Suffer Little Children

Chapter Two

Colgú looked as if he were about to delay once more but seeing the light in his young sister’s eyes he thought the better of it.

‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘But let us go where we may speak more freely and without the danger of any further interruptions. There are many ears attached to heads which may harbour ill-will to the kings of Muman.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise but made no further comment. She knew that her brother had never been one for exaggeration so she did not press him further. He would explain in his own time.

She followed him from the room without speaking and through the stone-walled palace corridors with their rich tapestries and spectacular artifacts gathered over the centuries by the Eóganacht kings. Colgú led her through a great room which she recognised as the Tech Screptra, the scriptorium or library, of the palace, where, as a small girl, she had learnt to read and form her first letters. As well as the impressive illustrated vellum texts, the Tech Screptra held some of the ancient books of Muman. Among them were the ‘rods of the poets’, wands of aspen and hazel wood on which the ancient scribes had carved their sagas, poems and histories in Ogham, the ancient alphabet, which was still used in some parts of Muman. In that Tech Screptra the little girl’s imagination and thirst for knowledge had been awakened.

Fidelma paused briefly, feeling a little overwhelmed bynostalgia, and smiling at her memories. Several brothers of the Faith were seated there poring over those same books by the light of smoking tallow candles.

She realised that Colgú was waiting impatiently for her.

‘I see you still open the library to scholars of the church,’ she said approvingly as she joined him and they moved on. The great library of Cashel was the personal property of the kings of Muman.

‘It will not be otherwise while we are of the Faith,’ Colgú replied firmly.

‘Yet I have heard some stories that certain narrow-minded members of the Faith have been burning the ancient texts, the “rods of the poets”, on the grounds that they were written by idolatrous pagans. In Cashel, there are many such books. Do you still preserve them from such intolerance?’

‘Surely intolerance is incompatible with the Faith, little sister?’ Colgú observed wryly.

‘I would say so. Others might not. I am told that Colman of Cork has suggested that all pagan books should be destroyed. Yet I say that we have a duty to ensure that the treasures of our people are not incinerated and lost because of fashionable intolerance.’

Colgú chuckled dryly.

‘The matter is academic anyway. Colmán of Cork has fled this kingdom for fear of the plague. His voice no longer counts.’

Colgú continued to lead the way beyond the Tech Screptra and through the tiny family chapel. There were many stories handed down in Fidelma’s family of how the Blessed Patrick himself had arrived at Cashel and had proceeded to convert their ancestor, King Conall Corc, to the new Faith. One story told how he had used the meadow trefoil, the seamróg, to demonstrate the idea of the Holy Trinity to Conall. Not that it was a difficult concept to understand, for all the pagan gods of ancient Ireland were triune gods, being three personalities inthe one god. Fidelma had always carried a sense of time and place with her.

They passed beyond the chapel to the private chambers of the family and their immediate retinue, which were placed beyond the more generally accessible reception rooms.

A chamber had been prepared for her, with a newly lit fire blazing in the hearth. It was the very room in which she had been born and where she had spent the early years of her life. It had hardly changed.

Before the fire, a table had been set with food and wine.

Colgú waved his sister to a chair.

‘Let us eat, and as we eat I will attempt to explain why King Cathal called you hither.’

Fidelma did as he bid her. She realised that her journey had been long and uncomfortable and that she was ravenous.

‘Are you sure our cousin is too ill to see me?’ she queried, still hesitating before the meal. ‘I do not fear the Yellow Plague. These last two years I have crossed its path in safety many times. And if I do succumb, well, then surely it will be God’s will.’

Colgú shook his head despondently.

‘Cathal is no longer in a state to even recognise me. His physician says he may not last this night. In fact, the arrogant Forbassach of Laigin was right. It is now my duty to reply to his demands.’

Fidelma compressed her lips as she realised what that meant.

‘If Cathal dies this night then you will be …?’

She paused, realising that it was improper to voice the thought while their elderly cousin was alive.

Colgú, however, finished the sentence for her with a bitter laugh.

‘That I shall then be king of Muman? Yes, that is exactly what it means.’

