Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Fidelma and Eadulf regarded Cunán in astonishment for a moment.

‘Are you saying that Brother Donnchad wrote this?’ Fidelma asked.

‘As I have just explained,’ Cunán said patiently, ‘I was the chief copyist of this library. Who does not know the hand of Brother Donnchad, one of the foremost scholars of this kingdom?’

‘Can you prove that it is his hand?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘After all, it is only a few words.’

‘Any good scholar who knew his work will tell you so. This is a good enough sample to spot the individual writer. Look at the words calicem and deicide. Brother Donnchad formed his letter “c” and the “d” in a very distinctive fashion. See there?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Why, I can prove it further, if you like.’

He stood up and hurried from the room.

Cumscrad smiled approvingly. ‘My son, Cunán, may not have the skills of governance to take over the chieftainship of the Fir Maige Féne but he has attended the bardic school for six years and achieved the degree of Cli, he knows the secret language of the poets, can recite the prescribed number of poems without fault and knows eighty of the ancient tales by heart.’

‘Then he is a son to be proud of,’ replied Fidelma just as the door reopened and Cunán returned holding a small scroll.

‘This was sent to me from Brother Donnchad some years ago and you can see clearly this formation on it,’ the young scribe explained.

Fidelma took it and examined it with interest. Cunán was correct. The same distinctive forms appeared in it. She could not help but read the opening: ‘Donnchad, a humble servant and an apostle of Christ, Jesus, to Cunán the scribe. Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.’

‘You knew him well, then?’ she asked.

‘Only by an exchange of letters. Our librarian knew him better,’ replied Cunán. ‘But he did ask me to copy some texts that we held.’

‘When was this?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Oh, long before he went off on his pilgrimage to the Holy Land.’

‘Can you remember what they were?’

‘Some letters of Paul the Apostle, as I recall.’

‘Nothing contrary to the Faith then?’ Eadulf sounded disappointed.

Cunán shook his head, then looked carefully at him. The young man was not lacking in wit.

‘Are you saying that there is some connection between the manuscript books he was examining here, his death and this attack on our library?’

‘Books that speak of things and people before the Faith might be enough to cause these things,’ intervened his father bitterly. ‘Look at the way we are condemned by that young upstart Brother Lugna.’

‘But it doesn’t explain why the Uí Liatháin would attack ourlibrary or the barge taking the books to Ard Mór,’ pointed out Cunán.

‘That is true, Cunán,’ said Fidelma after a moment or two of thought. ‘I would like to speak to the bargemen about the attack on them and also to the man who found the barge.’

‘Very well,’ Cumscrad said, rising abruptly. ‘Let us find Muirgíos.’

Muirgíos, as befitted someone whose name meant ‘sea strength’, looked every inch the sort of person whose profession had to do with the sea or the waterways. He was a stocky individual with sandy hair, sea-green eyes, and a weather-beaten face, and he had a habit of standing with his feet wide apart as if balancing on the deck of a ship. They found him on board one of the broad river barges that traded along The Great River. He was mending some of the rigging on the vessel.

He greeted Cumscrad with a gesture of his chin towards the still smouldering library building.

‘A bad business. The Uí Liatháin have over-reached themselves this time.’

Cumscrad did not reply but indicated Fidelma.

‘This is the Lady Fidelma, sister to Colgú. She has come to hear our complaint.’

It was clear that Muirgíos was not impressed for he did not rise from his seat nor interrupt his work on the rigging.

‘Then you have come at the right time. Now you can see their viciousness for yourself.’

‘At the moment, it is the attack on your barge that I want to talk about,’ she replied, ignoring Gormán’s look of outrage at what he saw as the man’s discourtesy towards the King’s sister.

‘It is as we told our chieftain, Cumscrad,’ the man replied. ‘We were not far from Lios Mór when we saw a man lying on the southern bank of the river. He appeared to be in distress. So we pulled towards the bank. It was a ruse. The next moment,without warning, an arrow struck our steersman. Then warriors appeared from behind the trees and bushes and swarmed over the side. One of our men injured one of the attackers in the arm with his knife. But we were not armed as warriors. No reason to be. So we surrendered.

