Suffer Little Children

"Father Mel has not told you the exact truth," he confessed. "The good Father is afraid, not for himself but for his charges."

"I was sure that he was being frugal with the truth," Fidelma replied gravely. "But I cannot believe he would lie so blatantly if there was a young heir to Ulan of Osraige on this island."

"There is not, so he spoke the truth," Brother Febal replied. "However, six months ago he brought two boys to the island. He told us that their father, a cousin of his, had died and he was going to take care of them for a few months until a new home could be arranged for them. When the younger child became bored here, as young children would, the elder boy made him this corn doll to amuse him. When they left, I found that the boy had left it behind."

Fidelma looked puzzled.

"Two boys. How old?"

"One about nine years old, the other only a few years older."

"Then there was not an older boy with them? A boy reaching the age of choice?"

To her disappointment, Brother Febal shook his head.

"There were only the two lads. They were from Osraige and cousins of Father Mel. That I know."

"Why do you tell us this?" demanded Cass suspiciously. "Your Father Superior did not trust us with the truth."

"Because I recognize the emblem of the king of Cashel's bodyguard and because I overheard that you, sister, are an advocate of the courts. I do not think that you seek to harm the boys. Above all, I tell you because I fear great danger may come to them and hope that you will help them."

"What makes you think that danger threatens?" Fidelma asked.

"Just over two weeks ago a ship arrived here with a religieux who took the two boys away with him. I heard Father Mel address the man as 'honorable cousin.' Yet within days another ship arrived here on the same mission as yourself. There was a man who demanded the same information as yourself."

"Can you describe him?"

"A large, red-faced man, clad in a steel helmet and woollen cloak edged in fur. He claimed he was a chieftain and wore a gold chain of office."

Fidelma swallowed in amazement.

"Intat!" cried Cass triumphantly.

Brother Febal blinked anxiously.

"Do you know the man?"

"We know that he is evil," affirmed Fidelma. "What did he learn about these boys?"

"Father Mel told him the same story as he told you. But one of the brothers, just as this man was departing, unintentionally mentioned the two lads and the fact that they had been taken away a short time before by a religieux."

"And Intat went away?"

"He did. Mel was outraged. He demanded that each of us forget the boys. But I have faith that you act in the children's best interests. But not the man who came searching for them. If he finds the children…" The monk ended with an expressive shrug.

"We do seek to protect them, brother," Fidelma assured him. "It is true that they are in grave danger from that man, Intat. Do you know who the boys were, what their names were and where they have gone?"

"Alas, even Father Mel would not pronounce their names but called them by the Latin forms of Primus and Victor. See on the doll, that piece of rag is marked with the words 'Hie est meum. Victor.' It means, 'this is mine, Victor' in Latin."

"Can you describe them?" Fidelma did not point out that she knew well what the words meant.

"Not really. They both had burnished copper-colored hair."

"Copper-colored?" Fidelma felt frustrated, hoping to hear something which she might have recognized.

"Did you learn where they were sent when they left here?"

"Only that the religieux who took them was from an abbey somewhere in the south. The young one, Victor, was a nice child. Return this doll to him and I shall pray to Michael the Archangel, guardian of our little monastery, for their safety."

"Can you tell us about the religieux… what did he look like?"

"That I cannot. He kept his robes wrapped around his body and head for the weather was inclement. I did not observe his features well. He was not young but neither was he old. That is all I can say."

"Thank you, brother. You have been most helpful."

"I will lead you down the path and signal your ship. My conscience is easy now that I have made confession to you of this burden."

Cass laid a restraining hand on Fidelma's arm.

"Why don't we go and confront that old goat again?" he demanded. "Let's tell him what we know and demand to know where this cousin has taken the two boys?"

Fidelma shook her head.

"We will get nothing further from a man such as Father Mel," she replied. "Our path is back at Ros Ailithir."

Once on board Ross's barc again, the ship close-hauled along the thin, poking figures of the southern peninsulas of the kingdom, heading swiftly southward.

"A long trip for so little," mused Cass, as he stood watching Fidelma turning the worn doll over and over in her hands.

"Sometimes even a word or sentence might resolve the greatest puzzle and put it all into shape," countered Fidelma.

"What did we learn from this arduous trip to Sceilig Mhichil that we did not suspect before? Had we questioned that old religieux further…"

"Sometimes confirmation of knowledge is as important as the knowledge itself," interrupted Fidelma. "And we have linked Intat into this mystery of Dacán's killing. Dacán was looking for the son of Ulan whom he thought was at the age of choice. Now we know there were two young sons, not at the age of choice at all. Intat arrives here looking for the offspring of Ulan. Dacán was working for Laigin but Intat was a man of the Corco Loigde. There is a picture beginning to form here."

"Apart from Intat's involvement in this conundrum, what else have we learnt?" demanded Cass.

"We have learnt that the monastery on Sceilig Mhichil has, as its patron, Michael the Archangel. That its very name means 'rock of Michael.' And we have learnt that Mel called the man who collected the boys 'honorable cousin.' "

Cass was not sure if Fidelma was joking.

"But what practical information have we learnt?" he demanded.

Fidelma smiled blandly.

"We have learnt several other points. There are two heirs to Ulan. They left Sceilig Mhichil two weeks ago about the same time that Dacán was murdered and they are now being hunted by Intat. I believe that Intat was looking for them when he burnt Rae na Serine. I do not think he found them and I will lay a wager that they may be found at Ros Ailithir or nearby."

"If they are still alive." Cass suddenly became interested. "We don't even know who they are. Two copper-haired lads. I have encountered no copper-haired boys. We don't even know their true names. We know that Primus and Victor were not their real names. That presents no clue that we can follow."

"Perhaps not," Fidelma admitted thoughtfully. "Then, again…" She shrugged abruptly and was silent.

Chapter Fourteen

Abbot Brocc's thin features relaxed with relief when Fidelma entered his chamber.

"I had just heard that you had landed. Was your trip fruitful, cousin?" he asked eagerly, rising to greet her.

"It has added to my knowledge," Fidelma replied evasively.

The abbot hesitated, apparently wondering whether to press his cousin further on the point but then decided against it.

"I have news." He indicated that she should be seated. "However, I think it is bad news."

Fidelma seated herself as Brocc held up a wax tablet.

"Yesterday I received this message—the High King means to arrive here within the next few days."

Fidelma's surprise obviously gratified him. She sat up straight. Her eyes were wide.

"Sechnassach, the High King? Is he coming here?"

Brocc nodded emphatically.

"He has ruled that the court should hear Laigin's claims against Muman, in the matter of the death of Dacán, in the abbey where Dacán was killed. His words are that it was…" Brocc hesitated and squinted at the tablet, "… appropriate that the hearing should be in this place."

"So?" Fidelma lingered over the word, like a long sigh. "And the entire court is coming with him?"

"Of course. The Chief Brehon Barrán will sit in judgment with the High King and Archbishop Ultan of Armagh is coming to represent the ecclesiastical orders of the five kingdoms. Your brother Colgu and his advisors will also be arriving any day now."

"And I suppose young Fianamail, the king of Laigin, and his advocates will be here soon?"

"Fianamail is bringing the Abbot Noé and his Brehon Forbassach."

"Forbassach! So Forbassach will plead the case for Laigin?"

As much as she disliked the hawk-faced advocate of Laigin, Fidelma knew that he was possessed of a quick wit and was a capable counsel, one who certainly should not be underestimated. He would undoubtedly be at his sharpest for he would want to repay Fidelma for having had him ejected from Cashel.

"Exactly when are they all expected to arrive?" she asked, feeling, as Brocc had forewarned, it was not good news.

"Within a few days, by the end of the week at the latest." Brocc was clearly nervous at being host to such an assembly where he stood in place of the accused. "Tell me, cousin, are you any nearer to resolving this mystery?"

His voice was almost pleading but Fidelma could not allay his obvious fears.

She stood up and moved to the window, peering down into the inlet.

"I saw, as we were coming into Ros Ailithir, that Mugrón's warship still rides at anchor out there."

Brocc's shoulders sagged a little.

"Laigin will not give up their plaint before the assembly meets."

Fidelma turned back into the chamber towards the abbot.

"I presume the High King and his entourage will come by ship around the coast?"

"As will the king of Laigin and his retinue," confirmed Brocc. "I am expected to give hospitality to all of them. Brother Rumann and Brother Conghus are at their wits' end to find extra accommodation and food. Oh, and that means that the extra chamber in which you have conducted your investigations can no longer be available to you. You may still use the same chamber in the hostel for personal use, as befits your rank, but the young warrior, what's his name… Cass? He will have to use a bed in one of the dormitories."

"It cannot be helped. You have much to do to prepare for the assembly."

Brocc examined her with a pessimistic eye. . "And you also, cousin, for on you depends all our futures."

Fidelma did not need Brocc to remind her. The words of the Gospel of Luke came suddenly into her mind: "Unto whomsoever much is given, of them shall much be required." Never, since she had received her qualification in law, had so much been required of her. She felt that responsibility was like a heavy weight. Despite her most strenuous efforts she was still looking into a smoked mirror where enticing shadows could be seen but nothing that was clear nor which made any sense.

Brocc saw the anxiety on her face and relented his own attitude.

"It is just that I am truly beginning to worry now, cousin. I have never attended a High King's assembly before," he added with some morbid fascination. "Were it not that I am charged as responsible in this matter it would have been an exhilarating experience."

Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow.

"Exhilarating experience? It may also be a fatal one if I cannot present a case that will clear you and prevent the claim of Laigin leading to a war between the two kingdoms."

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Fidelma said, without expectation of a positive answer: "You have not told me whether there is any news of Sister Grella. I presume she has not returned?"

Brocc grimaced gloomily and confirmed her expectation.

"No. She has simply vanished. From what you told me I fear that she has fled with her guilt."

Fidelma frowned and rose.

"That we shall see. I shall need the material which I left with you."

Brocc nodded readily, reaching under his table for the keys. She watched as he went to the cabinet and unlocked the door, swinging it open. He took out her marsupium and handed it to her.

She rummaged through its contents to check everything was there.

Fidelma gave a sharp intake of breath. Someone had been through the contents of the bag. The burnt piece of Ogham stick and the pieces of vellum that she had found in Sister Grella's chamber were gone. Yet the linen bonds and the skirt from which they had been taken were still there.

"What is it?" Brocc asked, moving swiftly to her side.

She stood quietly awhile. It was no use responding emotionally to the disappearance of the crucial evidence which she had gathered and placed there for safekeeping.

"Someone has removed some vital pieces of evidence from my bag."

"I do not understand, cousin," breathed Brocc. He looked genuinely bewildered. His face was flushed with mortification.

"When was the last time you opened this cabinet, Brocc?" she asked.

"When you asked me to deposit the bag into it for safekeeping."

"And where have you kept the keys?"

"They are hung, as you have seen, on hooks under this table."

"And many people knew of that?"

"I thought that I was the only one who knew exactly where the keys were kept."

"It would not take a great deal of effort to find them. How many people knew that valuables were sometimes kept in that cabinet?"

"Only some of the senior members of the abbey."

"And, needless to say, anyone could have access to your chamber while you were performing the duties of your office?"

Brocc exhaled softly.

"No member of the brethren of this abbey would commit such a crime as theft from their abbot, cousin. It trespasses against the boundaries of the rules of our order."

"So does murder," Fidelma, replied dryly. "Yet someone in this abbey killed both Dacán and Sister Eisten. You say only the senior members of the abbey knew that valuables were sometimes placed there. Such as who?"

Brocc rubbed his chin.

"Brother Rumanri, of course. Brother Conghus. Our chief professor Brother Ségán. Brother Midach… oh, and Sister Grella, of course. But she is not here. That is all."

"It is enough." Fidelma was irritated. "Did you by any chance mention that I had left some valuables with you while I was away?"

Brocc started nervously and a red glow suffused his thin cheeks.

"My senior clerics did ask me where you had gone," he admitted reluctantly. "I could not tell them, as I did not know. But they were all concerned that this matter be cleared up. I said that I thought you had evidence, that you left… well, I think I mentioned that… I said that Sister Grella was to be held until you returned and…"

He faltered under Fidelma's angry gaze.

"So, perhaps it would not take long for anyone to find the logical hiding place for these keys. You might just as well have issued instructions."

"What can I say?" Brocc spread his hands as if to shield himself from the scorn in her voice. "I am truly sorry."

"No more sorry than I, Brocc," Fidelma snapped, moving for the door, angered at Brocc's careless attitude which had led to the loss of her salient evidence. "But the loss of that material will not prevent me from discovering the culprit, only, perhaps, from proving their involvement."

The first person she saw as she crossed the quadrangles to the hostel was the young Sister Necht. She looked startled as she caught sight of Fidelma.

"I thought that you had left us," she greeted in her slow, husky voice.

Fidelma shook her head.

"I cannot leave until my investigation is complete."

"I heard that you have ordered that Sister Grella be held."

"Sister Grella has disappeared."

"Yes. Everyone knows and believes that she has fled. Has anyone looked for her at Cuan Dóir, Salbach's fortress?" the novice suggested.

"Why so?" demanded Fidelma, startled.

"Why?" The sister rubbed her face and considered for a moment. "Because she has frequently visited there without telling anyone. She is a good friend to Salbach." Necht paused and smiled. "I know this because Sister Eisten told me."

"What did Eisten say?"

"Oh, that Grella once invited her to Salbach's fortress because Salbach was supposed to be interested in her orphanage. She told me that they seemed very good friends."

Fidelma looked at the guileless eyes of the novice for a minute.

"I understand that Midach is your anamchara, your soul-friend?"

Fidelma wondered why the question brought such a look of panic to the novice's face. Yet it was gone in a trice. Sister Necht forced a nervous smile.

"It is true."

"Have you known Midach long?"

"Most of my life. He was a friend of my father's and introduced me to the abbey."

Fidelma wondered how best to approach the subject on her mind and decided that the best way was the most direct.

"You do not have to put up with abuse, you know," she said. She remembered Midach's rough handling of the young religieuse; of the slap on her head.

Sister Necht flushed.

"I am not sure what you mean," she countered.

Fidelma grimaced in conciliatory fashion. She did not want the girl to feel humiliated by another seeing her being abused.

"It is just that I overheard Midach giving you a tongue-lashing for something and thought he might have maltreated you. It was in the herb garden a week ago just before I left."

Fidelma realized there was something more than humiliation in the eyes of the novice. There was something akin to fear.

"It was… was nothing. I had failed to perform a task for Midach. He is a good man. Sometimes his ternper becomes a little frayed. You will not report this to the abbot? Please?"

Fidelma smiled reassuringly.

"Not if you do not want me to, Necht. But no one, especially no woman, should put up with verbal abuse from others. The Bretha Nemed makes it an offence in law for a woman to be harassed and especially to be verbally assaulted. Did you know this?"

Sister Necht shook her head, gazing at the floor.

"No woman need stand by and be abused by anyone," went on Fidelma. "And the abuse need not be a physical assault but if a person mocks a woman, criticizes their appearance, draws attention to any physical blemish or wrongfully accuses them of things that are not true, then they have redress under the law."

"It was not so serious, sister," Necht said, with a further shake of her head. "I thank you for your interest but, really, Midach meant me no harm."

The midday Angelus was sounding and Sister Necht muttered an excuse and hurried off.

Fidelma sighed deeply. There was something more to that matter, she felt. There was definitely an aura of fear about the young girl when Fidelma had mentioned the scene in the herb garden. Well, she could do no more than advise Necht of her rights under law. Perhaps she ought to have a word with Midach himself.

She found Cass at the door of the guests' hostel.

"Have you heard the news?" His voice was excited.

"Which news?" she demanded bitterly.

"Why, about the coming here of the High King. It is all over the abbey."

"That!" The word was almost an ejaculation.

Cass frowned. "I thought it would be important to you. It does not leave you much time to prepare a defence of Muman against the claims of Laigin."

Fidelma set her jaw firmly and said in measured tones: "Truly, Cass, I do not have to be reminded of my responsibilities. There is worse news than the imminent assembly and that is that someone has stolen some of our evidence from Brocc's chamber. Apparently, the stupid man mentioned the fact that I had left it there to several people and so certain items have been taken from my marsupium which I left there."

Cass raised his eyebrows.

"Certain items?" he repeated. "Why not steal the entire bag?"

Fidelma jerked her head up as his words registered. She had overlooked the obvious. Only the Ogham stick and the vellum had been taken. Yet the bindings and Grella's skirt, from which they had been taken, were left. What did that signify? Why was the thief so selective about what evidence they had removed?

She considered matters for a moment and then gave a sigh of frustration.

"Where are you off to now?" demanded Cass as Fidelma suddenly began striding away across the courtyard that separated the hostel from the abbey church.

"There is something I should have done before we left for Sceilig Mhichil," she called across her shoulder. "Sister Necht had just reminded me of it."

"Sister Necht?"

Cass trailed after her. He was beginning to be exhausted by Fidelma's abrupt changes and wished she would confide in him more readily than she did.

"It seems that we are running here and there and the more we move the less close we get to our goal," he complained. "I thought that the ancients taught that such excessive motion does not necessarily mean progression?"

Fidelma, engrossed in her own anxieties, was irritated by what she perceived as the warrior's bland remark.

"If you can solve this puzzle by sitting in a room, staring at the wall, then do so."

The sourness in her tone caused Cass to wince a little.

"I am not criticizing you," he said hurriedly, "but what good will a visit to the abbey church do?"

"Let us discover," Fidelma replied curtly.

Brother Rumann, the steward, was coming out of the door of the abbey as they went up the steps.

"I heard that you had returned from Sceilig Mhichil," he greeted in his wheezy tones, full of affability. "How was your journey? Have you learnt anything?"

"The journey was fine," she replied evenly, "but how did you know we went to Sceilig Mhichil?"

The even tone disguised the fact that she was suddenly on guard. She had, in fact, been very careful not to tell even her cousin, the Abbot Brocc, where she was going. No one in the abbey should have known.

Rumann looked uneasy and frowned.

"I am not sure. Someone mentioned it. I think it might have been Brother Midach. Was it a secret?"

Fidelma did not reply but changed the subject.

"I am told that the tomb of the Blessed Fachtna is contained within the abbey church? Can you tell me where it is located?"

"Of course." Rumann positively preened himself. "It is a place of pilgrimage on the fourteenth day of the feast of Lunasa, his feastday. Let me show you, sister."

Rumann turned and began to move wheezily along the lengthy nave beyond the transept to the High Altar.

"Have you heard the story of how Fachtna was blind when he came to this spot and, thanks to the intercession of a great miracle here at Ros Ailithir, where there was then nothing but open lands, he received his sight back and, in gratitude, built this abbey?" asked Rumann.

"I have heard the story," replied Fidelma, though not responding to the steward's enthusiasm for his subject.

Rumann conducted them up the steps that surrounded the slightly raised area on which the High Altar stood and then move around behind it into the apse, the vaulted curved recess behind the altar where the officiating priest or abbot usually conducted the rituals of the "dismissal" in accordance with the rites of the Church. In the apse lay a large sandstone slab which stood three inches above the rest of the floor. Incongruously, at the head of the slab, on a small stone plinth stood a statue of a cherub. At the foot of the slab was a similar plinth with a seraph upon it.

"You will see just a simple cross," pointed Rumann, "and the name Fachtna in the ancient Ogham script."

"Do you read Ogham?" she asked innocently.

"My role as steward of the abbey requires me to be proficient in many forms of learning." Rumann's fleshy face was complacent.

Fidelma turned back to the stone slab.

"What lies beneath this stone?" she queried.

