The Devil's seal

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The traditional welcome feast for distinguished guests had been hastily arranged. Dar Luga, the housekeeper, took over the management of the meal while Gormán attended to the protocols of the feasting hall. By the time Fidelma and Eadulf came into the hall, the guests were already arriving and being shown to their places. At a formal meal, everyone was assigned positions according to their rank. The tables were arranged along the walls, with the table for the guests of highest rank placed at the head of the chamber on a raised dais. Here would be seated King Colgú, and, usually, his heir-apparent and his Chief Brehon. However, Finguine, the tánaiste or heir-apparent, was absent gathering tributes from outlying territories, and Brehon Aillín had sent a message to the King excusing himself from attending in the circumstances. So Abbot Ségdae, as Chief Bishop of Muman, would sit next to the King on his right side while Fidelma and Eadulf would sit on his left.

Usually Gormán, as commander of the élite bodyguard, would also be seated — but since he had taken on Beccan’s role to oversee the feasting, he would have to stand behind the King’s chair. Because of his rank and position, he would be the only person allowed in the feasting hall to bear weapons. Ancient law and custom prohibited any other weapons to be carried within.

The visiting guests, the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald, were seated at the right hand nearest the top table. Seated behind them, but not at the table, was Brother Bosa who was to act as translator, as neither Verax nor Arwald spoke the language of the country, although they could both converse easily in Latin.

Because of the hurried arrangements, only a few local princes of the kingdom and their ladies were attending. These were princes of the branches of the Eóghanacht families such as Áine, Airthir Chliach, Glendamnach and the Chief of the Múscraige Breogan. They sat with their wives, each before their shields, hung on the wall behind them, and attended by their shield-bearers, who stood respectfully at their left shoulder. There was also a mix of religious: the Abbess Líoch, for example, and some of the local clerics, including old Brother Conchobhar, ranging along the tables to Sister Dianaimh who sat with Brother Madagan. Only one side of the long tables was occupied, for it was a tradition that no one sat directly opposite one another.

Fidelma breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed that Gormán had been able to get the seating protocols right, for any error could lead to a dispute which would be unseemly in front of foreign guests.

There was a sudden blast, followed by two more, as the fear-stuic, the trumpeter, blew the traditional signal for the arrival of the King. As the assembly rose, Colgú entered through a curtained portal behind his chair. Gormán, who had no staff of office to thump on the floor, merely stepped forward and called in stentorian tones: ‘Give welcome to Colgú, son of Failbhe Flann son of Áedo Dubh, fifty-ninth in generation descent to Eibhear Fionn, son of Milidh, Milesius the warrior, who brought the Children of the Gael to this land and who subdued the Goddesses of Sovereignty — Éire, Banba and Fodhla. Colgú, descendant of Eóghan Mór, the progenitor of the great clan of the Eóghanacht, whose descendant Corc set up his citadel on this blessed Rock, the fortress of this Kingdom of Muman. Give welcome to Colgú, undisputed King of the Five Territories of Muman.’

Eadulf cast a surprised glance at Fidelma because usually Colgú had little time for such ritual and had been known several times to stop his steward from reciting the full rite. He had even known Colgú to halt the bards singing the traditional forsundud or ancestral praise poems in his presence. ‘It is no use praising me for my ancestors,’ he would say. ‘I would rather the bards recognise me for what I do rather than what my fathers did.’ However, Fidelma, who usually shared her brother’s irritation on such matters, was sitting with a solemn expression. Looking across to where the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald were seated, Eadulf realised that Colgú was allowing this ritual for their benefit. He could see Brother Bosa struggling to explain what was going on.

When it was over, Colgú raised his goblet. ‘I bid you all welcome this night. Health to the men — and may the women live forever!’ It was the ancient toast, and those of the assembly who understood it responded in kind.