‘Our steersman was badly hurt but is now recovering. The crewman who caused injury to one of the attackers was beaten severely. They took us from the barge and bound us, leaving us on the river bank. Then they sailed off downriver. It was as simple as that.’

‘How did you know that they were of the Uí Liatháin?’ asked Eadulf.

The bargeman laughed bitterly. ‘You are a stranger, judging by your accent. Well, it is easy to tell, stranger. Firstly, you should know that each clan has its own symbol, its own totem. The banner of the Uí Liatháin is the head of a grey fox on a white background. That banner was carried by one of those who attacked us.’

Eadulf nodded slowly and then said, ‘And what else?’

The bargeman frowned. ‘What else?’

‘You began by saying “firstly” as you explained about the banner. I presumed there was a second point.’

‘Well, you’re right. As they were leaving us, one of them said loudly to his companion, “Uallachán will be pleased.” Uallachán is-’

‘We know who Uallachán is,’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘Can you remember the features of any of these raiders, anything distinctive? ’

The bargeman regarded her curiously and shook his head. ‘Nothing particular.’

‘Was there a bánaí with them, a thin man with white hair and-’

‘I know well what a bánaí is. I heard that one of the raiderswas shot this afternoon and he was one. I cannot swear he was among those who stole the barge. All I know is that they were men of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘Did you not consider it strange that these thieves made no attempt to hide their identity?’

The bargeman shrugged indifferently. ‘All that is bad in this area is down to the Uí Liatháin. They have always had their eye on our fertile lands. It is not the first time they have crossed north over the Bríd River into our territory to attack and rob us.’

‘Yet it is curious that they should do so openly. They know such attacks would bring down the wrath of my brother and his warriors.’

‘Maybe they have no fear of the King at Cashel,’ Muirgíos commented dismissively. ‘He sits far away in a comfortable palace.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Gormán and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Fidelma motioned with her hand to still him.

‘It is well known that the Eóghanacht of Cashel are not well favoured by either the Uí Liatháin or the Fir Maige Féne. Nevertheless, Colgú is the King and you are both answerable to him. If the Uí Liatháin are in open rebellion then they must face the consequences — as, indeed, will any of the clans of Muman who disobey the law.’

Muirgíos stared in surprise at the authority in her voice.

Then Cumscrad interrupted the awkward silence by calling to a passing man to come aboard.

‘This is Eolann, the man who found the missing barge.’

Eolann was almost a replica of Muirgíos. His story was also simple.

‘I had been to Ard Mór to take a religious brother seeking transportation there. He had journeyed from Gúagan Barra, a littleabbey to the west of here. I have a boat that I can manoeuvre single-handed. Having delivered the brother to the abbey, I was returning. I was not far beyond the point where the River Bríd enters into The Great River when I saw Muirgíos’s sailing barge coming downriver. I was about to call a greeting when I saw the crew were all strangers. There was no sign of Muirgíos and there were no men of the Fir Maige Féne that I recognised. So I sailed on by with no more than a courteous wave as one bargeman gives another when passing on the river.’

He paused for a moment before continuing.

‘I knew Muirgíos well, and he had told me that he was taking books to Ard Mór on his next trip there. I also knew that Ard Mór was expecting his barge. So I drew in my sail and turned back after his barge. I let the flow of the river take me after it, keeping as close to the bank as I could. I saw it manoeuvre into the Bríd. So I hove to and waited for a while in the shelter of the bank. Then I went more cautiously along the river but it was not long before I found the barge abandoned.’

‘Which side of the river was it abandoned on?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I mean, was it on the side of the territory of the Uí Liatháin or was it on the side of the territory of the Fir Maige Féne?’

‘It was on the south side,’ confirmed Eolann immediately. ‘On the side of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘What then?’

