The Devil's seal

CHAPTER TWENTY

Eadulf was gazing gloomily from the window, down towards the gates, as a group of horsemen entered the courtyard. They were warriors, led by Enda. After recent events, Colgú had decided to increase the number of patrols around Cashel.

‘I hear the Council of Brehons have made up their minds,’ Eadulf said, turning to where Fidelma was sitting before the fire.

‘I can’t help feeling sorry for old Aillín,’ she replied. ‘He leaves tomorrow for his retirement, but does so unwillingly. I agree that he should have stood down from the office voluntarily. It’s a bad end to a long career.’

‘Do you know this new Chief Brehon — what’s his name. . Fíthel?’

‘I met him only once at a gathering of the Council of the Brehons, but our paths have never really crossed. He is from the Corco Mruad in the north-west of the kingdom and I have had no cause to spend time there. He is quite young and has a reputation as one who has never made false judgements. I am told he arrives later today.’

She rose and began pacing the floor of their chamber deep in thought, and now she came across to join him at the window.

‘Are you sure your brother used the word custodes?’ It was not the first time she had asked the question.

‘I have told you exactly what he said,’ Eadulf replied patiently. ‘Why do you refuse to let me challenge Brother Bosa? Didn’t Egric indicate he was at the bottom of this entire affair?’

‘Your brother also asked who Brother Docgan was.’

‘That was the person Egric told Gormán he and Victricius were due to meet in Cluain Meala. We now know there is no such person.’

‘It is a Saxon name, you said, and it means “little dog”.’

‘Knowing the meaning doesn’t help.’

Fidelma whirled around and immediately continued her pacing.

‘You will wear a groove in the floor soon,’ Eadulf said in exasperation. ‘Look — my brother identified Bosa with his dying breath. There is no need to delay — we should challenge him immediately!’

Fidelma’s features were like the onset of a thunderstorm as she halted and turned to face him. Then she caught herself. Her features softened in sympathy and she placed a hand on his arm.

‘It’s hard, Eadulf, I know. You had not seen Egric in ten years, and just when you thought you had found him again, he was snatched away by death. But you must not let emotion cloud your vision.’

‘He said. .’

‘I know what he said, and it confirms what I have been thinking. I believe that I know who is behind these killings. . all these killings. . and I am now trying to work out a means of ensnaring that person.’

‘Maybe if you shared your knowledge with me, we could find some way,’ retorted Eadulf dryly.

‘When you cast your mind over everything that has happened, you will realise that there is no witness to any of the murders apart from the killer or killers. It is difficult to go to law without witnesses. We have none to the attack on Victricius now that Egric is dead; no witness to the murders of Brother Cerdic, Rudgal, Sister Dianaimh and of Beccan. We do not even have a witness to the attempt on our lives.’

‘And you really believe that they are all linked?’

‘Oh yes, they are. And one by one, the people who could have provided witness have been eliminated. Sadly, even this man Maon and his companion are now dead — but that cannot be helped.’

‘You believe that Beccan was referring to Maon when he talked about taking medicine to someone in the woodman’s hut?’

‘Beccan was not good at remembering names. My brother once commented on it, if you recall. He suspected that because Beccan was no good at remembering names, he had to write them down. Beccan needed a fictitious woman’s name to cover the fact that he was actually meeting Maon. As Maon could be used for either a man or a woman, he decided to stick with the real name so that he could remember it.’

‘That is a circumstantial deduction,’ Eadulf argued.

‘This whole affair rests on circumstances. What we call “indirect evidence under the law”. But while the law acknowledges ground for suspicion, even the accusation of guilt cannot be made without what we call the “arrae cuir” — a number of reputable people who individually make accusation. Even then, it is not valid if the accused can demonstrate some innocent reason to explain that these suspicions are not justified. That is the frustration.’

‘So you know who is at the centre of these mysteries, but you can’t accuse them because you don’t have the evidence?’

‘Correct. I have no conclusive proof with which I could demonstrate that guilt before Chief Brehon Fíthel, who must now judge the matter.’