At the end of the hall, at a signal from Gormán, a group of musicians began to play soft music while the doors opened and a line of attendants entered with a variety of freshly cooked dishes, from venison and mutton to roasted boar; to dishes of goose eggs, sausages, and assorted vegetables: from cabbages spiced with wild garlic to leeks and onions cooked in butter — all served with an assortment of drinks: some wines imported from Gaul, but mainly cider, especially nenadmin, made from wild crabapples.

As feastings went, it was not one of the best Eadulf had attended. Even Fidelma was subdued and when he looked, Eadulf saw her gaze was fastened moodily on their guests. The table conversation was sporadic. There seemed no lightness to it, in spite of the best efforts of the musicians to introduce some note of levity by the choice of their compositions. Matters eased somewhat when Colgú rose and indicated that the guests should circulate and chat to one another. Eadulf suddenly found himself being confronted by Bishop Arwald.

‘Well, Brother Eadulf, it seems I was misinformed about you being in Canterbury recently. I apologise.’

‘As I told you, it is many years since I was there.’

‘I believe that you know much about this kingdom?’

‘As much as a foreigner can learn in the years that I have been here,’ Eadulf conceded.

‘Yet you have a unique role, being related by marriage to the King.’

‘It has led to certain privileges,’ Eadulf acknowledged diffidently. ‘As well as certain disadvantages.’

‘But you have come to know the leading members of the nobility here?’

‘Some of them. Why do you ask?’

‘For example, you must know Abbot Ségdae well?’

‘Of course.’

‘I am told that he maintains that his church was founded before the Blessed Patricius brought the Faith here.’

‘That is the history among the people here. The Abbey at Imleach was founded by Ailbhe, son of Olcnais of the Araid Cliach. It is said that a bishop from Rome named Palladius was sent to propagate the Faith here, and it was he who baptised Ailbhe into the New Faith — and that was many years before Patricius arrived. Ségdae is Ailbhe’s successor, chosen and elected by the people of the abbey who are regarded in legal terms as his family.’

‘But I am told that he is also related to the ruling family — so is he related to King Colgú?’ asked Bishop Arwald.

‘He is. That is usually the way it works in this country,’ said Eadulf.

‘So there would be resentment in this kingdom against the claims of Ard Macha to be the senior church here, on the basis that it is in a different kingdom?’

‘Naturally. It is not the first time that such resentment has boiled over among the leading churches of each of the Five Kingdoms.’

‘But there is a High King who rules over all the Five Kingdoms. Doesn’t he control the petty-kings?’

‘The High King is High King mainly out of courtesy. Governing power is retained by the provincial Kings, who then agree who will be High King.’

‘But the son of a High King becomes High King, surely?’

‘Kingship does not work here like it does among your people. Here, a King is elected by three generations of his family — the derbhfine — and chosen because he is best qualified to undertake the task.’

Bishop Arwald gave a puzzled shake of his head. ‘A strange custom. But I was wondering whether Abbot Ségdae had ever thought to make representations to Rome for recognition of his abbey, as he says it pre-dates that of Ard Macha?’

Eadulf was amused. ‘You should ask Abbot Ségdae, as he stands but a short distance away,’ he said, nodding to where the abbot stood in the feasting hall. ‘But I would doubt that he is interested in what Rome thinks.’

‘Why would that be?’ Bishop Arwald reared up.

‘Most of the churches of the Five Kingdoms see themselves as independent of any distant authority, either from Rome, Constantinople, or Alexandria. People here are not concerned with this idea of having a Chief Bishop.’

Bishop Arwald raised his eyebrows. ‘But I know even the Britons and the Irish have recognised the authority of Rome.’

Eadulf found it interesting that Bishop Arwald was going over the same ground as the Venerable Verax.

‘There is a difference between recognising Rome as having a special place in the propagation of the Faith and in accepting that it has authority over all things. You already know that the Five Kingdoms have often rejected the attempts by Rome to dictate rules and even laws; these laws are called Penitentials. Now some of the short-sighted abbots are accepting them and coming into conflict with the native laws here. .’

