The Devil's seal

CHAPTER TEN

‘Hold still, Deogaire!’ Fidelma commanded. ‘You are in the presence of your King.’

Something about her cold command caused the man to stop struggling.

‘Then tell these brainless idiots to release me,’ he grunted.

‘These are warriors of the Nasc Niadh, my bodyguard.’ Colgú’s voice was sharp. ‘They will not let you go until you have calmed yourself and ceased fighting with them.’

‘I am not the one who attacked them. I was asleep, when I was leaped upon and dragged from my bed. How else should I respond to physical violence but to protect myself?’

‘No violence will be offered to you if you calm down,’ Fidelma assured him.

‘Do I have Colgú’s word as King?’ Deogaire sneered.

‘You have my word as dálaigh,’ snapped Fidelma.

‘Then I will struggle no longer, providing the King’s yelping dogs obey you.’

Fidelma glanced at Enda and his companion and motioned them to stand aside. They released their hold cautiously and stood back, ready to move forward again if Deogaire did not keep to the agreement. Deogaire drew himself up with a curious dignity and began to rub his wrists where red marks were already showing from his handling. He bowed towards Fidelma with a cynical smile.

‘You will forgive me, lady, for appearing in this state of undress. I was not allowed time enough to clothe myself before I was dragged into your presence.’

‘You say “your bed”,’ Fidelma replied, ignoring his disrespectful tone. ‘Yet there is no record of you having been invited to stay in the King’s guest quarters.’

The man actually smiled. ‘When I say, “my bed” I did not, of course, mean complete ownership of it. I have not slept in a bed that truly belonged to me since I left Sliabh Luachra. But is it the law that I must now prove ownership of the bed in which I sleep?’

‘You take me too literally, Deogaire. To put it more clearly: what are you doing in the guest chambers of the King?’

‘Why, sleeping — until I was rudely awoken.’ The man adhered to his bantering tone.

‘Matters are too serious to play semantics with us, my friend,’ interposed Colgú. ‘You will answer the lady Fidelma’s questions without prevarication. There has been an attempt on my sister’s life and that of her husband. Any further show of levity must point to your guilt, even if we have not proof enough.’

For a second Deogaire’s eyelids fell like a bird of prey, hooding the sharp blue of their intensity. Then he made a motion with his shoulders, a kind of shrug, although those watching were unsure of its meaning. ‘I had a row with my uncle, the pious Brother Conchobhar, who told me never to cast my shadow across his portal again. Therefore I was in search of a comfortable bed.’

‘And somehow you just happened to wander into the King’s apartments, in spite of the guard, find your way into the guest chambers to choose a conveniently empty room and then climb into bed?’ Gormán challenged.

‘Not at all,’ Deogaire replied. ‘I told my story to Beccan earlier this evening. He said that not all the guest chambers were filled this night and that if I told no one, I could have the use of one.’

‘So you blame Beccan, do you?’ Gormán looked to Colgú and said: ‘We are wasting our time, lord. It is clear that he did the deed and was hiding out, thinking we would not search all the rooms.’

Deogaire glanced round. ‘Where was I supposed to have made this attempt on the lady Fidelma’s life?’ he demanded.

‘A marble statue was pushed from the roof as Fidelma and Eadulf passed below. The culprit escaped through the door leading to the guest chambers, throwing the bolt behind him. There was, however, no way of getting from those chambers anywhere else because of the guards. We have accounted for all the known guests. So it seems that Enda was right to constrain anyone who had no authority to be in those chambers,’ Gormán explained.

For the first time Deogaire seemed to appreciate the gravity of his situation.

‘I have told you the truth,’ he insisted, all blustering gone now. ‘Ask Beccan. I met him at the side door of the building that leads to the storerooms. He took me up the stairs and showed me into an empty chamber while everyone was in the feasting hall. He told me that I could rest there, but warned me that there was a guard who would be posted during the hours of darkness. He advised me not to emerge until after daylight, when I could hear movement.’

‘Then it is a pity that Beccan is not here to corroborate your story,’ Eadulf observed dryly.