‘In some ways your law system here is good, Fidelma. In other ways, I prefer that of my own people. If there are grounds for suspicion, the person is charged and it is up to him or her to show their innocence.’

‘Let us stick to the law as it applies here,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You said that Maon and his companion tortured Egric to make him reveal. . reveal what? Where something was hidden? We both know what that something is, and I think you now understand how it came into the hands of Victricius and your brother.’

Eadulf gave an unwilling gesture of affirmation.

Suddenly, Fidelma was smiling. ‘Eadulf, I think I have finally found a way to get the evidence. In fact, I am ashamed that I did not think of it before. Let us find Gormán.’

Puzzled, Eadulf hurried after Fidelma as she set off in search of the Commander of the Warriors of the Golden Collar.

He was at the Laochtech and greeted Fidelma with a tired smile.

‘I hope you are here to tell me to release Deogaire, lady,’ he asked hopefully. ‘I am not only getting problems from him, but now I have to put up with criticism from Aibell. I didn’t know that she knew him.’

‘Has Aibell been here?’ Fidelma was annoyed. ‘I told her I would inform her when she would be allowed to see him.’

‘You may recall that she was never any good at accepting orders, lady,’ Gormán replied glumly. ‘She’s been here several times, demanding to see Deogaire. Of course, I am following your orders, but you would think from her manner that I had turned into some kind of ravening monster.’

‘I am sorry that this has become a problem between you both.’ Fidelma was contrite. ‘However, I think we must hold him one more day. At the moment, there is a task I want you to undertake. I want you to seek out some people, but in a manner whereby they will think that they are meeting you by accident. Above all, they must not know that you have spoken to any of the others.’

Gormán’s eyes brightened. ‘Is this a secret task, lady?’

‘Something like that,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘What I want you to do is spread some gossip. Have you talked to anyone in depth since you came back with Eadulf after the attempted rescue of his brother?’

‘We reported to you and to the King, of course.’

‘But to no one else?’

He shook his head. ‘My duties have kept me busy, lady. But I should think that the King might have told people like Abbot Ségdae what happened.’

‘What happened, yes — but now I want you to remark casually that Eadulf brought back a small leather box. Egric had hidden it but Eadulf recovered it — and being anxious about it, took it straight to Brother Conchobhar who has placed it securely in his apothecary.’

Not only did Gormán look startled, but Eadulf as well.

‘A leather box?’ Gormán ran a hand through his hair trying to understand.

‘It is a ruse,’ Fidelma explained patiently to them. ‘The people you tell must know that the box is in safekeeping with Brother Conchobhar; that it had been in the possession of Eadulf’s brother and that Eadulf is worried about the safety of its contents. Is that understood? Above all, it must appear as if you were confiding only in the individual you speak to.’

‘I don’t understand it, lady.’ But Gormán shrugged and grinned, ‘However, I shall ensure the message is passed on in the form of gossip, as only a warrior sometimes knows how to gossip about things he doesn’t understand. Now, who are the people you want this information to be made known to?’

Brother Eadulf shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the cold floor in the corner of Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary, wishing he could get up and stretch to ease his cramped limbs. Fidelma was similarly seated on the opposite side of the room. He wondered whether old Brother Conchobhar had fallen asleep in his little back room. Then he spared a thought for Gormán, hiding in the shadows of the chapel’s side entrance across the small courtyard that separated the two buildings. It was the only place where he could view the door of the apothecary. It was a night without stars and no trace of moonlight penetrated through the clouds. Eadulf had no conception of the passing of time but was sure it was well after midnight. He was pessimistic that this so-called ruse of Fidelma’s would work.

Time passed. He was just beginning to drift off as natural tiredness overcame him, when he heard a noise and was suddenly wide awake. There was a movement at the side window. He pressed back into the shadows. There was a faint tinkle of breaking glass and the squeak of a catch. He felt the cold night air as the window was opened. Heavy breathing followed, and a grunt, as someone hauled themselves through the opening which, he recalled, was not large but just big enough to take a human.

Now the figure was in the apothecary, standing upright and trying to adjust to the darkness.

