The Devil's seal

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The morning was dry but a blustery wind and heavy dark clouds promised wet weather to come. Fidelma and Eadulf were taking their morning meal, scarcely speaking to one another as each engaged with their own reflections about the previous evening. When Muirgen entered to clear the table, she said: ‘I hear Beccan has returned this morning.’

The announcement caused both of them to look up.

‘This morning?’ Fidelma glanced towards the window. ‘He must have arrived early.’

‘I went down to the kitchens to get hot bread and saw him coming through the main gates,’ confirmed the elderly nurse.

Fidelma was already rising from the table. ‘We should have a word with him at once.’ She was at the door when Eadulf, snatching a last piece of bread which he had coated liberally in honey, joined her. They reached the courtyard and were crossing it towards the main building when they encountered Abbess Líoch, hurrying towards the chapel.

‘Have you seen my steward?’ she asked Fidelma as they came abreast of one another.

‘Sister Dianaimh?’ Fidelma shook her head. ‘We have only just arisen. I am afraid we are up late today.’ She peered more closely at the other woman. ‘You look worried.’

‘It is only that I needed to consult her on something,’ the abbess said distractedly. ‘She is nowhere to be found.’

‘She has probably risen early and is about the palace somewhere. If not, then the guard would tell you whether she has passed through the gates,’ Eadulf offered.

‘I have already spoken to the guard. She has not left the palace grounds.’

‘There are few places in the palace she can have gone,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘You were on your way to the chapel, weren’t you? She might well be there.’

Abbess Líoch did not seem convinced but continued on her way towards the chapel.

‘Now,’ Eadulf said tightly, ‘let’s see whether Beccan supports this strange story that Deogaire would have us believe.’

They found the steward, looking contrite, in the palace kitchens. He was speaking with Dar Luga. On seeing them, he immediately approached, wringing his hands.

‘I have heard the news, lady. It’s my fault. All my fault.’ His voice was almost like a child’s wail. ‘Luan told me — he was on guard at the gates when I arrived.’

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a puzzled glance.

‘What is your fault, Beccan?’ Fidelma asked calmly.

‘Being absent at the very time important guests arrive.’ He was practically in tears. ‘I have told the King that I am ready to take the consequence. I should never have-’

‘And have you been told about Deogaire?’ interrupted Eadulf. Seeing the steward’s baffled look, Fidelma swiftly enlightened him.

‘My fault again,’ he bleated. ‘I should never have allowed Deogaire to use a room in the guest chambers.’

‘Calm yourself, Beccan,’ Fidelma said, as the man seemed on the verge of hysteria. ‘Just tell us — slowly — what happened in relation to Deogaire.’

The punctilious little steward rubbed his face with one hand and paused as if to gather his thoughts. ‘Deogaire came to the door of the kitchen last night and asked to see me. He was aware of my position as steward.’

‘Of course. You knew him?’

‘I knew of his relationship with Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary. And I had seen him about the palace during his current visit.’

‘Go on.’

‘He told me that he had argued with his uncle and now lacked a bed in the palace. It was too late for him to leave to commence his journey home, so he asked me. .’

‘One moment. Why did he come to you if you did not know him? Why did he not ask anyone else for a place to sleep? Why not go to the inn in the town below or find a corner in the stables from the stable-master? He could also have sought a corner in the Laochtech, with the warriors. Why come to the King’s house to ask his steward?’

‘As King’s steward he probably realised my importance in running the household,’ Beccan replied with an ill-concealed pride.

‘So he appeared at the door of the kitchen and asked you for a bed?’

‘That is as it happened,’ the steward assured her.

It was certainly not the account given by Deogaire.

‘You then took him to the King’s guest quarters and showed him into an unoccupied room?’ she asked.

Beccan nodded shamefacedly. ‘I did not realise that he would use it as the base for an attack on you and Brother Eadulf,’ he mumbled.

‘That is yet to be proven,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You confirm, however, that you acceded to his request to be allowed to stay in the empty guest chamber? Did you tell him that he must remain there until first light and not venture out?’

Beccan thought for a moment. ‘I expect I did. I explained that it was the custom of the King’s bodyguard, the warriors of the Golden Collar, to be stationed at the doors and on the stairs during the hours of darkness. The King never liked the arrangement, but after the attempt on his life. .’ he ended with a shrug.