‘Not here?’ An expression of apprehension crossed Deogaire’s features. ‘Where is he? He said he would not be long.’

‘Tell me, how is it that Brother Conchobhar came to throw his own relative out of his house?’ Fidelma asked without answering him. ‘He is a great respecter of old custom and holds that the laws of hospitality, especially to a blood relative, are not easily dismissed.’

Deogaire had lost more of his confidence by now.

‘You know that he and I do not see eye to eye on matters of religion,’ he muttered. ‘I maintain the old paths while he accepts this new mysticism from the east. It is not to be trusted! The ancients say — knowledge is found in the west, battle to the north, danger to the east and tranquillity to the south. Danger to the east! That danger is coming.’

‘You threatened me once,’ she replied, recalling. ‘You said: “two glances behind would be better than one before”.’

‘A warning to some is seen as a threat by others. I foresee the danger from the east. That is no threat — that is a warning. Be afraid and you will be safe. That was all I said.’

Fidelma grimaced at the old saying. ‘I am aware of what was said. You also mentioned that death could come in many forms — even a winged demon out of the sky.’

Eadulf breathed in sharply. ‘And the statue was. .’ he began.

‘Was it the statue of Aoife?’ Colgú asked in a curiously strangled tone, his features suddenly pale.

When Fidelma silently nodded, there was an obvious unease among those present.

‘Aoife? Who was she?’ asked Eadulf, knowing there was some significance that was lost on him.

‘Aoife was a wicked stepmother, and in punishment for her evil acts against the Children of Lir, the god Bodh Dearg changed her into a demon of the air.’ It was Gormán who explained. ‘The statues on the roof are representations of creatures from our ancient legends.’

Deogaire’s eyes had widened slightly. Then he quickly recovered his poise. His chin thrust out defiantly. ‘And what does that prove? The only thing it shows is that I am truly blessed with the gift of the imbas forosnai, of the prophecy of the poets.’

Fidelma reflected for a moment, then said: ‘Foreknowledge of events is usually explained by involvement. I am no seer, as you claim to be, Deogaire. I have to rely on facts and logic. That is the beginning of my wisdom.’ She looked at him before continuing.

‘Your claim to be in the guests chambers by invitation of Beccan cannot be confirmed until the King’s steward returns. Do not worry, we will not condemn without seeking evidence. That is not our way. While we wait for his return, we will provide you with another bed for the rest of this night.’ She turned to Gormán. ‘Take Deogaire to the Laochtech and secure him there as a prisoner until I order otherwise. It will go badly for you, Deogaire, if you do not leave peacefully with these warriors.’

The young man looked anxious. ‘The last person who was secured there was found hanged — and not by his own hand,’ he protested.

‘Do not be concerned,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You will be placed in one of the rooms within the Laochtech and a warrior will be within call at all times. You will see to that, Gormán,’ she added.

‘It shall be done, lady.’ The warrior touched Deogaire on the shoulder. ‘Are you going to cause trouble, or will you come with us peacefully?’

Deogaire, still rubbing his wrists, sighed and said, ‘Peacefully, by all means, let us proceed peacefully.’

After Gormán had left with Aidan and the prisoner, Fidelma slumped uninvited into a chair.

‘I don’t suppose you have some corma left, brother?’ she smiled faintly.

Colgú poured the fiery alcoholic drink for her before indicating that they should all be seated and take a drink. Everyone seemed shocked at the events of the evening. Only Brehon Aillín excused himself, somewhat stiffly, and retired to his chamber.

‘So Deogaire is the guilty one?’ Abbot Ségdae phrased the question with an air of satisfaction. ‘Guilty of the other deaths as well. . you think? And why? To have his prophecy fulfilled, no doubt.’

Fidelma stared, preoccupied, into her drink before telling them: ‘I am not sure of his guilt.’

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

‘Not sure that he is guilty of the other deaths?’ Eadulf asked.

‘It all sounds a little too plausible,’ she replied.

‘Sometimes things are simple and straightforward. Not everything is as complicated as many would have us believe,’ pointed out her brother.