Rumann looked puzzled.

"Why the sepulcher of Fachtna, of course. It is the only tomb within the abbey walls."

"I mean, what sort of tomb is it? A hole in the ground, a cave or what?"

"Well, no one has ever opened it since Fachtna was interred there over a century ago."

"Really? Yet you described it as a sepulcher."

"It is true that it is known as the sepulcher," replied Rumann. "Perhaps it is some sort of catacomb or cave. It would be sacrilege to enter to confirm that. There are several such caves hereabouts. We have other interesting tombs of that sort at Ros Ailithir but most of them lie without the walls of the abbey."

"Then there is no entrance to this sepulcher from the walled garden at the back of the church?" she demanded abruptly.

Rumann stared down at her in bewilderment.

"No. Whatever makes you ask such a question?"

"So the only entrance to the sepulcher is by the removal of this sandstone slab. It seems too strong and heavy."

"That it is, sister. And no one has been able to remove it in over a century."

Cass began asking Rumann about other burial places for he could see that Fidelma wanted to be left to her own devices for a few moments. The plump-faced house steward's attention was distracted.

Fidelma went down on one knee by the great slab. She reached out a hand to touch that which had attracted her attention. It was slippery and cold. Cold candle grease spilt into a crevice by the old stone.

Someone entered the church with a noisy clatter of the great doors. Fidelma rose swiftly and saw that it was Brother Conghus who had entered and was beckoning frantically to Rumann.

The steward excused himself and hurried off down the aisle of the nave.

When he had gone Fidelma turned to Cass with lowered voice.

"There is a way into that sepulcher, I swear it."

Cass raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that? And what has it to do with the investigation?"

"Look at that candle grease and tell me what you observe."

Cass looked down.

"It's just candle grease. There are plenty of such spots in the church. You can break a leg by slipping on them unless you watch where you tread."

She sighed impatiently.

"Yes. But they are all where they should be. Under candle holders. This spot is in a place where no candles hang. And see the way it has fallen."

"I don't understand."

"Really, Cass. Look. Observe. Deduce. Do you see that the edge of the stone slab is a straight line where it rests on the floor? Around it are splashes of candle grease which have grown cold. Look closer. Look at the join. It is as if the grease had been dropped before the slab was put in place, that the slab was slung back over the top of it."

Cass rubbed the back of his neck in his bewilderment.

"I still don't understand."

She groaned and lowered herself to both knees, pushing at the slab, trying to compel it to move, first in one direction and then another. Her efforts were without success.

Finally, and reluctantly, she rose to her feet.

"That sepulcher holds a valuable key to this business," she said thoughtfully. "Someone has opened it and just recently. I think I am finally beginning to see the path through the darkness of this mystery…"

Brother Rumann came padding swiftly back to where they stood. They could see from his face that he was bursting with some important news.

"Sister Grella has been seen," he blurted.

"Has she returned to the abbey?" asked Fidelma in excitement.

Rumann shook his head.

"Someone saw her riding with Salbach in the woods of Dor. It would seem that the chieftain of the Corco Loigde has found her. Excuse me, I must take this news to the abbot."

Fidelma watched him hurry away. Cass was doing his best to conceal his excitement.

"Well." He smiled with satisfaction. "I think our mystery is near its end, eh?"

"How so, Cass?" she asked wearily.

"If Salbach has found Sister Grella, then we have found the culprit. You gave orders yourself to detain her. She was the person who was most implicated by the evidence," he pointed out. "Doubtless she stole that evidence from the abbot's chamber."

"Yet Sister Grella has not been seen in the abbey since she disappeared."

"Well, maybe she returned without being noticed. I say, there is your thief and if she is the thief, she is also Dacán's killer. She would surely know that the evidence in that marsupium proves as much. It is logical that she would wish to destroy it. She probably heard from someone in the abbey that Brocc had the evidence."

Fidelma suddenly gazed thoughtfully at him. She had neglected to tell him that the evidence that had been left behind implicated Grella rather than the reverse. She decided to keep this information to herself for the time being.

"It is a possible explanation," she conceded. "Where are the woods of Dor?"

"Cuan Dóir is Salbach's fortress which is situated between the woods and the sea. It is less than a quarter of an hour's journey across the headland," Cass replied. "We may meet Salbach escorting Grella along the road, that is if he is bringing her back to the abbey."

"Much power in that word 'if,' " muttered Fidelma but did not explain herself further: "I think we shall discover something else about Grella and Salbach as a result of this journey. Let's get our horses from the stables."

Cass suppressed a sigh of irritation. He found Fidelma a most exasperating woman.

Chapter Fifteen

Cuan Dóir, Dor's harbor, was a short ride across the headland from Ros Ailithir. In fact, it was little more than three miles from the gates of the abbey. The track ran within sight of the stormy sea through wild scenery of granite rocks, gorse and heather, a landscape devoid of trees because of the nearness of the expanse of ocean with its prevailing coastal winds. Almost halfway along this path they crossed the remains of an ancient stone circle. Tall, gray granite sentinels stood as silent testimony to the beliefs and practices of the ancients, forming a circle some thirty feet in diameter, while just beyond was a small stone cabin. It seemed to fit so naturally into the wild, windswept landscape and conjure images of times past.

A little further on, the path descended into an inlet which seemed as natural a harbor as the one offered by Ros Ailithir. It was an area replete in fuchsia-strewn hedgerows which laced a breathtaking scenery. There were a few ships anchored in the small harbor. Several buildings comprised the township but dominating them was the fortress of Salbach: a round, stone-walled stronghold, well appointed to control the sea approaches as well as the road to the harbor. Fidelma saw that, like many of the fortresses she had seen, its walls, which rose some twenty feet high, were of dry stone. She estimated the circular fortification was probably some hundred feet in diameter with only one entrance, a large gateway with sloping jambs big enough for only one horse and rider to pass through at a time.

Armed warriors lounged at this gate watching with ill-concealed curiosity as Fidelma and Cass rode up.

"Is Sister Grella of Ros Ailithir within the gates?" called Fidelma as they halted. She had not bothered to dismount.

"This is the fortress of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loigde," came the uncompromising reply from one of the guardians of the portal. He did not bother to change his lounging posture as he leant against the wall staring at them.

Fidelma decided to change tack.

"Then we should like to see Salbach."

"He is not here," came the wooden response.

"Then where is he, man?" demanded Cass, moving forward so that the warrior could see his golden collar emblem and know him for one of the elite warriors of Cashel.

The man made no sign that he had observed the emblem. He gazed insolently back at Cass.

"He went riding a while ago." As Cass was about to make a sharp retort, the warrior relented and pointed with his spear. "He will probably be hunting in the wood of Dor, which is in that direction."

"Was anyone with him?" demanded Fidelma.

"Salbach likes to hunt alone."

This statement brought forth a low chuckle from the other guard as if it were some witticism.

Fidelma motioned Cass to follow and they turned in the direction of the distant woodland which the warrior had indicated.

"If Grella is not with Salbach, what need to go in search of him?" inquired Cass as he realized her intent.

"Perhaps Salbach does not hunt alone?" Fidelma suggested. "The idea seemed to amused our taciturn friend's companion."

They walked their horses at a quiet pace along the track as it twisted upward again from the shoreline, crossing undulating ground for a few miles before entering a thick woodland area which was, Fidelma noticed, rich in the variety of its trees although it was predominated by conifers intermixed with many birch and hazels. Heather grew everywhere in abundance. They followed the main track as it cut through the forest.

The woodland suddenly halted to make way for a river, cutting its way tempestuously down from the distant hills and heading in a broad sweep towards the sea behind them. It was wide but looked shallow enough. Fidelma was about to cross when Cass called softly to stay her.

He pointed wordlessly.

She saw, a short distance along the banks on the farthest side, a small woodsman's bothán or cabin. There was smoke rising from its chimney.

Outside, in front of the cabin, stood two horses. One was fairly richly accoutred while the other was in plain harness.

Fidelma exchanged a meaningful glance with Cass.

"We'll cross," she instructed, and proceeded to urge her horse through the rapidly flowing water. The track had, in fact, come to a natural ford and the water was little more than two feet in depth at its deepest point. They eased their horses carefully across to the far bank.

"We'll leave our horses in that clearing," Fidelma said, pointing to a small, sheltered spot a little way ahead of them. "Then we will make our way to the bothán. It is my guess that we will find both Salbach and our missing librarian there."

Cass shook his head in perplexity but did not say anything.

Fidelma choose to make her way to the cabin surreptitiously, for she had embarked upon a series of thoughts which had brought her to a conclusion that she found scarcely creditable but whose progression seemed to fit the facts she had gathered so far.

They followed a small path which kept parallel with the river bank and brought them to the small clearing in which the woodsman's cabin stood.

They halted at the edge of the trees before the open area and Fidelma raised her head to listen.

There came the sound of a woman's peal of laughter from within the cabin.

Fidelma smiled in grim satisfaction towards Cass. It seemed that she had been right in her prediction.

She had started forward towards the cabin when Cass reached forward and grabbed her arm to halt her.

It was then she heard the soft pounding of a horse at a canter.

Swiftly, she moved back into the shelter of the shrubbery and crouched down beside Cass.

A rider burst into the clearing before the woodsman's cabin from the direction of what must have been a track through the forest on the far side of the clearing. The figure was that of a thick-set man. He was clad in a woollen cloak but dishevelled and dirty.

"Salbach!" cried the warrior, reining in his horse before the cabin and sitting at ease, leaning slightly forward on the pommel.

A moment or two passed before Salbach appeared at the door of the cabin pulling on his shirt.

"What news?" he called. Salbach was carrying a fur-lined cloak over his arm and this he proceeded to slip round his shoulders.

"The hearing is to take place at Ros Ailithir within days. And Ross's barc is anchored in the inlet. They must have returned."

Fidelma saw Cass glance in her direction with rounded eyes. She pulled a face and turned back to the two men.

"Does she know?" demanded Salbach.

"I doubt it. There was nothing to be learnt at Sceilig Mhichil."

"Well, I think I know where they might be hidden," Salbach was saying.

"That will please the bó-aire" grunted the warrior.

Salbach was walking to his horse and he swung himself easily into the saddle. He did not even glance back at the cabin.

"I'll accompany you to Cuan Dóir and as we go I'll give you my instructions for Intat."

Fidelma heard Cass draw in his breath sharply.

The two riders, Salbach and the warrior, moved down to the river, trotting their horses along the shallows until they reached the ford. Fidelma and Cass could hear the splash of their passage as they crossed it.

Cass pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

"I thought Salbach was supposed to be sending warriors to capture Intat to try him for his crime at Rae na Serine?" he whispered.

"Intat is obviously Salbach's man," replied Fidelma, rising and brushing the leaves from her skirt. "I had suspected as much. Come, I think it time we had a word with our missing librarian."

She strode firmly across the clearing to the cabin door and pushed it open without ceremony.

Sister Grella, not yet fully dressed, swung round, her eyes staring in consternation.

Fidelma smiled humorlessly.

"Well, Sister Grella? It seems you have decided to quit the religious life."

Sister Grella, her jaw slack, open-mouthed, her face pale, stared beyond Fidelma to where Cass was returning her gaze in equal astonishment over Fidelma's shoulder. Grella broke the spell by grabbing a garment to cover herself.

Fidelma saw her embarrassment and turned to cast a look of reproach at Cass.

The young warrior, red in the face, backed out of the cabin and took a stand beyond the door.

"Dress yourself, Grella," instructed Fidelma, "and then we shall talk."

"Where is Salbach?" whispered the erstwhile librarian. "What are you going to do?"

"Salbach has ridden off," Fidelma replied. "And in answer to your second question, well, that depends. Now hurry up and get your clothes on."

Fidelma, spotting a chair, seated herself.

Grella began to dress hastily.

"Are you going to take me back to the abbey?"

Fidelma allowed a cynical smile to play at the corner of her mouth.

"You are answerable to ecclesiastical law as well as civil law for your conduct."

"There is no sin in it. Salbach plans to make me his second wife. I have quit the abbey."

"Without informing the abbot? But, you say, Salbach is already married?"

"His wife is old," replied Grella, as if this explained everything.

"Just as Dacán was old?" Fidelma asked innocently.

Grella jerked her head in surprise. Then, recovering her poise, she shrugged.

"So, you have found out? Yes, like Dacán was. Shrunken, worn and weak, he was. That's why I divorced him."

"Since the coming of the Faith to this land, the custom of taking a second wife or husband, or of taking a concubine, has been condemned by the bishops," Fidelma commented. "Should Salbach take you as a second wife, you will be condemned by the church anyway."

Grella sneered.

"A few years ago Nuada of Laigin had two wives. The civil law still provides the rights of a second wife."

"I know the law, Grella. But you are a religieuse and should know that the rules of the Faith are oft-times contrary to the civil law."

"But your task is to uphold the civil law," Grella snapped.

Fidelma did not press the matter further because she knew that while the Church opposed polygny, which had been widespread in ancient times, there was only limited success. Finally, one Brehon, writing the law text of the Bretha Crolige, had written in despair: "there is dispute in Irish law as to which is more proper, whether many sexual unions or a single one; for the chosen people of God lived in plurality of unions, so that it is easier to praise it rather than to condemn it." Grella was right. But it was not the morality of her liaison with Salbach of the Corco Loigde that was uppermost in Fidelma's mind.

"Did you plan never to return to the abbey? Why then did you take no personal possessions with you?"

Grella bit her lip. She finished her dressing and setting her hair to rights. She stood in front of Fidelma, hands on hips.

"I don't need to excuse myself. There is little of mine at the abbey and what I need Salbach can supply. As for returning, perhaps I would have returned after I had become Salbach's wife. None would then dare to level any accusations against me. I would have Salbach's protection."

"Salbach is equally answerable to the law as you are, Grella. There are some questions you need to answer and at once. You knew that your former husband, Dacán, had come to Ros Ailithir for a special purpose?"

"How much do you know?" demanded Grella. In spite of her glare of anger there was some alarm in her eyes.

"I know that you were once married to Dacán."

"Mugrón must have told you. A stupid coincidence that he saw me at Cuan Dóir."

"He saw you there with Sister Eisten," Fidelma said quietly. Grella did not rise to her bait.

"So what does it matter? I have told you my relationship with Salbach."

"Why did you take Sister Eisten to Salbach's fortress?" Grella frowned a moment.

"Salbach asked me. He had heard that Eisten was running an orphanage at Rae na Serine. He wanted to meet her and the children. He knew that I was friendly with the young woman."

"And did she take the children there?" Fidelma was nonplussed.

But Grella shook her head.

"She accompanied me to Cuan Dóir but refused to take the children. She did not want them to travel because of the Yellow Plague."

"Was Salbach annoyed when she did not take them?"

Grella peered curiously at her.

"Why would he be annoyed?"

Fidelma sat back and did not reply for the moment.

"Did you know that Eisten has been murdered?"

Grella's face was suddenly a tight mask. It was clear that she had heard the news and behind the mask Fidelma saw that the librarian was clearly upset.

"I heard only a few days ago."

"Not before?"

She shook her head and somehow Fidelma knew she was telling the truth.

"You seem upset about it. You tell me that you were friendly with her. How friendly?"

"Since Eisten studied in the library with me earlier this year we have been soul-friends."

Soul-friends! Yes, Eisten had told Fidelma that she had a soul-friend in the abbey. What was it Eisten had asked on the last time Fidelma had seen here? Can a soul-friend betray a confidence?

"So you had few secrets from each other?"

"You know the role of the anamchara," snapped Grella. Her expression told Fidelma that she was unlikely to speak further about the matter.

"You have already told me that you knew what work Dacán was engaged upon," said Fidelma, changing tack.

"I told you so when you came to see me at the library."

"But you did not add the specific that he was actually seeking the descendants of the native ruling house of Osraige."

Grella shot a nervous look at Fidelma.

"How do you know that?" she countered.

"I read Dacán's writings."

Grella's hand reached up as if to clutch at her own throat.

"You… you saw them?"

Fidelma examined her carefully.

"I searched your chamber, Grella. It was silly of you to think that you could hide that material. Or that you could misinterpret the Ogham wands to me."

To her astonishment, for she thought the woman would vigorously deny any knowledge, Grella shrugged.

"I thought that no one would find them. I thought that I had hidden them safely. I meant to destroy them."

"You did not know that I removed them a week ago?"

"I have already told you that I have not been back to the abbey since then."

"No?" Fidelma let the matter pass for the moment. "Well, you knew that Dacán was searching for the heir of Ulan, who claimed to be the rightful aspirant for the petty kingship of Osraige?"

"I have already admitted it," conceded Grella.

"And you told Salbach about it?"

The woman shrugged diffidently but did not reply.

"Salbach's cousin is Scandlán, the current king of Osraige, isn't he? So Salbach would have an interest in ensuring that the son of Ulan was not discovered."

"I simply thought Salbach ought to know that someone was looking for Illan's offspring," replied Grella. "I sought to prevent any future wars in Osraige. Ulan was the cause of a great deal of bloodshed when he attempted to overthrow Scandlán."

"So you told Salbach about Dacán. Salbach realized that Laigin wanted to reassert its power over Osraige, perhaps establish a client king who would answer to Laigin rather than to Muman."

Grella stood indifferently.

"If you say so."

"Dacán was therefore a danger to Salbach's family in Osraige. Was that the reason you killed your former husband?"

For a moment Grella's shock seemed genuine.

"Who accuses me of killing him?" she demanded.

"The bonds with which he was tied were strips of linen; red and blue in color. Do you own a red and blue linen skirt?"

"Of course not." There was no conviction in her quick denial.

"So if I tell you that, while searching your chamber, I discovered such a skirt from which part had been torn off and that the part matched the bonds with which Dacán had been tied before he was killed, would you still deny ownership?"

Grella flushed and looked less confident.

"Do you own such a dress?" pressed Fidelma. "Better to tell the truth if you have nothing to hide."

Grella's shoulders hunched in resignation.

"That is my dress right enough, but I have not worn it since I came to Ros Ailithir. I had meant to give it away to the poor but…" She stared earnestly into Fidelma's eyes. "I may have betrayed old Dacán's confidence and told Salbach what he was doing, and I believe I was justified in doing so, but I did not kill him. After all, why kill Dacán? He would have led Salbach to Illan's heir. That was what Salbach wanted."

Fidelma paused as she saw the logic of her argument but she continued: "And do you deny that, within these last few days, you returned to the abbey and entered the abbot's chamber to remove some of the evidence from his personal cabinet?"

Grella simply stared in incomprehension.

Fidelma knew that the woman was telling the truth. She had banked everything on her intuition that if Grella was not the culprit, then she knew enough to reveal who it was and possibly, confronted by the accusation backed by the evidence which Fidelma had, that she would confess.

"You knew there was a bag of evidence left by me in the abbot's cabinet?" she pressed desperately.

"Certainly not," Grella responded. "How could I when I had not realized that you had removed anything from my chamber? I told you that I have not been back to the abbey during this last week."

"You chose an odd time to leave the abbey. It is suspicious. Wouldn't you say so?"

"It was Salbach's suggestion that I came with him that night. For too long I have been hiding my affection for Salbach. It was time that we came into the open about our love."

"You'll forgive me when I repeat that your timing was a matter of great coincidence."

"I did not murder Dacán," replied Grella firmly.

Fidelma suppressed a gentle sigh.

"Tell me then, why did you hide Dacán's papers?"

"That's not hard to tell. I did not want anyone else to know what Dacán had been engaged in. It were better that Laigin did not find the son of Ulan. If they did not, then they would not be able to use Illan's heir to overthrow Salbach's cousin."