‘So Deogaire knew it was impossible to move from the floor of the guest quarters without being challenged?’

‘Especially after the guests retired. Yes, I told him so.’

‘Did you also tell him that he could exit onto the roof, cross it and take the second stairway down to the side to leave the building?’

Beccan dredged his memory. ‘I usually insist that the guests know of that exit, in case of fire. The guests, especially after a feast, could have an accident with their lamp or even candle. Thankfully, it has never happened in my time, but I am told there was one such fire when Máenach Mac Fingín was King here. Tragically, two guests choked to death on the fumes.’

Fidelma had heard of that fire. It had happened about the same time she had left Brehon Morann’s law school, and joined the Abbey of Kildare on the advice of her cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú. There had been nothing for her at Cashel after the death of her father, King Failbhe Flann. Her father’s nephew Máenach had become King. After him, a distant cousin, Cathal, ruled but he had died of the Yellow Plague at the very time he had invited her back to Cashel to advise him. It was only then that her brother Colgú had been elected as King and her world had stabilised. She had met Eadulf, was gaining a reputation as a dálaigh and felt no need to seek the security of a religious house.

She shook herself slightly and returned her thoughts to the matter in hand.

‘So Deogaire knew the way up onto the roof and across to the other stairway?’

‘Probably.’

‘Very well, Beccan. So you left him in the empty room and returned to your duties?’

‘I did.’

‘I remember that you greeted the guests at the evening meal before you left.’

‘There were few guests that evening.’

‘But then you left, handing over your duties as steward to Dar Luga, the housekeeper.’

‘I sought permission of the King to absent myself for two days. It was only a small intimate gathering that first night,’ Beccan said with a note of protest in his voice. ‘I was not needed to relay the protocols. I left instructions. Dar Luga said she locked the kitchen door and replaced the key on the hook. That would have been my last duty anyway.’

‘Where did you go?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Two days is a long time to absent oneself, especially in view of the imminent arrival of important guests.’

‘It was a private matter, lady,’ he responded defensively. ‘I told the King.’

‘You know well enough, Beccan, that when a dálaigh asks a question relating to a serious crime, there is no such thing as privacy.’ She used the old legal term derritius. ‘I am told you went to nurse someone.’

‘I went to the township to nurse a. . close friend.’

‘Be more specific.’

‘A woman,’ the rotund steward said shortly. ‘A woman friend.’

‘You must tell me her name,’ Fidelma insisted.

He hesitated a moment and then answered: ‘Maon.’

‘I know no one of that name in the town, so you must explain a little more about her and your visit last night. I will need to question her if you are not specific.’

Beccan seemed agitated. It was some time before he managed to answer. ‘Maon was ill. That’s why I had to see her and take remedies to help her.’

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you know what is wrong?’

‘She was suffering from fever. I had to leave here to nurse her.’

‘But there is a physician in the township and our apothecary Brother Conchobhar here in the palace. Why not summon one of them to examine the lady?’

‘I sent for the physician in the township but was told that he had been called to the Ford of the Ass and was not expected back for two days. I did not know what to do.’

‘So whose idea was it that Deogaire could provide you with medicine taken from Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary in exchange for a bed and your silence?’

She delivered the question in an even tone and for a moment Beccan seemed not to understand it.

‘He offered it as recompense,’ he replied.

‘But how did he come to know your troubles?’

‘I had seen my friend earlier in the day. Thus I knew her to be ill and that was when I found the physician had left the township. I was coming back to the palace, sick at heart, for I knew the King expected my services. I had no idea how to help her. It was then I encountered Deogaire in the courtyard and he asked me what was wrong. I told him. He said he would appear at the kitchen door later and bring with him some potions; if I took them to Maon and made her drink them, it would help her. He assured me that the fever would break. He was right.’

‘You trusted him?’

‘He said he would bring the potions from his uncle and I knew Brother Conchobhar to be a respected apothecary.’

‘And the fever broke?’

‘It did. She is now almost recovered. In fact, I left her quite well, having nursed her these last two days.’

‘I am confused. Why didn’t you go to Brother Conchobhar directly? Why didn’t you tell him the story and let him attend to this Maon?’