‘Ah yes. I believe that you can talk of these laws from knowledge. I find it amazing — as should you, being from the Kingdom of the East Angles — that a mere woman can go around questioning, judging and pronouncing the law.’

Eadulf’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean my wife?’

‘I mean any woman who is a lawgiver in this strange land. However, let us return to our friend Abbot Ségdae. Do you maintain that he would not wish to seek Rome’s favour to be considered as Senior Bishop in all these kingdoms?’

‘I cannot speak for Abbot Ségdae, but I would find it unlikely.’

‘You don’t think he would be interested in achieving the rank of Archbishop — Senior Bishop over all the bishops of these kingdoms — and acquiring some symbol to show it? Perhaps he might even pay for such a token. . even from Rome?’

Eadulf examined Bishop Arwald suspiciously. ‘What are you suggesting?’

Bishop Arwald immediately backed down. ‘I suggest nothing. I am trying to ascertain how serious the bishops in this land are about this matter of the role of an Archbishop.’

‘I think that if you wish to seek any more information, you should put your questions directly to Abbot Ségdae,’ Eadulf replied coldly.

‘I do not wish to offend you, Brother. As an Angle in this strange kingdom you have a unique position to tell me what people feel without my confronting them and causing them insult where no insult was intended. Please accept my apologies if you felt otherwise.’

Eadulf hesitated; being apologetic was not a natural trait of this man. Then he shrugged. ‘So long as you understand that people set high store by frankness.’

‘Then I thank you for your frankness, Brother Eadulf.’

Bishop Arwald turned and made his way towards a group surrounding Abbess Líoch. Eadulf stared after him for a moment before finding Sister Dianaimh at his elbow. She was also staring bleakly after the bishop.

‘You don’t like our guest?’ Eadulf ventured, interpreting her scowl.

The girl started. ‘Does it show that much?’

‘It does.’

Sister Dianaimh sighed. ‘Then there is no use denying it.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘I did not enjoy my time in the Abbey of Laestingau. I don’t like the men of Mercia that I encountered.’

‘Is that all?’

‘What else should there be?’

‘Why did you go to Oswy’s Kingdom? Were you Abbess Líoch’s companion then?’

The girl shook her head. ‘I only met her when I went to Laestingau. That was after the Great Debate at Streonshalh at which I understand you and Fidelma were present.’

‘What made you go to Laestingau?’

‘In spite of the decision of Oswy to follow Rome, which caused many of the missionaries of our land to return home, small bands of teachers continued to go to the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons, to convert and teach. I was one of a small band.’

‘From what abbey did you join them?’

‘I served at the Abbey of Sléibhte.’

‘Ah yes, I remember. That is beyond Osraige Territory, isn’t it?’

‘It is in Uí Dróna territory,’ confirmed the girl. ‘Fiacc, son of MacDara, Prince of the Uí Bairrche, being converted to the New Faith before Patricius came to this land, founded it. The Uí Bairrche once ruled Laighin before the Uí Cennselaig overthrew them.’

‘Who is the abbot there now?’

‘Aéd of the Uí Bairrche. The abbey is regarded as an Uí Bairrche stronghold; it gets scant recognition from King Fianamail of Laighin who, of course, is descended from the Uí Cennselaig. Therefore, there were tensions there. That was when I decided to join the small band of pilgrims going to Laestingau.’

‘And is that where you met Abbess Líoch?’

‘Yes, although she was not an abbess then. It was after she returned here and went to Cill Náile that she became Abbess. She asked me to join her and I became her bann-mhaor, her female steward.’

Eadulf decided to seize the opportunity to press the question that still puzzled him and Fidelma. ‘What I cannot understand is why Brother Cerdic especially asked for Abbess Líoch to attend here. The Venerable Verax tells us that they are only investigating claims for recognition of an Archbishop over the Five Kingdoms. If so, what role would the Abbess of Cill Náile play?’