"And Salbach would be grateful to you for this information?"

"I love Salbach."

"And so all this you did out of your… love… for Salbach?"

Sister Grella's eyes were pools of indignant fire.

"Well now," Fidelma said, rising, "Laigin is doing that very thing, demanding Osraige as the honor price for the slaughter of Dacán. It seems that the very war you claim that you sought to prevent will take place."

Grella rose with her.

"Let me appeal to you as a woman, Fidelma. I was married to Dacán when I was fifteen. It was an arranged marriage in this new custom of the Faith where I had little say. I stayed three years with that old man. He was not capable of fathering children and it was on those grounds that I asked for a divorce. Rather than be shamed by a hearing before the Brehon, in which such a matter would be discussed, Dacán gave me that divorce without contention. He taught me many things, for which I am grateful. He taught me enough to allow me to go to an ecclesiastic college, the college of Cealla, to study and attain my degree. The strange thing is that, in a way, I cared for that old man, unfriendly though he was, as if he had been my father. I did not kill him, Fidelma of Kildare. I am guilty of several things, but I did not kill him."

"Sister Grella, some sense within me makes me want to believe you. However, the evidence is against you. The evidence of Dacán's hidden papers. The bonds with which he was tied. Your sudden disappearance from the abbey after you had not told me the truth about your former marriage to Dacán and other matters." Fidelma compressed her lower lip in thought. "You knew that Dacán was searching for the heir of Ulan. The evening before he died, he wrote to his brother that he had discovered where Illan's heir was hiding. The evidence suggests that you killed him to prevent him finding the heir of Ulan in order to please your lover, Salbach."

"No! This is not true. You cannot claim that I am guilty of that deed!"

"No? Perhaps not. It seems that it will be for the High King's assembly to decide."

"Yet you know, in the heart, Fidelma, that it is not true," pressed Grella angrily.

"I am appointed by the king of Cashel. I can only follow my duty. I have a war to prevent. Cass!"

The young warrior came into the cabin. He looked from Grella's white, pinched face to Fidelma's stern expression.

"Cass, Sister Grella will be returning with us to Ros Ailithir as our prisoner."

"Then she has confessed?" The relief on Cass's face was obvious.

Grella hissed angrily.

"Confess to something I did not do? Take me as a prisoner to the abbey. Salbach will free me—one way or the other!"

"Don't count on it." Cass smiled without humor.

They returned together to Ros Ailithir. Fidelma led the way while Cass rode close beside Sister Grella. Fidelma was quiet during the short ride, deep in thought. There was something nagging at her. If Sister Grella was being truthful then she was no nearer to Dacán's killer than before. She had not even proved the link between Salbach and Intat. Even if Grella had killed Dacán, betrayed her soul-friend Eisten, could she have also killed her? And where were the sons of Ulan? Why had Dacán been so sure that there was an heir at the age of choice? Where were these boys called "Primus" and "Victor"… ? "Victor" and "Primus"… "Primus"…

Chapter Sixteen

Victor!

That was the name which kept troubling Fidelma; it had been tumbling around in her mind since Sceilig Mhichil. The images of the two black-haired boys from Rae na Serine were also in her mind's eye. But the sons of Ulan had been described as copper-haired. Yet the name, the name Victor… Hie est meum. Victor. Didn't the name mean "triumphant" and "victorious" and wasn't the equivalent in Irish—Cosrach?

She suddenly gasped at the ease of the solution to the conundrum. The sons of Ulan had been called Primus and Victor. Primus meant "first" and wasn't Cétach just a pet form of cét which also meant "first"? Cétach bore the name of a son of the legendary prince who founded the kingdom of Osraige. Primus—Cétach. Victor—Cosrach! Although the two boys had vanished, surely the other children from Rae na Serine might be able to identify or describe the religieux who had brought them to Sister Eisten for safekeeping.

She halted her horse, abruptly causing a startled Cass to draw rein lest his steed collide with her. Sister Grella's mount, almost impacting with his, shied and nearly stumbled.

Fidelma cursed softly under her breath, blaming herself for a fool that she had not seen that simple solution before.

"What is it?" Cass demanded, a hand snaking to his sword hilt, looking around as if expecting an attack from an unseen enemy.

"An idea!" she replied happily. She knew now whom Dacán had been searching for and why Cétach had been so afraid of Salbach. It must have been Cétach and Cosrach whom Intat had been sent to kill when he set fire to Rae na Serine.

"Only an idea? I thought there was danger," Cass complained in annoyance.

"There is nothing more dangerous than an idea, Cass," laughed Fidelma, intoxicated with the simple logic of her conclusion. "A single idea, if it is right, saves us years of laborious experience, the harsh learning of trial and error."

Cass glanced around nervously.

"Ideas may not threaten our lives with swords and arrows."

Fidelma chuckled dryly, still happy with her thoughts.

"They may be more harmful than that. Come on."

Without further explanation, she urged her horse to break into a canter along the trail leading down into Ros Ailithir.

Brother Conghus met them at the gate and, as they arrived, the abbot himself came hurrying up.

"Sister Grella!" he gasped, looking from Grella to Fidelma in astonishment. "You have captured the culprit, cousin?"

Fidelma, to Cass's surprise, made no effort to dismount. She leant forward across the pommel of her saddle and spoke quietly to her cousin.

"Grella is to be held securely on my authority. She has much to answer for before the assembly of the High King when it meets here. What she wants to tell you as an explanation for her disappearance is entirely up to her."

Abbot Brocc looked anxiously.

"Does this mean that you have reached a conclusion?" He glanced across his shoulder at the abbey with an almost conspiratorial air. "The High King and his retinue have already arrived. Barren, the Chief Brehon, has been asking about you and…"

Fidelma held up a hand to silence the worried abbot.

"I can say no more at this time. We will return as soon as possible."

"Return? Where are you going?" Brocc's voice was almost a wail as Fidelma urged her horse away from the abbey gates.

"Guard Sister Grella well, if for nothing less than her own safety," Fidelma called across her shoulder.

Cass, his face showing that he was equally as perplexed as the abbot, urged his horse after her.

"If you cannot tell the abbot, sister," he complained, after he had caught up with her, "perhaps you can tell me? Where are we going now?"

"I need to find the orphanage where the children from Rae na Serine were taken," she replied. "I know it lies along this coast to the east."

"You mean the place run by Brother Molua?"

"Do you know it?" She was surprised.

"I know of it," Cass asserted. "I spoke to Brother Martan about it. It should not be too difficult to find. It lies about ten miles to the east of here along the coast near a tidal estuary. But why do you want to go to this orphanage? What knowledge can we pick up there?"

"Oh, Cass!" muttered Fidelma, "if I knew that, I would not need to go!"

Cass shrugged helplessly but followed as Fidelma urged her horse along the highway.

It proved, as Cass said, not more than ten miles across a broad headland. There were several stone and timber buildings which rose above the mud banks of a large tidal estuary into which a river pushed sedately from the mountains to the north. They had to cross the river at a narrow ford which led to the cluster of buildings which, Fidelma noticed as she grew nearer, were surrounded by a wooden fencing. A broad-shouldered man met them at the gates. He wore the clothes of a forest worker but Fidelma noticed the crucifix which hung around his muscular neck.

"Bene vobis, my friends," he called out as they halted their horses before him. He had a loud baritone voice, full of joviality, and a smiling face to match it.

"And health to you," replied Fidelma. "Are you Brother Molua?"

"My given name is Lugaid being named after Lugaid Loigde, the progenitor of the Corco Lofgde. But as it is such a distinguished name, sister, why, I merely answer to its more gentle diminutive. Molua suits me better. How may I serve you?"

Fidelma slid from her horse and introduced herself and Cass.

"It is not often that we have such distinguished visitors," the big man said. "An advocate of the court and a warrior of the king of Cashel's elite. Come, let me first stable your horses and then, perhaps, you will allow my house to offer you hospitality after your journey?"

Fidelma did not protest as the man insisted on leading off their horses to a stable. She gazed about the small complex of buildings with interest. There were several children playing around what was a chapel, in fact no bigger than an oratory. An elderly religieuse was sitting under a tree further on with half a dozen children round her. She was playing a small wooden reed pipe, a cui-sech, and she played it well, so Fidelma thought. The sister seemed to be teaching the children short airs, happy and joyful.

Brother Molua returned smiling.

"This is a peaceful spot, brother," Fidelma observed approvingly.

"I am content with it, sister," agreed Molua. "Come this way. Aibnat!"

A round-faced, homely woman came to the door of one of the buildings. She seemed to share Molua's bluff, smiling features.

"Aibnat, we have guests. This is my radiant wife, Aibnat."

Fidelma saw that Molua was possessed of a sense of humor for the meaning of the woman's name was "radiant girl."

"I heard that you were both at Ros Ailithir," the woman greeted them. "Were you not there to investigate old Dacán's death?"

Fidelma nodded affirmatively.

"Enough time to talk when our guests have eaten, Aibnat," chided Molua as he ushered them all into the building. They found themselves in a warm chamber in which an oven threw out heat. On it were great pots simmering with aromatic ingredients. Molua motioned them to be seated at a table and produced a pitcher and several pottery goblets.

"Let me offer you some of my special cuirm to keep out the chill. I distill it myself," he added with pride.

Cass readily agreed while Fidelma gazed approvingly around at the kitchen.

"How many do you have to feed here?" she asked, interested in the large number of cooking pots.

It was Afbnat who replied.

"At the moment we have twenty children under the age of fourteen here, sister. And there are four of us to look after them. My husband, myself and two other sisters of the Faith."

Molua poured the drinks and they sipped the rough but pleasant-tasting spirit with relish.

"How long has this orphanage been here?" asked Cass.

"Since the first devastations of the Yellow Plague two years ago. Some communities were so badly hit that entire families were wiped out and there was no one to care for the children who remained," explained Afbnat. "That was when my husband sought permission of the Abbot Brocc at Ros Ailithir to turn his small farmstead here into a place of refuge for the orphans."

"You seem to be succeeding very well," Fidelma approved.

"Will you eat, after your journey?" invited Molua.

"We are hungry," acknowledged Cass, for they had not eaten since that morning.

"But it lacks several hours before your evening meal," Fidelma pointed out, with a sharp, reproving look at the young warrior.

"That's of little consequence." Afbnat smiled. "A plate of cold badger meat or… I know… I have a meat pudding, the meat of the sheep, cooked with rowan berries and wild garlic. That complemented by kale and onions and barley bread. Then a dish of sloes and honey to finish with. What would you say to that?"

Molua was smiling happily.

"My wife has a reputation as the best cook of the Corco Lofgde."

"A well-deserved one if the choice of food is anything to go by," applauded Cass.

Afbnat was blushing with pleasure.

"We have hives here, so the honey is our own."

"I had noticed that you have an abundance of beeswax candles," Fidelma observed. In many poorer homes the usual form of candlewax was often meat grease or melted tallow into which a peeled rush had been dipped.

"Now while Aibnat prepares the food," Molua said, sitting down and refilling their goblets from the pitcher of mead, "you may tell me why my poor house has been so honored by your presence."

"A week ago Aibnat brought some children here."

"Yes. Two little girls, no more than nine, and a boy about eight years old," agreed Molua.

Aibnat turned from her culinary preparations, frowning.

"Yes. They were the children rescued from Rae na Scrfne. Didn't you have something to do with that?"

Cass smiled grimly.

"Indeed. We were the ones who rescued them."

Molua was shaking his head.

"We heard of that terrible crime. It is beyond understanding that people can be so cruel to their neighbors in time of distress. Such injustice has been condemned by everyone."

Fidelma could not help airing her cynicism.

"It was Plato who wrote that mankind always censures injustice but only because they fear to become victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it."

Molua's face was sad.

"I cannot believe that, sister. I do not believe that man sets out purposely to commit injustice. He always does it because he is blinded by some distorted image of a perceived morality, or of a just cause."

"What morality or just cause, however distorted, could have been raised at Rae na Serine?" demanded Cass.

Molua shrugged.

"I am but a simple farmer. When I cultivate a field, turning it with my plow, I destroy life. I destroy the natural grasses and growths in that field. I destroy the natural habitats of field voles, of badgers and other creatures. To them, that is injustice. To me, it is a just cause—the cause of feeding starving people."

"Animals!" Cass muttered. "Who is concerned about justice for animals?"

Molua looked pained.

"Are they not also God's creatures?"

"I see the point that you are making, Molua," Fidelma intervened. "In intellectual discourse, we would doubtless agree. There was a reason why the deed was done at Rae na Serine but whether the reason was thought justifiable the action is not and cannot be."

Molua inclined his head.

"I accept that."

"Very well. There were two boys named Cétach and Cosrach, also from Rae na Serine, who were supposed to be brought to this orphanage. But they disappeared. One was about ten and the other was older—perhaps fifteen. They had black hair."

Aibnat and Molua exchanged a look and both shook their heads.

"No children answering those descriptions have turned up here."

"No. I did not think they would. But perhaps I might be allowed to question the other children?" pressed Fidelma. "They might know some details about these boys."

Aibnat frowned slightly.

"I would not like the children to be upset. Remembering that terrible event may unsettle them."

Fidelma tried to be reassuring.

"I would not ask these questions if it were not important. I cannot guarantee that they will not get upset. Nevertheless, I must insist in this matter."

Molua nodded slowly.

"She has the right," he explained to his wife. "She is a dálaigh of the courts."

Aibnat looked unpersuaded.

"Then let me be with them when you ask these questions, sister."

"Of course," Fidelma agreed readily. "Let us go now and speak with them, just the two of us. Then they will not be intimidated."

"All right," agreed Aibnat, glancing at Molua. "You can finish preparing the food for our guests while we do so," she instructed.

Afbnat led the way to the small chapel and called to the children playing there. At her call, two little girls and a sulky-looking boy detached themselves reluctantly from the throng of playing, shouting children. Fidelma could barely recognize them as the terrified children she had found among the ashes and ruins of Rae na Serine. They came clustering round the skirts of Aibnat and she led them towards a more isolated part of the compound where a felled tree provided a great seat by a small, gushing stream which ran through the settlement to join the bigger river beyond.

"Sit down, children," instructed Aibnat, as she and Fidelma seated themselves on the log.

The boy refused, continuing to stand and kick sullenly at the log. Fidelma noticed that the boy had a little wooden toy sword in his belt. The two little girls immediately sat cross-legged on the grass before them and stared up expectantly.

"Do you recognize this lady?" inquired Aibnat.

"Yes, she is the lady who took us away so the wicked men would not find us," replied one of the little girls solemnly.

"Where is Sister Eisten?" chimed in the other. "When is she going to visit us?"

"Soon." Fidelma smiled vaguely, after Aibnat had shot her a warning glance, shaking her head slightly. The children had clearly not been told what had happened to Eisten. "Now there are some questions I want to ask. I want you all to think carefully about them before you answer. Will you do that?"

The two girls nodded seriously but the boy said nothing, scowling at the log and not meeting Fidelma's smiling gaze.

"Do you remember the other two boys who were with you when I found you?"

"I remember the baby," said one of the little girls gravely. Fidelma recalled that her name was Cera. "It went asleep and no one could wake it."

Fidelma bit her lip.

"That's right," she said encouragingly, "but it is the boys that I am interested in."

"They wouldn't play with us. Mean, spiteful boys! I didn't like them." The other little girl, Ciar, set her face sternly and sat with folded arms.

"Were they mean, those boys?" pressed Fidelma eagerly. "Who were they?"

"Just boys," replied Ciar petulantly. "Boys are all the same."

She gave a look of derision toward the little boy who ceased kicking at the log and sat down abruptly.

"Girls!" he sneered back.

"Remind me what your name is," Fidelma encouraged with a smile. She had recalled the girls' names but she could not remember what the boy had been called.

"Shan't say!" snapped the boy.

Aibnat clucked her tongue in disapproval.

"His name is Tressach," she supplied.

Fidelma continued to smile at the boy.

"Tressach? That name means 'fierce and war-like.' Are you fierce and war-like?"

The boy scowled and said nothing.

Fidelma forced her smile to broaden.

"Ah," she said, with a little sarcasm, "perhaps I misheard the name. Was it Tressach or Tassach? Tassach means idle, lazy, one who can't be bothered to speak. Tassach sounds more like you, doesn't it?"

The boy flushed indignantly.

"My name is Tressach!" he grunted. "I'm fierce and war-like. See, I already have my warrior's sword."

He drew the carved toy sword from his belt and held it up for her inspection.

"That is a fearsome weapon, indeed," Fidelma replied, attempting to sound solemn though her eyes were dancing with merriment. "And if you are, indeed, a warrior then you will know that warriors have to obey a code of honor. Do you know that?"

The boy stared at her in uncertainty, replacing the sword in his belt.

"What code?" he demanded suspiciously.

"You are a warrior, aren't you?" pressed Fidelma.

The boy nodded emphatically.

"Then a warrior is sworn to tell the truth. He has to be helpful. Now if I ask you about the boys named Cetach and Cosrach, you must tell me what you know. It is the code of honor. You were obviously named Tressach because you are a warrior and bound by that code."

The boy sat still seeming to ponder this and at last he smiled at Fidelma.

"I will tell."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did you know Cetach and Cosrach well?"

Tressach grimaced.

"They wouldn't play with any of us."

"Any of you?" queried Fidelma, frowning.

"Any of the children in the village," supplied Ciar. "Boys!"

Tressach turned on her angrily but Fidelma interrupted.

"Didn't they come from the village?"

Tressach shook his head.

"They only came to our village a few weeks ago to live with Sister Eisten."

"Were they orphans?" demanded Fidelma eagerly.

The boy looked blankly at her.

"Did they have a mother or father?" pressed Fidelma.

"I think they had a father," the little girl named Cera chimed in.

"Why so, darling?" prompted Fidelma.

"She means that old, old man who used to come to the village to see them," supplied the boy.

"An old man?"

"Yes. The old man who brought those mean boys to Sister Eisten's house in the first place."

Fidelma leant forward eagerly.

"When was this, darling?"

"Oh, weeks ago."

"What did he look like?"

"He had a cross, like the one you're wearing, around his neck." Cera gave a look of triumph toward Tressach.

The boy grimaced in annoyance at her.

"Who was he?" Fidelma did not really expect the children to answer the question.

"He was a great scholar from Ros Ailithir," announced Tressach with an air of complacence.

Fidelma was astonished.

"How do you know this?" she asked.

" 'Cos Cosrach told me when I asked. Then his brother came up and told me to shut up and go away and if I told anyone about his aite he would hit me."

"His aite! He used that word?"

"I'm not making it up!" sniffed the boy petulantly.

Fidelma knew that the term of endearment, aite, was an intimate form of address for a father. But because, for centuries, young children in the five kingdoms of Eireann had been sent away for fosterage, to gain their education, the intimate words for "father" and "mother" were often

transferred to the foster-parents, so that the foster-mother would be addressed as "muimme" and the father as "aite."

"No, of course you are not making it up," Fidelma reassured him, many thoughts racing through her mind. "I believe you. And how would you describe this man?"

"He was nice looking," supplied Ciar. "He would not have hit us. He was always smiling at everyone."

"He looked like an old wizard!" declaimed Tressach, not to be outdone.

"He was not! He was a jolly old man," chimed in Cera, evidently fed up with being left out of the conversation for more than her fair share of time. "He used to tell us about the herbs and flowers and what they were good for."

"And this jolly old man came to visit Cetach and Cosrach often?"

