The Leper's bell

Chapter Seventeen

Since returning to Cashel two days before, the time had passed for Fidelma with incredible slowness. There was no word of Eadulf and Brother Conchobar was still in Lios Mhór. Gormán had been missing for some days, while Capa had only just returned from his mission to the borders of the Uí Fidgente country. The two surviving Uí Fidgente chieftains had been returned to their prison and would be tried for the killing of old Duach, the king’s lodge keeper, and his son Tulcha. Conrí, the warlord of the Uí Fidgente, and his men had been given hospitality at Cashel and started talks with Colgú on the rebuilding of relationships between the two peoples. But apart from that, for Fidelma, it seemed that there had been no progress at all. If anything, things had regressed. Now there was no clue to the whereabouts of either Alchú or Eadulf.

Fidelma decided that the only thing to do was try to retrace the steps that had led Eadulf to leave Cashel. He had gone to see the woodsman Conchoille and, having done so, he had come back to the palace, taken a full saddle bag and made off to the abbey of Coimán. That is what she would have to do. But first she would see Conchoille and find out what passed between them.

Caol was on duty at the gates of the palace and he raised his hand in salute as she walked towards him leading her horse.

‘What news, lady?’

‘I was about to ask the same question of you, Caol.’

The warrior shrugged. ‘Rumours in plenty but little news.’

‘I am going to see Conchoille the woodsman. I want to ask what he said to Eadulf which made him go westward,’ she said.

‘In that case, lady, you will not have far to go. As I came up from the town a short time ago, I saw Conchoille entering Capa’s house.’

‘Capa’s house?’

‘He often delivers logs there as well as to other houses. He is paid for that service.’

Fidelma thanked the warrior for his information and made her way down the road into the township.

Capa, the guard commander, opened his door to her knock and stared at her in surprise.

‘What brings you here, lady?’ he asked, and when she told him her purpose he stood aside and motioned her into the small but warm room. Capa’s wife, Gobnat, came forward almost nervously with an offer of hospitality, a mug of mead, but Fidelma politely declined. Conchoille the woodsman had risen from a seat by the fire. He stood awkwardly.

‘You came in search of me, lady?’ His hands twisted nervously round the pottery mug he had been drinking from.

‘I did, Conchoille, but I will not delay you long,’ she replied. ‘I believe that Brother Eadulf came to see you on the day he left Cashel.’

The woodsman turned owlish eyes on her.

‘He did not, lady,’ he replied.

Fidelma was not expecting this response.

‘He did not come to see you at Rath na Drínne?’ she asked in surprise.

Conchoille shook his head. ‘I never spoke to the noble brother after the council met in the palace. I was told that he had left Cashel but I never saw him on that day. He went to see Ferloga, though. Maybe he was looking for me.’

‘Ferloga the innkeeper?’

There came the distracting howl of a dog outside the house. From where she stood, Fidelma could see Capa’s brown, wire-haired hound digging furiously for something in the yard.

Gobnat looked angrily at her husband.

‘Go and control your hound, man!’ she said in a vicious tone. ‘We will have no yard left at this rate.’

The warrior glanced apologetically at Fidelma.

‘It is my dog, lady. He’s probably after some old bones.’

He went outside and grabbed the animal roughly by the collar and secured him, whimpering, to a tree. Fidelma turned back to Conchoille for clarification, and accidentally kicked a small metal cauldron by the fire. Looking down, she noticed a large dent in it.

‘Did I do that?’ she queried, in surprise, bending to examine it. Gobnat almost snatched it up.

‘It is nothing. An old cauldron, lady. An old dent.’

Capa, coming in, was frowning as he glanced at Gobnat holding the cauldron.

‘I heard that your husband was in trouble, lady. Is there anything I can do?’

Fidelma had the impression that he was diverting the conversation for some reason. She shook her head. Her next move would be to see Ferloga. If it was not Conchoille who had sent Eadulf riding towards the abbey of Coimán, then it was something Ferloga had said. She was not going down Brehon Dathal’s path of reasoning, she thought angrily. Eadulf had left because he had heard something about Alchú. Of that much she was certain.

She suddenly saw that Gobnat was regarding her with a concerned expression.

‘Are you worried for your man, lady? That is the curse of all women, for there is little constancy in men. They come and they go and do not give heed to the grief that they leave behind.’

Capa frowned in annoyance at his wife.

