Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For 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.

‘If I cannot demonstrate my case within an hour of reaching Mungairit, then I will have failed anyway,’ Fidelma assured him.

They arrived at the gates of the abbey as darkness was falling. Lanterns and brand torches were already in evidence, lighting the courtyards and buildings. Unlike their previous visit, the arrival of some sixty horsemen caused excitement among the brethren, many of whom came crowding into the courtyard in a state of curiosity. The steward, Brother Cuineáin, came hurrying out with an expression of anger on his features as the company came to a halt.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, gazing at them all in horror. ‘This is a House of God and you have no right to bring warriors into its sanctuary.’

‘I am Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente,’ called Conrí, still seated on his horse. ‘I act in the name of Prince Donennach.’

Fidelma and Eadulf swung down from their horses and went up to the steward. His eyes looked almost malignant in the flickering light.

‘Ah,’ was all he said; the syllable expressed in a long and slow breath.

‘You will observe, Brother Cuineáin, that this time I am wearing the badge of the Golden Collar?’ Fidelma addressed him quietly.

The steward sniffed in disapproval. ‘I have noticed.’

‘You will also know what this is?’ She continued presenting the official hazel wand of office, the emblem of her authority from the King of Muman.

‘I know it.’

‘Then you know what it symbolises and the recognition that must now be accorded me and my party?’

‘It is so acknowledged,’ the man admitted reluctantly. ‘You are both representative of the law of the Five Kingdoms and of the personal authority of the King of Muman.’

‘That is good. Then you shall conduct me, and those I choose, to the chamber of Abbot Nannid immediately.’

‘But …’ the steward began to protest, throwing out an arm to encompass her warrior companions, ‘are they necessary?’

‘They are here because there is treason in these walls. Now, this is not a request,’ Fidelma expressed herself firmly. ‘Take me to Abbot Nannid. It is an order and you will carry it out now.’

The steward’s shoulders sagged a little in defeat.

‘Very well. But the abbot will complain to the High King and Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms.’

‘That is your right,’ replied Fidelma. She turned to her companions. ‘Conrí — your men are to secure the gates of the abbey in case of any attack on us. I do not think there will be, since I believe that the conspirators’ warriors have been sent to ambush Prince Donennach. However, we must be cautious.’

Conrí issued the orders while Fidelma gathered her party, which consisted of Marban, Temnén and the still silent Gláed, escorted by Artgal and Socht, with Eadulf, Gormán and Conrí. Ensuring that Conrí’s men had secured their positions, Fidelma instructed Brother Cuineáin to lead the way to the abbot’s chamber. As they did so, the steward noticed that Temnén was being followed by his hound, Failinis. He immediately began to protest again.

‘You can’t bring that creature into the House of the Lord. It is an affront and a sacrilege!’

Fidelma was in no mood to allow any further protests. ‘Do you then deny Holy Scripture, Brother Cuineáin?’ she snapped. ‘Nimirum interroga iumenta et docebunt te. Ask the animals and they will teach you … in God’s hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.’

Eadulf smiled. ‘The words of Job,’ he said, and added, ‘the creature has as much right to be here as you do.’

Brother Cuineáin gave an angry exclamation as they marched through the stone corridors towards the chamber of the abbot.

Abbot Nannid rose from his chair, his outrage obvious, as they crowded into his chamber. Before he could speak, however, Fidelma pre-empted him by holding up her wand of office.

‘Look closely on this, Abbot Nannid. I am here first to speak with the voice of the law and then with the voice of the King of Muman.’

‘You do not speak with the authority of the Church,’ snapped Abbot Nannid. ‘You have no authority within these abbey walls. You have admitted that you are no longer a member of the religious. You come here by the power of the sword — so I refuse to acknowledge your right to be here!’