"A few times. He visited Sister Eisten," Ciar corrected. "And it was me he told about herbs," she added. "He told me about, about…"

"He told everybody," replied Tressach scornfully. "And those boys were living at Sister Eisten's house, so visiting them was the same thing as visiting Sister Eisten! There!"

He stuck out his tongue at the little girl.

"Boys!" sneered Ciar. "Anyway, sometimes he brought another sister with him. But she was strange. She was not really like a sister!"

"Girls are so stupid!" grunted the young boy. "She was dressed like a sister."

Sister Afbnat caught Fidelma's eye. She obviously felt that the questioning had continued long enough.

Fidelma held up a hand to prevent the argument developing.

"All right now. Just one more thing… are you sure the man came from Ros Ailithir?"

Tressach nodded vehemently.

"That's what Cosrach told me when his brother threatened to punch me."

"And this sister who accompanied him? Can you describe her? What was she like?"

The boy shrugged disinterestedly.

"Just like a sister."

The children seemed to lose interest now and scampered away in the direction of the sister who was playing the reed pipe.

Fidelma, deep in thought, accompanied Aibnat back to where Molua had laid the table for their meal. Aibnat seemed totally bewildered by the conversation but did not question Fidelma further on the matter. Fidelma welcomed the silence as she turned the facts over in her mind. As they entered, Cass looked up and examined Fidelma's perplexed expression.

"Did you get the information you want?" he asked brightly.

Fidelma laughed dryly.

"I do not know what information I wanted," she responded. "But I have gathered another stone to build my cairn of knowledge. Yet one which does not make sense at the moment. No sense at all."

The meal which Aibnat and Molua provided was comparable to the feasts that Fidelma had enjoyed in many a feasting hall of kings. She had to force herself to eat sparingly for she realized that it was a ten-mile ride back to Ros Ailithir and riding on a full stomach was not good for the body. Cass, on the other hand, gave himself unchecked to the meal and accepted more of the heady cuirm spirit.

Aibnat quietly attended to their wants while her husband excused himself and disappeared to look after some mysterious errand.

When Molua brought out their horses, they found that the big farmer had watered, fed and groomed the animals.

Fidelma thanked both Aibnat and Molua profusely for their hospitality and swung into the saddle.

Fidelma gave their erstwhile hosts a blessing and they began to turn their path back towards Ros Ailithir.

"What did you learn, Fidelma?" demanded Cass, once they were out of earshot, crossing the river's ford and ascending across the wooded hills which crowned the large headland.

"I found out, Cass, that Cetach and Cosrach were taken to Rae na Serine just a few weeks ago to live with Sister Eisten. They are…" she paused to correct herself, "They were the sons of Ulan."

"But the brother at Sceilig Mhichil said that Illan's sons had copper-colored hair, like the little girls."

"Anyone can dye hair," observed Fidelma. "Moreover, they were several times visited by someone from Ros Ailithir. Cosrach boasted to the boy Tressach that the man was a scholar. That someone Cetach and Cosrach called aite."

Cass looked amazed.

"But if this person was their father then they were not the sons of Ulan. Ulan was killed a year ago."

"Aite can also mean foster-father," Fidelma pointed out.

"Perhaps," Cass said reluctantly. "But what does it mean and how does it fit the puzzle of this murder?"

"It would be no puzzle if I knew," Fidelma reproved. "The man was sometimes accompanied by one of the sisters. There is a path here which leads to Intat! And we know that Intat is Salbach's man. There is a circle here if only we could find a way of entering it."

She lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

They had gone over a mile, perhaps not more than two miles, when, topping a rise, Cass glanced over his shoulder and exclaimed in surprise.

"What is it?" cried Fidelma, swinging round in her saddle to follow his gaze.

Cass did not have to reply.

A tall, black column of smoke was rising into the pale-blue, cold autumnal sky behind them.

"That's coming from the direction of Molua's place, surely?" Fidelma said, her heart beginning to beat fast.

Cass stood in his stirrups and seized the overhanging branch of a tree, hauling himself up into the topmost branches with an agility which surprised Fidelma.

"What do you see?" she cried, peering up into the dangerously swaying branches.

"It is Molua's place. It must be on fire."

Cass scrambled down the tree and jumped to the ground, a pile of early fallen leaves breaking his drop. He brushed himself down and grabbed the reins of his horse.

"I don't understand it. It's a big fire."

Fidelma bit her lip, almost causing blood to flow as a terrible idea grew in her mind.

"We must go back!" she shouted, turning her horse.

"But we must be careful," warned Cass. "Let the incident at Rae na Serine serve us as a warning."

"That is precisely what I fear!" cried Fidelma, and she was already racing her horse back towards the column of smoke. Cass had to urge his horse to its utmost stride to keep place with her. Although he knew that Fidelma was of the Eóganacht and brother to Colgu, who was now his king, Cass was always surprised that a religieuse could ride so well as Fidelma did. It seemed that she had been born in the saddle; that she was at one with her horse. She nursed it with dexterity as it thundered along the trail they had only recently traversed.

It was not long before they came over the brow of the hill and saw the great muddy estuary spread before them.

"Halt!" yelled Cass, pulling rein. "Behind those trees, quickly!"

He was thankful that for once Fidelma did not question him but obeyed his orders immediately.

They drew up behind the cover of a copse of amber-yellow leafed aspens with a surrounding dense thicket.

"What did you see?" Fidelma commanded.

Cass simply pointed down the hill.

She narrowed her eyes and saw a band of armed horsemen breaking through the fragile fences which surrounded the small community of Molua and Aibnat. A squat man sat on his horse before the burning buildings as if surveying the handiwork of his men. There were a dozen of them. They completed their grim business and then went riding away through the trees on the far side of the river. The squat rider, who was obviously their leader, turned with a final glance at the burning buildings and galloped after them.

Fidelma suddenly gave vent to a cry of impotent rage. She had heard Salbach say, as he rode away from the cabin in the forest, "I know where they might be… I'll give you my instructions for Intat." She had heard and not understood. She should have realized. She could have prevented… At the back of her raging mind a voice told her it was the second major mistake she had made.

"We must get down there!" cried Fidelma in fury. "They may be hurt."

"Wait a moment," snapped Cass. "Wait for the assassins to leave."

His face was gray, his jaw was tight set, the muscles clenched. He already knew what they were bound to find in the inferno that was the once the prosperous farm settlement.

However, Fidelma was already urging her horse from the cover and racing down the hill.

Cass gave a cry after her but, realizing that she would not obey, even though there might be danger from the attackers, he drew his sword and urged his horse after her.

She galloped down the hill, splashing through the ford at speed and tore to a halt in front of the buildings.

She flung herself from the saddle and, raising an arm, to protect herself from the fierceness of the heat, she ran forward towards the burning buildings.

The first bodies that she saw, sprawled by the entrance, were those of Aibnat and Molua. An arrow had transfixed Afbnat's breast while Molua's head was almost severed by a sweeping sword cut. They were quite obviously beyond help.

She saw the first child's body nearby and a cry stifled in her throat. She was aware that Cass had ridden up and dismounted behind her. He still had his drawn sword in hand and he stared about him impassively but with horror mirrored in his eyes.

One of the two sisters who had been helping Sister Aibnat to take care of the children was slumped against the chapel door. Fidelma realized in revulsion that she was held there by a spear which had been run through her body to transfix her to the wooden door. Half a dozen little bodies were clustered at her feet, some of the children's hands still clinging to her skirts. Each one of the children had been stabbed or had their tiny skulls shattered by blows.

Fidelma held an overwhelming urge to be sick. She turned aside and could not quell the bile that rose to her throat.

"I… I am sorry," she mumbled as she felt Cass's comforting arm on her shoulders.

He said nothing. There was nothing one could say.

Fidelma had seen violent death many times in her life but she had seen nothing so heartrending, so poignant as these dead little bodies who, a few moments ago, she had seen happy and laughing, singing and playing together.

She attempted to quell her loathing, pull herself together and move on.

There was the body of the other sister of the Faith who had been playing the pipes, lying still under the same tree where Fidelma had seen her, the pipes now broken in two and lying near her outstretched and lifeless hand, obviously crushed by the foot of some maniacal assassin. There were more bodies of children near her.

The buildings were burning fiercely now.

"Cass." Fidelma had to force the words, through the tears and heartache she felt. "Cass, we must count the bodies. I want to know if the children from Rae na Serine are among them… whether everyone is accounted for."

Cass signalled his acknowledgment.

"The little boy certainly is," he said quietly. "He lies just over there. I'll look for the girls."

Fidelma went forward to where Cass had indicated and found the twisted body of Tressach. His head had been cleaved with one blow. Yet he lay as if asleep, a hand carelessly flung out before him with the other still held tightly to his wooden sword.

"Poor little warrior," muttered Fidelma, kneeling down and letting her slim hand stroke the fair hair of the child.

Cass appeared after a while. His face was even more grim than ever.

Fidelma raised her eyes to his.

His expression was enough.

"Where are they?"

The warrior jerked his thumb behind him.

Fidelma rose and went round the corner of the chapel. The two little copper-haired girls, Cera and Ciar, were clasped in one another's arms, as if trying to protect each other from the cruel fate which crushed both their skulls without any compassion.

White-faced, Fidelma stood and stared at the once idyllic farmstead which Aibnat and Molua had given over to the purposes of an orphanage.

Tears gathered in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

"Twenty children, three women religieuses, including Sister Aibnat, and Brother Molua," reported Cass. "All dead. This is senseless!"

"Evil," agreed Fidelma vehemently. "But we will find some twisted sense behind it."

"We should get back to Ros Ailithir, Fidelma." Cass was clearly worried. "We dare not tarry in case that barbaric horde returns."

Fidelma knew that he was right but she could not resist carrying the body of little Tressach over to the side of the chapel so that he could be with the two little girls from Rae na Serine. There she said a prayer over them and then she turned and said a prayer for all who had met their deaths at Molua's farm.

At the gate she paused and gazed down at Molua's body.

"Was there a just cause in the minds of the people who perpetrated this infamy?" she whispered. "Poor Molua. We will never discuss philosophy now. Were you just animals to be driven out from the land under some terrible plough-share working for some mysterious greater good?"

"Fidelma!" Cass's voice was fearful but his fear was for her safety alone. "We should leave now!"

She clambered back on her horse while he mounted his and they cantered away from that place of death.

"I cannot believe that there are such barbarous people in this land," Cass said as they paused on the top of the hill and gazed back to the burning settlement.

"Barbarous!" Fidelma's voice was a whiplash. "I tell you, Cass, that this is evil. There is a terrible evil at work here and I swear by those tiny, mangled remains down there that I shall not rest until I have rooted it out."

Cass shivered at the vehemence in her voice.

Chapter Seventeen

"Where to now, sister?" Cass demanded as Fidelma, instead of turning her horse along the track that led to the abbey of Ros Ailithir, continued westward.

"Back to Salbach's fortress," Fidelma replied, tight-mouthed. "We shall confront him with this atrocity."

Cass looked troubled.

"This might be a dangerous course, sister. You say that Intat is Salbach's man. If so, then Salbach himself has ordered this crime."

"Salbach is still chieftain of the Corco Loigde. He would not dare harm a dalaigh of the courts and sister of his king!"

Cass did not respond. He did not point out to the angry young woman that if Salbach had sanctioned Intat's violence then that same violence proved that he had forgotten his honor and oath of chieftainship. If he was involved, and could condone the slaughter of innocent children and religious, he would not hesitate to harm anyone else who threatened him. Only after they had continued for a while along the path to Cuan Dòir did Cass venture to suggest: "Wouldn't it be better to wait until your brother, Colgu, arrives with his bodyguard and then question Salbach from a position of strength?"

Fidelma did not bother to grace the question with an answer. At that moment, her mind was too filled with anger and a determination to track down Intat. If Salbach stood behind Intat, then he, too, must fall. She allowed anger to blind her to logic and in her anger she was not prepared to pause and reflect.

Cuan Dóir seemed as peaceful as ever as they rode directly up to the entrance of Salbach's fortress. It seemed impossible that a short ride away an entire farmstead and over twenty people, adults and children, had just been massacred.

The same disinterested warrior, still standing nonchalantly leaning against the gatepost, was keeping guard. Once more he denied that Salbach was in the fortress but this time he gave a knowing wink at Fidelma.

"He is probably out hunting in the woods again, sister."

Fidelma restrained her bubbling anger.

"Know me, warrior, for a daláigh of the courts," she said tightly. "Know me also for the sister of Colgu, king of Cashel."

The warrior stirred uneasily and shifted his stance into one of respectful attention.

"That information does not change my answer, sister," he replied defensively. "You may dismount and explore the halls of Cuan Dóir yourself but you will not find Salbach. He was here for a while earlier but rode back towards the forest of Dor again."

"When was this?" demanded Cass.

"No more than a few minutes ago. I presume he had an assignation in the woodsman's hut. But that is all I know."

Fidelma dug her heels into the sides of her horse, signalling Cass to follow.

"Back to the woodsman's cabin?" called Cass as they cantered along the track.

"We will start there first," agreed Fidelma. "Salbach obviously went back to find Grella."

They cantered swiftly along the path, northwards to the woods, crossing the river at the ford and turning along the bank towards the small cabin in the forest clearing. It did not take them long. Fidelma, this time, made no pretence of hiding herself. She rode straight towards the cabin and halted in front of it.

"Salbach of the Corco Loigde! Are you in there?" she cried, without dismounting. She did not think that there would be an answer for there was no sign of Salbach's horse.

A silence greeted them.

Cass swung off his horse and taking out his sword moved cautiously to the cabin. He pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

After a moment he returned, sword in hand.

"There is no sign of anyone," Cass reported in annoyance. "What now?"

"Let us look around the cabin," Fidelma replied. "There might be something which may suggest where else we can look for Salbach."

Fidelma dismounted. They hitched their horses to the rail and went into the cabin.

It was deserted as Cass had said. It was left exactly as it had been when they had taken Grella from it.

"I doubt that Salbach will be far away," muttered Fidelma. "If he has reasoned out that we have taken Grella, and he cares that much about her, he may have gone to the abbey to demand her release."

Cass was about to reply when they heard the clatter of horses' hooves resounding outside the cabin. Cass started for the door but before he could reach it it had burst open.

A large, red-faced individual, clad in a steel helmet and woollen cloak edged in fur, wearing a gold chain of office and with his sword drawn, stood in the doorway; behind him were half a dozen warriors. His tiny eyes blazed triumphantly as they fell on Cass and Fidelma.

His image had long been burnt into Fidelma's memory. It was Intat.

"Well now," he chuckled delightedly, "if we do not have the mischief-makers. And where is Salbach?"

"Not here, as you can see," replied Cass evenly.

"Not here?" Intat looked round as if to confirm his statement. "I told him…" he began and then clamped his jaw shut, standing glowering at them from the threshold of the cabin.

"So there is no one here but the two of you?"

Fidelma stood quietly, regarding the man with narrowed eyes.

"As you can see, Intat. Put up your sword. I am a dálaigh of the courts and sister to Colgu, your king. Put up your weapons and come with us to Ros Ailithir."

The red-faced man's eyes widened as if in astonishment. He half turned his head to the men standing behind him outside the cabin.

"Hear this woman?" He laughed sourly. "She tells us to lay down our arms. Have a care, men, for this slip of a girl is a mighty dálaigh of the law as well as a woman of the Faith. Her words will wound and destroy us unless we have a heed."

His men guffawed at the crude wit of their leader.

Intat turned back to Fidelma and gave a humorous grimace which made his face ugly.

"You have disarmed us, lady. We are your prisoners."

He made no effort to lower his sword.

"Do you think that you are not accountable for your deeds, Intat?" she asked quietly.

"I am only accountable to my chieftain," sneered Intat.

"There is a greater authority than your chieftain," snapped Cass.

"None that I recognize," returned Intat, turning to him. "Put down your own weapon, warrior, and you shall not be harmed. That I promise."

"I have seen how you treat those who are defenseless," replied Cass with a sneer. "The people of Rae na Serine and the little children at Molua's farmstead had no weapons. I have no illusions about the value of your promises."

Intat gave another loud chuckle, as if amused by the warrior's defiance.

"Then it seems that you have written your own destiny, whelp of Cashel. You had best consult with the good sister and reflect on your fate. Be killed now or surrender and live a while longer. I will let you discuss the matter for a moment or two."

The red-faced man drew back to his grinning cronies crowding in the doorway.

Cass also moved back a few paces, farther into the cabin, still in the ready position, sword held before him.

"Move back behind me, sister," he instructed quietly, speaking almost out of the side of his mouth in a tone so low that she could hardly hear him. He kept his eyes, gimlet-like, on Intat and his warriors.

"There is no way out," she whispered in reply. "Do we surrender?"

"You saw what this man is capable of. Better to die defending ourselves than be slaughtered like sheep."

"But there are several warriors. I should have listened to you, Cass. We have no means of escaping."

"One has but not two," Cass quietly replied. "Behind me and to the left there is a stair to a loft. There is a window up there. I noticed it a moment or so ago. While I engage them, run for the stairs and get out of the window. Once outside, seize a horse and attempt to reach the sanctuary of the abbey. Intat cannot attack there."

"I can't leave you, Cass," Fidelma protested.

"Someone has to try to make it to Ros Ailithir," Cass replied calmly. "The High King is already there and you can bring his troops. If you do not do so, then we shall have both perished in vain. I can hold them off for a while. This is our only chance."

"Hey!"

Intat took a pace forward, his red face grinning with a smile that caused Fidelma to shiver.

"You have spoken enough. Now do you surrender?"

"No, we do not," replied Cass. Then he suddenly yelled: "Go!"

The latter word was meant for Fidelma. She turned and leapt for the stairs. Most days she spent time practicing the troid-sciathagid, the ancient form of unarmed combat, and this physical discipline had made her body supple and well-muscled beneath the seemingly soft exterior. She reached the top of the stairs with easy strides and launched herself, without pausing, for the window, grasping its ledge and hauling herself upwards in a frenzied motion.

Below her, in the cabin, she could hear metal clashing against metal and the terrible animal cry of men intent on killing each other.

Something struck the wall nearby. She realized it was an arrow. Another shaft grazed her forearm as she hauled herself over the bottom ledge of the window.

She paused a second, fighting an impulse to peer back. Then she hung her full length from the window ledge and dropped onto the soft, muddy ground behind the cabin. She landed almost as agilely as a cat, crouching on all fours. She was up and running in a split second; around the cabin to the front of it where the horses had been left. As well as the horses belonging to her and Cass, there were three other horses belonging to Intat and his men who were crowding in through the door of the cabin from where she could hear the sounds of combat.

She increased her pace for the nearest horse.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of Intat's men disengage himself from the mélée at the door of the cabin and turn in her direction. He saw her and gave a cry of rage. Another man turned as well. Instead of a sword, like his companion, he was armed with a bow and already he was trying to fix an arrow to it. The first man came on towards her with hesitation, his sword raised.

Fidelma realized that she could not reach the horse before her attacker, so she halted, spun around to face his charge, quickly positioning her feet into a firm position.

The last time Fidelma had practiced the troid-sciathagid in earnest had been against a giant of a woman in a Roman brothel. She hoped that she had not lost her skill. She let the man run in upon her, ducking and grabbing at his belt, using his forward momentum to pull the surprised ruffian over her shoulder.

With a cry of astonishment, the man went flailing head first and crashed into a nearby wooden barrel, splitting it with the impact of his head so that the water gushed into a spurt.

Fidelma rose quickly to her feet, ducking as she heard the twang of a bow string and felt the breath of an arrow in its flight past her cheek. Then she was hauling herself up into the saddle and thumping her heels against the horse's belly. With a startled whinny, the beast sprang forward across the clearing and into the woods.