‘Seeing no sign of anyone, I went aboard. I feared I would find Muirgíos and his crew below, perhaps slaughtered. But there was no sign of anyone. Curiously, the cargo seemed intact, although I saw some chests broken open and empty. I have sailed with Muirgíos before and realised that was where he usually stored the copies of manuscripts and books that were often transported from our library to Lios Mór and Ard Mór.’

‘How were you able to bring word here so quickly?’ Fidelmaasked. ‘You could not crew the barge and to sail here in your small boat would have taken a while against the current of the river.’

Eolann smiled. ‘I knew further upriver was a small settlement, a place where compara grows.’

Seeing Fidelma frown, Eadulf explained quickly: ‘The henna plant, camphire.’

‘I went there and sought out men who could bring the barge to the north bank into our territory. While they did that, I borrowed a horse and rode here directly across the hills, so that our chief could be immediately alerted to what had happened.’

Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘You did well, Eolann. One more question. Did you glimpse a bánaí with these men?’

‘I heard one was killed in the attack on the library. I did not glimpse any such person, though.’

Fidelma turned to Cumscrad, glancing up at the darkening sky. ‘I have heard enough. My companions and I will ride south at first light to confront Uallachán on these matters before returning to Lios Mór. So I ask you for hospitality for the night. I would like your word that you will undertake no action against the Uí Liatháin until Gormán brings you Uallachán’s response and my advice. Do I have it?’

Cumscrad hesitated before agreeing.

‘Excellent. Have no concern, Cumscrad. The Uí Liatháin will be made to account for any deeds that they have committed contrary to the law. They will be answerable to my brother, just as you will be if you attempt to take the law into your own hands.’

It was not long after daybreak that Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán set off southwards over the forested hills towards the meandering Bríd, the river that marked the border between the two clans. The sky indicated fine weather for their journey, withonly a few clouds spread like woolly sheep’s fleeces across the blue. If the clouds grew larger, the innocent looking fleece could turn into thunderclouds. But the early signs, together with the glorious red sunset the previous evening, gave them every expectation of good weather.

From Fhear Maighe to the River Bríd was only some eight kilometres. Taking the track south-east, they moved through a small valley and from there only one large hill lay between them and the river. Once across the hill, they would descend on to a plain towards a fortress that had once dominated the river crossing and had long been a subject of dispute between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin. The disputed fortress was regarded as Fir Maige Féne, but it was still called Caisleán Uí Liatháin after the southern tribe’s claim. Ancient standing stones rose in the surrounding countryside.

The place was strangely silent as they rode by the deserted fortress walls. They could hear the distant sound of animals, the clucking of chicken, bleating of sheep and the occasional protesting moo of a cow, which they supposed belonged to an isolated farmstead further back on the hill. Yet Gormán was growing uncomfortable and Fidelma’s eyes searched the deserted buildings.

‘It’s too quiet,’ whispered Eadulf.

Fidelma did not reply; she had noticed a movement in the shadow of a wall.

‘Gormán,’ she said softly but Gormán was already reaching for his sword. Before he could draw it, a stentorian voice called out.

‘Hold, warrior! Even breathe and you are a dead man!’

Gormán had spotted at least two bowmen with weapons levelled and he let his sword hand stay motionless in the air. Abruptly two riders came round the corner of the fortress wall, blocking the pathway. They edged their horses closer.

‘Well, well,’ the leader, clearly a warrior, sneered as he examined them. ‘Who do we have here? More thieves and liars of the Fir Maige Féne?’

Neither Fidelma nor Eadulf made any response or movement. They were aware of several other people among the buildings now. It had been a simple and successful ambush and Fidelma was silently chastising herself.

‘I advise you,’ called Gormán, undeterred, ‘that you stand in grave danger. This is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú. Threatening her and her husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, is an affront to her brother, your rightful King.’

‘I serve only Uallachán, chief of the Uí Liatháin,’ replied the man with a sardonic smile. ‘I stand in danger only of his displeasure if I do not carry out his orders.’