The Eóganacht kings, like all Irish kings and chieftains,were elected into office by the derbfhine of their families. On the death of a king, his family, that is the living descendants of the male line of a common great-grandfather, called the derbfhine, would gather in assembly and vote for one among them who would next take the throne. Sons did not necessarily, therefore, inherit from fathers. Failbe Fland, the father of Colgú and Fidelma, had been king in Cashel. He had died twenty-six years before, when Fidelma and Colgú were only a few years old. Even to be considered for any office in the land, a candidate had at least to be at the ‘age of choice’, which was fourteen years for a girl and seventeen years for a boy. Failbe Fland’s cousins had succeeded him in office until Cathal mac Cathail had been chosen as king of Muman three years before.

It was the custom and law to also elect the heir-apparent, or the tánaiste, during a king’s lifetime. When Cathal had become king of Cashel, Fidelma’s brother, Colgú, had been chosen as his tánaiste.

So now if Cathal died, Fidelma realised suddenly, her brother would be king of Muman, the biggest of the five kingdoms of Éireann.

‘It will be a heavy responsibility, brother,’ she said, reaching forward and laying a hand on his arm.

He sighed and nodded slowly.

‘Yes; even in good times there would be many weighty responsibilities with this office. But these are bad times, Fidelma. There are many problems facing the kingdom. None more so than the problem that arose a few days ago and why, when he was not so ill, Cathal chose to send for you.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Since you have been away from here, little sister, your reputation as a Brehon, an advocate of the courts and a solver of mysteries, has spread. We have heard how you have performed services for the High King, the King of Northumbria and even the Holy Father in Rome.’

Fidelma made a deprecating gesture.

‘I was in those places at the time when my talent wasneeded,’ she replied. ‘Anyone with a logical mind could have resolved the problems. There was nothing more to those problems than that.’

Colgú smiled quickly at her.

‘You were never given to conceit, my sister.’

‘Show me a conceited person and I will show you a mediocre talent. Which does not get us any nearer the reason that I was sent for. What does this have to do with Forbassach of Fearna?’

‘Let me tell you in my own way. King Cathal believed that you could resolve a mystery which has threatened the safety of the kingdom. Indeed, it threatens the peace of the five kingdoms of Éireann.’

‘What mystery?’ prompted Fidelma as she started to help herself to some of the food that had been prepared.

‘Have you heard of the Venerable Dacán?’

Fidelma allowed an eyebrow to raise slightly as she recognised the name.

‘Who has not?’ she replied quickly. ‘He is already spoken of in some quarters as a saint. He is a teacher and theologian of no mean ability. Of course, his brother is the Abbot Noé of Fearna, the king of Laigin’s personal advisor and supposedly as saintly as his brother. Both brothers are widely respected and beloved of many. Stories are told of their wisdom and charity in many corners of the five kingdoms.’

Colgú nodded his head slowly at Fidelma’s glowing recital. His face assumed a weary expression as though he did not like what he was hearing but expected no less.

‘You know, of course, that there has been some enmity recently between the kingdoms of Muman and Laigin?’

‘I have heard that since the old king, Fáelán, died of the plague a few months ago, the new king, Fianamail, has been examining ways of enhancing his prestige by trying to pick quarrels with Muman,’ she agreed.

‘And what better way to enhance his prestige than to find anexcuse to demand the return of the petty kingdom of Osraige from Muman?’ Colgú asked bitterly.

Fidelma formed her lips in a soundless whistle of astonishment.

Osraige was a small kingdom which had long been a source of bad relationships between the two major kingdoms of Muman and Laigin. It stretched along the banks of the River Feoir from north to south. Hundreds of years before, when the kings of Muman held the High Kingship over all five kingdoms of Éireann, Osraige was under the tutelage of the kings of Laigin. When Edirsceál of Muman became High King, the men of Laigin contrived to assassinate him so that Nuada Necht of Laigin could assume the kingship. The king was murdered but the culprits discovered. Conaire Mór, the son of Edirsceál, eventually became High King and he and his Brehons met to agree what honour price the kingdom of Laigin should pay in compensation to Muman for their infamous act. It had been decided that the kingdom of Osraige should be forfeited by Laigin. Henceforth, Osraige would be part of the kingdom of Muman and its petty-kings would pay tribute to Cashel and not to Fearna, the capital of Laigin.