‘I would not know.’ The girl looked uncomfortable.

‘I presume Cill Náile isn’t claiming to be regarded as a primacy?’ he joked.

Sister Dainaimh looked startled for a moment and then realised that Eadulf was not serious so did not reply.

At that moment Brother Madagan joined them and made an excuse to draw Sister Dainaimh aside to talk to her while Eadulf went to look for Fidelma. She was seated talking with Abbess Líoch. He wondered if they had made up after their previous argument. Fidelma welcomed him with a smile.

‘We were just talking about Brother Cerdic,’ she commented, as he obeyed her gesture to sit down.

‘What about him?’

‘I was telling Fidelma that I am still no wiser as to why he wanted me to come here,’ the abbess explained. ‘There is nothing that these visitors have raised which is of any interest to me.’

‘I must admit that it is strange, if we are to believe what the Venerable Verax tells us is the purpose of this deputation,’ Fidelma agreed.

‘You have reason not to believe it?’ asked the abbess.

‘When Brother Cerdic came to Cill Náile to ask you to come here, how exactly did he phrase the request?’ Fidelma enquired, ignoring her question.

‘Just as I have told you. He said it would “be in my interest” to come.’

‘And that was it?’

‘Yes. But as I said, I have heard nothing that is in my interest so far.’

‘I was speaking to Sister Dianaimh a moment ago,’ Eadulf said. ‘I had not realised that she had been at Laestingau with you. I wondered whether she had encountered Brother Cerdic before?’

The abbess shook her head quickly. ‘No — she would have told me. She came to Laestingau some time after the attack on that abbey. I had not known her before. I think you are aware that she came from the Abbey of Sléibhte?’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘It is just hard to understand why Brother Cerdic would ask you to come here.’

Eadulf chuckled. ‘Well, as I said to Sister Dainaimh, it is not as if Cill Náile would be one of those places to claim authority over all the other abbeys in the Five Kingdoms.’

‘A silly idea,’ the abbess replied, taking him seriously. ‘Our churches are independent; they look to the protection of the kings and princes of the territory, and not to some over-lordship within the religious. Why, that would mean the religious themselves would be creating bishops and abbots who saw themselves as temporal princes. Next thing, they would be raising their own armies to protect their abbeys, which then became fortresses. We would have to start paying tribute to bishops instead of to kings.’

The abbess then excused herself, rose and moved off. Eadulf watched her go with a troubled expression. ‘There must have been some purpose in the mind of Brother Cerdic,’ he observed quietly.

‘I saw you talking with Bishop Arwald,’ Fidelma remarked. ‘Did he say anything further that might cast a light on the matter?’

‘He did not. He seemed to want reassurance that Abbot Ségdae was not interested in obtaining approval from Rome for claiming the primacy for Imleach.’

‘How curious. I thought Abbot Ségdae had made himself clear earlier.’

‘Do I hear my name mentioned?’

They turned to find Abbot Ségdae about to join them. He sat down.

‘We were speaking about our strange visitors and their purpose,’ explained Fidelma.

‘A strange deputation, indeed,’ confirmed the abbot. ‘I would feel better if I could understand why their emissary, Brother Cerdic, had been killed. That alone makes their mission perplexing.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma, wondering whether to mention the links with the attack on the Venerable Victricius and his brother. She had obviously decided the time was not right.

‘If I had been charged with such a mission,’ continued the abbot, ‘I would have gone first to the Kingdom of Midhe, to the seat of the High King himself, and then called a council of the chief bishops of all the Five Kingdoms and let each put forward their arguments. But this seems such a surreptitious means of sounding us all out. First to Laighin, then to Muman — and then where? Presumably to Connachta?’

Eadulf saw a certain expression on Fidelma’s face which meant that the abbot had said something of importance. It was a fleeting expression that Eadulf knew well and which perhaps only he could interpret: the droop of the eye, the muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth.