He turned and waved to his men to close in. With growing apprehension, Eadulf saw that one of the riders carried a banner with a grey fox’s head on it. Then another rider, dressed in the brown robes of a religious, moved forward.

‘Is that Fidelma? Fidelma of Cashel?’ The man clearly recognised her and turned to the leader of the warriors. ‘It is true that she is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú.’ Then he turned to her. ‘What are you doing here? Do you recognise me?’

Fidelma frowned slightly. ‘I seem to know your face …’

‘At Ard Mór when you were waiting to go on board the Barnacle Goose on a pilgrimage voyage.’

Her features cleared. ‘You were the librarian of the abbey. Brother … Brother …’

‘Brother Temnen,’ supplied the man eagerly.

‘It was some years ago,’ Fidelma admitted.

‘I also remember you during the summer that you solved the murder of poor Sister Aróc,’ said Brother Temnen.

‘This is Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ introduced Fidelma, ‘and this is a warrior of my brother’s bodyguard, Gormán.’

‘Of Eadulf I have heard,’ acknowledged the librarian. He turned again to the leader of the warriors. ‘These are not our enemies, my friend. They are not Fir Maige Féne.’

The man seemed undecided. ‘My chief, Uallachán, should be here within the hour. It will be for him to decide what is to be done.’

‘Uallachán is coming here?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.

‘We are an advance party to hold this crossing in case Cumscrad and his lying tribe attack us. I suggest that we all dismount to await his arrival in the fortress.’

Gormán looked questioningly at Fidelma but she shrugged her acceptance of the inevitable. Everyone dismounted and the horses were led into the abandoned fortress. Guards watched over them while others went to strategic points. The leader of the warriors then came to stand uncomfortably by them while Brother Temnen sat down with Fidelma and her companions.

‘What brings you here into the country of the Fir Maige Féne?’ she asked.

Brother Temnen’s expression was serious and he made a helpless gesture. ‘I wish we could have met in more pleasant circumstances.’

‘What makes our meeting here unpleasant?’

‘I have been asked to accompany Uallachán’s war band.’

‘War band?’

‘He means to raid Fhear Maighe as a punishment.’

Fidelma’s eyes grew hard. ‘Means to raid it? Are you saying that he has not done so already?’

The librarian looked surprised. ‘I do not understand your question.’

‘We have just come from Fhear Maighe. While we were there yesterday, some warriors carrying the same emblem that you carry,’ she indicated the man still carrying the clan totem, ‘raidedand burnt the library there. Dubhagan, the librarian, was killed. Many priceless manuscripts have been destroyed.’

‘These are lies put out by our enemies the Fir Maige Féne,’ snapped the leader of the warriors.

‘Then we are liars too,’ Fidelma riposted. ‘Because we were there and saw the raid.’

‘It was not my men nor any warrior of the Uí Liatháin. Uallachán rides an hour behind us, so it was not he.’

‘It is true, Fidelma,’ Brother Temnen chimed in firmly. ‘He tells no lie. I have been with the Uí Liatháin and they have raided no one.’

‘Among your warriors, do you have a bánaí, a thin man with snow-white hair and skin?’

‘Not among my men,’ replied the Uí Liatháin warrior immediately. Then a frown appeared on his features. It was clear that he recognised the description.

‘But you know of such a man?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

‘I have seen such a man at the head of a band of warriors,’ admitted the warrior, ‘but not in Uí Liatháin territory. I saw them weeks ago landing from a ship in the bay below Ard Mór.’

‘Landing from a ship?’ repeated Fidelma thoughtfully.

‘The fact that he was accoutred as a warrior yet was also a bánaí drew my attention. He wore a golden circlet round his neck but not of the style our warriors wear, such as that one.’ He pointed to Gormán.

‘I don’t suppose you can tell us more.’