‘Still your tongue, woman. The king’s sister does not want to hear your philosophy.’ He went on hurriedly, ‘I am told that the crossan, the players we encountered at Cnoc Loinge, have arrived this morning and are setting up their camp behind the township.’

‘The company was due to perform in Cashel,’ Fidelma explained.

‘It is sad that the dwarf who dressed as a leper was killed,’ went on Capa. ‘He might have been able to identify the woman who pretended to be my wife and sent him with the message to Sárait.’

Fidelma was still thinking about Eadulf. Gobnat mistook the meaning of her thoughtful features.

‘Perhaps some other person will be able to identify the woman who pretended to be me. It should be easy to find someone who wears such a distinctive cloak.’

Fidelma nodded absently. ‘Let us hope so, for if the Uí Fidgente are not involved in this matter, then we have to find…’

The noise of a galloping horse caused her to pause. A moment later a voice cried out: ‘Sister Fidelma! Lady!’

Capa reached the door first, followed by Fidelma. A messenger from the palace sat outside on horseback.

‘What is the matter?’ demanded Capa, annoyed that one of his warriors should seem so undisciplined.

‘I was told the lady Fidelma would be here,’ the messenger cried. Then he spotted Fidelma behind Capa. ‘Brother Eadulf, lady! It is reported that he is at the bridge across the Suir and on his way to Cashel… and he has Alchú with him. Safe and well, according to one of our sentries who rode here immediately to alert us.’

Fidelma stared at him without speaking.

‘It is true, lady,’ the man confirmed. ‘He will be at the palace shortly if not already. Caol and some warriors have been sent to greet him. Your baby is safe home again, lady. Safe!’

Fidelma was already running for her horse.

Eadulf and his party had crossed the bridge over the River Suir and seen one of the guards on it despatched at a gallop towards the distant Rock of Cashel. Eadulf and Basil Nestorios rode ahead with Gormán just behind, and a light wagon driven by Nessán the shepherd, with Muirgen at his side carrying the baby, brought up the rear. They had proceeded a fair distance when Gormán raised his arm and called to Eadulf.

‘Here comes our escort, Brother.’

A group of horseman came trotting along the road towards them, and Eadulf immediately recognised Caol at their head. The warrior raised his hand in greeting as they came up. His expression was serious.

‘Is it true?’ he demanded, looking curiously from Eadulf and Gormán to Basil Nestorios and then to the couple on the wagon. His eyes fell on the baby in Muirgen’s arms. Eadulf nodded towards the infant with a smile.

‘Alchú is safe and well and we are bringing him home. Does Fidelma know?’

‘Someone has gone to tell her. Much has happened since you left, Brother Eadulf.’

Eadulf frowned when he saw no lightening of the serious expression on the other’s face.

‘This should be a moment of joy, Caol. Yet you seem unhappy.’

‘Everyone has been wondering why you left Cashel so quickly.’

‘Haven’t an itinerant herbalist and his wife arrived in Cashel?’

Caol stared at him a moment as if he did not understand. Then he shrugged.

‘I am told that travelling players and a herbalist are encamped outside the town, ready for the forthcoming fair day.’

‘And they have not spoken to anyone yet?’

Caol shook his head.

‘Well, I’ll explain when we get to the palace,’ said Eadulf. ‘Meanwhile, we can rejoice at the safe return of Alchú.’

‘There are many questions to be answered first.’ Caol turned to Gormán. ‘And I suppose that you have a good excuse for deserting Cashel at this time?’

Gormán flushed. ‘I felt my duty was to go in support of Brother Eadulf.’ There was a slight note of defiance in his voice at the censure implied by his comrade’s words.

‘And were it not for Gormán,’ added Eadulf, ‘I and my good friend Basil Nestorios,’ he nodded to his companion, who was looking bewildered, ‘would not be here at all.’

‘And who are these others?’ asked Caol.

‘They are a shepherd and his wife, who have come to look after Alchú on our journey back to Cashel.’ There was anger in Eadulf’s voice now. ‘What is wrong? Why this strange greeting when you should be filled with joy for Fidelma and myself?’

Caol looked at him apologetically.

‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, I am acting on the orders of the Brehon Dathal, Chief Brehon of the kingdom. I have no other choice but to make you my prisoner. You have been charged with murder.’

Eadulf gasped in astonishment.

‘Murder? Of whom?’ he demanded.

‘Of Bishop Petrán.’