‘It’s true. And yet let us bear in mind what has happened here during the last few days. Is it so easy to say that Deogaire was guilty of Brother Cerdic’s death? That he hanged Rudgal? Then what of the attack on the river and the-’ She stopped suddenly, realising that she was about to say too much. The cloth that Rudgal had hidden had to remain secret for the time being. Yet Brother Conchobhar knew of it. . did that mean that Deogaire knew of it too? She turned her gaze to Eadulf, hoping he would pick up the warning message from her eyes, without her having to speak it.

‘What now?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Do we wait until Beccan comes back?’

Gormán had just returned to report that the prisoner was now locked up and under guard, and overheard him.

‘I could go down to the township myself and search him out, if I knew where this sick relative lived,’ he offered. He looked to the King. ‘Does anyone know where his relative is to be found?’

Colgú turned to him, puzzled. ‘You mean, Beccan’s relative is not known here? But everyone knows who lives in the township of Cashel. There are surely no strangers here.’

‘I have never heard Beccan speak of having a family member living nearby,’ confirmed Gormán, ‘but my mother knows everyone. It should be easy to find him.’

‘While we wait for his return, I will have a word with Brother Conchobhar,’ Fidelma said. ‘At least that will confirm whether it is true that he threw Deogaire out.’

Abbot Ségdae emptied his goblet and set it down with a disapproving look. ‘I would have thought Deogaire’s guilt is clear. I don’t understand you wanting further proof, Fidelma.’

‘It is not clear to me — but then I am a dálaigh,’ she replied. Then, realising that she had sounded rather curt, she added: ‘He might well be telling the truth.’

‘But if he were telling the truth, then it implies that the murderer, or attempted murderer, if you will, is someone else,’ the abbot said. ‘That someone has to be one of us in the guest chambers, and that-’

‘That means,’ Gormán continued with a grin at their sudden discomfiture, ‘that you have quite a choice. There are four suspects: the abbot’s steward, Brother Madagan; Brehon Aillín; Abbess Líoch and her bann-mhaor Sister Dianaimh.’

‘Each accusation is as ridiculous as another,’ Abbot Ségdae said impatiently. ‘Why, I’d sooner believe in Deogaire’s demon from hell springing into the statue of Aoife. Evil from the east, indeed!’

They sat quietly for a while and finally Fidelma rose.

‘Come, Eadulf, the hour grows late.’

Gormán was on his feet. ‘I will come with you to make sure you get to your apartments safely.’

Fidelma shook her head with a smile. ‘I think we are safe now. Besides, I am told that lightning never strikes in the same place twice. We will be safe.’

They left the King’s quarters but this time Fidelma took a slightly different path around the building to their chambers. When Eadulf commented on the longer route, he heard her chuckle in response.

‘Because I realised after we left that it was a misconception,’ she whispered.

‘What was?’ He frowned.

‘Lightning can strike again in the same place. There was once a shepherd near where I studied at Brehon Morann’s law school. He tended his sheep on the hills nearby and often refused to take shelter during the storms. He was struck four times on four different occasions by lightning and survived each time. However, I do not want to tempt fate.’

‘I am glad that you told me,’ Eadulf grumbled. ‘But why are we going this way?’

Fidelma pointed through the darkness beyond the chapel. There was a light in the building. It was the apothecary.

‘I think we should take the opportunity for a word with Brother Conchobhar.’

‘It’s going to be a late night,’ Eadulf protested, ‘and I promised to take Alchú riding first thing in the morning.’

Fidelma did not respond. She walked to the apothecary’s door and tapped sharply on it. There was only a little pause before there was a movement behind the door and it swung open. The old physician peered at them as the light from the lamp he held shone on them.

‘You are abroad late,’ he observed, before standing back to let them enter. When they did so, he closed the door behind them.

‘And you are up late,’ Fidelma replied, moving through the musty-smelling room to where she knew Brother Conchobhar had some chairs placed before his fire.

Brother Conchobhar shuffled after her, with Eadulf following.

‘You know that it is my habit,’ he said. ‘Late to bed, late to rise.’