‘My thoughts were in turmoil. I met Deogaire on coming back here and so the need to see Brother Conchobhar no longer occurred to me.’

‘And when you met Deogaire in the courtyard, was this before or after his argument with Brother Conchobhar and his need to find a room?’

‘It was after. We arranged that he come to the kitchen door with the medicine.’

Fidelma paused for a moment before continuing, ‘Well, it is best that Brother Conchobhar be told this story now. He should know that some of his remedies may be missing. But he should also visit Maon and ensure all is well with her, to check that she was given the correct potions. Fevers have a habit of recurring.’

‘Do you think he would want to see her?’ asked the round-faced steward. ‘After all, she appears recovered.’

‘I will ask him. But why have you been so secretive about this Maon? I can’t seem to place her in this township.’

Beccan spread his arms, seeming to grow in confidence now that he had explained. ‘I am of the Déisi, south of the River Siúr, as you know, lady. She is from my home village, which is just by the Church of the Blessed Míodán. She ran away from her family several days ago to join me. I managed to find a small cabin on the forest track beyond the Road of Rocks. She had only been there a few days, when this fever took her. I was hoping to find her a job in the kitchens here. I think she caught a chill because of the hardship of her journey on foot across the mountains amidst the cold rains and winds. She was not well when she arrived here.’

Fidelma made a sympathetic sound with her tongue. ‘Unfortunately, today you are needed in the palace. If only it were otherwise, because I would advise my brother to send you back to look after Maon for the next few days. However, I shall ensure that Brother Conchobhar visits her.’

It was Dar Luga, working nearby, who coughed to attract attention. ‘I know the cabin beyond the Road of Rocks, lady. It is not far from Della’s place.’

‘Della would welcome the opportunity to help her,’ Eadulf added.

‘I came by there a few days ago, after visiting my sister Lassar, Ferloga’s wife, at Rath na Drinne,’ went on Dar Luga. ‘I was wondering why there were signs of occupation at that old cabin.’ She shook her head disapprovingly at Beccan. ‘It is not exactly in suitable condition for someone suffering from the fever. You should bring the poor girl to the palace; there is room for a bed among the attendants’ quarters. Strange though. .’ She paused as if at a sudden memory.

‘Strange?’ prompted Fidelma.

Dar Luga glanced at Beccan. ‘You said your friend travelled there on foot, but when I was passing, I thought I saw a horse tethered outside.’

Beccan immediately shook his head. ‘I know nothing of that. Perhaps it was a passing rider who stopped to make enquiries.’

‘Well, no matter,’ Fidelma continued. ‘You may leave the matter in our hands. Thank you for answering our questions.’

Outside, Eadulf was thoughtful. ‘The story is too glib. I find it hard to believe. If it is true, then we have much to ask of Deogaire who tells a contradictory tale.’

‘You are right. However, I shall not press Beccan for the moment,’ Fidelma agreed.

‘We can be sure of one thing at least.’

‘Which is?’

‘We know that Beccan left the palace gates while we were feasting with your brother and did not return until this morning. He was certainly not on the roof when the statue was toppled onto us. So why would he be lying about the other details?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Fidelma said grimly.

They were crossing the courtyard towards the Laochtech. Fidelma suggested they see Deogaire first before going to old Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary and telling him about the sick woman. As they walked, they suddenly heard the sound of a child’s voice blending with the stern tones of a guard at the gate.

Fidelma halted and glanced in the direction of the altercation. A small boy of ten or so was standing defiantly in front of one of the guards who was obviously trying to refuse him admittance.

‘I must see the King’s Brehon!’ the lad yelled.

They did not hear the gruff response of the guard but saw his finger pointing as if to bid the boy to go away.

Fidelma hurried across to the gate followed by Eadulf.

‘What is this?’ she asked.

The warrior straightened and raised a hand in salutation.

‘A boy obviously playing some prank, lady. I’ve told him to clear off.’

Fidelma turned to the sullen-faced child. ‘What is it, boy?’ she asked in a kindly tone.

‘My father says I must see the King’s Brehon.’

‘Your father? I seem to recognise you, lad. Aren’t you Rumann’s son? Why do you need to see the King’s Brehon?’