Eadulf sat on the single cot in his cell-like chamber in the section of the palace given over to prisoners and hostages. The final leg of the journey to Cashel had been a curious experience. Fidelma had arrived soon after Caol. After fussing over the baby, she, too, appeared shocked when Caol told her that Eadulf was formally a prisoner. She demanded on whose authority Caol was acting and, when told that it was on the specific order of Brehon Dathal, had told Eadulf not to worry and gone riding off like a mad thing towards the palace.

Caol had been correct in his behaviour and during the time he rode as escort with Eadulf he sought to bring him up to date on all that had happened during his absence. When they arrived at Cashel, Eadulf was led immediately to the area where prisoners were kept and told he must wait for Brehon Dathal to question him. Caol promised to take Muirgen and Nessán directly to Fidelma and also to look after Basil Nestorios. Capa, he was told, would probably reprimand Gormán, as he was commander of the guard. With little more ado, Eadulf had been left to his own devices in the small stone chamber. He felt a black despair. He had endured so much, and now to be falsely accused of killing the old bishop … His mind went back to his false imprisonment in the abbey of Fearna. Fidelma had come to his rescue then, but now he was imprisoned in the palace of Fidelma’s own brother and charged by his chief judge. Despair and anger fought within him but despair had the upper hand.

Several hours seemed to pass before the door opened abruptly and Fidelma appeared.

He sprang towards her and for a few moments they held each other tight.

‘How is the boy?’ he asked.

Fidelma smiled. There were tears in her eyes.

‘He is fine. Muirgen and her husband Nessán are still looking after him. They have Sárait’s old chamber next to ours. They have told me their part in the story. I have also been talking to Basil Nestorios. I can’t wait to hear the full tale from you. But first we must deal with this matter. This is all Brehon Dathal’s doing.’

‘You must know that I would not harm old Bishop Petrán.’

‘I know that. The trouble is that Dathal is Chief Brehon. He has authority, even over my brother to some extent. I am waiting to see Colgú. He does not know what has happened yet as he is in council with Conrí, the Uí Fidgente warlord.’

‘I heard that Conrí was here. I must hear all about that from you.’

‘It is a long story. But let me ask you first what it was that took you to the abbey of Coimán? In other words, why did you leave Cashel? Brehon Dathal is claiming it was because you killed the old man.’

‘That is sheer nonsense. I went to find Conchoille, the woodsman-’

‘Who says you never saw him.’

Eadulf nodded quickly. ‘That is true. I went to the inn where Conchoille said he had supper on the night he found Sárait-’

‘Ferloga’s inn at Rath na Drínne?’

‘The same. Ferloga told me of itinerants who were encamped in the wood. But they only had one baby with them …’

Fidelma’s eyes brightened with excitement.

‘And when we went to Ara’s Well we were told these itinerants had two babies?’ she said.

‘Exactly! I knew that they were heading towards the abbey of Coimán, so I left the note for you and hurried after them. It was a desperate lead, but our only one. It turned out that I was correct. They were innocent in their intent and they are now here at the camping ground with the crossan to explain matters. Their names are Corb and Corbnait.’

‘I will go to see them.’

‘One other thing. Gormán will give you the details … but Fiachrae of Cnoc Loinge is a traitor to your brother.’

Fidelma looked shocked, and then she said quickly: ‘I want to hear it all in detail. But first we must secure your release.’

‘How am I supposed to have killed Petrán?’

‘By poison. I am told that Brehon Dathal is coming to question you. Do not worry. We shall have you free soon.’

Eadulf sighed deeply. ‘In the short time that I have been here in this cell, Fidelma, I have thought much. On the ride back from the bridge Caol told me roughly what had happened with you and Conrí. Is it true?’

‘That Conrí rescued me? It is true.’

‘And if Sárait was not murdered during the kidnapping of our child and Alchú was simply left to perish in the woods, as the travellers claimed, why was Sárait lured out of the palace to her death in the first place? Who killed her?’ Eadulf leant forward and laid a hand on her arm. ‘Think about this, Fidelma. We employed Sárait to be a wet nurse to young Alchú, didn’t we?’

Fidelma made an impatient gesture. ‘You know we did.’

‘But when?’

‘From the time he was born. Six months ago. What is there to think about on that matter?’

Eadulf regarded her with an intent look for a moment.