‘You don’t believe in the old saying then — sero venientibus ossa?’ sighed Eadulf wistfully, thinking of his own bed. It literally meant ‘for the latecomer the bones’ but implied that the person who rose early succeeded in life.

Brother Conchobhar regarded him with an expression of amusement.

‘I spend hours on my little roof above watching the movement of the heavens, seeing the bright lights in the night sky moving here and there, and charting the course of our fortunes against the darkness of the canopy. It is not an occupation one can do in the daylight.’

Eadulf had forgotten that the other man was a student of the stars and their motions.

‘And what did you see tonight, old friend?’ asked Fidelma, as she sank down into a chair. The apothecary moved to a table and began to pour them drinks.

‘Mostly the signs show a calm night with the moon in balance and no less than four planets floating on water, including the planet of knowledge. It is from water that we gain knowledge, according to the ancients. Therefore from tonight’s actions much can be learned. That does not mean all is tranquil, for the defending planet stirs to action.’

Eadulf, who half-understood the symbolism, grimaced, saying: ‘Did you see in the skies tonight a flying demon ready to attack Fidelma and myself?’

Brother Conchobhar turned to him with an expression of alarm. ‘Are you joking with me, friend Eadulf?’ he demanded.

‘Alas, he is not, old friend,’ Fidelma said, casting a look of disapproval at Eadulf. ‘But tell me first, what was the cause of your earlier argument with Deogaire?’

Brother Conchobhar did not appear surprised at being asked.

‘I hope he has not been causing problems,’ he muttered. ‘But relative or not, I confess I found myself losing my temper with him. I have accepted his strange views for the sake of my poor sister and our common ancestors, but there are limits to what I should have to put up with. We did, indeed, have a quarrel earlier today. We exchanged some sharp words over our respective beliefs. It came to the point where I could not restrain my temper, for which I am truly sorry. I told him to leave my house and not to return. So he left.’

Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘Who, between you, would you say provoked his leaving?’

‘Mea culpa. It was my fault and I am heartily ashamed that, even at my age and with my experience, this young man could provoke me into losing my temper. I was made even more ashamed and angry because Abbot Ségdae’s steward was a witness. Brother Madagan had come to get some wild garlic for a distemper he had. But why do you ask this? What has happened to him? What has this to do with flying demons?’

Fidelma explained about the attack on them, quickly and succinctly. ‘He will be all right under guard,’ she added, patting the old man’s hand. ‘Tomorrow we will get down to the truth.’

Brother Conchobhar looked at her sorrowfully. ‘I can believe many things but I can’t believe that my nephew is guilty of an attack on you and Eadulf. For all his mistaken arrogance, he is right in one thing. There is evil here, if it is not among us already. Perhaps we should be fearful. We should fear what is coming from the east.’

‘All we know is that it is supposed to be a peaceful deputation of members of the Faith. There should be no need to fear them.’

‘You choose your words carefully, Fidelma. There should be no need to fear them. That means you have not discounted any such fear.’

Fidelma made a ‘tut-tut’ sound with her tongue. ‘You have a sharp ear, Brother Conchobhar.’

‘I need two sharp ears and sometimes a sharper mind,’ replied the old man. ‘Tell me, Deogaire was not the only one in the guest house, was he — the only one with access to the roof at the moment the statue crashed down on you?’

‘He was not,’ Fidelma nodded.

‘And have you eliminated all the others from any possible involvement?’

‘I have not,’ she replied, much to Eadulf’s surprise.

‘You haven’t questioned the others yet?’ asked Brother Conchobhar.

‘Not yet,’ she confirmed. ‘They are not likely to go far, all being safely abed in the guest chambers. You seem to have something on your mind, old friend.’

‘Wasn’t Brother Madagan there to support my nephew’s claim that Deogaire and I had quarrelled?’

Fidelma realised that it was true: Brother Madagan had remained silent.

‘How much did he hear?’ she asked. ‘Did he hear you telling Deogaire to leave?’

Brother Conchobhar was hesitant. ‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted. ‘But he would have heard our voices raised.’

