Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marban turned pale with apprehension. It was Gormán who sprang into action and snapped at the miller: ‘Are our horses under cover? Will they be spotted? Quick, man!’

The miller seemed in a panic. ‘No, they are standing outside in clear sight. They will be seen before we can run them to the stables.’

Eadulf was glancing up the stairway to the room where they had successfully hidden before, but Fidelma, reading his intention, said: ‘It won’t work twice, Eadulf.’

They could hear the approach of a band of horses and any initiative seemed to drain from them as they realised how close the riders were. Gormán put his hand on his sword in a futile gesture — but Fidelma reached over to stop him.

‘Resistance will only bring about your death more quickly. Our only defence is in my rank and office — not that Gláed seems to be concerned about that. As we cannot hide, let us go and confront him.’

Eadulf would have preferred to have made a run for it rather than be faced with the wayward son of Fidaig, but Fidelma was already moving towards the door with Marban behind her, wringing his hands.

As they exited from the mill a band of thirty horsemen swept up to the mill buildings. Among the first of the horsemen was the man they had spotted previously from the mill room and whom Fidelma had identified as Gláed or rather Brother Adamrae.

Then they halted in surprise, for next to Gláed rode the familiar figure of the warlord of the Uí Fidgente, Conrí, with Socht on the other side of him.

The men reined in their horses before Fidelma and her companions, with Conrí clearly astonished at seeing them.

‘Lady!’ greeted the Uí Fidgente warlord. ‘What are you doing here?’

Fidelma recovered her poise. ‘I would ask you the same question, Conrí … and riding in such company.’

She turned towards Gláed and only then noticed his sullen features and the fact that his hands grasped the reins at an odd angle, the wrists having been tied tightly together with rawhide. She turned back to Conrí with a puzzled look.

Conrí was dismounting with a grin.

‘You were right in your suspicion, lady. There is a plot to overthrow Prince Donennach. But I thought you would have left the hospitality of Marban long ago. The girl at the fortress, Ciarnat, told me where you had gone. If Marban will extend his hospitality so that my men and I can water our horses in the stream here and rest before we take our prisoners back to Dún Eochair Mháigh, I will tell you what we have been about.’

Marban hobbled forward quickly, almost sobbing in relief.

‘By all means, Lord Conrí.’ He looked nervously at Gláed, who sat impassively on his horse, looking neither to right nor left, his mouth set in a firm line.

‘Have no fear, miller,’ Socht assured him. ‘He won’t hurt you. This man is our prisoner. Have you somewhere safe where I might put him? Preferably a well-used pigsty?’

‘Still amazed?’ smiled the warlord as they settled themselves back in the warmth of the mill. ‘You may not have recognised him, but that is actually our missing Brother Adamrae, and Adamrae is-’

‘Gláed, son of Fidaig of Sliabh Luachra,’ finished Fidelma. ‘We spent last night with Fidaig.’

Conrí looked disappointed for a moment. Then he continued his explanation. ‘We took Gláed as a prisoner. He had a few men with him who put up a fight, neglecting to notice I had a couple of good bowmen with me. Gláed finally preferred discretion to valour. Now he will answer for Lachtine’s death and for what he did to Brother Cronan.’

‘He will have to answer for much more than that,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘How did you find him? And what happened to confirm my idea of a plot to overthrow Donennach?’

The warlord ran his hand through his hair. ‘It was pure luck,’ he confessed. ‘After you left us at Dún Eochair Mháigh, a messenger came to the fortress. We had decided to stay on for a day or two as Cúana used to be an old friend of mine.’

Eadulf picked up the past tense and looked hard at the man.

Conrí interpreted the question. ‘I am afraid he came off the worst in an attack on me.’

‘What happened?’

‘It was as simple as being in the right place at the right time. Night had fallen and I could not sleep. I was still wondering what the purpose of Adamrae, or Gláed as I now know him, was in the Ford of Oaks. I heard a messenger arrive at the fortress and curiosity brought me from my chamber. The messenger was speaking with Cúana in the antechamber. I was about to enter when I heard him say that the moment to strike was at hand. That made me pause.