The Uí Liatháin shrugged indifferently. ‘Little more to tell. A dozen men disembarked with him. They were all warriors. The ship had arrived from Britain, so I was told. Some outlandish kingdom — ah, a place called Kernow.’

‘What happened to them?’ asked Fidelma.

‘They bought horses from the local traders and rode off north. They carried arms with them. I suspect they were dílmainech.’

‘Mercenaries?’

‘Exactly so.’

‘What were you doing in Ard Mór?’

‘Some of us often go there to see what foreign ships come in and what goods may be bought.’

Fidelma gazed hard at the warrior and then at the religieux and realised that their puzzled expressions were not false.

‘Will you explain how you came here and for what purpose?’

‘To teach Cumscrad and his fellow liars a lesson,’ snapped the warrior.

‘I will explain,’ Brother Temnen intervened in a more moderate tone. ‘Our abbot, Rian of Ard Mór, who is a kinsman of yours, contacted Dubhagan, the librarian at Fhear Maighe, with a commission. As you know, the library there has many works that are not to be found elsewhere among the great libraries of the Five Kingdoms.’

‘And the commission was?’ prompted Fidelma.

‘To copy two works, one a collection of the poems of the great bard Dallán Forgaill, and the other a foreign work by a writer called Celsus.’

‘And why would your abbey want to spend money on getting a copy of a book attacking the Faith?’ queried Eadulf.

Brother Temnen said, ‘So you know this work? One of our scholars had read a criticism of Celsus by Origenes and thought it could be improved on. He did not want anyone beguiled by the pitfalls Celsus had prepared.’

‘Very well, continue.’

‘Dubhagan accepted the commission and all was agreed by us in good faith. Then we heard word that the copies had been placed on one of the river barges which was due at Ard Mór. Not only did they not arrive but we also heard rumours that Uí Liatháin warriors had attacked the barge and stolen the books. Uallachán was summoned to the abbey but denied this. He claimedthe Fir Maige Féne were liars. This war band is to demand reparation from Cumscrad and the Fir Maige Féne for spreading such lies.’

‘And why are you, a librarian from Ard Mór, accompanying these warriors on this raid?’

‘Uallachán believes that the books were never sent and that Cumscrad has engaged in some deception,’ said Brother Temnen. ‘He wants me to search the library during the raid and identify the books that he claims were stolen. I am to be a witness.’

‘How could you tell who was the liar?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Either chief could be lying.’

‘When Abbot Rian called Uallachán to the abbey, he made the chieftain take oath before the High Altar that he spoke the truth. He did so and therefore we believe that no warrior of the Uí Liatháin has done this thing. Uallachán believes that Cumscrad is spreading lies to provoke a war in the hope of seizing the lands of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘If that were so,’ Fidelma smiled thinly and gestured to the warriors around her, ‘Cumscrad has been successful. However, I don’t think it is that simple, Brother Temnen. If you had witnessed the destruction of the library of Fhear Maighe, the near death of Cumscrad’s own son who worked in the library, and the death of Dubhagan … I do not think Cumscrad or his men had a hand in it. Furthermore, the bánaí was killed when he tried to escape with the others.’

Brother Temnen shrugged. ‘We will have to await the arrival of Uallachán. After speaking to him, perhaps you will be able to ascertain where the truth lies.’

‘That is my intention,’ Fidelma replied. ‘If the Uí Liatháin did not attack either the barge or the library, then someone is trying to create a problem between Uallachán and Cumscrad. But why? Who would that benefit?’

Eadulf had been thinking. ‘Who knew about this commissionfrom your abbot to the library of Fhear Maighe?’ he asked. ‘I mean, who apart from your abbey and Dubhagan?’

‘I suppose several people.’

‘But would they know the titles and the nature of the books that were to be copied?’

‘That was a matter that only we in Ard Mór and Dubhagan and his copyists would have known. But isn’t there a saying that to tell a secret to three people makes it no longer a secret?’

‘How did you learn that Fhear Maighe had these books?’ asked Eadulf.