‘You will find that I also act by the authority of Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach, comarb of the Blessed Ailbe and Chief Bishop of this kingdom.’ Eadulf’s voice rang out as he moved forward and, to Fidelma’s surprise, produced a small round, silver object from his leather bag. He laid it on the table before the abbot. ‘I carry the seal of Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, Chief Bishop of Muman. So the authority of the Church is upheld. Do you recognise it?’

Brother Cuineáin made one last effort to challenge them. ‘You did not present these authorities before,’ he began. ‘Why-’

It was Conrí who answered this time. ‘You were told that brigands had robbed the lady Fidelma and her companions. Thankfully, my men encountered the thieves and thus we were able to return these symbols of authority.’

The abbot was still staring at the silver seal. Then he looked from Eadulf to Fidelma, and then at those who had crowded into his chamber, sweeping them with a puzzled gaze. He did not even question the presence of Temnén’s large hound, who now sat patiently by the foot of his master.

‘What do you want here?’ he asked Fidelma.

‘To prevent a plot that would provoke civil war among the Uí Fidgente,’ she replied evenly. ‘To stop a war that will cause bloodshed throughout all Muman. To resolve the unlawful bloodshed that has already marred this kingdom, and to identify the culprits.’

The abbot raised his arms a little way then let them fall in a hopeless gesture. ‘I know nothing of such things,’ he said. ‘When you were here last, you claimed it was Brother Lennán who tried to assassinate your brother, the King. But Brother Lennán had been dead these many years. Have you now managed to resurrect him? Do your powers extend that far?’ Somehow the abbot found the courage to be sarcastic.

‘You hold a key to the door of a certain room,’ Fidelma said, ignoring the abbot’s gibes. ‘You will unlock it for me.’

Abbot Nannid shook his head. ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

Fidelma turned to Brother Cuineáin. ‘If the abbot has no knowledge of the room of which I speak, I am sure that you do. It is the room in which the items are stored that are kept in remembrance of Cnoc Áine.’

The steward started nervously and glanced at the grim-faced abbot.

‘You have acknowledged my authority,’ Fidelma said forcefully. ‘You do not need the abbot’s permission to respond to my request.’

Abbot Nannid leaned back in his chair with a sigh. ‘That room?’ There was a thin smile on his lips. ‘Come, come, lady. There is nothing in that room that needs such suspicion as I see on your face. Brother Cuineáin may unlock it if he will, but I can tell you already what is in there. Some years ago, I authorised Brother Cuineáin to gather some of the sad debris that was left on the battlefield of Cnoc Áine. We have placed it there as a reminder of the evils of war. Isn’t that correct, Brother Cuineáin? It is a shrine.’

‘A shrine it is,’ Brother Cuineáin agreed quickly.

‘I have a mind to see this shrine,’ replied Fidelma. ‘And we will see it now.’

With another quick glance towards the abbot, Brother Cuineáin pointed to a small door to one side of the abbot’s chamber.

‘It is through there,’ he mumbled.

‘Take us inside,’ Fidelma instructed. She paused only to turn to the two Luachra warriors guarding Gláed, saying, ‘Keep him safe here. The others will come with us and that means you as well, Abbot Nannid.’

‘It is unnecessary. I know what it is in the room.’

‘But I do not want you to accuse anyone here of placing something in it that was not there before,’ she warned him.

They moved in a body, led by Brother Cuineáin, through the door — which opened onto a long corridor. Along one side, high windows would have emitted daylight, had it not been well past nightfall. The sounds of horses showed they were either near a courtyard or the stables. Brother Cuineáin asked Marban to light some lanterns to help and then, with Marban and Temnén holding them aloft to light the way, he preceded them along the corridor until he paused before a stout oaken door.

From his leather belt, he took a bunch of keys, selected one with his left hand and thrust it into the lock. It turned easily and he pushed the door open. Marban had set down one of the lamps on a nearby wooden shelf so that the steward could see to open the door.

‘Brother Cuineáin, the lantern please,’ said Fidelma as she moved into the room.