‘I had overlooked the point until it was proposed to me that I needed a wet nurse to look after the baby on the journey to Cashel,’ he said quietly. ‘When we employed Sárait her own child was very recently dead. It was stillborn, according to her account. Alchú was born six months ago and she was able to feed him.’

Fidelma was trying to follow his thoughts. ‘And?’

‘Who was the father of Sárait’s baby?’

‘Why, Callada, of course, who was…’ She paused and stared back.

Eadulf gave a small smile of triumph. ‘Who was killed at Cnoc Aine,’ he said softly. ‘Exactly so.’

Fidelma exhaled slowly. ‘Gormán? You think he was the father?’

‘I have not asked him yet.’

‘I see,’ she said softly. Then she shook herself, almost like a dog shaking itself after being immersed in water. ‘But the first task I must set myself is to find out why Brehon Dathal has had you incarcerated. Don’t worry, I shall get you released soon.’

She made a move towards the door and then turned back, impulsively taking both his hands in her own.

‘Eadulf, I regret all the things I did or said, and any actions of my people, that have made you feel a stranger and inferior to us.’

Eadulf grinned awkwardly. ‘No one can make another feel inferior without his or her consent. If a person thinks others are deeming him inferior it is because he feels it. I may have felt unwelcome at times, but that is because I am a stranger to this land and, as such, not welcome to some. But that is the nature of people. We are always more comfortable with the things we know.’

‘Will you forgive us … will you forgive me?’

‘You cannot forgive the golden eagle for being a golden eagle,’ he replied gently. ‘There is nothing to forgive you for because you have acted in accordance with your nature.’

Fidelma pouted. ‘Eadulf, at times you make me despair. You are too nice and forgiving,’ she admonished him.

He shrugged with a whimsical smile. ‘And that is my nature.’

Fidelma was crossing the courtyard when she became aware of a disturbance at the gates. She crossed to them and found Caol with a man and a woman. The latter held a baby in her arms.

‘What is it?’ Fidelma demanded.

Caol grimaced in annoyance. ‘An itinerant herbalist and his wife demanding entrance. I have told them to be on their way.’

‘But the Saxon brother-’ began the man.

‘Silence. You are speaking in the presence of the sister of the king,’ snapped Caol.

‘Wait!’ instructed Fidelma. ‘You are the herbalist Corb and you are his wife Corbnait?’

‘We are. Brother Eadulf told us to come here and we promised we would even though it might bring down punishment upon us. I am a man of my word. I was not always an itinerant.’

Fidelma’s face softened. ‘You are most welcome. I do not blame either of you for the role you have played. Indeed, you were the means of saving my son’s life when he was abandoned in the forest. Come, we will take a drink together and over it you may tell me the story that you told to Brother Eadulf.’

She was turning away when Caol called after her. She glanced back.

‘You asked me to tell you when Brother Conchobar returned to Cashel,’ the warrior reminded her. ‘He has done so.’

The door of the cell opened and Brehon Dathal came in. He stood looking sourly at Eadulf.

Eadulf sprang up from the single cot that furnished the cell.

‘What is this nonsense?’ he demanded.

Brehon Dathal motioned to someone who stood outside the door and a warrior handed him a three-legged stool.

‘Sit down,’ the old man ordered sharply.

Eadulf reluctantly obeyed. ‘I say again, what is this nonsense, Dathal? Who has made up this preposterous story that I killed Bishop Petrán?’

‘Do you deny that you have often argued with Bishop Petrán?’

Eadulf almost laughed. ‘I do not. We disagreed fundamentally about matters relating to the conduct of the church. And most people in the five kingdoms would also disagree with his teachings. While I have supported the authority of Rome, for we are told it is where Peter, into whose hands the Christ gave the building of his church, began that task, I cannot support Petrán’s other more ascetic arguments.’

‘So you killed him?’

Eadulf snorted in indignation.

Brehon Dathal regarded him sourly.

‘You would do well to take me seriously, Saxon. Do you think that because I am old I cannot any longer judge the facts?’

Eadulf stared at him for a moment or two.

‘I do not care whether you are young or old. When a false accusation is made, I do not take it kindly. I could similarly ask you whether it is because I am a stranger to this land that you think I must be guilty of murder?’

‘I abide by the law,’ snapped Brehon Dathal. ‘I am not prejudiced against you.’

‘I abide by facts.’

‘The facts are simple. Bishop Petrán was found dead in his chamber. He was poisoned. You fled from Cashel on that very day. On the previous evening you were seen to have had a violent row with the bishop. Do you deny these facts?’