‘The messenger then said that Gláed and his men were waiting at a certain place — a small ford north-west of here. The merchant had been told to take his wagon there, and then Gláed would escort him to Mungairit. The merchant would bring “the object” with him. I never learned what that referred to. Cúana was instructed to take those loyal to him and join Gláed in Mungairit, where he would be given further instructions. All I could gather from this was that there was some kind of plot afoot.

‘The messenger left and I was going to withdraw quietly but unfortunately, I slipped on the stone floor and Cúana found me. He knew that I must have overheard what had been said, even though I could make no sense of it except that it promised intrigue and danger for our people.

‘Cúana drew his sword and said, “I am afraid you must die for what you have heard”. I tried to protest but the sword was descending …’ Conrí flinched at the memory, ‘and then Socht’s dagger caught him in the throat. Had that not happened, I would not have been here to tell the story. It was fortunate that Socht, being a light sleeper, had followed me.’

‘There is much to learn here,’ Eadulf said with satisfaction. ‘Ordan was bringing a wagonload of weapons obviously to Gláed — swords, spears and shields from the best smithies of Magh Méine. He also had this …’ He pointed to the standard that Gormán had placed in a corner.

Conrí observed it for the first time in the dark corner of the mill. His mouth opened in silent astonishment as he recognised it.

‘So you bested Gláed at the ford?’ Fidelma said hurriedly before Conrí could speak. ‘What has he said since then?’

Conrí turned reluctantly away from the standard. ‘Said?’ he repeated. ‘He has said nothing.’

‘Nothing at all?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Well, merely that all would be revealed if he was taken to Mungairit. I think it sounds like a threat.’

‘Then we should avoid Mungairit,’ Eadulf shrugged.

‘I think not. It is at Mungairit that this mystery will conclude,’ Fidelma contradicted firmly. ‘Let us go and have a word with Gláed.’

‘But, lady, you know what that emblem means,’ protested Conrí.

‘I know full well. You must keep it a secret until we have resolved the mystery of how it was meant to be used and by whom.’

Socht had tied the son of Fidaig to a metal horse ring in one of the barns. Gláed watched their coming with a faint smile of derision on his features.

‘Well, Gláed son of Fidaig,’ Fidelma greeted him coldly, ‘you already know who I am.’

He did not respond.

‘You will wish to know that Ordan’s supply of weapons for your followers has now fallen into safe hands.’

There was only a tiny narrowing of the eyes to indicate that he understood.

‘That also means that the Cathach of Fiachu is no longer available to arouse the Uí Fidgente to rise against Cashel again.’

Gláed continued to remain silent.

‘Cum tacent clamant,’ snapped Eadulf in frustration, using the words of Cicero. When they remain silent, they cry out.

At this Gláed turned and actually spoke: ‘There is an old saying of my people that a silent mouth sounds most melodious. I will say nothing to you, nor will I tell you anything.’

‘A pity. I would have liked to know what a petty chieftain of the Luachra would be wanting with the sacred battle emblem of the Uí Fidgente,’ Conrí intervened.

‘You will learn nothing from me,’ the young man sneered.

Fidelma saw the determined look in the prisoner’s eye and gave a silent sigh. She was a good judge of character and knew resolution when confronted with it. ‘It will not add to our knowledge to question him further,’ she said quietly.

Eadulf and Conrí followed her back to the mill.

‘I don’t understand,’ Conrí said in frustration. ‘The plot has been revealed — so why does he remain silent?’

‘Because all is not revealed. He remains silent because he is only one of the conspirators. He is protecting the others. There is someone at the heart of this who is more powerful than Gláed.’

‘More powerful? You can’t mean Cúana? He is dead now. Anyway, he was only the steward of Prince Donennach’s house.’

‘How many trustworthy men do you have, Conrí?’ she asked abruptly.

‘As you see, lady, about twenty-five warriors. The number that accompanied us from the Ford of the Oaks.’

‘Who did you leave to secure Dún Eochair Mháigh?’

‘I found a few good men there who were unaware of what Cúana had been planning. I also sent a messenger to my own fortress to raise a dozen more men to join us.’

‘It would be better if we had a hundred warriors or more,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Still, with luck, it might not come to a confrontation.’

Conrí was still puzzled. ‘Confrontation? A battle?’

‘What would be the effect of raising the Cathach Fiachu among your people and calling on them to rise up against Cashel again?’