‘I was hoping that you would be the first to arrive, Brother Bosa,’ Fidelma’s clear voice rang out.

The man whirled round with a gasp. ‘I am-’ he began.

‘Stay still, do not speak,’ Fidelma ordered in an even voice before calling: ‘Conchobhar!’

The adjoining door at the rear of the apothecary opened and Brother Conchobhar’s voice whispered: ‘Do we have him?’

‘We have our first visitor,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘Brother Bosa, go with Brother Conchobhar and wait with him quietly until I say so. Oh, and be careful. Brother Conchobhar has in his hand an altan — what you would call a sharp surgical knife. Its cut can be painful. So I suggest that you say and do nothing.’

Eadulf was starting to crawl from his hiding place but her voice ordered him to stay where he was. Time passed and he was getting restless again when he heard another sound. Fidelma had insisted that the door of the apothecary be shut and locked to avoid any suspicion, for she had estimated that her adversary would realise the door would be locked. If it had been left unlocked, then it would have looked suspicious — like a trap. There was a scraping of metal on metal, followed by a snapping sound. Eadulf was feeling tense now, peering forward in the darkness.

In spite of the depth of the night, he could make out from the difference in tone when the door opened. Something dark appeared — and then there was complete blackness again. Eadulf presumed that the door had swung shut behind the intruder. There was silence for a moment and then the soft sound of stone on metal as the newcomer tried to light a lamp in the darkness. Then came a flame — and suddenly there was illumination.

Eadulf heard Fidelma rising on the other side of the room and he too stood up, staring with amazement at the figure revealed by the light. Shock registered on their features. This was the last person he had expected to respond to Fidelma’s ruse.

The figure dropped the lamp, which was immediately extinguished, but the door swung open and a tall shadow was blocking it. Gormán’s voice was sharp.

‘There is no escape, so just relax.’

At that moment, the interior door opened and the place was flooded with light again as Brother Conchobhar came in holding high a lantern with one hand and his knife in the other. Briefly, the figure seemed to be trying to decide whether to put up some resistance. Then there came a deep sigh and the shoulders slumped in resignation.

It was mid-morning when King Colgú, on Fidelma’s advice, summoned all those concerned to attend in his council chamber. He sat with the newly appointed young Chief Brehon Fíthel. The latter was gaunt in appearance with sandy, almost frizzy hair and elfin-like features. Yet the first thing one noticed about him was the icy-blue eyes that fixed one with an almost unblinking stare and seemed to penetrate to the very soul. He sat on Colgú’s right side on the dais.

Before them, to the right of the council chamber, sat Fidelma and Eadulf, and beyond them Abbot Ségdae, Abbess Líoch, Brother Madagan and Brother Conchobhar. On the left side of the council chamber, directly opposite them, were the Venerable Verax, Bishop Arwald and Brother Bosa.

Deogaire had been brought from his place of imprisonment and Muiredach, the warrior of Clan Baiscne, had been summoned from Rumann’s inn. They were seated at the far end of the chamber facing the King and Brehon Fíthel. Placed strategically around the chamber were Gormán, Enda, Aidan and Luan, the senior warriors of the King’s bodyguard.

The air of expectancy was palpable.

Having ascertained that everyone was in their correct places, as Fidelma had advised, Colgú addressed them all.

‘It is usual for my steward to commence these proceedings,’ Colgú began. ‘But as he is no longer of this world, I shall take this task upon myself and be advised by my new Chief Brehon, who will be sole judge in this matter. As I understand that Latin is common to all the participants, excepting some of my guards, the proceedings shall be in that language unless there are difficulties in comprehension. Is it agreed?’

There was a mumbling of agreement from the gathering. Colgú then glanced to Brehon Fíthel, who cleared his throat and asked if Fidelma was ready.

Fidelma rose from her seat, inclined her head quickly to her brother and the Chief Brehon, before walking to the centre of the chamber.