The steward, still holding the keys in his left hand, bent to pick up the lamp in his right but that hand shook so much that Eadulf took the lantern from him.

‘It is a palsy,’ the steward hastily explained. Eadulf glanced at the steward’s wrist without comment.

With Eadulf now holding the lantern above shoulder height, they moved forward into a small storeroom. Conrí and Gormán came behind while the abbot and the others followed.

‘This is a shrine of the weapons used at Cnoc Áine,’ explained the abbot. ‘What else other than the debris of war should be gathered to show its futility?’

‘Except,’ Conrí pointed out, ‘these weapons seem highly polished and well-maintained for a battle fought over four years ago.’

It was true that the pile of swords and other equipment seemed almost new, but Fidelma appeared uninterested by them. She had taken note of several gold torcs placed on a tabletop, but was intent on looking for something special. Then she spotted a pile of shields in a corner and, beckoning Eadulf to bring the light closer, she began to look through them. It was only a short while before she gave a small grunt of satisfaction and picked one out.

‘Very well. I have seen enough,’ she announced.

They returned silently to the abbot’s chamber. Fidelma placed the shield on the table. It was a red shield on which was an emblem of a stag rampant, picked out with semi-precious stones.

‘I shall be glad to return my brother’s shield to him,’ she said coldly.

‘I did not know your brother had lost his shield on the field of battle,’ Abbot Nannid said. ‘I am glad that we have become the means of saving it so that it can be safely returned to him.’

‘Indeed. I am sure he will be grateful for its return and for the restoration of his good name,’ she replied solemnly.

‘His good name?’ queried Brother Cuineáin, running his tongue around his dried lips.

‘Oh yes,’ Fidelma said. ‘There is a story, which I am now able to tell you. All the pieces now fit together.’

‘Is it connected to this plot to overthrow Prince Donennach?’ queried Conrí eagerly.

The abbot exchanged a nervous glance with his steward. Fidelma pretended not to notice. ‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘The plot has been a long time in the hatching. Perhaps it was first conceived on the bloodied slopes of Cnoc Áine, when Eoganán was killed and many of his nobles fled.’

Abbot Nannid was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Are you claiming that there is a plot in my abbey to use those weapons from Cnoc Áine to overthrow Prince Donennach? Why, there are scarce enough weapons to arm a company of warriors!’

‘The arms were not significant,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, all will be explained in good time. I shall tell you a story — and here stand witnesses to various parts of it, if I go wrong.’ She indicated the assembly. ‘Of course, Gláed of the Luachra has preferred to remain silent. I doubt, therefore, he will bother to correct anything I say.’

‘Except to say it is all lies!’ spat the young man, finally speaking.

‘Even to your attack on me and the slaughter of Lachtine the apothecary?’ she replied. ‘Well, no matter. We shall proceed. Oh …’ She turned. ‘Socht, would you bring the stable-master here? I am sure he will not be far away, fretting about how to deal with an extra sixty horses gathered into his abbey.’

Socht was not gone long before he returned with Brother Lugna.

‘Ah, Brother Lugna. I am sorry to bring you here but I need you to witness some things I have to say.’

The man looked around, seemingly puzzled by the company, and gave a quick shrug.

‘You did not want me to make arrangements for the horses, lady?’

‘Not for the moment. I just wanted you to confirm a few things about your old friend, Brother Ledbán, and his son.’

‘Brother Ledbán and Brother Lennán were good men and I will defy anyone who says otherwise,’ asserted the stable-master with spirit.

‘That is fair enough.’ Fidelma paused, collecting herself. ‘I am afraid that I have to start with the Battle of Cnoc Áine. When Eoganán and his standard-bearer were cut down during the battle, Brother Lennán was tending the wounded and dying. In accordance with the rules of war, as the Blessed Colmcille postulated before the Brehons at Druim Ceatt, he was not to be harmed by either side, being a non-combatant. He found the body of Eoganán’s standard-bearer. Next to him lay the Cathach of Fiachu, the battle emblem of the Uí Fidgente, which was considered sacred by your people. Its haft had been splintered and, being of gold, the more delicate parts of the metalwork had been broken off. Brother Lennán stooped to pick it up.