‘Deogaire did warn us,’ Eadulf smiled, thinking to deflect the topic. ‘Remember the night of Cerdic’s funeral? You said something to Brother Madagan about the dangers of prophecy.’

Abbot Ségdae actually chuckled. ‘My steward claimed to be having dreams. Some silly notion of digging up the tomb of the Blessed Ailbhe who founded our abbey.’

‘Brother Madgan is usually such a phlegmatic person,’ observed Fidelma. ‘For what purpose does he dream of digging up Ailbhe’s tomb?

‘He said, in his dream, the tomb would reveal that the Abbey of Imleach’s destiny was to become the greatest centre of the Faith in the Five Kingdoms. He believed it was a prophecy. After Deogaire’s outburst, I remarked to Madagan that soothsayers and prophets are not taken seriously. Ah, I want a word with Bishop Arwald. Excuse me.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf and motioned him aside, then murmured, ‘Talk to the Venerable Verax and try to ask him why he was in Canterbury and what the purpose of his journey was. Would the Bishop of Rome really send his own brother on such a journey to our kingdom, merely to hear gossip? I believe there is a deeper purpose at work and that it has something to do with Canterbury.’

Eadulf raised his eyebrows a little. ‘He did start off by asking us what we thought about Theodore of Canterbury extending his religious authority over the Five Kingdoms.’

‘That answer would surely be known before the question was asked.’

Eadulf rose and examined the company. The Venerable Verax was in the company of Brother Conchobhar. He grimaced at Fidelma, before making his way over to them. The old physician looked almost relieved as Eadulf approached and it was clear that he was not happy with the conversation he was having with the Roman prelate. As he drew nearer, Eadulf understood why.

‘Let now the astrologers, the stargazers, the prognosticators, stand up and save themselves from those things that shall come upon them,’ thundered the Venerable Verax, obviously quoting from something. ‘That is what is written in the scripture of Isaiah. Behold they shall be as stubble, the fire shall burn them and they shall not deliver themselves from the pain of the flames.’

Eadulf felt sorry for the old physician who, indeed, practised divination from the stars as was common among the people. But Eadulf knew that some in the New Faith were against the ancient science even though the birth of the Christ, according to the scriptures, was foretold by astrologers who then came to pay homage to Him. Eadulf glanced with sympathy at Brother Conchobhar, who mumbled some excuse and left them. Then Eadulf smiled at the Roman cleric.

‘And are you finding your visit to this land enlightening, Venerable Verax?’

The old man sniffed disparagingly. ‘What went you into the wilderness to see? A man dressed in fine clothes?’ he replied, misquoting the text of Matthew. ‘I did not expect to find more than I have.’

Eadulf blinked in surprise. ‘Do you consider this a wilderness?’ he asked, trying to keep the astonishment from his voice.

‘Do you not find it so? Oh, I know you have formed an attachment here, but you have been to Rome, lived and studied there. This is a desert by comparison.’

‘We could discuss such points but, I hope, with more retention of diplomacy than Bishop Arwald uses,’ Eadulf commented.

‘I come to bring the Faith and civilisation,’ replied the other, oblivious to his tone. ‘Diplomacy is a tool to gain trust. I can speak to you, Eadulf, for you are intelligent. I see from your tonsure that you support Rome.’

Eadulf was about to correct Verax’s view of him but then he realised the display of good fellowship might be a means to getting the information he was after.

‘Rome is certainly a different world,’ he agreed.

‘I have no illusions when I come among the barbarians,’ went on the Venerable Verax affably. ‘Do I not remember how the great historian Strabo described how these people were cannibals who thought it an honourable thing to eat their dead fathers. He also wrote that they openly had intercourse with their mothers and sisters.’

Eadulf could not help grinning at this.

‘You disagree?’ snapped Venerable Verax, seeing his reaction.