‘I do not deny that I had a row with Petrán but I deny it was violent. I deny that I fled from Cashel. I left Cashel, leaving a note for Fidelma, after I had discovered something that led me to believe that I might find my son. And find him I did. I had no idea that Petrán was dead until Caol told me on my return.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’

‘I do not expect anything except the courtesy of being heard without bias.’

Brehon Dathal coloured. ‘You dare accuse me, the Chief Brehon of Muman, of being biased?’

‘I do not accuse you. I merely comment on what I see,’ snapped Eadulf.

‘Things will go badly for you, stranger, unless you confess your misdeed now.’

‘You threaten me?’ Eadulf sprang up.

A warrior appeared in the doorway. He looked apologetic.

‘Brother Eadulf, it would be wise if you remained seated and answered the Brehon’s questions with respect,’ he said quietly.

Eadulf realised that he was doing himself no good by giving vent to anger. He returned to his seat on the bed.

‘I refuse to answer any questions from someone who seems to have prejudged my guilt and does not offer me the slightest evidence to back his accusation apart from the fact that I was seen to have an argument with the bishop.’

Brehon Dathal, the skin stretched tight around his mouth in anger, rose and strode from the room. The warrior picked up the abandoned stool. The cell door slammed shut.

Eadulf began to feel rage overtaking his sense of despair and he fought to control it.

Fidelma, having confirmed the story of Corb and Corbnait and ensured that they were receiving proper hospitality as witnesses, hurried to Brother Conchobar’s apothecary shop.

‘You should have warned me,’ she said immediately on entering, irritation and disapproval in her voice.

The elderly apothecary glanced up in surprise from the herbs he was pounding in a pestle with a mortar.

‘Warned you, lady?’ he asked blankly.

‘About the results of your tests on Bishop Petrán,’ she snapped.

The man’s face was blank. ‘Why would I warn you about that?’

‘Because Brehon Dathal has had Eadulf arrested and charged him with the killing. Eadulf is in serious trouble and I need to know from you how this poison was administered and anything you can tell me about its nature.’

Brother Conchobar looked utterly confused.

‘Poison? Killing? What are you talking about, lady?’

Fidelma tried to contain her impatience.

‘I am talking about Bishop Petrán. Eadulf is charged with administering the poison that killed him.’

Brother Conchobar raised his arms helplessly.

‘Bishop Petrán was not poisoned.’

It was now Fidelma’s turn to look utterly bewildered.

‘Then how was he killed?’

The old apothecary ran a frail hand through his thinning grey hair.

‘I do not know how you came by this information, lady. Petrán was not killed. He died, true. He died of failure of his heart to continue to beat. It happens and no one is to blame. I have seen the signs before but I wanted to conduct a few tests to make sure. If death is ever deemed natural, he died a natural death. I told that old fool Dathal as much before I left for Lios Mhór. Didn’t he …?’

Fidelma stared at him in astonishment.

‘Lady…?’ he prompted nervously.

‘Who told Brother Dathal that it was poison?’ she finally whispered. ‘Who said that it was murder?’

‘Not I,’ the apothecary replied firmly. ‘In fact, I explained clearly to Brehon Dathal that Petrán’s heart had simply failed. It was before I left for Lios Mhór, as I told you. I said that I would make a formal statement to that effect after my return but he has not sent for it.’

‘Not sent…?’ Fidelma was silent for a moment. ‘Thank you, old friend,’ she said softly. ‘Your statement may well be wanted soon.’

Brother Conchobar shrugged. ‘I am getting used to Brehon Dathal’s not taking formal statements on matters relating to the cause of death,’ he said irritably.

‘What do you mean?’ Fidelma enquired, turning back from the door.

‘Sárait’s manner of death, for example.’

‘You examined the body?’

‘I did, and should have been required to give evidence. No one asked me for a statement.’

Fidelma stared at him in surprise. In the initial confusion about who was investigating the case, the fact that Conchoille and Capa had mentioned the blood about the head and the stab wounds, she had neglected to ask who had made a formal pronouncement of death.

‘What evidence would you have given?’ she asked softly. ‘That she died from a heavy blow to the head?’

Brother Conchobar made a negative gesture.

‘That Sárait was already dead when the blow was struck. She had been the subject of a frenzied knife attack. There were five stab wounds in her chest and lacerations on her arms where she had tried to protect herself from the descending knife. She was facing her attacker when it happened. The blow to the head looks to me as if she fell during the attack and hit her head on something.’