She was aware of renewed cries behind her and she knew that at least one of Intat's men had mounted up and was in pursuit of her. Whether others had joined in, she did not know. She had only identified Intat and three men at the cabin. She did not think that the one she had thrown into the barrel would have been in condition to give chase for a while. And surely Cass was dealing with Intat in person. She had to keep in advance of her pursuer. It would not take her long to reach the abbey.

She took the road for Ros Ailithir through the woodland, praying that the High King would not delay giving the order to his men to accompany her back to the rescue of Cass. She also hoped that her escape would draw Intat away from Cass and give Cass an opportunity to make his own escape as Cass had given her that opportunity.

Now she began to bitterly regret her impetuosity born of rage. She should have taken notice of Cass's advice.

Head low along the neck of her horse, she found herself uttering sharp cries which would have brought a blush to her superior, the Abbess of Kildare, had that pious woman heard her young charge conjuring a rich variety of curses to urge her steed to further efforts.

She glanced back across her shoulder.

There were a couple of riders strung out behind her. She could see the leading pursuer was none other than Intat himself. Her heart went cold. She tried not to think what that signified. There was no question that Intat rode a stronger horse than Fidelma for he was gaining on her with ease.

In desperation, Fidelma turned her horse from the main track, hoping that it might make up across country what it was obviously losing to its pursuers on the straight track. It was a mistake for, not knowing the crisscross forest paths, she found she was unable to keep up even the speed that she had maintained on the straight track. Intat was gaining. She could hear the pounding hooves of his horse and the deep rasping of its breath.

Suddenly a river barred her progress. It was the same river that ran by the cabin which had twisted round in its course. She had no choice but to plunge straight into it, hoping it was as shallow as it had been by the cabin; hoping that it was shallow enough to ford. It wasn't. She was halfway across when her horse stumbled, lost the bottom and plunged in panic underneath the water. Fidelma tried to cling on but found herself swept off while the animal went careering forward, found the bottom again and stumbled out of the water.

Desperately, Fidelma struck out but Intat was already urging his horse into the water.

He gave a loud shout of triumph.

She turned, saw him coming and struck out again in reckless desperation to reach the far bank. In her heart she realized it was impossible to escape. She splashed through the shallows, stumbled and slipped on the mud bank.

Intat's mount was pawing the air almost above her. The thick-set warrior leapt from the saddle and stood in the shallows above her, both hands clasping the hilt of his sword.

"So, dálaigh, you have created enough trouble for me. This is where it ends."

He raised the sword.

Fidelma flinched, put her arm up in an automatic defensive response and closed her eyes.

She heard Intat grunt sharply and when nothing happened she opened her eyes.

Intat was staring, his eyes unfocused. He was still standing swaying above her. Then slowly he began to sink down. It was then she saw two arrow shafts sticking from his chest. The sword slipped from his hands and he pitched forward on his face into the river before her.

With a cry, more to release her pent-up emotion than as a call for help, she scrambled swiftly up the muddy bank.

She became aware of horses milling around her and swung to face the new threat.

"Fidelma!" cried a familiar voice.

She stared in disbelief as her brother swung down from his mount and came running towards her, arms outstretched.

"Colgu!"

He hugged her violently and then held her at arms' length, concern in his eyes and, observing that she was not harmed, he grinned wryly.

"Where is the sister who said she could take care of herself?"

She blinked back the tears of relief. Across the river some of Colgu's bodyguard had rounded up Intat's other henchman.

"You have arrived not a moment too soon," she breathed jerkily. "How was this done?"

Colgu grimaced and gestured towards a nearby band of about thirty mounted men, riding under his banner.

"We are on our way to Ros Ailithir to the assembly called by the High King. My scouts saw you being pursued and we came to intercept you. But where is Cass?" He frowned in annoyance. "I gave him the charge of protecting you."

Fidelma was anguished.

"Cass is back at the cabin in the forest there. He tried to keep our attackers at bay while I escaped to get help from Ros Ailithir. We must get back there immediately. He was fighting with Intat." She indicated the man's body, now floating in the shallows of the river. "We must be quick, for he may be injured."

Colgu's face was serious.

"Very well. On the way you will have to tell me what is happening. Who is… was this man Intat?"

One of Colgu's men had gone forward to drag Intat's body out of the river and was now bending over it.

"The man still lives, my lord," the warrior called. "But I doubt for long."

Fidelma turned and scrambled down on the mud bank to where the warrior was holding the head and shoulders of Intat above the water. She crouched down beside him and took his head in both her hands.

"Intat!" she called loudly. "Intat!"

The man's eyes flickered open but there was no focusing in his dark eyes.

"You are dying, Intat. Do you wish to die in sin?"

He did not answer.

"Who told you to slaughter the children?"

There was no reply.

"Was it Salbach? Did he tell you?"

She saw his lips beginning to move and she bent forward to hear the wheezy sound of his breath.

"I… I'll meet—meet you in… helll"

The body suddenly gave a spasmodic jerk and was still. Colgu's man shrugged and glanced at Fidelma.

"Dead," he said laconically.

Fidelma rose and her brother reached forward a hand to haul her back up the river bank.

"What made you ask about Salbach?" he said with sharp curiosity. "What is going on?"

"Intat was one of Salbach's chieftains."

"Was Salbach responsible for this?"

Fidelma pointed to where Intat's companion was being held.

"Have your men question him. I am sure that he may incriminate Salbach in this affair. But let us hasten back now to find Cass."

Colgu signalled one of his men for a dry cloak and placed it around Fidelma's shoulders. She was shivering with the cold and damp and not a little with the shock of what had happened to her. Colgu helped her back on her horse, giving orders to his men. Then, when they were all mounted, Colgu and his bodyguard turned to cross the ford of the river, with their prisoner. They joined the track into the forest north of Cuan Dóir. On the way, Fidelma explained as much as she could to her brother. Particularly, she spoke of the slaughter of the innocents by Intat at, so she now fully believed, Salbach's instigation.

"How does this fit in with Dacán's murder?" demanded Fidelma's brother.

"I have not worked out every detail but, believe me, there is a connection. And I will argue that connection at the High King's assembly."

"You know that the assembly will be any day now? In fact, as soon as we arrive at Ros Ailithir. I am told that the High King is already there and Fianamail of Laigin's ships have been sighted off the coast."

"Brocc has already warned me," Fidelma acknowledged.

Colgu looked far from happy.

"If you are claiming that Salbach is involved and responsible for Dacán's killing then we might as well acknowledge that Laigin has a just claim to demand an honor price from this kingdom. Salbach is a chieftain of Muman, answerable to Cashel."

"I am claiming nothing, as yet, brother," Fidelma replied sharply. "And it is the truth I seek, whatever that truth is."

They halted before the now quiet cabin in the forest. The unconscious form of Intat's other henchman still lay sprawled among the fragments of the heavy barrel where Fidelma had thrown him. He was only just beginning to groan and stir into consciousness.

Her heart lurched when she saw Cass's horse still tethered and standing patiently outside the cabin.

Two of Colgu's bodyguard immediately dismounted and, with drawn swords, pushed into the interior of the cabin.

One of them returned to the doorway after a moment with a steely expression on his face.

Fidelma knew just what the interpretation of that expression was.

She slipped from her saddle and hurried inside.

Cass lay on his back. There was one arrow embedded in his heart and another in his neck. His attackers had not even allowed him the honor of a warrior's defense. All he had was his sword but they had shot him down from the doorway. Now he lay with his eyes opened, staring unseeingly upwards.

Fidelma bent down, her face cold and set, and closed the sightless eyes of his once-handsome face.

"He was a good man," Colgu said softly as he came up behind her and gazed down.

Fidelma's shoulders heaved imperceptibly.

"Good men are so often destroyed by evil," she muttered. "I wish he had been alive to see this matter resolved."

She stood up, both fists clenched tight in her anguish. She turned a sorrowful face to her brother, unable to prevent the tears. An inner voice told her that she had committed her third mistake. Her own vanity had led Cass to his death. She had made three mistakes and now she was allowed no more.

"He died defending me, Colgu," she said quietly.

Her brother inclined his head.

"I think he would have wanted it that way, little sister. So long as his efforts were not wasted, his soul will be satisfied. His death will not cancel your investigation?" he added anxiously, as the thought occurred to him.

Fidelma's lips compressed for a moment.

"No," she said firmly, after a moment. "Death cancels many things but never the triumph of truth. His soul will soon rest easy for I believe that I am near to reaching that truth which has evaded me for so long."

Chapter Eighteen

Fidelma perched on the top of the bastion, by the walkway which ran around the exterior wall of the abbey, and gazed thoughtfully down into the inlet before Ros Ailithir. The quiet bay had suddenly become a forest of masts and spars rising from countless ships. Warships and coastal barca had congregated in the sheltered harbor, like a shoal of fish in a spawning ground, bearing dignitaries from the High King's own royal domains of Meath as well as from Laigin itself. The annalists, who would record the proceedings, had also arrived with the Chief Brehon. There was the ornate vessel which had brought Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, Chief Apostle of the Faith in the five kingdoms, and his advisors.

Only the representatives of Muman had arrived overland by horse. And it had been a lucky thing for Fidelma that they had. In her life Fidelma had seen and been associated with many violent deaths. Indeed, death seemed a constant companion to her in her profession. Then death was not too far removed from anyone living close to nature and attuned to the realities of life. It was as natural to die as to be born and yet many still feared death. Even that fear was natural, conceded Fidelma, for children often fear to go into the dark and death was an unknown darkness. In spite of her reflections, it did not alleviate her intense sadness at the death of Cass. He had had much to live for, much to learn. She felt a terrible guilt that it had been her stubborn will that had caused his death. Had she listened to his warning not to go rushing into Salbach's lair, he might still have been alive.

She regretted having been so harsh with him in argument and deplored her sin of vanity in that she had prided herself on intellectual superiority. Yet, even now, that small voice in the deep recesses of her mind asked her whether she was sad for Cass or sad for her own mortality. She felt uncomfortable at that insistent little voice. She remembered a line from her Greek lessons, a line from Bacchylides: "The hardest of deaths to a mortal, is the death they see ahead of them."

She tried not to dwell on the sadness she felt but attempted to bring her thoughts to the immediate matter in hand, seeking comfort with an axiom of her mentor, the old Brehon Morann of Tara: "He who is remembered is not dead for to be truly dead you must be forgotten entirely."

The sun was lowering now across the distant western mountains and tomorrow, at tierce, the bell would summon those concerned to the abbey church where the High King's court would be assembled to hear the claims of Laigin concerning the death of Dacán.

"Sister Fidelma?" She raised her head and found young Sister Necht standing a little way off, regarding her with a solemn face. "I do not want to disturb you."

Fidelma indicated the wall beside her.

"Seat yourself. You are not disturbing me. What is it that I can do for you?"

"Firstly, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry to hear of the death of your companion, Cass," the novice said as she seated herself awkwardly, her voice made deeper by emotion. "He was a good man. I would have liked to have been a warrior like him."

Fidelma found herself unable to prevent a gentle smile of amusement on her lips at the concept.

"Surely a vain ambition for a young novice?"

The girl blushed furiously.

"I meant…"

"No matter," Fidelma pacified. "Forgive me an indelicate humor. It is but a self-defense for my own sadness. You said there was something else?"

The young girl hesitated then nodded.

"I came to bring you some news. Your brother's warriors have captured Salbach and brought him to Ros Ailithir."

"That is good news, indeed," confirmed Fidelma with satisfaction.

"Apparently he was found with his cousin in a secret rendezvous."

"His cousin? Do you mean with Scandlán, the king of Osraige?"

Sister Necht nodded emphatically.

"Have they brought Scandlán here as well?"

"He came of his own accord, crying out that it was an outrage that his brother should be so treated."

"Has Salbach admitted that Intat acted under his command?"

"That I do not know, sister. Abbot Brocc told me to find you and give you this news. I think that Salbach is refusing to answer any questions. But Brocc asks whether you wish to attempt to question Salbach before the hearing tomorrow."

Fidelma rose immediately.

"That I do. Where are Brocc and my brother Colgu now?"

"They are in the abbot's chambers," replied Sister Necht.

"Then I shall find my way there."

"I am looking forward to the assembly tomorrow." Necht smiled. "Good night, sister."

She turned and hurried away. For a moment or so, Fidelma stood watching her ungainly carriage as Necht made her way into the darkness of the abbey corridors. Some thoughts stirred in her mind, a confusion of ideas which she could not work out. Fidelma shrugged and turned in the direction of Brocc's chambers.

Fidelma knocked and, in reply to Brocc's summons, entered. Her brother was seated where Brocc usually sat. Colgu smiled as his sister came in. Brocc was sharing a jug of wine with him.

"Did Sister Necht find you, cousin?" asked the abbot unnecessarily.

Fidelma inclined her head in an affirmative.

"She told me that you have Salbach in a cell," she replied. "That is good."

"But we also have to put up with his cousin from Osraige crying to the heavens that no such innocence was ever so scandalously defamed." Colgu grimaced wryly. "Yet there is now no doubt of Salbach's role in the hideous crimes at Rae na Serine and the house of Molua. The two companions of Intat were quickly persuaded to place responsibility for their deeds on to others."

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in anticipation. Her brother nodded his head in confirmation to her unasked question.

"They admitted that they were paid to do what they did by Intat and they further swear that they were witnesses to Intat receiving his instructions from Salbach."

"This is so," Brocc added with satisfaction. "But they disclaim any culpability or knowledge about the murders of Dacán and Eisten. My scriptor has already written out their statements for you to read and we will hold them in the abbey ready to testify before the assembly tomorrow."

Fidelma smiled in relief and took the wax tablets which Brocc handed her, glancing though them quickly.

"We have taken a good stride along the path to a resolution. I wonder if Salbach will admit the truth if I present him with this evidence?"

"It is worth a try," Colgu agreed.

"Then I shall go and question him at once."

Colgu rose and moved to the door.

"Then I'd better come with you." He grinned at his younger sister. "You need someone to keep an eye on you."

Salbach stood defiantly in his cell as Sister Fidelma entered. He did not even bother to acknowledge Colgu, who entered with her and stood just inside the door.

"Ah, I thought you would come, Fidelma of Kildare."

His voice was cold and taunting.

"I am glad that I have fulfilled your expectation, Salbach," she replied with equal solemnity. "The High King's assembly meets tomorrow."

Fidelma took the solitary wooden chair in the cell for herself. Salbach frowned, hesitating at her assured manner, but continued to stand, feet apart, arms folded before him. He said nothing as Fidelma allowed her appraising gaze to wander over him. She felt repulsed by this man who could order the death of children without a qualm.

"Grella must be much besotted by you, Salbach, not to see beyond the mask which you wear for her," she finally said.

Salbach's expression changed momentarily to one of confusion only to be replaced as quickly by anger and dislike as he returned her scrutiny.

"Are you sure that I wear a mask for her? Are you sure that she is merely intoxicated with the idea of love or can you allow, in your heart, that she can be in love with me and I with her?"

Fidelma grimaced in distaste.

"Love? The emotion is hard to see in your heart. No, I see before me the suffering of little children. There is no room for an emotion such as love in the heart of the person who could order such suffering."

Nevertheless, Fidelma could see some perversity in the situation. Perhaps Salbach did, after all, feel an infatuation akin to love for the attractive librarian of Ros Ailithir.

"Would you hold me responsible for the deeds of Intat?" Salbach demanded sourly.

"Yes. You might as well know that if you hire men then their loyalty is not to a chieftain but to his money. Intat's own men bear witness to your leadership."

Salbach was stony-faced.

"And if I say they lie?"

"Then you must prove it before the assembly. That may be difficult. As for myself, I know that these men do not lie just as you know they tell the truth."

Salbach grinned bitterly.

"Then we will leave it to the decision of the High King's assembly. It will be my word as chieftain of the Corco Loigde. My word and my honor. And now I must keep silent. We will talk no more."

Fidelma stood up and glanced quickly at her brother. She could see that there was disappointment in his eyes.

"I expected no less, Salbach. We will meet in the court when it assembles tomorrow. But before we do, think well on the matter, for you stand condemned by the men you hired. Let me leave you to meditate the words of Socrates: 'False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil.' How infected is your soul, Salbach?"

Outside, Colgu gave vent to his disappointment.

"He does not admit anything. If he does not, what then? Even if you prove his culpability, Laigin may still hold Cashel as responsible?"

"I hope I shall have the final piece of the puzzle fitted into place by the time of the assembly," replied Fidelma. "In the meantime, I must get some rest. It will be a long day tomorrow and I have much to consider."

It was well after the completa when Fidelma started awake, still fully dressed and lying on her cot in her darkened chamber where she had fallen asleep. She came awake with one thought clear in her mind; it concerned the uncompleted task that had been nagging at her mind for some days now. She rose and quietly left the hostel.

Fidelma entered the abbey church, which was in total darkness. All the lights had been doused after the last service of the day. She chose not to light a lamp but moved cautiously through the shadows, using the soft light of the moon, casting its pallid light through the tall windows, to illuminate her way. She moved warily towards the High Altar. Making her way around it, she stared down at the shadowy slab of the tomb of the Blessed Fachtna.

She was sure that this was the key to the last piece of the mystery which had been nagging at her mind.

She had been staring at it for several minutes before she realized that something was not quite right. The slab was slightly crooked, at an angle to the back of the altar. She remembered clearly that the slab had originally been at a perfect parallel to the back of the altar.

She dropped to her knees and pushed a little.

To her surprise, the slab moved easily as if on a slide. She stopped when it started to squeak in the darkness and cautiously looked around. She could see nothing in the long shadowy interior of the church.

She moved to the altar and took one of the tall tallow candles, uttering a swift prayer for forgiveness for her presumption in removing it from God's holy table. Then she moved back to the slab, lit the candle, and placed it on the floor. On her knees again, she began to push at the slab. It moved again and then halted as if meeting an obstruction.

She paused frustrated for a moment but then realized that there must be some hidden mechanism.

She moved to the other side of the slab and began to push it back as though to close it.

That was when the mechanism was revealed to her, for she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the small statue of the cherub, which stood at the head of the slab, moving on its plinth.

With a suppressed exclamation, Fidelma moved quickly across to the figurine, seizing it and starting to twist it in the reverse direction.

It was a lever, a clever means of locomotion, for the more she twisted it the more she felt it pulling some mechanism which in turn propelled the slab sideways away from the entrance to the tomb below. A pair of steps stood revealed by the flickering light of her candle.

Taking up the light, she began carefully to descend the steps into the tomb.

They led into a crypt, dank and musty-smelling.

In all it was no more than twenty feet below the floor of the church. It was a single plain chamber, so far as the light from the candle showed her. It was about thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide. It was built almost as a small scale replica of the large church above, with a raised stone platform at one end which parodied the High Altar. Except, as Fidelma noticed, it was not an altar at all but a stone sarcophagus with a stone slab for a lid. On it were engraved words in Ogham and in the Latin script both in Irish and Latin. It told the reader that Fachtna, son of Mongaig, rested there.

She saw that there were candle-holders in the sepulchre and in curiosity she went to examine them. The grease was not cold although it was not pliable. The candles had certainly been in use and quite recently.

In one corner she suddenly realized that there was a pile of clothes. She went to examine them and also found a bundle of blankets, as if someone was sleeping in the vault. There was also a pitcher of water and a bowl of fruit. On one of the beds her eye caught a piece of vellum.