‘As he did so, he was attacked and mortally wounded by a warrior who desired the emblem above his honour. Lennán turned and saw the threatening face above him. Even as he did so, the man thrust his sword into him. Lennán recognised him as Lorcán son of Eoganán …’

Brother Lugna winced. ‘My poor misguided brother,’ he muttered sadly. ‘God be merciful to his soul.’

‘Realising what would happen if the sacred battle emblem fell into the wrong hands, Lennán found a horse, and taking it, rode from the field. He was dying. It was a painful ride but he knew that his sister, Liamuin, dwelled only a short distance from the battlefield. She was married to a fisherman on the nearby River Mháigh. Lennán handed the standard to his sister with the instruction to hide it. He then tried to return to the battlefield in order not to give his sister away. His body was found near the battlefield where loss of blood from his wound had overcome him.

‘I will not go into the personal details but suffice to say, Liamuin had an unhappy relationship with her husband Escmug, a brutal, dominant man. Fortuitously, he was away when Lennán had brought her the Cathach. She knew if her husband returned, she would not be able to carry out the dying wish of her brother. Her daughter was also away from the house, working in the fields. Liamuin had no time to waste. She decided to flee to a relative, Marban the millwright, whom you see before you. She told him the whole story. Marban sent her for safety to his friend Menma. It was at Menma’s rath that she buried the Cathach. Is this not so, Marban?’

The miller shuffled awkwardly. ‘It is even as I told it to you, lady.’

‘It was then that Liamuin’s evil husband played a cruel hand. He went searching for her. He threatened Marban. In his rage he even illegally sold his own daughter, Aibell, as a bondservant to Fidaig of the Luachra, to spite his runaway wife.’

Gláed showed some surprise for the first time.

‘You did not know that Aibell, who served your father, was the daughter of Liamuin?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Ah well, the fate of Aibell does not concern us for the moment; I will deal with it elsewhere. Marban, tell us something about Liamuin’s character.’

‘She was a dutiful wife, even though Escmug beat and ill-used her,’ Marban told them. ‘It was only when her brother gave her a sacred charge to take the Cathach and hide it that she found the courage to finally break away from Escmug. She had remained with him simply to protect her daughter.’

‘A dutiful wife,’ mused Fidelma. ‘Was she also a dutiful daughter?’

‘She was,’ affirmed Marban.

‘Her father was Brother Ledbán, who had come to this very abbey to work as a groom in the stables after his wife died from the Yellow Plague,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Isn’t that so, Brother Lugna?’

The man started when his name was called but he nodded quickly in agreement. ‘It is so. I became the stable-master here long ago, as anyone will tell you. When Brother Ledbán came to join his son Lennán at the abbey, I realised he had served in the stables of our nobility. It was natural that I gave him work in our stables. It was only recently that age and illness caught up with him.’

‘So, surely you would know if Liamuin communicated with her father while he was here?’

The stable-master frowned. ‘After he came here? Of course, all this was a long time ago. I am not sure.’

‘Well, if old Ledbán told anyone here about his daughter, surely it would have been you?’

‘Not necessarily so,’ replied Brother Lugna. ‘Ledbán was friendly with many people. There was a young scribe here that he often talked with. I also remember that he was once visited by a very disagreeable man, who shouted at him — I had to intervene. As I remember, he kept shouting the name Liamuin. Maybe that was this Escmug that you have mentioned?’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Then this is where I must speculate, which is something I do not like to do. Liamuin managed to contact her father and tell him not only where she was, but that she had possession of the Cathach given her by her brother. Liamuin was a dutiful daughter. In the joy of hearing from his daughter, old Ledbán revealed that information to someone he trusted.’