‘I have often had difficult matters to deal with in my years as a dálaigh,’ she began. ‘For an advocate of the courts of this kingdom, no matter is more frustrating than when there are no witnesses to the actual crimes; when we have to rely on piecing together the events by conjecture and then making deductions. This was the problem I was faced with in this matter. Because no one seemed willing to tell us the truth, we had to create a picture from odds and ends of evidence. That led me to devise a ruse so that the person I had begun to suspect would declare their own guilt.

‘I submit that, after I make my arguments, this ruse should be regarded in law as a method of obtaining the perpetrator’s coibsena or confession, and under that they are self-declared bibamnacht. . guilty of the crimes.’

She paused for a moment to glance at Brehon Fithel, who nodded to show that he did not disagree with her opening submission.

‘So now, let us proceed and piece together this sad story.’ She swung round to the Venerable Verax. ‘Tell us how the theft took place of those items that you had brought from your brother, Vitalian, the Bishop of Rome, to give to Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury?’

The Venerable Verax started in surprise at the direct question. He glanced at Brother Bosa who was seated nearby but simply shrugged indifferently. The Venerable Verax turned back to Fidelma, his eyes narrowed.

‘Are you clever, Fidelma of Cashel, or are you just guessing?’

Fidelma shook her head with a sad smile. ‘You should have learned one thing about me from the nomenclator of the Lateran Palace, the Venerable Gelasius, whom I was proud to have called a friend in Rome. I never guess.’

The Venerable Verax paused for a moment, as if undecided. Then he replied: ‘Then you will know that I set out from Rome on a mission to Theodore of Canterbury, bearing with me certain items that were given by the Holy Father and intended for Theodore and none other.’

‘I presume that you had but recently arrived in Canterbury when the theft occurred?’ she prompted. ‘But I should like to know the exact circumstances.’

‘I had brought with me certain holy objects. These I carried with me in a chest which was never out of my sight nor that of my personal servant.’

‘Except at the time when they were stolen?’ she pointed out with dry humour.

‘I thought them to be safe in the chest in my residence whilst I was in discussion with Archbishop Theodore. I returned to my chamber late one night, however, and found that my servant had been attacked, the chest had been forced open, and these items and papers removed. Enquiries were made. At this time Bishop Arwald was serving Archbishop Theodore as the head of his custodes. He undertook the task of helping to track down the thief or thieves.’

Fidelma turned to Bishop Arwald. ‘Archbishop Theodore had decided to copy the Lateran Palace and set up a group called the custodia which took care of the security and valuables of the church at Canterbury. Is that so?’

‘He had.’

‘And you were placed in charge of them?’

‘I was.’

‘And they included Brother Bosa and Brother Cerdic?’

‘They did.’

‘So, you undertook to discover the thief. When did you learn that a thief, passing himself as a priest called Victricius, was responsible for the theft of these objects?’

‘It did not take long. There is no honour among thieves, and Victricius was a known thief. Witnesses saw him at the Archbishop’s residence and leaving the quarters used by distinguished guests. He was later observed at various taverns meeting with a young man — a warrior from the descriptions. This young man had previously been seen by both Bishop Arwald and Brother Bosa, but it was only later that a connection was made. The young man resembled Brother Eadulf there, as had already been pointed out. It was not long before their hiding place was betrayed by other thieves. One of the custodes went there to investigate but the two had already fled, leaving behind, I should say, some inconsequential documents from their theft, which evidence confirmed their guilt.’

‘Was it Brother Cerdic who was sent to investigate their hiding place?’

Bishop Arwald seemed surprised but nodded. ‘He was but newly joined in our custodia. He had impressed me with his enthusiasm.’

‘He reported back that the thieves had fled?’

‘When thieves fall out, truth is to be found,’ replied the Bishop Arwald. ‘I afterwards questioned the innkeeper where they had been hiding and learned that they had set off for the coast north of Canterbury. Riders went after them but found they had embarked on a merchant ship heading for this kingdom. We realised they would doubtless find buyers for those items they stole here.’

‘What made you believe that?’

It was the Venerable Verax who answered. ‘I knew from my brother and in our archives that Ard Macha had already petitioned to be recognised as a primacy here. Obviously there would be interest in these objects.’

