Atonement of Blood (40 page)

Fidelma shook her head warningly at Eadulf, before addressing Fidaig. ‘You may have your word with your son but then we must start for Mungairit.’

Fidaig gave a deep sigh, then took back his reins from the man who was holding his horse before leading the animal across to the barn.

Fidelma had turned back to Eadulf with a look of reproof. ‘You are free with your quotation from Holy Scripture.’

‘I thought the passage from the translation of the Blessed Jerome was appropriate,’ Eadulf replied with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I don’t trust Fidaig.’

‘Then quote for quote –
non portabit filius iniquitatem patris … et pater non portabit iniquitatem filii
. That’s from Ezekiel.’

Eadulf’s mouth turned down, for it was a contrary statement. The son shall not bear the punishment of the father’s iniquity, nor will the father bear the punishment for the son’s iniquity.

Conrí scratched his head. ‘Whatever this saying means, I think friend Eadulf here is right to suspect Fidaig. Perhaps I should send someone to keep an eye …’

‘I promised Fidaig a word alone with his son,’ snapped Fidelma.

There was a sudden yell from Socht. They swung round. The figure of Gláed had emerged from the barn and leaped onto his father’s horse. Within moments, he had jumped a fence and sped away towards the surrounding forest.

Socht was bawling for his men to give chase, but the Luachra warriors had formed a barrier with their horses.

‘Damn Fidaig!’ cursed Conrí. ‘He’s released his son. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.’

Fidelma looked shocked at the defiance of her legal authority by the lord of the Luachra. It was obvious that he had cut his son’s bonds and allowed him to escape. Eadulf and Conrí were running towards the barn. As Fidaig had not emerged, two of the mounted Luachra sent their horses over to the barn at a trot. Eadulf thought their purpose was to help Fidaig to escape, recognising one of the riders as his son, Artgal. Eadulf increased his speed and reached the barn just moments before them. They all came to a stunned halt at the entrance.

Fidaig was lying on the ground, covered in blood. Next to him was the iron ring to which Gláed had been secured by ropes. The pieces of rope lay cut and discarded nearby.

Eadulf fell to his knees by the side of the stricken man as Fidelma caught up and pushed her way between Artgal and his companion, who had jumped from their horses to crowd inside. Conrí had joined them. They were staring in disbelief. Fidaig’s eyes were barely open, his face twisted in pain. He groaned and then caught sight of his son across Eadulf’s shoulder.

‘Artgal, get him … Gláed … he has killed me …’

Artgal’s companion did not hesitate but turned and ran out of the barn, yelling the news to his followers.

‘Gláed has murdered his father! After him!’

The Luachra warriors wheeled their horses round and within moments were indistinguishable from Socht and his men as they formed a body racing after the fugitive.

Fidelma and Eadulf were now joined by Artgal at the side of the fallen Fidaig. The lord of Sliabh Luachra was coughing blood.

‘You were wiser … than I,’ he gasped, peering towards Fidelma as if he found difficulty in focusing.

‘Don’t speak,’ advised Eadulf. ‘Save your strength.’

The man’s mouth twisted in a parody of a grin.

‘It will not … not need much strength to die, Saxon,’ he grunted. ‘Must tell you – I thought I knew best how to treat my son. I cut him loose. Told him … there’d be no fair trial from Uí Fidgente. Told him I … would hear him at Sliabh Luachra. Tried by his own … people.’

Eadulf raised the man’s shoulders to make him more comfortable. ‘It is hard to believe ill of your own,’ he said softly.

‘Didn’t think he … think he would kill his own … father.’ Another spasm of coughing seized the dying man before his fading gaze sought out his son Artgal. ‘You are now … now lord of the Luachra. Rule more wisely than I …’

A spasm suddenly wracked Fidaig’s body and then he was still. Eadulf laid him down gently and rose to his feet.

Fidelma was still in a state of shock. Eadulf had never seen her so distressed before. She was obviously blaming herself for the tragedy. Eadulf turned to the pale-faced Artgal. The young man was still staring at the body of Fidaig as if he did not believe what he had witnessed.