It took a moment for her to find the missing items from her marsupium: Dacán's draft letter to his brother; the burnt Ogham stick and some other items from the library which related to the family of Ulan. They were just lying as if discarded.

She smiled grimly.

At last everything was coming together; all the little items of information were beginning to fit and form a pattern. It was a pity that Cass was not here to appreciate the fulfillment of her exhortation to make sure all the fragments were gathered and stored until such time as a pattern emerged.

A noise above her made her start.

Someone was at the High Altar in the church above. They were standing by the open tomb.

She realized that her way back up into the church was now blocked off if she wished to avoid discovery. Whoever it was, they were beginning to descend the stairs into the tomb. She moved quickly towards the sarcophagus, thinking to conceal herself.

Now she could hear voices above her.

"Look at this," she heard a familiar voice say. "I thought that I had told you to close the slab when we left?"

A younger voice, she recognized it as Cetach's, answered: "I thought I had, brother. I was sure I had not left it as wide open as this."

"No matter. Go down. I shall come and let you out at the usual time. But be absolutely quiet tomorrow for the court will be meeting above you. Not a sound. Remember, you nearly gave the game away during the service last week. One cry and they will find the way down to you. If they do then we shall all rue the day."

Another child's voice began to sniffle in protest.

The voice of Cetach admonished the whining one, who was surely Cosrach.

"It will not be for long," Fidelma heard the first voice say in a more cajoling tone. "Father and I will be able to get you away from this place within the next day or so."

"Will Father be coming with us?" asked Cetach's voice.

"Yes. We will soon all be home in Osraige."

Fidelma moved behind the sarcophagus as she heard soft steps begin to descend into the vault. It was pointless confronting the sons of Ulan at this time. There were some final links to be put into place before the mystery was completely resolved.

Behind the sarcophagus she was surprised to see a dark opening and instead of dousing her candle, as she had been poised to do, she moved into the darkness. It was a passageway which twisted and turned a few times until it came to a flight of stone steps. They led sharply upwards.

Curiosity led her up until the steps ended about four feet from a rocky ceiling. She thought for a moment that she had come to a dead end but she became aware of a small aperture, two feet in width and three feet high. A faint flickering light came through it. This time she did douse her candle and she saw a pale moonlight. Carefully she leaned through the aperture.

She caught her breath in surprise as she observed what was beyond it.

She was leaning out into a circular well some ten feet below its opening to the sky. She turned her head and saw nearby, in the gloomy light, iron rungs running close by the aperture; close enough for her to reach out and swing herself up onto them. In a few minutes she was clambering over the lip of the well up into the moonlit herb garden behind the back of the abbey's church.

She sat for a moment or two on the edge of the well's circular stone wall, smiling with a genuine satisfaction.

She had all the main pieces now. It was a question of sorting them and fitting them into place.

Time enough to reveal the tangled skein at the assembly in the morning.

Chapter Nineteen

The abbey church itself had been turned into the Dal, or court, for the purpose of the High King's great assembly. The building was bursting with people, both religious and others, who spilled through the doors. The occasion was regarded as momentous; for never in the memory of the people had a High King held an assembly outside his personal territory of royal Meath. On a specially constructed dais before the High Altar sat the Chief Brehon of the five kingdoms of Éireann. He was the one person who was so influential that even the High King was not allowed to speak at the great assemblies until he had spoken. Fidelma had never seen Barrán before and she tried to gauge his personality in spite of his ceremonial robes of office which disguised his features. All she could make out were bright, unblinking eyes, a stern, thin-lipped mouth and a prominent nose. He could have been any age at all.

Next to him on the dais, at his left hand, sat his personal ollamh, a learned advocate to consult with him on matters of law, then sat a scriptor and an assistant to keep the record. On the Chief Brehon's right hand sat the High King himself—Sechnassach, lord of Meath and High King of Ireland. He was a thin man, in his mid-thirties, with scowling features and dark hair. Fidelma knew from her own experience at Tara that Sechnassach was not the stern, authoritarian ruler that he appeared to be. He was a thoughtful man, possessed of a dry sense of humor. She wondered whether he would recall that without her aid, in solving the mystery of the theft of the High King's ceremonial sword, Sechnassach might never have sat on the throne. Then she felt guilty for allowing such a thought to come to her mind as if some personal bias would influence the High King in her favor.

Next to the High King sat Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, Chief Apostle of the Faith of the five kingdoms. He was a dour, elderly man, with white, untidy hair. Fidelma knew that Ultan had the reputation of being supportive to the Roman faction and had often favored the idea that the ecclesiastical laws should displace the civil laws of the five kingdoms.

Directly in front of this impressive gathering of judges was a small lectern which had been set up in the manner of the cos-na-dála, the tribune from which each dálaigh, or advocate, would plead their case.

On the right-hand side of the High Altar, in the transept, the benches were occupied by the representatives of Laigin with their fiery young king, Fianamail, and his advisors. Fidelma had already picked out the grim, gray-visaged Abbot Noé of Fearna. And she saw that in front, seated next to his king, was the thin, cadaverous Forbassach, who would be presenting the claims of Laigin.

Fidelma's brother Colgu and his advisors filled the benches in the transept on the left-hand side of the High Altar. Fidelma, as their dálaigh, sat alongside her brother, awaiting her turn to be called before the cos-na-dala to state the case for the kingdom of Cashel.

The rest of the church, along the broad nave, was packed with spectators of every degree and station, filling it with a stuffy, airless atmosphere in spite of the grandeur and sweep of the tall building. Fidelma had noticed several warriors bearing the insignia of the High King; these were his fianna or bodyguard. They were stationed at strategic points around the church and were the only armed warriors allowed at the assembly. The warriors of Colgu and Fianamail were confined to quarters outside the abbey walls.

The proceedings opened abruptly with Barrán, the Chief Brehon, rapping on the wooden table before him with his staff of office and calling for silence.

The hubbub of the assembly slowly died away and an expectant quiet emerged.

"Be it known that there are three ways to destroy wisdom in a court of law," intoned the Chief Brehon with the words of the ritual opening. His voice was deep and rich in tone, resounding through the church. His light-colored eyes glinted as he glared around. "The first way is a judge without knowledge, the second way is a pleading without understanding and the third way is a talkative court."

Archbishop Ultan then rose slowly and asked a blessing on the court and its proceedings in his thin, reedlike monotone.

After Ultan had reseated himself, the Chief Brehon called on the advocates of either side to stand and identify themselves. Once they had done so he reminded them of the procedures of the court and of the sixteen signs of bad advocacy. For any one of the sixteen prohibitive aspects, an advocate could be fined one sèd, a gold coin which was the value of one milch cow. The fine, Barràn reminded them, would be imposed if the advocates abused each other, incited those attending the court to violence, indulged in self-praise, spoke too harshly, refused to obey the orders of the court or shifted the grounds of their pleas without reason. Having accepted that they understood, Barràn indicated that the hearing could begin.

"Remember that there are three doors through which the truth may be recognized in this court: a patient counter-pleading; a firm case; and reliance on witnesses," Barrán gave the ritual warning to the advocates.

Forbassach moved forward to the cos-na-dala, for as Laigin was demanding compensation for a death, it was his right to present the arguments first. He did so simply and without theatrics, merely stating that the Venerable Dacán, a man of Laigin, had been given hospitality by the king of Muman, in that he had been allowed into the kingdom to both study and teach at the abbey of Ros Ailithir. It was the abbot's immediate responsibility to provide for the safety of those he took into his house.

Nonetheless, Dacán had been murdered in a most horrible fashion at Ros Ailithir. No murderer had been found and so the responsibility lay with the abbot and ultimately with the king of Muman. The king was responsible for the safety of Dacán firstly because he had been welcomed into the kingdom and secondly because the abbot was a kinsman and the king was head of his family and responsible for all fines made against that family. That was the law. And that law was specific in terms of culpability. For every death the fine was seven cumals, the worth of twenty-one milch cows. That was the basic fine. But what of Dacán's honor price? He was a cousin to the king of Laigin. He was a man of the Faith, whose benevolence and scholarship were known throughout the five kingdoms of Éireann.

When, several centuries before, the High King, Edirsceál of Muman, had been assassinated, the Chief Brehon and his assembly had determined that the honor price of Edirsceál was such that they ordered that the kingdom of Osraige should be handed over to Muman. Now Laigin demanded that Osraige should be handed back to them as the honor price for Dacán.

Fidelma sat through Forbassach's plea with bowed head. There was nothing new in his statement and he had delivered it in a moderate, unemotional and clear fashion which the court could follow with ease.

With a glance of complacent satisfaction in Fidelma's direction, Forbassach returned to his seat. Fidelma saw the young king, Fianamail, leaning forward and smilingly patting his advocate on the shoulder in approval.

"Fidelma of Kildare," Barràn turned to the Muman benches, "will you now plead for Muman?"

"No," she said in a clear voice, causing a ripple of astonishment from the court. "I am here to plead for truth."

There was an angry murmuring, especially from the Laigin benches, as Fidelma rose and made her way to the tribune before the Chief Brehon. Barran was frowning in annoyance at her dramatic opening.

"I trust that you do not imply that we have heard willful lies before this court?" There was a dangerous coldness in his voice.

"No," replied Fidelma calmly. "Nor have we heard the whole truth but only so small an amount that no judgment can be safely made upon its evidence."

"What is the substance of your counter-plea?"

"It is of two elements, Barrán. Firstly, that the Venerable Dacán was not honest about his activities when he came to Muman. That lack of honesty exonerates both the king and the abbot from their responsibilities under the law of hospitality."

There was a gasp of indignation from the Laigin benches and she could see, from the corner of her eye, that the Abbot Noé was leaning forward in his seat, white-faced in scarcely controlled anger as he stared at her.

"Secondly," went on Fidelma unperturbed, "that if the identity of Dacán's murderer was revealed, and it was found that the murderer was not of the family of the king of Cashel, nor holding allegiance to him, then the advocate of Laigin would have no claim to make against Cashel. That is the substance of my plea."

Forbassach had stood up.

"I challenge this plea. The first argument is an insult to a compassionate and pious scholar. It accuses a devout man, now unable to defend himself, of lying. The second argument is mere contention and not supported by evidence."

Barrán's expression was serious.

"You are experienced in the ways of the courts, Sister Fidelma. Therefore I would presume that you do not make these statements without some substantiation?"

"I do not. But I will ask your indulgence as this is a long and complicated story and I will need a little time to unravel it to the court."

She paused, her expression asking a question of the Chief Brehon. Barrán indicated that she should continue.

"When I was asked to investigate the death of Dacán by my brother, Colgu, I did not realize what a long, tortuous path I had to tread. Not only had Dacán been killed but many others had to perish before I neared the end of that path. Cass, of the king of Cashel's bodyguard, sent by my brother as my companion in this quest; Sister Eisten; many other religious of the house of Molua; and twenty innocent little children. And there were others at Rae na Serine who have not been accounted."

Forbassach was on his feet, protesting once again.

"We are here to speak of the murder of Dacán and no others," he angrily pointed out. "To raise the matter of other deaths is merely some screen by which Fidelma is attempting to obscure Laigin's case."

Barrán frowned at Laigin's advocate.

"You will reseat yourself, Forbassach, and with a warning. Did I not recite the sixteen signs of bad advocacy? Wait until the dálaigh of Cashel has made her submission and then argue your case. I must point out that she did not interrupt your plea once."

Forbassach slumped back with annoyance on his features.

"I will continue," Fidelma went on quietly. "Truly, this was a complex affair. It has its roots centuries ago in the conflict over the kingdom of Osraige. During the last centuries Laigin have argued many times that Osraige should be returned to its jurisdiction and each time, at their assemblies, the Brehons of the five kingdoms have upheld the initial decision to cede it to Muman."

"At the same time, for the last two hundred years, the people of Osraige have been ruled by kings from the Corco Loigde. This was because the Blessed Ciaran of Saighir, the son of an Osraige father and a mother from the Corco Loigde, imposed his own family as kings there after he had begun to convert the people of Osraige to the Faith. Since then the descendants of the native chieftains have lived under this injustice. Several Osraige kings from the Corco Loigde have been slain in quarrels in that troubled land."

"It is obvious that Laigin, whose admitted ambition all these years has been to have Osraige returned to it, have watched and perhaps even encouraged the unrest there."

There was a chorus of angry shouts from the benches on which Laigin's representatives sat. Many even stood up and shook their fists at Fidelma.

The Chief Brehon rapped his staff upon the table for order.

Forbassach had sprung to his feet again but Barrán turned and stared at him in such a way that he sank back without speaking.

"I must warn the representatives of Laigin that it will do their case little good to demonstrate in such a manner." He turned, his eyes glinting, to Fidelma. "And must I remind you, Sister Fidelma, that a fine of one séd is payable if an advocate incites a court to violence?"

Fidelma bowed her head.

"I am contrite, Barrán. I had not thought my words would provoke anger nor, in fact, did I think that they would be contested. What I have said is simply a matter of common knowledge."

At this point the High King leant towards his Chief Brehon and whispered something. The Chief Brehon nodded swiftly and instructed Fidelma to continue her plea.

"The struggle for the kingship of Osraige developed last year into a struggle between Scandlán, the cousin of Salbach of the Corco Loigde, and Ulan, a descendant of the line of native kings. Ulan was killed by Scandlán over a year ago."

There was a sound of disturbance, this time from the benches of Muman. A stocky, florid-faced man had risen with anger on his features. He had a mass of sandy hair and a bushy beard, standing like a bear at bay.

"I demand to speak!" he cried. "I am Scandlán, king of Osraige."

"Sit down!" The Chief Brehon's heavy bass voice quelled the whispering that was echoing through the church. "As king you surely know the rules of procedure of this assembly?"

"My name is being sullied!" protested the muscular chieftain. "Do I not have a chance to answer my accuser?"

"There is no accusation at the moment," Fidelma said. "What then is in error?"

The High King was again whispering to the Chief Brehon. Fidelma saw a smile hovering on the High King's lips.

"Very well," agreed the Chief Brehon. "There is one question that I will ask of Scandlán now. King of Osraige, did you kill Ulan?"

"Of course I did," snapped the sandy-haired man. "It is my right as king to protect myself and Ulan was in insurrection against me and…"

The Chief Brehon raised his hand for silence.

"Then it seems that Sister Fidelma has only stated the truth. She has impugned no mean motive, so far. We will hear you later if either of the learned advocates call upon you to give testimony. Until then, you will not interrupt the proceedings."

He returned his gaze to Fidelma and indicated that she might continue again.

"The death of Ulan was not the end of the contention. Ulan had offspring who were not then at the age of choice when they might take their official claims to the people. The problem was that no one seemed to know who the offspring of Ulan were, for it appeared that he had several children. They had all been sent out of Osraige into fosterage until the time when the eldest of them would be of age and able to present his claim to his people."

"There were two people who were interested in the heirs of Ulan. Scandlán was interested because he knew that sooner or later those heirs would once more contend with him for the kingship of Osraige. And Fianamail of Laigin was interested. Fianamail felt that if the heirs could be found and supported in their fight to throw out Scandlán, then Laigin might influence the future of Osraige so that it would eventually be returned to their authority."

She paused expectantly but this time there was no outcry.

"But the heirs of Ulan had vanished. The question was how to discover who they were and where they were. One way to discover the identity of these heirs, so it was thought, was to examine the genealogies of the Osraige. Now since the Corco Lofgde had ruled Osraige, it had been their scribes who had kept the detailed genealogies and histories. And where were these genealogies kept?"

Fidelma paused again and glanced around at the expectant faces in the now silent abbey church.

"They were kept here, here in Ros Ailithir."

There was a muttering as some began to see where her arguments were leading.

"Fianamail of Laigin sent his best scholar to Ros Ailithir to examine the genealogies in order to trace the heir of Ulan. That scholar was none other than Dacán, brother of Abbot Noé of Fearna, and cousin to Fianamail, the king. Now let Fianamail deny this on his sacred oath!"

"A question!" cried Forbassach. "I have the right to ask a question!"

The Chief Brehon conceded that he had.

"If the current king of Osraige was, as Muman's advocate suggests, so keen to track down Illan's heirs, why did he not send his own scholar to examine these records which are here, in his own family territory? That would have been easy for him to do."

"The simple answer is that he, or rather his family, did," Fidelma replied evenly. "But I have asked Fianamail to deny that Dacán was sent here with that task on his behalf. I deserve an answer."

Forbassach turned to exchange a hurried word with Fianamail and the grim-faced Abbot Noé. The Chief Brehon cleared his throat meaningfully and Forbassach smiled.

"Whatever research Dacán may have been conducting, it does not cancel out the fact that he was murdered, and responsibility for his death lies with the abbot and ultimately with the king of Muman."

His voice was firm but less assured than he had been in his opening argument.

"Not," replied Fidelma with emphasis, "if Dacán's purpose for being here was not what he claimed it to be."

This time it was the ollatnh of the Chief Brehon who bent forward and whispered into Barràn's ear. The Chief Brehon regarded Fidelma gravely.

"If this is the basis of your counter-plea, Sister Fidelma, then I am advised to caution you that it is a tenuous defense. Dacán stated that he wanted to research and teach at Ros Ailithir and on that condition he was granted the hospitality of the king of Cashel and the abbot of Ros Ailithir. The fact that he did not stipulate the precise nature of that research does not exclude him from legal protection. He was, after all, conducting research."

"I would have to argue this," conceded Fidelma, "but I made my opening plea with two points. We will leave the first for the time being. I think I can demonstrate later that it is a means of dismissing culpability. But we have more important matters to deal with first. Such as the identity of Dacán's killer."

There was another outburst of muttering among the assembly. Barren's eyes narrowed as he leant forward in his chair and rapped for silence.

"Are you saying that you know the identity of the murderer?" he demanded.

Fidelma smiled enigmatically.

"We will come to that in a moment. I must be allowed to explain some other matters."

Barrán gestured impatiently for her to continue.

"As I have said, Dacán came to Ros Ailithir for a single purpose. The purpose was to trace the genealogy of the Ulan. To his surprise, Dacán found that his former wife, Grella from the abbey of Cealla, was working here as librarian. He thought that he had been the recipient of good fortune for Grella was from Osraige and her relationship with Dacán had not ended in enmity. So Dacán enlisted her help to obtain the records which he required. She gave that help willingly because she was also interested in finding the heirs of Ulan. Alas, her reasons for that interest were not the same as those of her former husband."

There was another commotion from the benches behind Fidelma.

Barrán raised a tired head and called for order while his ollamh began hurriedly speaking in an undertone to him.

Fidelma turned and saw Sister Grella standing, her face distorted and filled with passion.

"Sister Grella, be seated!" ordered Barrán as his ollamh identified her.

"I will not sit and be insulted!" cried Grella hysterically, "nor unjustly accused."

"Has Sister Fidelma insulted you?" demanded the Chief Brehon wearily. "I am not aware that she has. If so, please tell me in what way has the insult been made? Were you or were you not married to Dacán of Fearna?"

"Mugrón, the captain of the Laigin warship, stands ready to give witness," warned Fidelma quickly, pointing to where the seaman sat on the Laigin benches.

"I was married to Dacán but…" conceded Grella.

"And that marriage ended in divorce?" interposed the Chief Brehon.

"Yes."

"When Dacán came to Ros Ailithir, did he know that you were librarian of the abbey?"

"No."

"But he enlisted your help for his research?"

"Yes."

"And you gave it willingly?"

"Yes."

"Did you share Dacán's motives for this research?"

Grella's face reddened and she hung her head.

"Then there is no insult," Barrán said, assuming her answer. "Be seated, Sister Grella, lest you insult this court by your animosity."