‘I think you will find that Strabo was misinformed,’ Eadulf replied diplomatically. ‘Have you seen any such proof of this since you have been here?’

The Venerable Verax shrugged. ‘Because I have seen no such proof, it does not mean that such proof does not exist.’

‘And you have been here. . how long?’ Eadulf seized the chance.

‘We arrived on the half moon of the first quarter — our boatmen took advantage of the neap tide. So now we are in the third quarter.’

‘You landed in Laighin, of course. I have been there,’ Eadulf confided. ‘At which port did you land?’

‘It was a port called the height of something or other. I cannot recall.’

‘Ard Ladrann,’ supplied Eadulf. ‘That is a port on the eastern coast of the kingdom. I suppose you travelled directly west to Fearna?’

‘We were greeted by the bishop of that place, Bishop Moling, who then escorted us to the King. He is a man much given to airs and graces, as also is the King of this place.’

Eadulf thought he would overlook that remark but come nearer to the point.

‘From Canterbury to Ard Ladrann is a long journey,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You must have been exhausted!’

‘Indeed, it was nearly seven days’ ride from Canterbury to where we embarked by ship for this country. Truly, it was tiring — but each time we had to stop, members of the brethren gave us hospitality.’

‘And before that, it seems you came all the way from Rome! The journey from Rome to Canterbury is not without fatigue and also dangers,’ went on Eadulf, dropping his voice. ‘I myself have made that very journey to and from Rome twice.’

‘Many people have made it,’ the Venerable Verax replied airily. ‘How much more dangerous was it centuries ago, when Rome’s great generals marched their armies to take possession of the island of Britain? They had hostile armies of barbarians to face.’

‘I made the journey with Theodore after he was appointed Archbishop by your brother. Then he asked me to come here as an emissary and here I have remained, more or less. How is Archbishop Theodore?’

The Venerable Verax became confidential. ‘In health, he is hearty. But many problems oppress him in dealing with the politics of the kingdoms that fall under his authority. That was why-’ The old man suddenly pressed his lips together as if he had said too much.

‘Was Brother Cerdic in your party when you travelled from Canterbury to Ard Ladrann?’ Eadulf asked, pretending not to notice the awkward moment.

The Venerable Verax’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you ask about him?’

‘Colgú explained to you that I and Fidelma are trying to resolve the matter of his death. Brother Cerdic arrived here with someone called Brother Rónán, who has now returned to Laighin. I was wondering at what stage he left your party to come on here alone in order to warn us of your arrival?’

The prelate considered the question for a moment. ‘Brother Cerdic accompanied Bishop Arwald and myself from Canterbury; so did Brother Bosa. When we arrived in Laighin, we stayed for a time at the Abbey of Fearna and then for a few days at King Fianamail’s fortress. . a place called Dinn Ríg. Brother Cerdic volunteered to come here and prepare the way for us. Brother Rónán was appointed by Bishop Moling to accompany him as his translator and guide.’

‘So he was asked to go to Imleach and ask Abbot Ségdae to come here. But why meet here?’

‘I was told that Cashel was the seat of the King. It was King Fianamail of Laighin who felt that our enquiries were better discussed in front of the King of each territory.’

‘I suppose that there is logic in that,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Yet I am told Brother Cerdic also called at the Abbey of Cill Náile and suggested to the abbess that her presence was required.’

The Venerable Verax smiled softly. ‘Hardly required. But you surprise me. Of course, Bishop Arwald knew that the abbess had been in Oswy’s Kingdom for a while and maybe she was known to Brother Cerdic. But we certainly did not require her presence.’

‘That’s interesting. So Brother Cerdic might have known her?’

‘That knowledge is beyond me. Why is it of importance?’

‘Anything which might help with solving Brother Cerdic’s death is worth considering,’ Eadulf told him. ‘However, I am sorry that this long journey that you have made has been so fruitless and has cost the life of one of your deputation. We will do our best to discover why he met his death, and by whose hand, before you depart.’