‘Artgal!’ he said sharply.

The young man reluctantly drew his gaze from the dead body to Eadulf.

‘I am sorry for your loss, Artgal. You have heard your father’s dying words. Alas, he has brought this upon himself by releasing your brother.’

Artgal’s eyes suddenly flickered with a curious fire. ‘My brother will answer for this. He will answer for the death of our father.’

Fidelma moved suddenly, as if coming out of a stupor. ‘So he shall,’ she said. ‘But Gláed must answer for other matters as well. He must be recaptured and brought back here alive.’

Artgal’s face was grim. ‘That he shall be, if it can be accomplished. But he must be taken back to Sliabh Luachra where his own people shall sit in judgement on him.’

‘I am more than willing to let that happen, Artgal – but
after
he has provided witness to his part in this Uí Fidgente conspiracy.’

They faced each other stubbornly. Then the young man’s face seemed to crumple in lines of grief. This time it was Fidelma who reached out to comfort him.

‘You are now the lord of the Luachra, Artgal,’ she said softly. ‘Responsibility often comes upon us before we are prepared to receive it. If we can recapture Gláed, I suggest that you and some of your men shall accompany us to Mungairit. It is my intention to gather the witnesses there and resolve this conspiracy. After that, you may take him back to Sliabh Luachra and you and your people may judge him as you see fit. You have my word.’

The young lord of Luachra glanced down at his father’s body. He was quiet for a few moments. Then he gave a deep sigh.

‘It shall be so, lady. You also have the word of the lord of Luachra. And with your permission, I shall send some men to take my father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra.’

She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement and he left the barn. Conrí had gone to consult with some of his remaining warriors. Not everyone had chased after the fleeing Gláed. Fidelma stood for a long while, shoulders hunched, staring down at the body of Fidaig. Eadulf saw the guilt on her features.

‘It is not your fault,’ he said finally.

‘We have an old saying, Eadulf. “A sharp hound knows its own faults”. Alas, I knew my fault and I ignored it. It is my error that is responsible for Fidaig’s death.’

‘My people also had a saying before the arrival of the New Faith,’ Eadulf replied. ‘“Only the gods are without fault”.’

Fidelma said nothing but she seemed to rally a little before striding back to Marban’s mill. Eadulf followed a moment later. Gormán was waiting for them.

‘So, Fidaig paid for his folly?’ he said without sympathy and did not seem to notice Eadulf’s warning look.

Ignoring him, Fidelma asked Marban if there was any of his
corma
left.

‘Do you think Gláed will be caught, lady?’ asked the miller, pouring the drinks as they seated themselves once again in his mill.

She did not reply, but made a gesture as if to say, ‘Who knows?’

Conrí entered abruptly, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for the moment, lady.’

Fidelma took a sip of the
corma
and then looked up at the warlord.

‘We can’t delay long. We need to press on to the Abbey of Mungairit. I was hoping to gather all the necessary witnesses. That also means you, Marban,’ she addressed the miller.

Conrí looked astonished. ‘Is it necessary?’

‘I deem it so,’ she said distantly. ‘A Brehon, presenting evidence, must have the backing of witnesses. This territory is in danger and that danger has spread to Cashel. The mystery now has to be resolved. We must ride on to Mungairit before this conspiracy brings down Prince Donennach as well as Cashel.’

‘I will defend Prince Donennach so long as I live, lady,’ declared Conrí.

‘Then live a long time, Conrí,’ she replied dryly. ‘What men do you have left here?’

‘About ten. Socht ordered them to remain in case of …’ He hesitated and ended with a shrug before adding, ‘The rest are chasing after Gláed with warriors of the Luachra.’

‘Artgal has ordered some of his men to carry his father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra. There will be no trouble from the Luachra. Choose five of your men, Conrí – the most trusted men you have. They are to ride towards Tara and intercept Prince Donennach and his party who should be returning from their meeting with the High King along the Slíge Dalla, the main road from Tara to Cashel. It is vital that they intercept them
before
they enter the territory of my brother’s kingdom, for that is where I believe there will be an ambush. Once Prince Donennach crosses the border into Muman, I am certain the assassins will strike. Make sure they take Brehon Uallach prisoner. He has a hand in this conspiracy, I am sure.’