‘That might not signify anything.’

‘Brother Madagan speaks some of your language, Eadulf,’ the apothecary told him.

‘And fairly well, too,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘I know that, and he told us that he learned the language while in Láirge, the harbour township.’

‘He was quite open about that,’ Fidelma added. ‘He told us that he spent two summers there teaching students from the Saxon kingdoms before they passed on to our colleges. Láirge is a favourite port where ships come from the lands beyond the seas.’

‘Did he say whose school he was teaching at?’ the apothecary wanted to know.

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and then shook her head.

‘It was his sister’s school,’ Brother Conchobhar said. He saw that they were waiting for him to explain further, so went on: ‘Mella, his sister, had a little school on the right bank of the Siúr not far from the port. She knew your language well, Eadulf, for she had been in the kingdom of Cenwealh and his wife Seaxburh.’

‘That is the Kingdom of the West Saxons,’ Eadulf said immediately. ‘How do you know this?’

‘Because Brother Madagan once told me. That was some time ago. His sister had been a missionary there for a while and then, with her knowledge of the language, she returned to teach our language to those Saxons coming to this land. He went there to help her and thus he also acquired the Saxon tongue.’

‘I did not know he had a sister there,’ Fidelma said, surprised.

‘No longer. Mella is dead.’

‘How did it happen? Was it the Yellow Plague? As I recall, many died in that area during the years it ravaged this land.’

Brother Conchobhar shook his head sadly. ‘No, she was not carried off by plague. One of the Saxon foreigners killed her — after having had his way with her. It was soon after that, Brother Madagan decided to return to Imleach and became steward to Abbot Ségdae.’

‘You learned all this from him?’ Eadulf queried.

‘There were also whispers at the time,’ admitted Conchobhar. ‘But it was several years ago now.’

‘What made you think of this?’ Fidelma enquired patiently.

‘I was reminded of what he told me just the other day. Maybe I should have mentioned it before. Brother Madagan was helping me prepare the body of Brother Cerdic for the funeral rites. I had left him in order to fetch a sheet for the racholl to wind the body in. When I returned, I was shocked.’

‘Shocked?’

‘I have rarely seen a face filled with such malignancy as his, as he bent over the body. I heard him curse it and say that all Saxons should be consigned to Ifrenn, the infernal regions, and not be allowed redemption in the New Faith.’

‘That doesn’t sound like Brother Madagan,’ Fidelma said.

‘It was as if some serpent spoke from him in that moment. Then he turned and saw me staring in horror at him. His face was pale with hate and then he quickly composed himself. He reminded me about his sister; how she was violated and killed.’

‘Was the culprit ever caught?’ Fidelma asked.

Once again, Brother Conchobhar shook his head. ‘Mella’s body was not found until the next day,’ he said heavily, ‘and then it was presumed that the man responsible had sailed back to his own land on the morning tide.’

‘Why was it presumed?’

‘Brother Madagan knew that a man called Ceolwulf had been paying more than usual attention to his sister. A Brehon had the port of Láirge searched for this man. There was no sign of him, but that morning, a ship set sail from Láirge for a foreign port called Clifadun, in the northern part of the Kingdom of the West Saxons. There was nothing to be done, for the Brehon had no jurisdiction to follow the ship. I wondered if the death of his sister had left Brother Madagan bitter against all Saxons.’

‘He has never shown any animosity to me,’ Eadulf said thoughtfully.

Brother Conchobhar smiled without humour. ‘He keeps his temper under control but I think he was named wisely, for at times he can be a snarling little dog.’

‘It does give us some new thoughts about motives for the attack on Brother Cerdic,’ Fidelma agreed slowly. ‘But it gets confusing when we consider the death of Rudgal and the attack on us.’

‘I know we speak of your relative, but were I to make a wager at the moment, it would be on Deogaire’s guilt,’ Eadulf declared. ‘He had the opportunity and the motive — the motive being to fulfil his threat to Fidelma; to create some fear in this place in advance of the arrival of Bishop Arwald and his party.’

