The Leper's bell

Chapter Nineteen

The great hall of the palace of Cashel was thronged with people. The Brehon Baithen had arrived from Lios Mhór and Colgú, in agreement with Fidelma, had announced that a special court would be held which would clarify the abduction of Alchú and the murder of Sárait. It seemed that the whole of Cashel and the surrounding countryside had come to hear the new Chief Brehon of Muman give judgement in the matter.

The witnesses had been gathered and seated. Forindain the dwarf, Corb and Corbnait, Nessán and Muirgen, Conchoille the woodsman; everyone who had been connected with the events was packed into the great hall. Delia was there, sitting grim-faced, and next to her, looking equally grim, was Gormán. Gobnat, Sárait’s sister, was also there, glowering at Delia. Her husband Capa, as guard commander, was in charge of the warriors, with Caol at his side. Even the old apothecary, Conchobar, who never attended such hearings unless absolutely necessary, had come to see the proceedings.

The guards had also led in Fiachrae of Cnoc Loinge, now a prisoner, who would later have to answer charges of betraying the Eóghanacht and working with the Uí Fidgente to overthrow Colgú. Enough witnesses had now come forward to make the case against him certain.

By special invitation of the king, Conrí was there with his Uí Fidgente warriors, towards whom many dirty looks were cast and muttering threats made. Even the old Brehon Dathal had entered the hall and made for the seat of the Chief Brehon before an embarrassed rechtaire or steward had guided him to a side chair.

Fidelma and Eadulf had already taken their seats just to the left of the chairs of office that the king, the tanist and the Chief Brehon would occupy. Cerball the bard, and Bishop Ségdae, had taken their seats. Then the rechtaire banged his staff of office and everyone rose as Colgú, Finguine and Brehon Baithen entered and seated themselves.

A ripple of expectation ran through the hall before Colgú raised his hand for silence. He waited until the hush descended.

‘There is no need for me to explain why we are gathered nor what has happened these last two weeks. It is my duty to welcome the Brehon Baithen to my court and proclaim his office as the new Chief Brehon of the kingdom. Brehon Dathal, who has held that office since my father’s day, has decided that it is now time to give way to a new and younger judge, having served us long and well in that position. We wish him prosperity in his new life and assure him that we will call upon him when appropriate to share with us his wisdom and advise us in our future affairs.’

Rumours about Brehon Dathal’s retirement had already spread and the announcement was not new to those present.

The king then deferred to his new Chief Brehon.

While Baithen was of middle age, he had an almost ageless face. His skin was fresh and unblemished and his hair was of a golden corn colour. He was a fleshy, jocular-looking man, whose bright eyes twinkled as if he found the proceedings humorous.

This hearing is a legal one and I will tolerate no demonstrations. Nor will I tolerate disrespect for the law, its officers or the solemnity of the occasion.’ His features seemed to belie that very solemnity. ‘So let us to the business of the day. Fidelma of Cashel will be our guide.’

Fidelma rose quickly and with a quick bow of her head towards the Brehon and her brother, in acknowledgement of their office, she turned to the gathering in the great hall.

‘You all know that my nurse Sárait was murdered and that my baby son Alchú vanished for nearly two weeks. It was thought that he had been abducted and Sárait had been killed during the course of his abduction. Rumours circulated that it was a plot of the Uí Fidgente. This was not so. You all know Brother Eadulf, my dear companion and father of my child. He will now tell you the first part of the story, to demonstrate that our child was not abducted, but taken by accident. He will, I know, be modest, but he put his own life at risk in following our child to the Tower of Uaman and bringing him safely back to Cashel. Should proof of his adventures be demanded, witnesses sit in this very hall to confirm the facts.’

She turned to Eadulf who rose with some embarrassment and swiftly explained how he had discovered Alchú and brought the child back to Cashel. Fidelma smiled faintly in satisfaction as murmurs of approval echoed round the hall. When he reseated himself, she rose again.

‘Should any point of the story be challenged, we have gathered witnesses to confirm it,’ she said to Brehon Baithen. ‘Gormán sits there, as does Brother Basil Nestorios, who needs must give his statements in Latin; also the itinerant herbalist Corb and his wife, and the shepherd Nessán and his wife. All will confirm Eadulf’s tale.’