Now and again the kings of Laigin would raise a protest before the High Kings, requesting the return of Osraige to them. But six centuries had passed since the days of Conaire Mór when Osraige had passed to Muman. Each protest had been rejected by the Great Assembly of the Brehons of Éireann, who met every three years at the royal palace of Tara. The punishment and compensation were confirmed as being just.

Fidelma brought her gaze back to the worried face of her brother.

‘Surely even Fianamail, as young and inexperienced a king as he is, would not consider attempting to wrest Osraige back by force?’

Her brother gave an affirmative gesture.

‘Not by force alone, Fidelma,’ he agreed. ‘Do you know something of the internal politics of Osraige?’

Fidelma knew little of the kingdom and admitted as much.

‘For reasons too long and complicated to explain now, nearly two hundred years ago the native kings of Osraige were replaced by a family from the Corco Loígde in the south-west of the kingdom. There has been friction in Osraige ever since. The Corco Lofgde are not popular. Now and then, the Osraige have risen up to displace them. Less than a year ago, Illan, the last descendant of the native kings of Osraige with a legal claim to the kingship, was killed by the current king, Scandlán. Needless to say, Scandlán is of the Corco Loígde ruling family.’

Colgú paused a moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding.

‘There is talk of an heir to Illan. Rumour has it that this heir, if he exists, would be happy to court Laigin if Laigin promised to help him dislodge the Corco Loígde as kings.’

‘It would still mean a war between Laigin and Muman with Laigin having to wrest Osraige back by force,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Her brother leant forward with an unhappy expression on his features.

‘But what if some deed occurred, similar to the very deed that caused Osraige to be forfeited from Laigin in the first place?’

Fidelma sat straighter-backed now, her muscles suddenly tensed. Colgú’s expression was grim.

‘You have confirmed that you know how the Venerable Dacan of Laigin was held in the eyes of many people. He was a saintly and revered man. And you have confirmed that you know how his brother, Noé of Fearna, stands in similar regard within the sight of both his king, Fianamail, and the people of the five kingdoms.’

Fidelma caught the use of the past tense but made no reply.She had, indeed, admitted that both men were highly respected throughout the land.

‘Two months ago,’ went on Colgú in a troubled voice, ‘the Venerable Dacán arrived at Cashel and sought the blessing of King Cathal to work within this kingdom. Dacán had heard of the work being done at the Blessed Fachtna’s abbey at Ros Ailithir and wanted to join the community there. Of course, King Cathal welcomed such a learned and esteemed scholar as Dacán to the kingdom.’

‘So Dacán set off to Ros Ailithir?’ intervened Fidelma when Colgú paused.

‘Eight days ago we heard news that the Venerable Dacán had been murdered in his cell at the abbey.’

Fidelma realised that, even when death had become so common-place due to the ravages of the Yellow Plague, the death of the Venerable Dacán would have a resounding impact on all the five kingdoms, and more so especially due to the fact that the death was attributable to violence.

‘Are you telling me that you think the new king of Laigin, Fianamail, will use this death to demand the territory of Osraige be returned to his jurisdiction as a compensation?’

Colgú’s shoulders hunched momentarily.

‘I not only think so, I know it to be so. It was only yesterday that Forbassach of Fearna arrived here as an envoy from Fianamail, the king of Laigin.’

Fearna was the seat of the kings of Laigin as well as the site of Noé’s abbey.

‘How can the news have reached them so quickly?’ demanded Fidelma.

Colgú spread his hands.

‘I suppose that someone rode from Ros Ailithir immediately to tell Dacán’s brother, Noé, at Fearna.’

‘Logical,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And what does the arrogant Forbassach have to say on this matter?’

‘The envoy from Fianamail was quite explicit in his demands.Not only must the éric fine be paid but an honour price which entails the handing of all suzerain rights over Osraige to Laigin. If this is not done then Fianamail of Laigin will claim it by blood. You know the law better than I do, Fidelma, Are they within their rights to make such claims? I think they are, for Forbassach is no fool.’

Fidelma pursued her lips thoughtfully.