"But I know that this woman is trying to claim that I killed Dacán! She is playing like a cat with a mouse! Let her accuse me openly!"

"Are you accusing Sister Grella of the murder of Dacán?" asked the Chief Brehon of Fidelma.

Fidelma smiled wryly.

"I think that I may eventually clear this matter up, Barrán, but by questioning Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loigde."

"Whatever accusations you make, Fidelma, you must substantiate them," Barrán warned.

"That I am prepared to do."

Barrán motioned to one of the warriors of fianna, the High King's bodyguard. A few moments later Salbach was brought, his hands bound before him. He stood somewhat defiantly before the assembly.

"Salbach of the Corco Loigde," Fidelma began, "you already stand before this assembly denounced as responsible for the actions of your bo-aire, Intat. Intat was responsible for the slaughter of many innocents in your name both at Ros na Serine and at the house of Molua."

Salbach raised his chin belligerently but did not reply.

"You do not deny these charges?" demanded the Chief Brehon.

Salbach still did not speak.

Barrán sighed heavily.

"You do not have to answer the accusation but some inference will be placed on your silence by this court. If you do not answer then the allegations must be considered as true and punishment must follow."

"I am ready for your punishment," Salbach said curtly. It was apparent that Salbach had reflected on the weight of the evidence against him and saw no alternative to admitting his culpability.

"And is Sister Grella also ready to accept punishment?" Fidelma asked, hoping that she had judged Salbach's feeling for the librarian correctly. If Salbach was reconciled to his punishment, she wondered whether he was as willing to inflict it on Grella? Salbach swung round to Fidelma, his expression impassive.

"She is not guilty of any of the misdeeds attributed to me," he said quietly. "Let her go."

"Yet Sister Grella was your lover, wasn't she, Salbach?"

"I have admitted that."

"It was either your cousin, Scandlán, or you—it matters not where the idea came from—who suggested that Grella might use her position as librarian to look through the genealogical books of Osraige, which are kept at the abbey, in an attempt to find Illan's heir. Isn't that true?"

"You are bound to reply," instructed the Chief Brehon as Salbach hesitated.

"It is true."

"Then came a coincidence. Grella told you, probably during your pillow talk, that her former husband, Dacán, had arrived at Ros Ailithir for exactly the same purpose. He, too, was searching for Illan's heir. Knowing him to be the better scholar, Grella persuaded him to work closely with her so that she could then inform you how he was proceeding. Isn't that so? You wanted to know who the heir of Ulan was as much as Dacán did. But whereas Dacán was interested in finding them to use him to serve Laigin's purpose, you wanted to find him to destroy the last of the family of native kings. That would forever safeguard the dynasty of the Corco Loigde in Osraige."

There was a tense silence. No one spoke. All eyes were on Salbach. It was Sister Grella who broke the silence with a wail of fear as, for the first time, she finally realized the enormity of what had been done.

"But it is not true… I did not know that Salbach… I did not know he wanted to kill them… I am not responsible for the death of all those innocent children… I am not."

Salbach turned and snapped at her to be silent.

"When Dacán discovered the whereabouts of the heir of Ulan," Fidelma went on remorselessly, "Grella ran to tell you. It was the day before Dacán's death. He had found that the Father Superior of Sceilig Mhichil, the monastery of Michael the Archangel, was a cousin of Ulan. He had discovered that Illan's heir had been taken there for safety. He wrote of his news and announced that he was about to set out for Sceilig Mhichil. He was killed before he did so."

"How did he discover this information? Surely the records placed here would not announce the hiding place of Illan's heirs?" demanded the Chief Brehon.

"Curiously enough, they did. Dacán found Illan's will on some rods of the poets. The irony of this tale is that when Scandlán killed Ulan, he seized his fortress and goods. Illan's library was also seized. In that library was his will, which he had specifically chosen to write in Ogham on rods of the poets. The irony was that Scandlán, unable to read it, had sent it, with other books, as a gift to this abbey, the chief abbey of the Corco Loigde."

"Even so," protested Barrán, "surely any reasonable scholar could have read the Ogham of the will and ultimately deciphered the information?"

"Ulan was obviously a literary man, for the will was coded. I found a wand from the will in Dacán's chamber where he had carelessly left it. It went unnoticed by his murderer. I have only an extract from one rod. The others had been destroyed."

She turned and retrieved the small piece of burnt stick which she had taken from the sepulcher the previous night.

"Only this piece now remains. This says 'the resolve of the honorable one determines the fosterage of my children.' "

"That sounds gibberish," laughed Forbassach.

"Not if you know the code and the full text. The piece that I recall from the wand I found in Dacán's chamber stated: 'let my sweet cousin care for my sons on the rock of Michael as my honorable cousin shall dictate.' "

"Even more gibberish!" sneered Forbassach.

"Dacán did not think so. He knew that the rock of Michael was Sceilig Mhichil. It was easy to learn that the Father Superior was named Mel. The meaning of that name is 'sweet.' Mel was, therefore, Man's 'sweet' cousin!"

"You make the interpretation of the puzzle sound easy," observed the Chief Brehon.

"Then allow me to return to it later. Sufficient to know at this time that Dacán deciphered the will's puzzle and wrote a report of his finding. Sister Grella saw that report and informed Salbach. Salbach dispatched Intat immediately to 'the rock of Michael.' But Man's sons were no longer there. Indeed, Intat learnt that there were two sons of Man on that rock but they had been removed by a religieux. This religieux was a cousin of Father Mel."

"It is then that Grella entered the picture again to provide information to Salbach. Grella had become soul-friend to Sister Eisten at Rae na Serine. Eisten, by one of those apparent coincidences which are all too common in life, was the very person to whom the young sons of Man had been given for safekeeping after their removal from Sceilig Mhichil. They had been sent to her orphanage at Rae na Serine. Sister Eisten made the biggest mistake of her life. She confessed the intrigue to her soul-friend, Sister Grella."

"Grella triumphantly informed Salbach. He thought he would lay a trap by inviting Eisten and her orphans to his fortress. Once he was able to identify her charges… well, Eisten accompanied Grella but did not take her children. There was plague in the village and she did not want to move the children unnecessarily. It was a decision which actually saved the lives of the sons of Man but which cost the village its existence."

"In desperation, Salbach told Intat to go to Rae na Serine and destroy the children. The trouble was that Intat had no means to identify them. He decided, brutal man that he was, to destroy the entire village. When I and Cass came along, Intat tried to disguise the true nature of this crime by claiming that there was plague in the village and presenting himself and his men as frightened neighboring villagers burning out the plague. Sister Eisten and some of her children survived."

"Eisten was shocked. I thought she was shocked by the death of the people and especially by the death of a baby she tried to save. However, in reality she was shocked because she had worked out the real reason for the killings. She even knew who had betrayed her. She asked me if a soul-friend could betray a confidence. I should have listened to her more closely for then she might not have been killed. I might have saved her. Do you follow the events so far, Salbach?"

Salbach's mouth was pressed tight. He was clearly shocked at the extent of her awareness and knew that there was little he could say in the face of Fidelma's remorseless knowledge except to resort to truth.

"You have a brilliant mind, Fidelma. I knew that I should not underestimate you. Yes, you are right. I accept your knowledge."

"When you came to this abbey and found that Sister Eisten had survived with several of her children, you could not dare allow that to pass. Intat, doubtless on your orders, managed to waylay Sister Eisten while she was down at the harbor. He tortured her to find out where the sons of Ulan had been taken. She would not reply and so he killed her, dumping her body in the waters of the inlet."

"Grella came to your aid once more, eventually discovering that some children from Rae na Serine had been taken to the house of Molua. The bodies of four religious and twenty children and the charred ruins of their houses are the mute testament to Intat's visit."

"I will deny nothing. But let me take oath that my cousin, Scandlán of Osraige, did not know my plans to safeguard the kingship of Osraige for our family. Neither did Grella. She is innocent of the blood that I have spilt."

Fidelma regarded Salbach with an expression of undisguised revulsion. She found it difficult to accept that a man could admit responsibility for such death and destruction but could seek to protect others with a twisted concept of honor and love. But then it was a strange world and humankind were the strangest creatures in it.

Grella was sobbing openly now, crying: "I did not know any of this! I did not know!"

Fidelma glanced at her without pity.

"You were so besotted by your love for Salbach that you had not reasoned out the truth. I concede that it is possible but find it difficult to believe. You would not believe that your lover was capable of ordering the death of little children. I think the reality is that you did not want to know what was going on around you."

There was a commotion at one of the doors. Fidelma smiled sourly when she saw that Scandlán's seat was empty. The Chief Brehon had noticed also and waved to a member of the fianna and issued instructions in a low voice.

"Your cousin will not get out of this abbey," Barrán told Salbach.

"What does it matter now?" Salbach gave an eloquent shrug. "I have admitted my guilt in this matter. I am prepared to stand for judgment. Doubtless my wealth and chieftainship will be forfeit as compensation and I shall be sent into exile. I am prepared for it. Let us proceed with the judgment forthwith."

Forbassach had risen from the Laigin benches amid the pandemonium that had broken out. He was smiling crookedly.

"We are grateful to Sister Fidelma for discovering the culprit. But I must point out that Salbach, as chieftain of the Corco Lofgde, still owes his allegiance to Cashel. What Fidelma is proving is that responsibility for the death of Dacán still rests with Cashel. Our demand for Osraige as his honor price is still valid."

The Chief Brehon, Barrán, looked grave.

"That appears true. Or is there more to this story you wish to tell us, Sister Fidelma?"

"Much more," Fidelma affirmed grimly. "For I am not accusing Salbach of the death of Dacán. He is only responsible for the slaughter of the innocents, for the death of those I have named. Neither he nor Grella killed the Venerable Dacán."

Chapter Twenty

There was a murmur of excitement from the Muman benches as Sister Fidelma made her surprising announcement. Colgu had been wearing a long face. He had already been aware of the point which Forbassach was bound to make. Now he stared in astonishment at his sister.

"If Salbach did not kill Dacán," the Chief Brehon demanded, with an air of exaggerated patience, "are you going to reveal to this assembly who did?"

"We must come to that logically," Fidelma replied. "First let us go back to the day when, going through the genealogies here, Dacán discovered the whereabouts of the heirs of Ulan. I have already said that he sat down and wrote a letter to his brother Noé."

Noé leaned forward in his seat and spoke rapidly to Forbassach.

The fiery advocate rose again.

"There is no proof that Dacán, even if engaged in such a search, reported to the Abbot Noé; there is no evidence that he had even been asked to report to the abbot. In view of that, this assertion is an affront to the abbot and to Fianamail of Laigin."

"I will contest that," replied Fidelma with assurance. "I have also requested the presence at this hearing of Assid of the Uf Dego. Is he within the court?"

A well-built man with the rolling gait of a sailor came forward. His skin was tanned, his hair sun-bleached and therefore it was impossible to discern its color.

"I am Assid," he announced in an almost defiant tone. "I appear before this assembly by order of the Chief Brehon but I appear unwillingly for I have no intention of bringing harm to my king."

He stood before the cos-na-dala with arms folded, staring in antagonism towards Fidelma.

"Let that be so recorded," the Chief Brehon cautioned his scriptor.

"Let it be recorded that Assid is, indeed, a loyal subject of Fianamail of Laigin," added Fidelma lightly with a smile.

"I do not deny that," affirmed Assid suspiciously.

"Are you the captain and owner of a coastal trading barc?"

"I do not deny that, either."

"For the last year or so have you traded between Laigin and the lands of the Corco Loigde?"

"Once again, I do not deny it."

"And you were staying in the abbey on the night the Venerable Dacán died?"

"That's common knowledge."

"You left the abbey on the same day and sailed directly for Laigin. You went to Fearna and reported Dacán's murder to Fianamail and Abbot Noé."

Assid hesitated and nodded slowly, trying to see where Fidelma's path was leading.

"This was why Laigin was able to act so swiftly over this matter." Fidelma made the statement as an explanation to the assembly, rather than putting it as a question to Assid. "Tell us, Assid, for I have not had time to question you before, what were the circumstances of that evening in the abbey? Tell us when you last saw the Venerable Dacán alive and when you heard of his death?"

Assid seemed to lose his aggressive posture for a moment and he reached forward to use the rail before him as a support, leaning his weight from the shoulders upon it.

"It is true," he began slowly, addressing himself to the Chief Brehon, "that I was trading along this coast and had decided to put in to Ros Ailithir and seek a night's rest at the abbey's hostel. There I saw the Venerable Dacán…"

"Whom you greeted as someone you knew?" interposed Fidelma.

Assid hesitated and then shrugged.

"Who in Laigin does not know the Venerable Dacán?" he countered.

"But you knew him better than most for you greeted him as an old friend. There is a witness," she added in case it was denied.

"Then I shall not deny it," Assi'd agreed.

"It makes me wonder why you put in to Ros Ailithir? Pure chance? No. There were other hostels along the coast. You could even have stayed at Cuan Dóir. Yet you put in here. It leads me to suspect that you had arranged to meet Dacán."

Assid looked uncomfortable. It was obvious that Fidelma was correct in her assumption.

"So I asked myself why you had an assignation to meet Dacán here? Will you tell us or shall I explain?"

Assi'd seemed to be attempting to catch the eye of those on the Laigin benches.

Fidelma turned to the book satchel on the bench where she had been sitting and drew out some pieces of vellum.

"I present, in evidence, the draft of a letter written by Dacán to his brother, the Abbot Noé, informing him of his discovery of a surviving heir of Ulan in words that leave little doubt that he had been asked to conduct this research and also that he subsequently expected some action on the part of his brother."

"Fortunately for us, in writing this draft, Dacán spilt ink on it. Being the fastidious and methodical man he was, he put it to one side and rewrote it. He either forgot to destroy his draft or, before he could do so, it was stolen from him. It was certainly in the possession of Sister Grella and this is how we can prove that Dacán acted on his brother's commission."

Fidelma did not bother to look at the Laigin benches—they were curiously quiet while Barrán scanned the evidence which Fidelma had handed him.

"And you say that the finished form of this letter was given to Assi'd? Assi'd then took the report to Noé?" asked Barrán.

Fidelma inclined her head in agreement.

The Chief Brehon turned to Forbassach as advocate for Laigin. His expression was dour.

"Forbassach, the evidence here is clear. I now have to warn you. The law text, the Din Techtugad, states that a person who gives false testimony loses his honor price. False testimony is one of the three falsehoods which God avenges most severely. I will not impose the penalty at this stage, giving the Abbot Noé time to reflect on this matter." He turned back to Fidelma. "Please, proceed, sister."

"Do you accept or deny this, Assi'd?" she demanded.

Assid hung his head.

"I accept that I came here to pick up a message from Dacán to take to his brother Noé. After the evening meal, I met with Dacán and he gave me the letter. We exchanged some heated words when he refused to reveal what was in it and made me swear an oath not to open it. I still have no idea of what the letter contained. I went to bed. In the morning, I heard that Dacán had been slain. Brother Rumann, who was the steward of the abbey, questioned me as to my whereabouts. Satisfied that I knew nothing, he gave me permission to leave. I left the abbey and sailed directly for Laigin, taking the letter. I reported what had happened to the Abbot Noé. That is all I have to do with this matter."

"A few more questions. When did you last see Dacán alive?"

"Just after the completa, the last service of the day. A little after midnight, I should say."

"Where did you see him?"

"In his chamber. It was when he handed over the letter to me."

"And where was your chamber?"

"On the floor above Dacán's."

"And so you heard nothing after you had left him? At what time was that?"

Assid drew his brows together, trying to recall.

"After midnight. I only heard one thing more, as I went up the stairs. I heard Dacán ringing the bell for the young novice who attended to our wants in the hostel. I heard his voice demanding that she fetch him water."

"You may stand down, unless Forbassach wishes to question you."

Forbassach had been talking rapidly with the grim-faced Abbot Noé. He replied that he had no questions for Assi'd.

Fidelma now addressed the Chief Brehon.

"We have heard that Dacán had been successful in locating Illan's heir. He told his brother Noé that he was about to set off for Sceilig Mhichil to identify him the next day."

"Are you telling us that he was killed to prevent him doing so?" asked Barràn.

"He was killed because it was feared he would bring harm to Illan's heir."

"But you said that the sons of Ulan had already been removed from the monastery and placed in Sister Eisten's charge. Is this not correct?"

"The story grows complicated. When Ulan was killed, his sons had been placed in the care of a cousin who would foster them."

Dramatically, Fidelma swung round and pointed at the abbey benches.

"It was Brother Midach of this abbey who was the foster-father of the two boys who were known at Sceilig Mhichil as Primus and Victor."

Midach sat unblinking. His face was fixed in a thin smile. He said nothing. Fidelma continued:

"Dacán thought that it was Illan's cousin, Father Mel of Sceilig Mhichil, who was the fosterer. In that he did not read the will carefully enough. The will of Ulan states clearly 'let the resolve of the honorable one determine the fosterage of my children.' Is there anyone here who does not know that the meaning of the name Midach is 'honorable?' Midach was appointed the aite or foster-father of the sons of Ulan."

"Midach, either by suspicion or accident, read the notes of Dacán in the library and realized that the old scholar was searching for Illan's children. Dacán discovered Midach reading his notes and an argument ensued. Brother Martan was a witness to this. Anxious to protect his charges, on that same evening, Midach left this abbey and sailed to Sceilig Mhichil. He removed the boys and took them to Sister Eisten, who was a former pupil of his. He was able to visit them a few times afterwards on the pretext of visiting the village and helping them with

medicine against the plague. He was seen and described to me. The real names of the children of Ulan, known at Sceilig Mhichil as Primus and Victor, were Cetach and Cosrach. If one attempted to put Latin names on these they would translate in such a fashion."

"Midach was shocked when he heard that Intat had raided Rae na Serine. He believed that Dacán was working for Salbach and through him for Scandlàn of Osraige. Alas, he did not realize that Grella was part of the conspiracy and was Eisten's soul-friend. However, after the attack, he found that his two wards were safe. He decided to get the two boys away from this kingdom and asked Sister Eisten to arrange passage for them."

"Cetach, the elder boy, at least, had. been warned that Salbach was looking for them so when Salbach came here, Cetach pleaded with me not to mention him or his brother to the chieftain. Then they both disappeared."

"While Midach now hid the children, Eisten went to book passage for them on a merchant ship in the bay. At first she chose the wrong ship—she asked a sailor who was from the Laigin warship captained by Mugron. Unfortunately, Intat then spotted Eisten. The rest of that tale we know. In spite of torture, Eisten would not tell where the children were and finally, in anger, Intat killed her. The children had to remain in hiding until Midach could get them safely away."

Fidelma paused for her throat was now dry.

Barrán took the opportunity to address Midach.

"Do you deny this story or any part of it?"

Midach sat, his arms folded, without expression.

"I neither confirm nor deny it."

The Chief Brehon turned back to Fidelma.

"There is one point in your explanation that I do not follow. You have not dealt with Dacán's death, which, as important as these events are, is the main cause of this action brought by Laigin."

"I will come to it, Barrán," Fidelma assured him, coughing slightly as she attempted to clear her drying throat.

"Midach was hiding the boys, Cetach and Cosrach, here in the abbey where he continues to hide them. I think that we can now bring them safely forth from the sepulchre of the Blessed Fachtna, for they will be under the protection of the High King. Is this not so?"

The question was directed to Sechnassach.

The High King returned Fidelma's interrogative look with a brief smile.

"They are so protected, Fidelma of Kildare."

"Midach, will you bring them forth?"