‘Are we to be told what these objects are?’ asked Chief Brehon Frithel.

‘Yes; we will come to them in a moment,’ Fidelma replied. She turned back to the Venerable Verax. ‘So you decided to follow the thieves here?’

‘There was no option but to make an attempt to retrieve the items.’

‘It puzzles me that you did not follow by the same sea route,’ Fidelma commented.

‘Storms were coming up and we were told it might be several days before we could find a ship. We took advice from Brother Bosa, who had been here before, and it was decided that we ride for a harbour in the land of the West Saxons and take ship from there. Brother Bosa had studied here in Darú and knew the route well. He felt that we might even land in advance of the merchant ship because of the long voyage it had before it.’

‘A question!’ It was Eadulf who interrupted, and receiving permission of the Brehon Fíthel, he asked: ‘I can understand the custodes giving chase in this fashion, but why was the presence of the Venerable Verax necessary? He was a distinguished visitor from Rome.’

‘I was given a commission by the Holy Father,’ explained the elderly prelate. ‘It was my task to see it carried out. Anyway, I alone knew what these items were and could identify them.’

‘Well, the thieves could identify them as well,’ Eadulf replied pointedly.

Brehon Fíthel leaned forward and declared: ‘I must now insist that we are told exactly what these valuable items were.’

‘Items of extreme value to certain people within these kingdoms wishing to show authority from Rome,’ Venerable Verax prevaricated.

‘Certain people?’ Fidelma smiled indulgently. ‘To be succinct, those who wanted to be recognised as Chief Abbot or Bishop of the religious over all these kingdoms. That, of course, is why you were so interested in finding out which of our abbots and bishops would want to claim this primacy. The intention of Victricius and his companion was clearly to sell these items to the highest bidder, as they would seemingly confer the authority of the Bishop of Rome on whoever owned them.’

Abbot Ségdae now intervened with a frown. ‘Surely, it must have occurred to the thieves that such a transaction would be as illegal as it would be invalid?’

‘Invalid because the items would not have the authority of the Bishop of Rome and because they were presumably intended for another,’ agreed Fidelma.

The Venerable Verax smiled tightly. ‘Unfortunately, the declaration of the name and office on the parchment, given under the Holy Father’s own seal, was left to be filled in later by a scribe.’

‘I thought that you said these items were sent to and intended for, Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury?’ Eadulf said sharply.

‘Theodore was already Archbishop,’ agreed the Venerable Verax. ‘He needed no such authority. But he was finding it hard to control all the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons. He had sent an emissary to Rome with the request that he be allowed to elevate a bishop called Wilfrid as Archbishop of Northumbria, with his cathedral in a town called York. This Wilfrid would therefore become the second Chief Bishop among the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons. However, Theodore wanted the power to do this without Wilfrid being specifically named, until such time as Theodore was certain of his ability, since there were still some matters of contention between them. My task was to take the pallium and the declaration, given under the Holy Father’s seal, to Canterbury. As I said before, the name and bishop’s see, the official centre and jurisdiction of the bishop, was left for one of Theodore’s scribes to fill in.’

‘In other words,’ Eadulf summed up, ‘someone could purchase these items from the thieves and then append their own name? Rome might deny it, but the claim could be announced and could convince enough people to cause a schism that might last for generations.’

‘Exactly so,’ confirmed the Venerable Verax.

‘Well, I would have had nothing to do with such false baubles,’ Abbot Ségdae declared immediately.

‘But there may be others who have no such scruples,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘I have attended councils at Streonshalh and at Autun; I have seen how bishops and abbots are no better than temporal princes in their quest for power. No doubt there would be many who would pay a king’s honour price for such items. Fortunately, some of these items were destroyed.’

The Venerable Verax leaned forward with a gasp. ‘I hear they were stolen from the thieves — but do you know for certain that they were destroyed?’