‘Because. . because. .’ The boy’s brow puckered as if trying to remember some message. ‘Because my father has found a body in his ale-making house.’

Then, seemingly relieved to have delivered this message, he turned and ran off down the hill, back towards the township.

Eadulf exchanged a startled glance with Fidelma. ‘Did you say that he was Rumann’s son?’ he gasped. ‘Rumann the innkeeper?’

Fidelma nodded assent.

Eadulf’s face was suddenly white. ‘But. . my brother! Egric, my brother! It must be his body!’ He turned and was running off down the hill in the wake of the boy.

Fidelma spun around to the startled guard. ‘Tell Gormán of this news and inform him that we shall be at Rumann’s inn.’ Then she, too, was moving rapidly down the hill towards the township. It was some distance but it was pointless waiting while horses were saddled.

Rumann’s inn lay on the far side of the town square. It was a large enough establishment; more substantial than any other set of buildings among the farms and houses that spread themselves under the shadow of the Eóghanacht citadel on the ancient rock towering above it. As well as the bruden or inn itself, with its adjacent accommodation for travellers, there were stables for guests’ horses, grounds beyond for a small group of animals such as pigs and poultry and then, beyond that was land cultivated for various vegetables and fruits. All in all, Rumann’s inn was self-sufficient in many things, not least in the brewing of ale, mead and nenadmin, which was a cider made from crabapples.

At the side of the inn was the small group of buildings where Rumann managed the brewing of the beverages that he sold, for as well as being an innkeeper he was also a scoaire — a professional brewer licensed under the law. According to the law, the most prestigious ale-making houses were accorded ‘lawful’ status, being dligtech or legalised houses. The local Brehon would examine them and give them certification. Other places, which were deemed not lawful, were not penalised — but the important difference was that if the ale produced there was bad, then the inn was forfeited to the local prince and the innkeeper had to pay compensation to all who had drunk the bad ale.

Of course, owners of legal inns and ale-making houses tended to take advantage of their status by charging higher prices, but it was often wiser to pay and feel confident of the quality of the drink consumed. Rumann was proud of the status of his business as a licensed inn and ale-making house. It was his privilege to accommodate those visitors to the King’s palace who could not be found rooms in the royal guest quarters. Indeed, he was now housing the warrior escort from Laighin which had accompanied the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald.

As Eadulf and Fidelma hurried across the square to the inn, they noticed the Laighin warriors sitting under a thatched shelter in front of the inn playing dísle — an ancient dice game that was popular among warriors. They seemed preoccupied and it was clear they knew something was amiss as they cast some nervous glances at the newcomers.

Rumann was standing agitatedly in the doorway and came quickly to greet them. As they reached him, he said nothing but motioned them to follow.

‘Who is it?’ demanded Eadulf as he entered the inn hot on Rumann’s heels. ‘Whose body have you discovered?’

The innkeeper half-turned: ‘The fellow is a stranger to me,’ he muttered.

Eadulf actually seized him by the arm, almost swinging him round. ‘Was it Egric? The man who was in here the other day with Dego, the warrior?’

To his relief the innkeeper immediately shook his head. ‘Not him. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him or Dego since they left for the mountains the other day.’

‘Then who is it?’ Eadulf asked, relief making him sound brusque.

Fidelma moved forward to take matters in hand. ‘You had better show us this body then, Rumann,’ she said calmly. ‘Kindly show us where and in what circumstances it was found.’

Rumann led the way through the inn and out of a back door, talking as he did so.

‘We had to cater for the Laighin warriors last night, as well as several others who came for food and drink. So it was not until a short time ago that I and my assistant decided to start the fermenting process of the bracat.’

Bracat was ale fermented from barley or rye but taking its name from bracha, malt.

‘The grain had already been dried in the kiln and was ready mashed to be placed into the vat for boiling, straining and fermentation. As I was about to start cleaning the vat, I peered down. . and there was a body at the bottom of it!’

They had crossed the outside yard where three men were waiting — Rumann’s brewers. One of them was standing nervously near a great wooden vat. At his feet was something covered in sackcloth.

Rumann gave a quick nod to the man, who bent down and pulled off the covering. In spite of the coating of drying mash that covered the body, it was easy to recognise the corpse as that of Sister Dianaimh of Cill Náile.