‘No effect at all — unless it was raised by a prince of the blood,’ Conrí told her. ‘Certainly no effect if it had been raised by Gláed, as he is not even of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘Gláed will not raise it. The person who will do so is to be found in Mungairit,’ she replied confidently.

Three blasts on a hunting horn cut into the air. A moment later, Socht burst in.

‘More horsemen are coming! I’ve told our men to stand to their arms.’

Fidelma sprang up. ‘The fact they have given us warning of their approach may mean there is no hostile intention,’ she pointed out as the warlord clasped his sword. ‘Let your men stand ready, but don’t provoke anything until we know who they are and what their intentions are.’

It was not long before they knew the answers as they gathered in a nervous group outside the mill building.

Fidaig, lord of Luachra, came trotting into the mill complex with a score of his warriors. He halted a little distance away from them and slid from his saddle, handing the reins of his horse to Artgal, who rode beside him. He then walked towards them, his face serious. His keen eyes swept the company before they alighted on Fidelma.

‘I did not expect to see you again so soon, lady,’ he said.

‘Nor I you, Fidaig,’ she replied. ‘What does this mean? I thought you were chasing the man who killed Ordan the merchant to Barr an Bheithe?’

‘That was my intention, lady,’ he said heavily.

‘And now?’

‘My son, Gláed, was not at Barr an Bheithe. I was told that he was attacked and taken prisoner by Conrí of the Uí Fidgente. I am come to find and to claim my son.’

‘If I remember correctly, Fidaig, the purpose of you going to his fortress at Barr an Bheithe was to ask an account of him and to punish him if there was wrongdoing,’ Fidelma stated evenly. ‘There has been wrongdoing and the Uí Fidgente have a prior claim on your son.’

‘It is a father’s right to punish a son.’

‘What your son has done is no longer a matter of discipline from a father or, indeed, the chieftain of his clan,’ Fidelma said.

‘What then?’ demanded Fidaig. ‘Is he to be tried by strangers? The Uí Fidgente?’

‘He is involved in a plot against the rightful Uí Fidgente Prince and probably against the King of Cashel,’ Fidelma said. ‘Therefore, if it comes to trial, he will be tried by a Brehon of Muman.’

Fidaig snorted. ‘I say that my son is of the Luachra and he will answer to the Luachra. I allow no one to interfere in my family or the people of Sliabh Luachra.’ The lord of the Luachra glanced towards his warrior escort.

Fidelma caught the implied threat and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

‘What you allow is of no consequence to me, Fidaig. I am a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth. Even the High King has accepted my legal advice. Further, I speak with the authority of my brother, Colgú, rightful King of Muman. Now, do you deny the law I represent and your King? Deny me by force and there is nothing I can do. But should you do so, you will know that the consequences will be severe, for it will not be just a defiance of those authorities that I have spoken of but of the Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms and therefore the High King himself. Are you ready to accept those consequences?’

Fidaig stood defiant for a while. Then he seemed to acquiesce with a gesture of his shoulder.

‘You make your point with your usual eloquence, lady,’ he said softly. ‘Where will you take my son?’

‘We leave here for the Abbey of Mungairit. It is your right to accompany us, to see that your son is properly treated.’

Fidaig was still looking at Fidelma. ‘I would like to have a word with my son before he is taken to Mungairit.’

Fidelma inclined her head towards the barn. ‘He is being held there.’

Fidaig hesitated. ‘I would like a word alone with him. Perhaps I have been a bad parent and could have prevented this. But I would like one chance to speak to the boy before it is too late.’

‘Boy?’ It was Eadulf who cut in. ‘The boy is now a man, Fidaig. It is too late to treat him as a boy still. The damage is done.’

Fidaig swung round to him, anger on his face. ‘Damage?’

‘Ego enim sum Dominus Deus tuus Deus aemulator reddens iniquitatem patrum super filios in tertiam et quartam generationem,’ intoned Eadulf unctuously.

‘I have no understanding of what you say, Saxon!’ snapped the lord of the Luachra.

‘It is from Deuteronomy, one of the Holy Scriptures. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, and in the third or the fourth generation … And by the way, I am an Angle, not a Saxon.’

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.’