The physician rose unsteadily. He found difficulty speaking.

Fidelma decided to prompt him.

"If you go to the statue of the cherub behind the High Altar and twist it one half turn to the left it will release the spring which pivots a flagstone." Midach's mouth slackened in surprise.

"How did you discover this?" he demanded in consternation.

"The steps beneath lead down to the secret sepulchre of the Blessed Fachtna, the founder of this abbey," went on Fidelma. "It is there, since the death of Sister Eisten, that Cetach and Cosrach have been in hiding. Is that not so, Midach?"

Midach's shoulders slumped in resignation.

"It is even as she has said," he mumbled. "She seems to know everything."

A couple of the High King's guards moved at a gesture from Sechnassach and followed Fidelma's instructions. A few moments later the two young black-haired lads were brought blinking from the underground tomb to stare in fear at the mighty assembly.

The Chief Brehon immediately sought to reassure them of their safety.

Forbassach was on his feet.

"I must point out that we, of Laigin, have no wish to harm these boys… if they, indeed, are the sons of Ulan."

"They are the sons of Ulan," confirmed Fidelma. "And if their hair is washed clean of that black dye you will find two thatches of copper-colored hair. Midach dyed their hair as an extra precaution when he took them to Sister Eisten. Isn't that so?"

Midach seemed too dispirited to answer.

Forbassach was on his feet repeating himself.

"We sought the heirs of Illan simply to identify them. To discover their whereabouts. The purpose of this was to offer our support for their claims and restore them to the kingship of Osraige. There is only one power here that would oppose that purpose—Cashel. As we have claimed all along, Cashel's interest would be to destroy them. It was in Cashel's interests to kill Dacán. We repeat our original claim, that Osraige be forfeit for the honor price of Dacán." He smiled towards the two young boys. "But as neither boy is anywhere near the age of choice, whereby he might be affirmed as king, then the right of the kingship must devolve in the gift of Fearna."

At once Colgu, ignoring the protocol of the court, was on his feet in anger.

"Cashel is not at the center of this claimed conspiracy to harm these boys. Salbach admits that he is the culprit. For that Cashel shall punish him. The evil of the chieftain of the Corco Loigde is not to be put on the shoulders of Cashel!"

"Yet Corco Loigde owes allegiance to Cashel," sneered Forbassach in reply. "What other shoulders but Cashel can the guilt rest on?"

Barrán held up both hands. His face showed dismay and there was irritation in his eyes.

"That you both forget the protocol of this court is a matter of sadness. That you both persist in a squabble before me is a matter of penalty. Colgu, you are fined one séd, the value of one milch cow, for not allowing your dálaigh to present your arguments. Forbassach, you are more guilty of an offence being not only trained in law but the advocate of your king. You shall be fined one cumal, the value of three milch cows. If this occurs again the penalties shall not be so light."

Barrán gave everyone a moment to settle down again and instructed the two young boys be brought before the cos-na-dala.

"Am I to understand that these boys are both under the age of choice?" he asked, turning to Midach.

"They are," agreed the physician, accepting his role as their foster-father.

"Then we cannot give any weight to their evidence," sighed the Chief Brehon. "Nevertheless, we may call upon them but what they say, if contradicted by other evidence, may be discounted. This is the law."

"I am aware of this, Barrán," agreed Fidelma. "And, unless Forbassach insists, I have no wish to call them."

"I would prefer Sister Fidelma to deal with the specific matter of the murder of Dacán," replied Forbassach.

"Then I shall do so," replied Fidelma. "It should be obvious now that Dacán's death was essentially connected with the task that he had come to Ros Ailithir to perform. He was killed because it was thought he presented a threat. But let me point this out, that it is true that Dacán alive was worth more to Salbach than Dacán dead. So who, then, was Dacán a threat to? He was clearly a threat to the children of Ulan, as I have said before."

Forbassach was on his feet yet again.

"And I have said, Laigin was no threat to these children. It sought to help them."

"But did the children know that?"

Fidelma's question was sharp and left an uneasy silence.

She turned to Midach. The once-jocular physician looked tired and exhausted before her.

"Dacán had been two months at the abbey researching before you learnt that he was looking for your foster children. When you discovered that you immediately set off to remove them from Sceilig Mhichil. You left here on the very night Dacán was killed, the night he wrote to inform his Brother Noé that he was leaving for Sceilig Mhichil."

Barrán intervened, thinking to preempt Fidelma.

"And did you kill Dacán, Brother Midach?"

"Dacán was alive when I left the abbey," Midach replied quietly but firmly.

"That is true," Fidelma affirmed quickly. The Chief Brehon raised his hands in protest.

"How can you know that?"

"Simple enough. We know that Dacán was killed around midnight. Certainly not before. Midach had to be on board his ship just after vespers in order to sail with the evening tide for Sceilig Mhichil. I checked the tides with the local sailors. If he had delayed then he could not have been able to sail until the following morning."

"Then who did kill Dacán?" Barràn was totally perplexed.

"Someone who, like Midach, believed that Dacán meant harm to the children of Ulan."

There was a silence as everyone realized, after all the proceedings, they were now on the verge of the final revelation.

Fidelma was surprised at the fact that no one had leapt to the same conclusion that she had been drawn to some time before. When no one spoke, when no one moved, Fidelma shook her head.

"Why—who else but the children of Ulan would feel threatened by Dacán?" she asked. "Who else but the eldest son of Ulan, who was more threatened than his brothers?"

Everyone was looking at the young boy Cetach.

"But you have just stated that these two boys were still on Sceilig Mhichil at this time. They were at least two or three days sailing away from Ros Ailithir," Barrán pointed out.

"I did not say it was either of these two boys," Fidelma said loudly above the hubbub.

Again the effect of her words was like water on a fire. There was stunned silence.

"But, you said…" began the Chief Brehon wearily.

"I said that the eldest of Illan's sons killed Dacán."

"Then… ?"

"Ulan had three sons. Isn't that right, Midach? Dacán, in his letter to his brother, wrote that Illan's eldest son had just reached the age of choice. That rules out these two lads, who are a long way from the age of seventeen. That also means that Ulan had a third son."

"You seem to know everything, Fidelma," Midach said grimly. "Yes. My cousin Ulan had three sons. They were all placed in my charge to foster when Ulan was killed. The two youngest had already been sent to Sceilig Mhichil to our cousin, Mel. Indeed, everything happened just as you have explained."

"So where did you send the eldest son?" demanded Barràn.

Midach set his jaw firmly.

"I cannot betray the trust of my family."

"The eldest son was brought to Ros Ailithir under a false identity," Fidelma intervened.

She turned and scanned the rows of the religious who had crowded into the abbey church and found the white mask that was the face of Sister Necht.

"Come forward, Sister Necht, or should that be Nechtan?" Fidelma added, making the feminine name into its masculine form.

The ungainly "sister" rose, the eyes darted from side to side as if seeking a method of escape, and then the shoulders slumped in resignation.

A tall member of the High King's guard moved across and tapped the "sister" on the shoulder, motioning "her" to go to the well of the court before the judges. Slowly, reluctantly, "Sister Necht" obeyed.

Not a sound could be heard as all eyes watched the figure walk slowly to where Fidelma was waiting. There seemed no attempt now to disguise the masculine posture of the "novice."

"Allow me to present Nechtan, son of Ulan of the Osraige. Nechtan is the eldest brother of Cetach and Cosrach."

"Sister Necht" squared "her" shoulders and thrust out "her" chin in defiance as "she" stood before Fidelma.

"Would you mind moving your head-dress?" asked Barràn.

"Sister Necht" threw back the head-dress.

"The hair is coppery, almost red," Forbassach admitted in querulous tones. "But this… this person… still looks like a girl."

"Do we have to go further with this charade, Nechtan?" asked Fidelma. "Speak the truth."

"It is all over, my boy," cried Midach in doleful resignation. "Let us admit to the truth."

The copper-haired youth stared at Fidelma almost with hatred in his eyes.

"Yes: I am Nechtan, son of Ulan," he said with an air of pride.

"It was all my idea," Midach explained hastily. "I did not know what else to do. I knew that Scandlán and his family were looking for Illan's heir. I had already seen Illan's will and knew the boys were left in my care and that the younger were supposed to go to Sceilig Mhichil. I thought that they would be safe on Sceilig Mhichil. But I did not know where else to hide Nechtan, but then the idea came into my mind that he could hide himself at the abbey as a novice and so I could keep a close eye on him. Those searching for the heirs of Ulan were searching for his sons, not for a girl."

"Although just seventeen, Nechtan, with his husky voice and slight figure, became a young woman," Fidelma agreed. "With the sprigs and berries of the elder to use as dye and create a redness to the lips and cheeks, Nechtan became Sister Necht."

"I initially thought that Dacán was an agent for Scandlan," went on Midach. "When I discovered that he had deciphered Illan's will, I left the abbey immediately to bring them away before they were discovered. I brought the two boys back and arranged for Sister Eisten to take them at Rae na Serine. It was only after I returned to the abbey that I discovered that Dacán had been killed."

"And when did Nechtan confess that he had killed him?" demanded Fidelma.

"The next…" Midach bit his lip and hung his head. Nechtan stared in front of him without speaking, showing no emotion.

The Chief Brehon leant forward.

"Why did the boy kill Dacán?" demanded Barràn. "Let us finally get this point cleared."

Fidelma grimaced sorrowfully.

"Sister Necht, or rather Nechtan, killed Dacán out of fear. Midach, before leaving for Sceilig Mhichil, had told him that he believed Dacán was working for his enemies. Necht already hated Dacán as an autocratic, uncaring personality. It needed but a spark. A few hours after Midach left to rescue his brothers, Nechtan slew Dacán. I do not think that the act was cold-blooded. It was only after the deed was done that Nechtan sought to portray it as something premeditated."

"What do you mean?" demanded Barràn.

"Nechtan killed Dacán and later attempted to lay a path which would lead to another person in an effort to have that person blamed."

"How?"

"After Midach had left the abbey, Nechtan was summoned to Dacán's chamber to fetch water. Perhaps words were exchanged. Nechtan took out a knife and, in hot temper, rained a series of blows at the old man."

"He suspected who I was, I know it!" Nechtan protested, speaking for the first time. The previously husky voice was now slightly sharpened and more masculine. There was no emotion in it. "It was my life or his. He would have killed me if he had known who I was."

Forbassach was sitting shaking his head in bewilderment. Fidelma gestured towards him.

"You may believe the honorable advocate for Laigin when he argues that Dacán and Laigin meant no harm to the children of Ulan," Fidelma said. "So you, Nechtan, killed Dacán from an unjustified fear. Dacán was seeking you in order to get Laigin to support your claim to the Osraige kingship. It can be argued that you had an understandable fear. But what made this more heinous, Nechtan, was that you then went to great pains to lay a path to Sister Grella."

"I knew that Sister Grella was working with Dacán. I also knew that Grella was Salbach's lover," Nechtan replied defensively. "When Midach went to save my brothers, I decided to save us all. If Grella was accused of Dacán's murder then it would be a just retribution."

"You tried to destroy all the material that Dacán collected which would have identified you and your brothers. You did not realize that Grella had taken a draft of the letter Dacán was sending to his brother so that she could inform Salbach. Also you neglected to retrieve an Ogham wand which had rolled under the bed in Dacán's chamber. You showed great dismay when I found it. You had to follow me when I took it to Grella in the library to check it was not incriminating. Grella recognized it and pretended that it was something else to lead me from the scent. I left it at the library and, later that night, you returned to the library and burnt it with the other Ogham sticks in order to cover your tracks."

"But Dacán was bound before he was killed," pointed out the Chief Brehon. "How did this boy accomplish that?"

"He was bound after he was killed to further implicate Grella. It was obvious that he was not bound before because the strips of cloth from Grella's dress were so fragile that even an ailing child could have burst those bonds asunder. I noticed this at an early point in my investigation and knew then that I was looking for some carefully worked out plot."

Fidelma spoke directly to Nechtan.

"You must have lain awake for the rest of the night thinking about your deed. You decided that you must not only lay a path of suspicion away from yourself but, as you have admitted, you had a brilliant idea to visit some poetic justice on the person whom you believed to be one of your enemies."

Nechtan stood silently.

"You waited until the bell sounded for matins and you watched as Sister Grella made her way to that service. Hoping that no one had yet discovered Dacán's body, you entered Grella's chamber and found an old dress from which you tore strips of linen. It was the only distinctive piece of clothing you could find. You probably hoped that it was something she wore often so that the strips could immediately be identified. You did not realize that no religieuse would wear such a dress and that it was simply an old dress which she never wore anymore."

"You took the strips to Dacán's chamber. You went in to find it in darkness. The oil in the lamp had run out. So you refilled it and lit it. It was obvious that no one had been there. You then tied Dacán's ankles and his hands. In order to tie the hands behind him you had to turn his body over chest down on the bed, leaving the bloodstains on the blanket. I found these curious because he was lying on his back on the bed with chest wounds and the blood was on the blanket under the body. The body had to have been moved for a purpose. Then you left, forgetting to extinguish the lamp. Half an hour later Brother Conghus arrived. Your false clue meant nothing at the time. There was no one trained to deduce its significance. It meant nothing until I arrived over a week later to pick up the trail."

"When I came back from Sceilig Mhichil and discovered that certain items had been removed from the bag which I had left with Abbot Brocc, I began to suspect what had happened. The items which had been stolen were the ones which gave information and clues to the identification of the sons of Ulan. Those which were left behind were part of the evidence which implicated Sister Grella in the murder."

Fidelma paused, waiting for the boy to respond. After a while Barrán addressed him.

"You say nothing. Do you admit to this?"

The boy shrugged.

"I have nothing to say. I acted in self defence."

"That seems as good as a confession," warned the Chief Brehon.

"If you say so," replied the boy without emotion.

Midach moved forward, his face troubled as he embraced the boy.

"My son, I am your anamchara and your foster-father. I have guarded you in all things. I will procure the best advocate to defend you."

Midach's face dissolved in anguish as he gazed toward Fidelma.

"It is my fault. It is my grievous fault! I put the fear of Dacán in him." He swung round to face the Chief Brehon. "Can you accept my guilt in place of this boy?"

Barrán shook his head.

"The boy is now beyond the age of consent. He has an adult's responsibility. As for putting the fear of Dacán in him, you merely gave it some tangible form, for apparently the boy already hated Dacán and, through hate, feared him."

"Yes, he acted out of fear. Even Fidelma of Kildare admits that much."

"That may be so. But to deliberately implicate an innocent person brings a worse crime."

"A further word, Barrán," Fidelma interrupted. "This court will have done its duty in absolving the abbot of Ros Ailithir and the king of Muman from any culpability in the death of Dacán of Fearna. This assembly must confine itself to considering the claim by Laigin for compensation. It is now up to the court to rule on that matter. It has no further function."

"Nechtan will have to come before a further court to answer for his actions as, indeed, will Salbach, whose crimes greatly outweigh all others. Let that further court decide the degree of guilt that is on Nechtan's shoulders. And I will, if Nechtan so wishes, stand with him as his advocate, for I believe no boy, whether he has just reached the age of choice or not, should live in such fear of his life as the three sons of Illan have had to live this last year. I think that fear goes in some way to ameliorating his guilt if not absolving it."

Midach was staring at Fidelma in astonishment, as were many others in the court.

Barrán cleared his throat impatiently.

"I thank you, Fidelma of Kildare," he said dryly, "for reminding me of the issues at stake here. Yet I do not think I or the assembly would have forgotten them."

Fidelma hung her head at the Chief Brehon's gentle irony.

Barrán turned from Fidelma to Forbassach.

"Advocates of Cashel and Fearna, have you completed your pleas and counter-pleas?"

Fidelma hesitated before adding: "I would just remind the court of what I said in my opening. Dacán, as has now been admitted by his own brother, Noé of Fearna, came to this kingdom in stealth to discover the whereabouts of the sons of Illan to use them for the political purposes of the kingdom of Laigin. I contend this subterfuge caused Dacán to forfeit any claim he or his relations have under the laws of hospitality. Responsibility does not lay with the abbot of Ros Ailithir nor ultimately with Cashel."

"Secondly, I have revealed the real culprit to be Nechtan, son of Illan of Osraige, who killed Dacán because he believed that his life, and the lives of his younger brothers, were in danger. It is not the jurisdiction of the court to rule on his culpability but I would add that there are extenuating circumstances to Nechtan's act."

Fidelma returned to her seat and sat down for the first time since she had risen to plead.

Barrán motioned to Forbassach to sum up his case and to rebut that which he did not agree with.

The advocate of the king of Laigin had been bent in discussion with his unhappy-looking young king and the stony-faced abbot of Fearna. He turned round and rose, speaking hesitantly,

"Laigin now accepts that Cashel is not responsible for Dacán's death. But a death has taken place and the law must find responsibility."

Barrán turned and held a whispered conversation with the High King and then Ultan of Armagh. After a moment he turned back to address the assembly.

"The case before this court was simple. Sister Fidelma has reminded us of it. It was to adjudicate whether the responsibility for the death of Dacán lay at the door of Cashel. If so, the demand of Laigin was specific. Laigin demanded the kingdom of Osraige as the sum of the honor price of Dacán. The evidence that we have heard results in the adjudication that responsibility does not rest with Cashel. Therefore it follows that the demand for the honor price is dismissed. Osraige continues, as it has these last six centuries, to owe its allegiance to Cashel, its kings paying tribute to Cashel and not to Fearna."

There was a ripple almost of verbal applause as the judgment was given.

Barrán held up his hand for silence.

"Nevertheless, with the agreement of the High King, there are other matters which I feel this court should consider in passing this judgment. We have heard why such a tragic path of death and destruction has been followed here. It has its roots in the fact that the people of Osraige do not find the kingship imposed by the family of Ciaràn of Saighir, a kingship from the family of the chieftains of the Corco Lofgde, to be a just kingship. The Blessed Ciarán had, misguidedly we feel, established the Corco Lofgde in Osraige. It is now time for the descendants of the native kings of Osraige to return to their rightful role. We would admonish the king of Cashel to take steps to ensure that the people of his petty kingdom of Osraige choose freely whomsoever they wish to govern in accordance with the laws of rightful succession."

Colgu rose, his face solemn.

"Nothing grieves me more than to hear what has transpired in my kingdom. This bloodshed of the innocent shall not go unpunished. No longer can the family of the chieftains of the Corco Loigde have any moral right to rule Osraige. The people of Osraige shall choose. It shall be so. My oath of honor, it shall. I pledge it before this court."

The Chief Brehon acknowledged Colgu with a smile.

"Your words have gladdened your High King. Then there is one more admonishment that we feel it is in our judgment to make. It will be left to a court of Cashel to fix the degree of guilt and the amount of fine and compensation which must lay at the door of the unfortunate Nechtan. However, we have heard enough at this court to say that Dacàn's honor price is tarnished by his deceptive undertaking on behalf of Laigin. The fine for the death of a scholar of Dacán's standing is fixed in law at seven cumals, that is the value of twenty-one milch cows. The true honor price for a man of his ecclesiastic standing is twenty séd, the value of twenty milch-cows. A total of forty-one séd would be the sum payable by whoever is found guilty of his death. However…"

Barrán looked towards the king of Laigin.

"It will be seen that there are other culprits in this matter. This court will direct that those who asked Dacán to proceed with his task disrupted the peace of these kingdoms and threatened a bloody war. They must share responsibility. The honor price for a king of a province is sixteen cumals and because that king has besmirched his honor, sixteen cumals has to be made payable from the king of Laigin to the High King."