‘Having come thus far, let us finish.’ Fidelma ignored his question. ‘You landed in the Kingdom of Laighin. You told people there you were on a deputation to learn the views of the abbots and bishops. But you also asked questions of merchants and travellers to see whether your thieves had reached there. In fact, they had landed in a port further south but not in Laighin. It was a port in this Kingdom of Muman called Láirge. They had hired a river boat to take them here.’

Brehon Fíthel interrupted. ‘One of these thieves you say was someone who called himself Victricius?’

‘He called himself the Venerable Victricius of Palestrina, passing himself off as an elder of the religious,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘He had already been caught stealing and was flogged in Canterbury.’

‘I am afraid that his companion was my own brother, Egric,’ Eadulf added stiffly. ‘My young brother, who by the strangest coincidence of fate survived the attack and was brought to Cashel. He tried to keep up the disguise that he was a religious, travelling with this Venerable Victricius on some religious mission. I felt he was lying but could not accept it.’

‘So Victricius and Egric were the thieves who stole the items from Canterbury and brought them to Port Láirge?’ Colgú concluded.

‘Indeed,’ Fidelma nodded. ‘Victricius and the boatmen were attacked and killed on the river. Egric survived. The items were initially thought to have been stolen or destroyed.’

Everyone was tense now, looking towards her. She turned and motioned to Eadulf, who produced something wrapped in a cloth, which they had brought into the council chamber.

‘Unfortunately, when the thieves arrived at the harbour of Láirge, they met the person who was to set in motion the events that led to all the deaths here. Until he makes a full confession, we can only surmise the details. He met Victricius and Egric at Láirge. He discovered what they had to trade. He saw the tremendous value of the items and knew that, with them, he could acquire rank and power. There was just one problem: he personally could not afford to purchase them.

‘So he told Victricius and Egric to take a boat up the River Siúr, to head for Cluain Meala, the Field of Honey, where they would be contacted. Of course, he had no intention of them ever reaching that township. He arranged with a small band of outlaws, led by Rudgal, to ambush them. They were to steal what they could, but ensure that certain items were taken and brought to him. As we know, Rudgal and his companions killed Victricius and the two boatmen, and also believed they had killed Egric.’

‘But you said some items were saved?’ the Venerable Verax pressed anxiously.

Fidelma gestured to Eadulf, who unwrapped the cloth he had before him. From it, he produced the embroidered lambswool band that Brother Conchobhar had found wrapped around the waist of Rudgal. The Venerable Verax rose and took the item from Eadulf, his eyes wide and hands trembling.

‘It is the pallium!’ he gasped. ‘The same pallium blessed by the Holy Father.’

‘Unfortunately,’ continued Fidelma, ‘Rudgal and his gang of cut-throats were not too mindful either of life or the value of the written word. Rudgal found and kept the pallium, but his companions simply ransacked and destroyed the papers, including the document given under the Bishop of Rome’s seal. Rudgal and his attackers took what items they deemed of immediate value and set fire to the rest.’

‘How can we be sure that the document with the Holy Father’s seal was destroyed?’ demanded Venerable Verax.

Eadulf reached into his robe and drew out the small lead fragment that looked like a coin.

‘It is lucky that when I was in Rome, I had seen similar items,’ he said. ‘Here is the lead seal with the letters V.I.T.A. inscribed on it and an emblem. When our warriors came across the scene of the attack by the river, one of them, Dego, spotted this lead token on the ground. It was among the burned papers. He picked it up, thinking it was merely a worthless coin, and decided he would use it as a weight for his fishing line. So this was the only other item that survived.’

He dropped it into the Venerable Verax’s outstretched hand. The man glanced at it and uttered a deep sigh. ‘It is indeed the Holy Father’s bullae — his seal — which is attached on all official documents from his hand.’

Brehon Fíthel asked to see the item, turning it over between his fingers. ‘Curious, indeed,’ he remarked. ‘I would have thought such an important seal would have been made of a metal of finer quality than mere lead. What do you call it? A bull?’

‘The word bullae means a seal,’ explained the Venerable Verax, taking it back from the Chief Brehon before glancing at Fidelma. ‘So this is all that has survived? No other documents?’

‘It is all,’ confirmed Fidelma.

