorted Ordan into the camp.

‘Lord,’ began the warrior, ‘we were returning from the north, and just by the place known as the Hill of Green we saw a campfire. There we found this merchant.’

‘I had camped there for the night, lord,’ Ordan explained hastily. ‘Had I realised your encampment was nearby, I would have hastened to join you. Better to spend the night in numbers than in isolation. I have heard that the wolves and bears are many in these fastnesses.’

The warrior gave the merchant a pitying glance and went on, ‘Your campfires, lord, were clearly visible from where we found this man.’

‘Yet I had failed to see them until your warriors kindly pointed them out to me and invited me to join you,’ the merchant said suavely.

Fidaig stared at the fat man in distaste. ‘So you are Ordan of Rathordan? I hear you have often been in my territory but have never once come to my fortress to pay your respects to me.’

‘When we questioned him, he told us that he was heading for the Ford of Oaks in the land of the Uí Fidgente,’ interrupted the escorting warrior.

‘Your route is curious for one heading to the Ford of the Oaks,’ pointed out Fidaig.

The merchant spread his hands nervously. ‘I missed the road. I mean … the road I usually take was muddy and impassable.’

‘Yet you have put an entire day or more on your journey to see Gláed, haven’t you?’ Fidelma said softly.

‘It was better to arrive safely than …’ Ordan suddenly stopped, realising that he had unwittingly admitted he was going to meet Gláed. His jaw went slack and he was at a loss to continue.

‘Perhaps, lord,’ said the warrior, ‘you might like to see what is in the wagon of this merchant?’

‘That will not be necessary,’ protested Ordan. ‘I am trading a few weapons, that’s all.’

Fidaig’s expression did not favour the merchant. ‘I have heard of you, Ordan. Reports have reached me that you have often been in my territory but that you favour my son to trade with. I am curious.’

‘I trade with many people,’ Ordan muttered sullenly.

‘We shall see what goods you bring to my son.’ Fidaig turned to one of his warriors. ‘Keep our guest company while we look at his wagon.’ Then he gestured for Fidelma and Eadulf to accompany him.

Led by the warrior who had escorted Ordan into the camp, they walked across to the place where the wagon had been left under guard. Lanterns were called for and Fidaig climbed up and drew aside the covering. His gasp was audible. Without a word, he turned and signalled for Fidelma to join him. Eadulf assisted her in climbing onto the heavily laden wagon before he followed her. Gormán, not to be left behind, also climbed up.