‘You will have our gratitude, Brother Eadulf,’ acknowledged the cleric. ‘Well, I have told you all I know. Brother Cerdic left us at Dinn Ríg, the fortress of the King of Laighin, went to Sléibhte and came on here. That’s all I can tell you.’

Eadulf had been about to turn away when he realised the extra information that the Venerable Verax had added. ‘Did you say that Brother Cerdic went to Sléibhte?’

‘I am told there is an old abbey there which he wanted to visit,’ agreed the Venerable Verax before giving a nod of his head and moving away.

Eadulf remained a moment or two, locked in thought. Then he returned to Fidelma, who was now in conversation with her brother.

‘I was just saying to Fidelma,’ Colgú greeted him, ‘that after all our expectations, we have found the matter exceedingly boring. I have suggested that our guests rest here another day and then, if they wish to persist with what I believe is a pointless enquiry, they should take the road for the Abbey of Cluain Mic Noise.’ He shrugged. ‘However, they will be told the same story there as we have told them here. Ard Macha’s claims are not recognised by the bishops of the Five Kingdoms. As for accepting the religious jurisdiction of Theodore of Canterbury. .’ He ended in a bark of laughter.

‘There is still the matter of the death of Brother Cerdic to be resolved,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘Are you still holding Deogaire for the attempt on your lives?’ her brother asked. ‘Surely we can get a confession from him. Isn’t his guilt obvious?’

‘That is what is troubling me,’ Fidelma said. ‘Surely a guilty person would be able to come forward with a better excuse than the one he gave us?’

‘The facts should speak for themselves,’ her brother maintained.

‘But often facts can be seen from a distorted perspective so that they appear entirely contrary to what they really are.’

‘I don’t quite see what you mean.’

‘Perhaps I shall be able to demonstrate the point as time progresses.’

‘But there is not too much time, Fidelma. Remember, Brother Cerdic’s death occurred in my palace and I am responsible for that death under the law. I will have to pay the Venerable Verax compensation and receive the judgement of fines. That would be a mark against my character. There are many who would be willing to use that against me. Some would even claim that I am not worthy of kingship, and try to unseat me from the throne.’

‘You have in mind Brehon Aillín,’ Eadulf observed. ‘That man could do much to stir malcontents who would use such methods.’

‘Just find the killer of Brother Cerdic before the Venerable Verax departs and all else will follow for the good,’ Colgú said tightly. ‘And now it grows late. I see the Venerable Verax coming this way and I suspect he will be offering his excuses so that he might retire for the night.’

Fidelma drew Eadulf aside as Colgú went to speak with the Roman prelate. ‘Did you learn anything from Verax?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘Nothing we did not already know. Although I did gather that Brother Cerdic had been to the Abbey of Sléibhte before he went to Cill Náile and then on to Imleach.’

‘Why on earth would he go to Sleibhte?’

‘Venerable Verax told me that Brother Cerdic had heard that it was an ancient abbey and simply wanted to take a look at it. The interesting thing is that at Sleibhte they have a claim to be older than Ard Macha, and Sister Dianaimh once studied there.’

Fidelma gave a brief sigh of frustration. ‘I wonder if it is true, after all, that this is a means of testing whether Theodore of Canterbury could claim ecclesiastical jurisdiction over these kingdoms as well as the Saxon kingdoms? It just does not feel right.’

‘I agree that it seems odd that such a high-ranking person as the Venerable Verax, brother of the Bishop of Rome, should then be sent all this way to test the views of these kingdoms which have already been made perfectly clear to Rome.’

‘I cannot help feeling that there are lies being told,’ Fidelma said.

‘Everywhere there seems to be a wall in front of us.’

‘But on a practical level, there is still Beccan to question about Deogaire’s story,’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘Afterwards, I am not sure where we should turn from there. One thing I do agree with you about is that I don’t believe this suave prelate from Rome — even if he is the brother to Pope Vitalian.’