Brehon Baithen asked if anyone would challenge the story but no one did, and so the judge urged Fidelma to continue.

‘Now, those among you who have followed the proceedings may realise that this leaves a mystery. If Alchú was not abducted, if his intended abduction was not the cause of Sárait’s being enticed out of the palace, then she was the victim. It was her death that was the object of the plot. Why and who plotted it, those are the questions we must answer today.’

She paused, sweeping her gaze across the expectant faces before her.

‘It will be simplest if I take everyone through a sad story from the beginning. There were two sisters. I shall name them — Gobnat and Sárait. Sárait was the younger of the two. Both had married warriors of the élite bodyguard of the kings of Cashel. As you will know, one married Capa, our current commander of the guard who stands there. One married Callada who was killed at Cnoc Áine. Someone looked upon Sárait’s marriage to Callada with jealousy for they were filled with lust for her. She rejected his advances, for she was happy with Callada.’

Gormán groaned in his seat and hunched forward. Delia reached to lay her hand on his.

‘I loved her,’ the young warrior muttered, his voice audible to the hall.

Fidelma glanced at him without expression. ‘As you made clear to me when we first met, and later repeated to Eadulf.’ She paused, and then went on addressing the hall. ‘The warrior who lusted after Sárait began to hate Callada to the extent that his hatred knew no bounds. Then came the day when in the heat of the battle of Cnoc Áine he found and took the opportunity to kill his rival. Rumours went round, as rumours do. Rumours that Callada had been slain by one of his own side. I do not have to bring forward such famous warriors as Cathalán to attest to the story, nor Capa, who was commanding the troop in which Callada served that day. Gormán, too, was in that troop. So was Caol. Many among you were at Cnoc Áine, like Ferloga there, and Conchoille. No one will deny the rumours …’ she paused, ‘and they were true.’

There was a silence as people digested her words.

‘Some time later,’ she went on, ‘the killer of Callada began to pay attention to Sárait once more. Sárait had begun to suspect and distrust the man. She had turned for solace to another and that infuriated the killer almost to the point of madness.

‘Time went by until the killer could no longer hold his passion in check and he raped Sárait. I think it was then that he probably boasted of what he had done for lust of her — he would, of course, claim it was for love of her, but I would say for lust. Sárait was disgusted. The word is too mild to convey the revulsion she felt. She was revolted when she found she was carrying the result of that rape — a child. She went to Delia, for Delia is known to be wise in these matters. She told Delia what had happened but withheld the name of the man who had done the deed.

‘Further, she told Delia that she did not wish to bear a child conceived in rape and lust. She tried many things but the child was born, although no doubt in answer to her prayers and efforts that poor life was snuffed out at birth. When Sárait came to the palace in search of work, I employed her as wet nurse to my son Alchú. Here I must admit an error… I thoughtlessly assumed the child she had been carrying was Callada her husband’s.

‘It was Eadulf who first pointed out to me the fact that the time between Callada’s death at Cnoc Áine and the baby’s birth did not add up. She had conceived several months after her husband’s death. It was then that I began to realise the extent of the problem we faced.’ She looked without emotion at Delia. ‘Sárait was not Delia’s only confidant. Gormán also made a confession to her — that he was in love with Sárait.’

Delia was pale and swayed a little in her seat, still clutching on to Gormán’s hand.

‘I saw Gormán leave her house one night, saw him embrace her intimately. Do not actions speak just as clearly as words?’

Delia drew herself together. ‘Gormán did not kill Sárait. He was in love with her and she told me that she responded to his kindness. He was not the one who raped her.’

Gobnat was glaring with hatred at Delia.

‘The whore should not be present!’ she shouted. ‘Disgusting! She is twice the age Gormán is. I wager she put him up to killing my sister.’

Fidelma ignored her.

‘Indeed, a plot was evolved to kill Sárait. Not a simple plot, because the person who wished to kill her also wished to do it in such a way that they would not be suspected. The motive for the murder lay in hatred of Sárait because she was unwittingly the object of the warrior’s lust and the murderer’s jealousy.’ She glanced quickly at Delia. ‘A woman was behind this plot.’

Delia stared back, pale to the lips. Gormán groaned again. There was a deathly silence in the hall.