‘I checked with them.’

‘How?’

‘I sent a messenger to find out. But that was a long time ago. It took many months to make the copies. It was only last week that we received word that the books were ready. We were to pay thirty seds.’

‘A large price to pay.’

‘Extortionate,’ agreed the librarian, philosophically. ‘But the Celsus book is very rare. I am told there is not another copy known in the Five Kingdoms because of the nature of the book.’

‘You mean because it was an early attack on the founders of the Faith?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Exactly so.’

‘So who brought you the news that the copies were ready and would be delivered?’

‘One of the brethren.’

‘The same messenger from your abbey?’

‘Not from our abbey, no.’

‘From Fhear Maighe?’

‘A physician,’ replied Brother Temnen. ‘He paid us a visit to collect certain herbs that had been brought ashore from one of the merchant ships.’

The abbey of Ard Mór lay where The Great River emptiedinto the sea, just on the southern coast where merchant ships came and went to many parts of the world, to the island of Britain, the coast of Gaul and even south to Iberia.

‘A physician?’ Fidelma queried sharply.

‘The physician from Lios Mór.’

‘Are you speaking of Brother Seachlann?’ she asked slowly.

‘Seachlann, that was his name. It was Brother Seachlann who came to our abbey some days ago in search of herbs that had been lately carried from Gaul. He told us that the books were ready and being shipped by barge to the abbey. Thus we were forewarned to gather thirty seds to pay the bargemen, but the barge never arrived. Then we heard that the Uí Liatháin had stolen the books.’

‘How did Brother Seachlann know that the books from Fhear Maighe were ready?’

The librarian shrugged. ‘No one asked. What need was there to ask? We were happy to hear the news.’

There came a shout from one of the sentinels and the sound of approaching horses. The warrior commander went quickly to the entrance of the fortress just as a band of horsemen entered.

The leader of the newcomers was not an ugly man but he could not be described as handsome. He was a bearded, middle-aged man, clad entirely in black, with burnished armour and plumed war helmet. He wore his weaponry in such a way that it was obvious that he was no novice in the use of arms.

The commander saluted the man respectfully and held his horse while he dismounted.

‘So what have we here?’ the newcomer thundered. ‘Innocent wayfarers or spies from the Fhear Maighe?’

They had all risen and Gormán took an aggressive step forward but Fidelma held him back. But the young warrior paid her no attention and shouted in a firm voice, ‘You stand in the presence of Fidelma of Cashel, sister to your King, Colgú, son of FailbeFlann. Do I, Gormán of the Nasc Niadh, need to teach you a lesson in respect?’

The newcomer stared at Gormán, then he saw the golden circlet round his neck that denoted membership of the Nasc Niadh. He turned his head to examine Fidelma and his eyes widened in recognition.

He strode forward with a grin spreading over his features but first he spoke to Gormán.

‘Be at peace, young cockerel. You could not teach me anything.’ Then he gazed at Fidelma for a moment more before he held out his hands. ‘It is so,’ he said quietly. ‘Fidelma of Cashel. Was I not at your wedding celebration last year?’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘And with Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. The Saxon of whose fame is spoken of even in our tiny part of the world.’

Fidelma allowed herself to be caught in a bear hug and then Eadulf found himself similarly smothered before the chieftain swung round to his men and thundered, ‘Why are they held prisoners?’

The commander hung his head as if in shame. ‘I thought-’

‘Not clearly enough,’ bellowed his chieftain, turning back with a broad smile again. ‘Forgive us, lady.’

Fidelma did not respond to his smile but gazed evenly at him.

‘Why do you ride in a war band, Uallachán of the Uí Liatháin, when my brother’s kingdom is at peace?’ she demanded. ‘I am told you ride against Fhear Maighe?’

The big man raised one shoulder and let it fall. ‘It is true that there is a score to be settled with Cumscrad. We ride to punish him for his lies.’