‘Our law system grants the right for a killer to atone for his or her crime by payment of compensation. There is a fixed penalty, the éric fine, as you rightly say. This amounts to seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. But, often, when the victim is a man or woman of rank and influence, then the victim’s kinsmen are within their rights to claim an honour price, the lóg n-enech. That was, in fact, the law by which Conaire Mór claimed Osraige for Muman in the first instance. If the culprit is unable to pay this honour price then their kinsmen are expected to pay it. If this is not forthcoming then the victim’s kinsmen are allowed to commence a blood feud, or dígal, to obtain the honour price. But this does not mean that the Laigin king is entitled to do so. There are a couple of questions that need to be resolved.’

‘Advise me, Fidelma,’ invited Colgú, leaning forward eagerly.

‘What right does Fianamail have in this matter? Only kinship allows a person to name and demand an honour price.’

‘Fianamail is cousin to Dacan and speaks as kin. In this, of course, he supported by Noé, the brother of Dacán.’

Fidelma allowed herself a deep sigh.

‘That certainly allows Fianamail to press his claim. But does Abbot Noé actually support him in his demands? Such demands must surely lead to an effusion of blood. Noé is a leading advocate of the Faith and beloved and respected for his conciliatory teachings, for his acts of forgiveness. How can he demand such vengeance?’

Colgú grimaced dispassionately.

‘Dacán was, above all things, Noé’s brother,’ he pointed out.

‘Even so, I find it hard to believe Noé would act in such a manner.’

‘Well, he has. But you implied that there might be other reasons why Laigin could not inflict an honour-price fine on Muman. What more?’

‘The most obvious question devolves on the fact that the fines can only be inflicted on the family of the person who was responsible for Dacán’s death. Who killed Dacan? Only if a member of our family, the Eóganachta, as representing the kingship of Muman, is responsible, can Laigin claim an honour price from Muman.’

Colgú gestured helplessly.

‘We don’t know who killed Dacan, but the abbey of Ros Ailithir is governed by our cousin, Brocc. He is charged, as abbot, as being responsible for Dacán’s death.’

Fidelma blinked to conceal her surprise. She had vague memories of an elder cousin who had been a distant and unfriendly figure to her brother and herself.

‘What makes the king of Laigin charge our cousin with accountability for the death of Dacan? Is it simply because he is responsible for the safety of all who reside at his abbey or is something more sinister implied?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed her brother. ‘But I do not think that even Fianamail of Laigin would make so light an accusation.’

‘Have there been any steps to find out?’

‘The envoy from Fianamail has simply stated that all evidence and arguments will be placed before the High King and his Chief Brehon at the great assembly at Tara. The assembly will be asked to support Laigin and hand over Osraige to Fianamail.’

Fidelma bit her lip as she thought for a moment.

‘How can Fianamail be so sure that he can prove that Dacán’s death is the responsibility of Muman? Forbassach, his envoy, is a vain and arrogant man, but he is an ollamh of the court. Even his friendship with the Laigin king, his pride in being a man of Laigin, would not blind him to the law. He must know that the evidence is strong enough to lay a claim before the High King’s court. What is that evidence?’

Colgú had no answer. Instead he said quietly: ‘Fidelma, the assembly of Tara is due to meet in three weeks. That does not leave us much time to resolve this matter.’

‘The law also allows one month from the decision of the assembly before Fianamail can march an army into Osraige to claim the land by force if it is not handed over in peace,’ observed Fidelma.

‘So we have seven weeks before there is bloodshed and war in this land?’

Fidelma drew her brows together.

‘Providing, that is, judgment goes to Laigin. There is much mystery here, Colgú. Unless Fianamail knows something that we do not, I cannot see how the High King and his assembly could give a judgment against Muman.’

Colgú poured another two glasses of wine and handed one across to his sister with a tired smile.

‘These were the very words of Cathal, our cousin, before he succumbed to the fever. It was the reason why he asked me to send for you. The morning after the messenger had been sent to Kildare, he fell a victim to the Yellow Fever. And if the physicians are right, I shall be king before this week is out. If there is war, then it will be on my hands.’

‘It will not be a good start to your rule, brother,’ agreed Fidelma as she sipped at her wine and considered the matter carefully. Then she raised her eyes to examine her brother’s careworn face. ‘Are you giving me a commission to investigate the death of Dacán and then present the evidence to you?’