Conrí looked astounded. ‘I don’t understand, lady.’

‘This is part of a carefully laid plan to assassinate Prince Donennach and those loyal to him. It is intended to appear that my brother or the Eóghanacht are responsible. Anyway, Donennach is not supposed to return alive to the land of the Uí Fidgente. It will be claimed that he was killed by the Eóghanacht in retaliation for the assassination or attempted assassination of my brother. Cashel will be blamed, and in the turmoil a Prince of the Uí Fidgente blood is to come forward to raise the
Cathach
Fiachu, the sacred standard of the Uí Fidgente. The
Cathach
, therefore, must remain hidden until we uncover the identity of the leader of this plot.’

Conrí stared at her in horror. ‘But which Uí Fidgente Prince? As warlord, I am now the most senior among the Princes. Am I to be accused?’

‘The answer will be revealed when we get to Mungairit.’

‘Why Mungairit?’

‘Because I now know who attempted to assassinate my brother and why. I also know who it was who persuaded him to carry out that attack. At Mungairit, we will find the person who has unleashed this conspiracy of death.’

A sudden shouting and clamour could be heard outside. They jostled each other to get through the door of the mill and see the return of the horsemen. One man was on foot. His hands were tied before him and a rope formed a halter around his neck. One end of the rope was held in the hands of a grinning warrior of Luachra. The prisoner had clearly been pulled along behind the horse for some distance, running to keep up. His neck was raw and bloody where the rope cut into it. It was Gláed.

The rider halted before Artgal and dismounted.

‘We caught him when his horse stumbled, lord,’ the man said. ‘We were sorely tempted to hoist him from one of the trees and hang him there and then – but we thought you might like to choose the place of hanging.’

Artgal, the new lord of the Luachra, stared with anger at his breathless and bloodied younger brother.

‘Our father is dead by your hand,’ he hissed.

Gláed stared back with hatred. ‘He would have taken me back to Barr an Bheithe and hanged me there. He did me no service.’

‘He tried to deliver you from the Uí Fidgente,’ snapped Artgal.

‘He never did anything for me unless he expected me to pay for it. You were always his favourite, Artgal. That’s why he chose you as his heir apparent. Well, you are in the ascendant now. Hang me – go on! I will curse you from the next world. You can watch for me at the Feast of Samhain when this world and the Otherworld meet and the dead return to wreak their vengeance!’

A silence had fallen over the warriors of the Luachra. They shifted nervously. Artgal’s face was a mask of fury. He took a step forward as if he would strike down his brother there and then.

‘Artgal!’ Fidelma moved forward. ‘Remember your promise. Have Gláed cleaned up and secured on a horse. You and two of your warriors may accompany us to Mungairit. Afterwards, you may take him back to Sliabh Luachra.’

Gláed’s anger was turned on her.

‘I will say nothing! Don’t think I have any gratitude to you for stopping my brother from killing me.’

‘I do not expect any,’ she replied, turning away from him in disgust. Then she looked up at the sky. ‘The sooner we set out for Mungairit, the sooner we shall arrive.’

F
or Eadulf, the ride back to Mungairit seemed to take a curiously short span of time compared with the outward trip. Artgal and two warriors of the Luachra took charge of Gláed. Accompanied by Marban, they had halted at Dún Eochair Mháigh to rest their horses. When they moved on, Conrí ensured that the principal fortress of the Uí Fidgente was secure in the hands of some of his trusted warriors. They spent the night at the Ford of the Oaks where Conrí increased his escort of warriors, once again ensuring that the fortress was left well-defended.

Early that morning, they moved northwards along the banks of the turbulent River Mháigh. They had one more stop to make before the final part of their journey back to the abbey. Fidelma insisted that they halt at Temnén’s farmstead and request the former warrior-turned-farmer to accompany them as a further witness. Temnén reluctantly did so, on the condition that he could bring his hound, Failinis, and that he would not be long away from his farmstead.