There was a silence and then Marban said: ‘Are you saying that Liamuin was killed — indeed, that Menma’s rath was attacked and burned — because of the Cathach?’

‘That is precisely what I am saying,’ Fidelma replied.

‘But we know that a warrior of the Golden Collar led the raid that destroyed Menma’s rath,’ Marban declared. ‘It was the same warrior who had been staying at the rath and with whom Liamuin was supposed to have fallen in love. Are you trying to exonerate whoever that Cashel warrior was?’

‘I do not intend to exonerate anyone,’ Fidelma returned in an even tone. ‘I intend to uncover the truth. The truth certainly is that, in the aftermath of Cnoc Áine, my brother sent his commanders and warriors into this territory and stationed them in certain areas to maintain the peace while Prince Donennach negotiated the treaty. Such a warrior was, indeed, sent to the rath of Menma. Apparently he fell in love with Liamuin and she with him. I should add that Liamuin’s husband had already been killed by Marban, who justly claims self-defence. Is that not so, Marban?’

‘I have no shame in admitting it,’ Marban said sombrely. ‘He was my own brother but he was evil and a brute. I should have dealt with him many years ago, and much anguish could have been avoided.’

‘I have already said that there is no legal consequence from what you told me,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘Liamuin was, apparently, a woman of beauty and charm. Several men fell in love with her when she was at Menma’s rath, but she responded only to the warrior from Cashel.’

‘And he was the person who killed her!’ Marban said heatedly.

‘Not so. The person who wanted to recover the Cathach killed her. A raid was led by someone wearing a gold torc and carrying my brother’s shield — the very shield which is on the table before you. It was a shield abandoned at Cnoc Áine. That same person took some men to Menma’s home and killed all the inhabitants, including Liamuin, in order to recover the Cathach. The ruse worked, for the one survivor — an old woman named Suanach — described the leader as wearing a golden collar, and she also described the shield. She did not, however, know the significance of its device. The story was then handed down among locals that it was the warrior from Cashel and his men who were responsible. The blame was laid squarely on them.’

‘You claim that this shield, your brother’s shield, was the one used in that attack? But this shield has been kept in the abbey all these years. You are making wild speculations.’ Brother Cuineáin’s tone was angry. ‘You are trying to shift the blame onto the abbey.’ He went suddenly pale. ‘In fact, you are accusing the abbot or myself — as we have the keys to the shrine! You are trying to say that whoever led the raid on this Menma’s rath came from the abbey and used items from our special collection to mislead people. You are trying-’

Fidelma decided to bring a halt to his rising hysteria. ‘I am not trying to say this, Brother Cuineáin,’ she said sharply. ‘I am saying it.’

Conrí was frowning, attempting to follow her arguments. ‘I do not see how this fits in with your claim of a plot to kill your brother or overthrow Prince Donennach and all else that follows?’

‘Be patient, my friend,’ Fidelma chided gently. ‘I will explain. This story of the raid on Menma’s rath was swiftly spread, much to the real culprit’s satisfaction. The blame was put on the nameless Cashel warrior and his men — the horror being that he had this relationship with Liamuin and claimed her love, only to ruthlessly cut her down. But two other men happened to be hopelessly in love with Liamuin.

‘One of them was the apothecary who had nursed Suanach, the survivor of the attack on Menma’s rath. His name was Lachtine, as Gláed will know because he killed him a few days ago. We will come to that in a moment.’ Gláed made no response and Fidelma continued: ‘The other lover of Liamuin was a young man, the son of a neighbouring farmer and his wife, who heard the story of her death from the lips of the sole survivor and witness. He was told that the man who led that raid wore the golden collar of the bodyguards of the King of Cashel. Further, he was also told of the particular device on the shield of the warrior who led the attack. He did not know what it meant — but brooding with his grief and anger, the Fates had it that he came to this abbey to work among the copyists. Here he fell into the hands of the conspirators. He was told what the shield device meant — and so was groomed to become the assassin of my brother.’