‘And to the High King,’ added Colgú quickly. ‘You willhave the authority of Muman to carry out this investigation. I ask you to be our advocate before the High King’s assembly.’

Fidelma was silent for a long while.

‘Tell me this, my brother; suppose my findings are such as to support the king of Laigin? What if Dacán’s death is the responsibility of the Eóganachta? What if the king of Laigin does have the right to demand Osraige as an honour price from Cashel? What if these unpalatable arguments become my findings? Will you accept that judgment under law and meet Laigin’s demand?’

Her brother’s face worked with complex emotions as he wrestled with the decision.

‘If you want me to speak for myself, Fidelma, I shall say “yes”. A king must live by the law established. But a king must pursue the commonwealth of his people. Do we not have an old saying? — what makes the people higher than a king? It is because the people ordain the king, the king does not ordain the people. A king must obey the will of his people. So do not ask me to speak for all the princes and chieftains of this kingdom nor, indeed, of Osraige. I fear they will not accept liability for such an honour price.’

Fidelma regarded him with a level gaze.

‘Then it will mean bloody war,’ she said softly.

Colgú attempted a grim smile.

‘Yet we have three weeks before the assembly, Fidelma. And, as you say, seven weeks before the implementation of the law if the decision goes against us. Will you go to Ros Ailithir and investigate Dacán’s death?’

‘You do not have to ask that, Colgú. I am, above all things, still your sister.’

Colgú’s shoulders sagged in relief and he gave a long, low sigh.

Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and patted it.

‘But do not expect too much of me, brother. Ros Ailithir is a minimum three days’ journey from here, and lies throughsome harsh country. You expect me to travel there, solve a mystery and travel back in time to prepare a case for the assembly at Tara? If so, you are, indeed, asking for a miracle.’

Colgú inclined his head in agreement.

‘I think that King Cathal and myself both demand a miracle of you, Fidelma, for when men and women use their courage, intelligence and learning, then they are capable of inspiring a true miracle.’

‘It is still a heavy responsibility you place on me,’ she admitted with reluctance. She realised that she had no other decision to make. ‘I will do what I can. I shall rest in Cashel tonight and hope this storm abates by tomorrow. I shall set out at first light for the abbey of Ros Ailithir.’

Colgú smiled warmly.

‘And you will not set out alone, little sister. The journey to the south-west is, as you say, a harsh one, and who knows what dangers will await you at Ros Ailithir? I shall send one of my warriors with you.’

Fidelma shrugged diffidently.

‘I am able to defend myself. You forget that I have studied the art of troid-sciathagid, battle through defence.’

‘How can I forget that?’ chuckled Colgú, ‘for many is the time that you have bested me in our youth with your knowledge of unarmed combat. But combat in friendship is one thing, Fidelma. Combat in earnest is another.’

‘You do not have to point this out, brother. Many of our religious missionaries going into the kingdoms of the Saxons, or into those of the Franks, are taught this method of self-defence in order to protect their lives. The training has already served me well.’

‘Nevertheless, I must insist that you be accompanied by one of my trusted warriors.’

Fidelma was unconcerned.

‘I am instructed by your commission, brother. You are tánaiste here and I am acting according to your wishes.’

‘Then that is agreed.’ Colgú was relieved. ‘I already have instructed a man for the task.’

‘Do I know this warrior whom you have chosen?’

‘You have already met him,’ her brother replied. ‘He is the young warrior who earlier threw Forbassach out. His name is Cass of the king’s bodyguard.’

‘Ah, the young, curly-haired warrior?’ asked Fidelma.

‘The same. He has been a good friend and I would not only trust my life to him but yours as well.’

Fidelma gave a mischievous grin.

‘That is precisely what you will be doing, brother. How much does Cass know of this problem?’

‘As much as I have been able to tell you.’

‘So you trust him well?’ observed Fidelma.

‘Do you want to speak with him on this matter?’ asked her brother.

She shook her head and stifled a sudden yawn.

‘Time enough to talk during the three days of our journey to Ros Ailithir. Now I would prefer a hot bath and sleep.’