‘The idea was to draw Sárait out of the palace one night and kill her. But how to do it without drawing attention to the killer? The woman who concocted this plot placed herself in the shadows near the inn so that she would not be identified. She asked a child to go to the palace with a message saying that Sárait’s sister wanted to see her urgently. Only such a message would draw Sárait from the comfort of the palace at night. But the child could not take the message because his father left the inn at that very moment and, having over-indulged in corma, needed the child’s help to guide him home. Oh yes,’ Fidelma smiled quickly at the assembly, ‘I met and had a word with that child.’

She paused for a moment, but no sound was heard in the great hall.

‘Now the woman had a piece of luck,’ Fidelma continued. ‘A traveller came to the inn. He was a travelling player — a crossan — wanting to check out the aspect of the township for his company. He was a dwarf whose name was Forindain. The woman offered him a screpall to take the message to the palace. Forindain was nothing loath to do it. But the woman knew the guards at the palace well and was aware they might ask questions. So she told the dwarf to act as if he were mute. She took from her marsupium a piece of birch bark on which she had already written the words “I am sent to see Sárait”. Therefore he would be asked no questions. This action, however, caused some light to be shed on the woman and while her hood hid her features Forindain saw that she was wearing a very distinctive cloak. He described it to me.’

Caol suddenly raised his voice.

‘That is not so, Fidelma,’ he protested. ‘The dwarf was killed at Cnoc Loinge before anyone could question him. You cannot put words into the mouth of the dead.’

Fidelma paused to let the murmurs die down.

‘The poor dwarf who was killed at Cnoc Loinge was Forindain’s brother, Iubdán, who just happened to be wearing Forindain’s costume. He was mistaken for his brother and thereby lost his life.’

Capa was frowning, and glanced to the dwarf sitting nearby.

‘Are you saying that this…?’ he began.

‘There sits the real Forindain,’ Fidelma pointed to where the small crossan sat, ‘who was in Cashel that evening, and who took the message to Sárait. He is the one who described the distinctive cloak to me. It was a description I immediately recognised, having seen the cloak worn by someone I knew. However, it was obvious that Iubdán had been killed in mistake for Forindain in order to still his tongue as a witness.’

Capa turned, pointing in accusation at Gormán. ‘Gormán was the one who found the dwarf when we were at Cnoc Loinge.’

‘I did find the body,’ Gormán muttered, ‘but I immediately sent word to Capa.’

‘I remember,’ said Fidelma solemnly. ‘Let us turn to the matter of the cloak.’ She bent to a bundle and extracted the red and green silk garment and held it up. A murmur rippled through the hall.

‘That is the whore’s cloak!’ Gobnat suddenly yelled and for a moment everyone was in confusion until the Brehon Baithen brought them all to silence again.

‘You recognise it, Gobnat?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I can attest to having seen that whore wearing it. So they are both in this together. They killed my sister!’

Fidelma nodded and laid the cloak down. She then picked up two baby shoes.

‘When we asked for proof of Alchú’s abduction, we were sent a baby shoe that belonged to him. The other I found with the green and red cloak. Both were buried in Delia’s yard.’

There were now angry shouts and threatening gestures, directed at Gormán and the former bé-táide. Again the Brehon Baithen called sternly for silence and when the noise died away Fidelma continued once more.

‘It was a dog that finally solved this murder,’ Fidelma said evenly, and then turned to Delia and Gormán. ‘Delia, I am sorry to have put you through this ordeal. You also, Gormán. Delia and Gormán were not involved in this affair although several actions of theirs made me suspicious of them, my distrust being compounded by the fact that the real culprits — or one of them at least — did their best to lay a false trail to Delia out of spite and hatred. Delia and Gormán share a love … but it is the love of mother for son and son for mother. Is it not so?’

There was no need to ask the question. The faces of mother and son affirmed the truth. The silence that descended was almost unearthly. Everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath while awaiting any new revelation Fidelma might make.

Brehon Baithen leant forward from his chair. ‘Are you going to eventually name the guilty one, Fidelma?’ he asked softly, a faint note of sarcasm in his voice.

She swung round with raised brows. ‘Is it not obvious? Gobnat killed her own sister because it was her husband, Capa, who was enamoured of Sárait. It was Capa who killed Callada and who raped Sárait. Having then discovered that his wife had killed Sárait, Capa did everything to lead suspicion away from her, even to the point of killing the dwarf Iubdán whom he had mistaken for Forindain.’