Fidelma was not so certain. ‘But again, it lacks a connection with the deaths of the others. In fact, we can find suspects for each murder — but not one to whom we can attribute all the deaths.’

‘So maybe we are looking for several killers,’ Eadulf shrugged.

‘And you think Deogaire simply acted to justify his prophecy?’ she asked. ‘It is true that he does not accept the New Faith, yet there are little isolated pockets, like Sliabh Luachra, where the old ways persist. But the Five Kingdoms are irrevocably committed to the New Faith. For the last several centuries we have become so much a part of it that we welcome others to our shores to educate them, and we send our missionaries over the seas to encourage the pagans beyond to leave the old ways.’

‘I know this,’ Eadulf replied gruffly, ‘but-’

‘It does not explain Deogaire’s behaviour, even if he seeks to create fear at the arrival of Bishop Arwald and his deputation. Why emerge out of the mountain fastness of Sliabh Luachra into a world already set in the New Faith in an attempt to turn back an unstoppable tide?’

Eadulf lifted his arms slightly and let them fall, expressing that he had no answer.

Finally, he said, ‘Well, if you are looking for suspects other than Deogaire, you might as well say that Brehon Aillín had motive and opportunity. He must dislike me intensely.’

Fidelma did not smile. ‘I have not dismissed that possibility,’ she replied.

Eadulf was slightly surprised at her ready acceptance of the idea. ‘I know he doesn’t like me, and he will not take kindly to your brother’s defence of me, but a Chief Brehon of this kingdom attempting murder out of revenge. .’

‘All people have it in them to strike out in fury when they are pushed too far,’ replied Fidelma. She had not told Eadulf that Brehon Aillín had threatened to take action against him and had only been prevented by Colgú’s intervention. ‘But you are right: I don’t believe he was the person who pushed the statue down on us. He is a frail, elderly man. You saw the iron bar that was wielded as a lever to shift that statue. It’s heavy. And the statue is large, the size of a child. It would have taken some strength to shift.’

Brother Conchobhar had been sitting listening attentively as they exchanged their ideas. Now he spoke up.

‘Fidelma, as much as I argue with Deogaire, I cannot accept that one of my own family would attempt this deed. I will not believe that he is guilty.’

‘Try not to worry, old friend,’ she replied. ‘He will not be accused without a thorough investigation.’ Fidelma made to rise and then an afterthought came to her: ‘Did you ask the librarian about that ritual wool collar?’

The apothecary paused for a moment. ‘Oh yes. He confirmed that some generations ago, all the bishops wore something similar during the services as a mark of their rank. But he seems to think that this dress fell into disuse when a new design was ordered by Rome. He is going to look up some manuscripts in the archives which he thinks might explain more about it.’

‘Let us know as soon as you hear, my friend.’ She rose and turned for the door. ‘It has been a long day and I, for one, am tired.’

Eadulf had wanted to discuss matters further. He felt irritated and nearly pointed out that he had been ready for bed some time ago. First thing in the morning, he’d be taking his son out riding. This didn’t happen often because Eadulf was not fond of riding as a pastime, unlike Fidelma. He rode only when he was forced to do so, as a means of transport. The idea that one rode a horse for pleasure was beyond his comprehension.

‘Very well,’ he said stiffly, as he followed Fidelma’s example. ‘We will talk more about this in the morning. But as you said earlier, there will be little time to reach any solution before Bishop Arwald and his party arrives. I do not think we have to fear Bishop Arwald, however. It is the fact that he is accompanied by the Venerable Verax, brother of the Bishop of Rome, which gives me concern.’

They wished Brother Conchobhar good night and left him to his studies. It was as they were entering their chamber that Eadulf suddenly asked: ‘Do you believe what Brother Conchobhar was saying about Brother Madagan?’

Fidelma stared at her husband in surprise. ‘I have never known him to lie. Is there a reason why we should disbelieve him now?’

‘I find it curious that he comes out with this suspicion about Brother Madagan killing Brother Cerdic at the very moment that he learns that his own nephew has been imprisoned as a suspect.’