‘Then it seems that our journey has been wasted.’ Bishop Arwald was clearly disappointed.

‘Wasted?’ rebuked Fidelma. ‘Is any journey wasted? I hope not. You have the pallium and you have the bullae. And perhaps you and your party may have learned something about our kingdoms.’ She looked the Venerable Verax straight in the eye and added, without a change of expression, ‘You may even inform people that Strabo was in error when he told the world that we were cannibals. Learning that fact, surely, was no waste of a journey!’

‘I mean that our fear of these items falling into the wrong hands was no fear at all,’ Bishop Arwald replied stiffly.

‘On the contrary,’ Fidelma returned, ‘there was a fear — and that fear has engendered the deaths of eight people! In addition, a young warrior is now disabled for life and, had Eadulf and I not been lucky, it might have meant our deaths or injury as well.’

‘Eight deaths?’ The Venerable Verax frowned.

‘Your thief and his companion, Egric, two innocent boatmen, Brother Cerdic, Rudgal, Sister Dianaimh, Beccan the steward. . I am not even counting the gang of outlaws led by Rudgal.’

‘Are you saying that all these deaths were caused by the same event — all came about through the robbery of these items in Canterbury?’ It was the Chief Brehon Fíthel who asked the question.

‘I do.’

‘Post hoc, ergo propter hoc,’ Bishop Arwald commented sarcastically. ‘As these events happened after the first event, so you claim that they must have been caused by that event. Well, it does not follow.’

‘On the contrary, I have already said that when the theft took place in Canterbury, the thieves came to this kingdom, and landed in Láirge’s harbour, where they met the person who was determined to get what they carried by any means. So their fate was sealed — and that action had a series of reactions.’

‘And who was this someone?’ asked Chief Brehon Fíthel. ‘Are you going to identify him?’

‘Of course. Some here already know his identity. However, let me lead you through the morass of deceptions, so you will understand the logic. After the attack by the Déisi outlaws, and the report of the incident to the Brehon at Cluan Meala, Cummasach, the Prince of the Déisi, set out to find the band of outlaws to track them down. They put up a fight and most of the band perished. There were three exceptions. Two men escaped — Maon and his companion, who are now dead. But their leader, Rudgal, was taken captive. He had been told the value of the cloth. He wrapped it around his waist and intended to bargain it for his freedom.

‘The conceiver of the murderous plot could not allow that. There was a crude attempt to make Rudgal’s death look like suicide, but what his killer did not realise was that Rudgal actually had the pallium wrapped around his waist. It was found when the body was prepared for burial and has been hidden in Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary ever since.’

‘But what of the other deaths?’ Brehon Fíthel asked. ‘Are you saying the same person — one person — was responsible for all of them? If so, I have been told that some of them took place while Deogaire was being held as a prisoner. If he was not responsible for the attempt on your lives, who was?’

‘Deogaire is most assuredly innocent — but I had to hold him to allay the suspicions of the killer and later to protect his life in case he too was attacked. For I have to say, this killer has no compunction about sacrificing the innocent.’

Brother Conchobhar leaned towards his nephew and clapped him on the shoulder in congratulation. Deogaire was looking relieved.

‘But then it means that Beccan was the guilty person,’ Colgú concluded. ‘But how. .? He was also murdered, and so was Sister Dianaimh.’

‘We have a saying that whether it is black, dun or white, it is its own kid that the goat loves,’ Fidelma suddenly said.

‘And so?’ Brehon Fíthel was clearly puzzled and he was not alone.

‘I think everyone will recall that Beccan was of the Déisi. They are the people who live south of the River Siúr,’ she added for the benefit of the Venerable Verax and his companions. ‘When Beccan spun the false story about seeing a woman named Maon — who actually turned out to be a man called Maon who was one of Rudgal’s outlaws — he let slip that his home was at Míodán. Prince Cummasach, when he brought Rudgal as prisoner here, told us that Rudgal and his band had been caught near their home at Míodán.’

‘Are you saying that Beccan was one of them?’ demanded Brehon Fíthel.