Gobnat began to protest shrilly, calling Fidelma worse than a whore to protect her whoring friend. It needed firmness to restore order, as well as some of the guards, who now took their orders from Caol. Brehon Baithen was looking baffled.

‘For those who do not possess the quickness of your mind, Fidelma, perhaps you would share those of its processes that have led you to make this accusation?’

‘I am prepared to do so. I said in my opening that there were two sisters, Gobnáit and Sárait. They were very different in character, although both married warriors. But while Capa was married to Gobnat he lusted after her younger sister. He felt that the only thing that stood in the way of a consummation of that lust was Callada. He killed Callada at Cnoc Áine. Then, having thought that his path was clear, he found Sárait revolted by him. He raped her. The rest of her story I have told you.

‘Sárait had not only confided in Delia — without naming Capa, of course — but had made the mistake of confiding in her sister, from whom one might have expected a close sympathy and understanding. Gobnat, to whom Capa had not been able to resist boasting of his subjection of her sister, became enraged. Despising Delia as she did, she decided to strike down Sárait in such a way that guilt and punishment might be laid at Delia’s door. The object of Capa’s jealousy, Gormán, whom Gobnat suspected of being Delia’s lover, would therefore also be implicated.’

Brehon Baithen rubbed his chin. ‘What made you suspect that Gormán was Delia’s son?’

‘From the first Gormán told Eadulf and me that he was the son of a prostitute. When I went to see Delia, she mentioned that she was a mother. The connection became easy to work out. In fact, Gormán told us that he thought Capa disliked him because his mother was a prostitute. That was only partially true. Capa also knew that Sárait had become fond of Gormán while she rejected his own attentions. So he tried to implicate Gormán in the killing of the dwarf. Capa felt he had to kill Forindain, by the way, because he thought the dwarf might have been able to identify his wife. He could not be sure that the dwarf had not seen her face in the lantern light of the inn.’

‘What I can’t understand is why did Gobnat go to the trouble that you have described when she must have had countless opportunities to kill her sister without evolving such an ingenious plot?’ Baithen pondered.

‘As I say, she wanted to absolve herself of any implication in it, and to implicate Delia. To that end, she stole Delia’s cloak, a distinctive garment. Then came the charade of sending the message to the palace. If anyone saw her, she could be sure that it was not Gobnat who would be described. Someone in rich silk, indeed, when Gobnat dressed so austerely.’

‘This is madness!’ cried Gobnat.

‘We will see,’ replied Brehon Baithen.

Old Brehon Dathal coughed and stood up.

‘I have listened to these accusations. In my opinion, were I still Chief Brehon, I would stop you now, Fidelma, and dismiss the case at once. There are too many suppositions, and questions pile up for you to answer.’

It was clear that Brehon Baithen was irritated by this intervention, but before he could remonstrate Fidelma replied: ‘Then let me continue and I will answer them.’

‘Indeed,’ Brehon Baithen said quickly. ‘We will hear what the learned dálaigh has to say, as is custom in my court, Dathal.’

‘Like all plans,’ Fidelma went on, ‘Gobnat’s plan went awry. First, Sárait came to her sister’s dwelling with Alchú. She thought that while she carried the child with her, Capa would not attack her again. She knew that even in his perverted lust he would never endanger an Eóghanacht baby. He was, strangely, a loyal servant of my family. Gobnat had no such loyalty — only hatred.

‘Although Gobnat planned to kill her sister in cold blood, the murder was done in a fit of rage. The number of knife wounds demonstrates that. How she must have hated Sárait. She struck her again and again in her fury. The head wound occurred when Sárait fell, striking her head against a small cauldron by the fireplace that I noticed had been dented. At least that is my guess. The murder, I believe, was done in Gobnat’s house. Where else would Sárait go in response to an urgent message from her sister but to her sister’s house? Gobnat’s aim was to hide the body at Delia’s house so that it would be found with the cloak. But before she could do so, Capa, her husband, came home. Capa was no angel and he knew what would happen to him if Gobnat was caught and told her reasons. He now had to get rid of Sárait’s body and little Alchú.

‘Something prevented him from taking the body to Delia’s house, and hence the first flaw in the plot. The other thing was that by some strange morality he could not bring himself to kill the baby. Sárait had been right. He could not do it directly, but he left the child in the woods to die.’