There was a silence. Then Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘You have been a great help this day, my old friend,’ she said in thoughtful satisfaction.

A few minutes later she was in her brother’s reception chamber. The king’s conference had just broken up but he was still discussing what has been said with his tanist Finguine. They both glanced up in surprise as she entered without being announced.

With a quick wave of her hand to still their questions, she told them what she had discovered about Brother Conchobar’s report on Bishop Petrán.

Colgú sat in silence for a moment or two before turning to Finguine. ‘Go and release Brother Eadulf at once and bring him here.’ When he had gone, Colgú glanced uncomfortably towards his sister. ‘The duties of a king are arduous, Fidelma. Brehon Dathal is elderly.’

‘He is Chief Brehon of the kingdom. He cannot act like this.’

‘I agree. I do not mean to excuse him but I think age and pressure are telling on him. You know I have been trying to think of a way of asking him to stand down from his position. He is making increasingly erroneous judgements. Some time ago he made a really bad misjudgement at a hearing in Lios Mhór and it went to appeal. The appeal was successful and Dathal has had to pay several fines and compensation.’

Fidelma regarded her brother silently for a moment.

‘I recall being told that it was Brehon Dathal who was asked to hear the claims that Sárait’s husband, Callada, was killed by one of his men at Cnoc Áine. He found no case to answer. I wonder…?’

‘Too much time has passed to speculate on that judgement, Fidelma. However, Dathal has recently been getting ideas which become fixed in his mind and he has often pursued them without sufficient reflection on the evidence. He no longer has the sharp mind that is needed to be a Brehon, let alone Chief Brehon. But I need to allow him to leave with some dignity, Fidelma. You will appreciate that.’

Fidelma tried to put aside her personal feelings and view the matter objectively.

‘I can understand there are politics to be played here, but he must be made to stand aside and you have the responsibility for making him do so.’

Colgú nodded unhappily. ‘I would rather persuade him than force him.’

‘You are the king,’ she said grimly.

There was a knock on the door and Finguine came in. Eadulf was behind him.

Fidelma hurried towards Eadulf, catching him by the hands. ‘Everything is all right. It was all a mistake on Brehon Dathal’s part.’

Eadulf grimaced cynically. ‘I could have told you that,’ he said with an attempt at humour. ‘Finguine has just told me the news.’

Colgú came forward and embraced him.

‘My friend, husband of my sister, you must forgive us. Brehon Dathal leapt to conclusions with an impatience he should not have indulged. You should never have been put through such an experience, coming so soon after your own travails. At least our family is once again united.’

Eadulf felt awkward. He was embarrassed at the warmth exhibited by Fidelma’s brother and, in truth, a little unsure of the affection that Fidelma was displaying towards him.

Then he found Finguine holding out his hand and grinning. ‘Am I forgiven as well?’

Eadulf’s glance encompassed them all.

‘Well,’ he said, unable to banish all the sarcasm from his tone, ‘it is difficult to keep an equilibrium when first having one’s life threatened, then being incarcerated and finally being welcomed into a family again…’

Fidelma squeezed his arm hard. ‘We have much to apologise to you for, Eadulf. We will try to compensate you for the way you have been treated.’

Eadulf shrugged expressively. ‘You cannot say fairer than that,’ he sighed.

Colgú clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then we shall feast tonight, and-’

Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘Eadulf and I have a lot of work to do. There is still a mystery to be resolved and the killer of Sárait to be brought to justice. And you, my brother, have to deal with Brehon Dathal. When all this is done, then there shall be feasting.’

Some time later, the Chief Brehon of Muman was ushered into the king’s chamber.

Colgú motioned the old man to be seated. He had known Dathal since he was a boy. Indeed, Brehon Dathal had been a young judge at the court of his father, Failbe Flann, nearly thirty years ago now. Brehon Dathal looked grave. He had already been informed of Eadulf’s release on Brother Conchobar’s evidence. Colgú wondered how he should approach the delicate matter at hand.

‘Dathal, you have served this kingdom as Chief Brehon for a long time,’ he began gently.

Brehon Dathal, with a quick frown, picked up on the nuance.

‘Do you imply that it is too long?’ he retorted sharply.

‘Everyone reaches a point where they are not as youthful, not as active, as they were. My day will also come. I hope that I may have the good sense to acknowledge it when it does so that I can abdicate into a comfortable restfulness.’