‘Do you claim that you have not done so already?’ replied Fidelma. Uallachán looked uncertain. Fidelma went on, ‘We have just ridden from Fhear Maighe where I have seen the library attacked by sword and fire and it now lies in ruins with many priceless works destroyed. The librarian Dubhagan liesdead. Several are injured. The attackers rode in under your banner. One of the attackers was killed, he was a bánaí. Tell me, Uallachán, what score needs to be settled?’

There was no disguising the utter astonishment on Uallachán’s face. The man was no actor and he was clearly shocked at her news.

‘My people are not responsible for this. And I have, or had, no bánaí riding among my warriors.’

‘Then we must discover who is responsible. The same people, under the same banner, took the barge of Muirgíos of the Fir Maige Féne and stole two valuable books from it. The blood of the Fir Maige Féne has been spilt enough.’

‘But not by us,’ protested Uallachán. ‘Let us sit awhile and you tell me the story as you know it.’

They did so and Fidelma outlined the accusations that she had heard about the Uí Liatháin. Uallachán did not interrupt but sat listening patiently. When she had finished, he shook his head slowly.

‘As Christ is my witness, lady, I know nothing of this. What would I want with such books, let alone want to destroy them? How can Cumscrad demand retribution for something I did not do? Can you not persuade Cumscrad that he must defer to the judgement of yourself and your brother?’

‘I would hope that both of you will accept such judgement,’ replied Fidelma. She sighed and then suddenly asked, ‘Do you know of a cousin of yours, Gáeth, who is currently a member of the brethren in Lios Mór?’

Uallachán looked surprised at the abrupt change of subject.

‘Gáeth, the son of Selbach of Dún Guairne?’

‘The same.’

‘His father was my cousin and found guilty of fingal, the kin-slaying of my uncle, who was chief before me. He was judged harshly, in my opinion, and consigned to the fate of thewind and waves. But the night before the sentence was due to be carried out, he escaped. He took his wife and Gáeth, who was hardly more than a child. Why do you ask? What has that to do with this matter?’

‘Probably nothing at all. Yet I am interested. In law, a wife and child does not have to share the fate of the husband. They do not have to become daer-fudir.’

‘That is true but Selbach’s wife chose that fate. She was loyal to her husband. However, if Gáeth has become a member of the community at Lios Mór, it means that he has freed himself from that stigma.’

Fidelma look at him curiously. ‘You did not insist that even as a member of the brethren he be regarded as a daer-fudir and be consigned to work as a field labourer?’

Uallachán uttered a short laugh. ‘Why would I do that? I thought the punishment given to his father was harsh enough at the time. Anything else is simply revenge.’

‘You did not inform the abbot that, even if Gáeth joined the abbey, he must remain a field worker.’

‘Doesn’t the law in some place say that every dead man kills his own liabilities?’

Fidelma smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, Uallachán. Now, let us return to this matter between you and Cumscrad. This is my condition, and I will send Gormán here back to Cumscrad with a similar condition. I want you, Brother Temnen and a chosen warrior to go to a bruden, a hostel, on the Rian Bó Phádraig where it crosses the Abh Beag, the little river, south of Lios Mór. Do you know the place?’

‘I do,’ said the leader of the Uí Liatháin.

‘You will wait there until I send for you to come to Lios Mór at a time when I am ready to render judgement.’

‘And is Cumscrad to be there as well? How can I stay there if Cumscrad is there?’ he protested.

‘Cumscrad will be told to wait at another place, awaiting a similar message from me. You will not know where, and he will not know where you are. I do that for the protection of you both. I will send messengers to you at the same time, asking you both to come to the abbey, freely, without prejudice and with no warrior guards apart from your single bodyguard. Is that understood?’

‘I understand the terms, lady, but not the reason.’

‘You may have to await my message for several days but it will be sent and this matter resolved. A judgement shall be made about the tensions between your peoples. I begin to realise that there is a greater judgement to be made, of which your conflict is but a smaller part, although an important part — an attempt to distract me from reaching the truth.’