‘Beccan did not have that capability,’ Fidelma responded. ‘It was his inability even to remember names that almost caused his downfall but has led to another confirmation of the plot. Beccan was afraid of forgetting a fictitious name. It had been observed here that whenever my brother had guests, Beccan had to write them down. So he decided to stick to the real name of the person he was to meet because he knew him well from his own village. Beccan was forced into this conspiracy by his very own family and was used to draw a false trail when the person concerned mistakenly thought I was getting too close to them. Sadly I was not, otherwise. .’ She shrugged.

‘How was he persuaded?’ questioned Colgú. ‘I still don’t see.’

‘Because I think we will discover that he was related to the main deviser of this murderous conspiracy and also to Rudgal and his outlaws at Míodán.’

‘You said Beccan was told to lead a false trail,’ Brehon Fíthel frowned. ‘By whom and how?’

‘Beccan was told to implicate Deogaire in this matter. Unfortunately, honesty of thought often leads to a bad reputation. Deogaire made no secret that he did not share the Faith and so we, in our prejudice, could believe anything about him. So if Deogaire was made to appear guilty — guilty of something — it could direct us away from the truly guilty. It was a complicated plot.

‘Someone knew about Deogaire’s argument with his uncle. There had been a witness. That person instructed Beccan to do the following: he suggested to Deogaire that he could stay in the guest quarters that night. The idea of it being done in exchange of some medicines was firstly to allay any suspicion that Deogaire might have as to why Beccan had suddenly become friendly enough to make the offer, and secondly to give Beccan an excuse to leave the palace that night. You see, Maon and his companion had to be alerted to the news that Eadulf’s brother Egric had survived the attack on the Siúr and that he had gone to Eatharlach with Dego. The murderer had come to the wrong conclusion — that Egric must have saved the pallium and the bullae and hidden them. He had to instruct Maon to chase Egric. Why didn’t the murderer go himself? Because there was no way he could leave the palace without being missed and giving rise to questions.

‘All went as it was meant to. The real killer levered one of the statues so that it would fall. I don’t think it was meant to kill us because there was no guarantee that it would do so. I believe it was simply part of a general plan of distraction. We were meant to find Deogaire in the guest quarters and jump to the conclusion that he was responsible. In retrospect, it was a foolish idea because, while we imprisoned Deogaire, once Beccan reappeared, his story would clearly be contradictory. Did the killer think we would simply believe Beccan instead of Deogaire and that would be an end to it? Did this person think that we would not check out Beccan’s story about Maon — the so-called ill woman? Or did they think that we might then place the entire blame on Beccan? I confess that I did so, at first.’

‘Was it Beccan’s death that caused you to change your mind?’ asked Colgú.

‘I had found out that anyone could exit and gain entrance by way of the scaffolding without being seen at the gates. So at first I was convinced that Beccan had probably done so.’ Fidelma sighed. ‘The biggest mistake of all was when the initiator of the plot killed Beccan. I can only conclude that he feared that Beccan, when confronted, would immediately reveal all under questioning.’

‘So how did you proceed?’ Brehon Fíthel asked.

‘As I said, there were no witnesses to any of the murders so there was nothing to do but concentrate on the facts as I knew them. It was by a process of elimination that I came to my suspicion. There was now only one person around at the times of all the murders; this same person also had a connection with the village of Míodán and had been in Láirge’s harbour when Victricius and Egric landed there.’

She paused for a moment and the gathering leaned forward on the edge of their seats. If anything, Fidelma in her career as dálaigh had acquired the use of a dramatic pause in the courts.

‘What I did, therefore, was set a trap — a ruse by which the guilty person would reveal themselves. A ruse to obtain the coibsena or confession, as I have explained before. Certain people here were told that Egric had, indeed, been keeping in his possession a box which he had been hiding. A rumour was spread that Eadulf had brought that box back to Cashel and placed it for safekeeping in Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary. On hearing this, the guilty person would, we hoped, break in and try to steal it.’

She paused again and looked at their expectant faces.

‘Our trap worked. Last night, two people broke into the apothecary of Brother Conchobhar.’