‘Restfulness is a quality that cows have, my prince. It is not for people.’

Colgú smiled. ‘Didn’t Horace write that one should dismiss an old horse in good time lest it falter in the harness and become an object of pity or scorn to spectators?’

Brehon Dathal sniffed in irritation.

‘I made a mistake, that is all. Is not a judge entitled to a mistake? There is no harm done and the Saxon is free.’

‘The Saxon is my sister’s husband, Brehon Dathal,’ Colgú pointed out. ‘And compensation must be paid to him.’

‘I know the laws of compensation.’

‘I do not doubt you do,’ Colgú returned. ‘Remember that Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham might be a stranger, but he had status in his own land. He was a hereditary gerefa, a sort of judge among his people.’

‘Hereditary!’ sneered Brehon Dathal. ‘How can one inherit the competence of a judge without learning?’

‘The ways of the Saxons are not our ways,’ murmured the young king. ‘However, the point I am making is that Eadulf is deserving of respect if not for his own sake, then for my sake and that of my sister.’

Brehon Dathal said nothing.

‘Brehon Dathal, we have known each other a long time. Consider your position carefully now. You have made more than one error in recent times.’

Brehon Dathal’s chin came up aggressively.

‘Are you suggesting that I am no longer capable?’

‘I am suggesting that it is now time to rest and watch others work. Stay in Cashel, if you will. Be an adviser to me. But now is the time to cease the arduous task of holding courts.’

‘Who will you promote in my place … your sister?’ The words were spoken challengingly.

Colgú shook his head quickly. ‘Fidelma is not qualified for the position, nor would she want the task. She has studied only to the level of anruth, as well you know. To become a Brehon of standing she would need two — even four — more years of study to become a rosai or an ollamh.’ These were the highest qualifications anyone could aspire to. ‘You are a man of great experience and wisdom. In this appointment, friend Dathal, I would appreciate your advice. Who would you choose as my new Chief Brehon?’

Brehon Dathal began to look slightly mollified. Colgú waited patiently while the old man sat hesitating. Then it seemed that the old judge became reconciled to the inevitability of the decision that had to be made.

‘Well, there is a rosai named Baithen whom I would think well qualified.’

Colgú smiled in satisfaction. He spared the old man’s feelings by neglecting to say that he had already sent for Brehon Baithen, who had been conducting hearings at Lios Mhór. It had been Baithen who had thrice heard appeals against Dathal’s judgements and overturned them.

‘I have heard of this Brehon. It is a good choice.’

‘He has a growing reputation,’ Brehon Dathal agreed reluctantly. ‘He is talented.’

‘Then he will be asked here to judge of the matter of Sárait’s death and apportion blame and compensation.’

Brehon Dathal frowned slightly at this news.

‘So your sister believes that the Uí Fidgente are innocent of Sárait’s death and the abduction of the baby, does she?’

‘I believe that she has learnt new facts and prepared fresh arguments. Eadulf has brought us interesting evidence. But the case will be argued before Baithen.’

The old man’s shoulders sagged slightly.

‘You sister does not take kindly to me over this matter of Bishop Petrán.’

‘I am sure that she will agree that you acted according to your conscience, my old friend. You were simply not in possession of the facts. That is all.’

He knew he was bending the truth of Brother Conchobar’s evidence to save the old man’s dignity.

There was another silence, and Colgú felt somewhat relieved when the old man rose slowly from his seat.

‘With your permission, my king, I shall retire to my chamber and rest.’

Colgú gestured with his hand in agreement.

The old judge, head bent to his shoulders, left the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

For some time Colgú sat looking at the closed door and then he sighed sadly. It was no more than two years since he had been confirmed in the kingship and for several years before that he had been heir apparent to his cousin Cathal, who had died of the Yellow Fever. This was the first time that he had been forced to dismiss one of his closest advisers, one who had served his father and his cousin, and now … Colgú turned to a side table and poured himself a drink of corma. It was the duty of a king to realise that time had to move on. People had to move on. It was inevitable. With the office of a ruler came the duty. If a king did not act he would not be regarded; if he was too hard, he would be broken; if he was too feeble, he would be crushed. Above all, he had to move with wisdom and subtlety, for if he showed himself more wise than others too much would be expected of him, and if more foolish he would find people deceiving him. There was always a middle way. That was the nature of kingship.