Capa was standing up to protest. His face was pale and the muscles were twitching around his mouth.

‘This is a fantasy! Where is your proof?’

‘When we first start on the path of deceit we have to weave through many side paths. We keep having to cover the original lie by more lies. And more actions. You took the body of Sárait into the woods where Conchoille, the woodsman, later found her. When you simply left the baby elsewhere for the beasts to devour, you did not realise that Corb and Corbnait were nearby. They took the child away with them, believing it to be simply abandoned.

‘You had probably not long returned to your home when Conchoille, who knew Sárait, came running to say he had found her body. You then went through the motions of being an outraged brother-in-law. Gobnat, meanwhile, had to bury the cloak in her own yard for the time being because the discovery of the murder and Alchú’s being missing made it difficult to do anything else.

‘This is where Capa began to act on his own to cover up this terrible affair. He feared the dwarf Forindain could identify Gobnat, and while we were searching for the dwarf in Cnoc Loinge he came across the person he thought was Forindain and killed him. That was a mistake.

‘Gobnat also made a mistake. She had succumbed to Capa’s insistence that they lay another false trail. He had her write a ransom note that would point to Uí Fidgente involvement. The three Uí Fidgente chiefs were to be released in return for Alchú. It was a good idea to do it while Capa was away at Imleach and Cnoc Loinge. But Capa had not realised that we would demand evidence that the person who wrote the note held Alchú. After the meeting when we decided to ask for evidence, he was sent to get a herald’s standard from a room near our chamber and took the opportunity to snatch a pair of baby shoes from our chest. When the shoe was presented as evidence I did not realise that Eadulf had seen it in the chest of clothes well after the abduction. Alchú had not been wearing them. They had been taken long afterwards.

‘I was confused at first by the fact that we found Gormán outside our chamber door at that time. So when Eadulf pointed out that Gormán could not have had the opportunity to take the baby shoes, I asked him how could he be sure.’ She glanced at Eadulf, who took up the story.

‘A servant was inside our chamber preparing it for the evening. If Gormán had just emerged from the chamber she would have seen him. But there had been time for Capa to slip inside and grab the shoes before she entered the room. He did so hurriedly, leaving a piece of clothing trailing out under the lid. Which we wrongly blamed the servant for doing. That was another mistake.’

‘It is still all surmise,’ Brehon Baithen pointed out.

‘Yet this surmise fell into place when Gobnat made a major slip,’ replied Fidelma. She turned towards Capa’s wife with a soft smile of triumph.

Gobnat was concentrating with a frown, trying to remember what she had said.

‘I was in your house the other night looking for Conchoille. You and Capa seemed worried by your dog’s digging in the yard.’

‘Why shouldn’t we be annoyed at the dog?’

‘No one had mentioned or described the cloak worn by the woman who sent the message to the palace that night. Only Forindain, whom you thought dead, had seen it and described it. Only Delia and myself knew the description of the cloak, and only we two knew that it was missing from her trunk … and, of course, one other person — the person who stole it and was wearing it when she gave the false message to Forindain.

‘Thinking that Forindain had been killed, you turned to me and said: “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.” Those were your exact words.’

Gobnat shrugged. ‘So what? Forindain, as you say, was not killed. He described to you the cloak that the woman who sent him to the palace had been wearing and it was a cloak belonging to that whore…’ She was indicating Delia when she stopped. She blinked as she realised what she had said.

Fidelma continued calmly. ‘No one, at that time, had mentioned anything about a woman in a distinctive cloak. How could Gobnat know, unless…?’ She left the question hanging in the air.

There was a moment’s silence and then Capa rose. His voice came out in a scream of rage.

‘It was her … her…’ he yelled, pointing to his wife. ‘She did it and what could I do but protect her? I am not responsible for the deed. I am innocent of it. My role was to protect her…’

Gobnat collapsed as the realisation of her situation dawned on her.

When some order had been restored, Brehon Baithen turned to Fidelma.

‘You said, however, that a dog had solved the puzzle. How was this?’

‘It was Capa’s hound that brought it all together,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly.

Brehon Baithen raised his eyebrows in query. ‘I do not see…’

‘First, when Forindain was called by the woman standing in the shadows, a hound had leapt, probably in play, at him. But the woman called it away. That of itself was nothing. Then, what woke Corb and Corbnait in the wood and led them to find Alchú abandoned there? It was the howling of a hound and the sound of someone calling it away. When I saw Capa’s hound digging in the yard, I was surprised that it seemed to upset both Capa and Gobnat. I suspect that it was where Gobnat initially hid the cloak and the remaining baby shoe. That night, Gobnat dug them up and did what she had initially intended — she waited until dark and reburied them in Delia’s yard. She could not have planned it better, for I was there when the hound came along and dug them up again. But why would a hound dig up these particular clothes? The answer was that Gobnat had worn them and her scent, which the hound recognised, was on them. That is what attracted the dog to them.’

‘A most complicated business, Fidelma,’ mused Brehon Baithen. ‘You, and of course Brother Eadulf, are to be congratulated on bringing this matter to a successful conclusion.’

Fidelma suddenly grinned; it was her mischievous grin. It had been a long time since she had been able to grin.

‘I think the hound deserves the congratulations. Sometimes dogs are more intelligent than humans.’

Two days later, Fidelma and Eadulf sat stretched before the hearth in their chamber. A fire crackled, keeping out the winter chills. They both sipped mulled wine from goblets replenished from a pottery jug, which stood warming by the fire. Little Alchú was peacefully asleep in a corner of the room. Suddenly, Fidelma uttered a deep sigh.

‘Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit.’ she said quietly. ‘I remember saying that to Gormán before we started out to Imleach.’

‘If the end is good, everything will be good. What is happening with Gormán and Delia?’

‘Gormán will overcome his sorrow, for that is the way of things. He has no reason to be ashamed of Delia for she is a good mother and a good friend.’

‘Haec olim meminisse iuvabit,’ muttered Eadulf. Time, indeed, was a great healer and most wounds could be healed by its passage. ‘But there is still something that I do not understand. Do you remember when we discussed matters with the council I said that the first mystery was why Sárait took our baby with her that night when she could have left him with one of several women in the palace? And you agreed with me. Yet you said at the hearing that she thought Alchú would protect her from harm. How did you know that?’

‘Like most things, the answer was simple,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Delia confirmed that after Sárait had been raped — by Capa, as we now know — she feared further harm. She believed that no harm would come to her while she was looking after the king’s nephew. Mistakenly she thought the rank of the child would protect her. Hatred is a great leveller. Gobnat hated her too much to let that stand in the way.’

‘And Conrí and his men have departed for their home?’ Eadulf said, after a moment or so of reflection.

Fidelma confirmed it with a nod of her head.

‘Let us hope that some period of peace may now begin between our peoples. And your friend Brehon Dathal has now officially retired to his little rath by the River Suir,’ she added mischievously. Eadulf pulled a face that set her laughing. ‘Anyway, Brehon Baithen is a good man. He will serve my brother well. And so will Caol as new commander of his guard. And tomorrow we are invited to the fair on the green below to see Forindain and his company of crossan play the story of the Faylinn. If there is someone who deserves our sympathy it is the little dwarf who lost his brother. Capa has much to answer for.’

‘Yet slaughter is a warrior’s philosophy and art,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘We train warriors to kill on our behalf in order to protect our society and us. But in creating the killing instinct in the warrior, surely we create something that is not easily controlled. A warrior can as easily kill on his own behalf, when he feels there is cause, as he can kill for his chief’s cause. Telling a man raised in the philosophy of slaughter not to kill is like telling a bird not to fly. It becomes his first choice as a reaction and not his last. That was Capa’s way of trying to protect himself and Gobnat.’

Fidelma was not convinced.

‘Not all warriors are like that. I have known many who are honourable.’

‘Perhaps. But are they exceptions or the rule? Many are not so honourable and we should not be surprised when they show their nature.’

‘In that case perhaps my brother should not have handed over Cuirgí and Cuán to Conrí. They are certainly trained killers. Of all of them, I felt only Crond had some saving grace, but in the end even he would have killed me.’

‘Which proves my point. Anyway, Conrí is going to have them tried by the Brehon of the Uí Fidgente so that they can be stripped of their chieftainships. He feels that it is a way to heal the wounds between his people and yours.’

‘Let us hope so.’

‘And what of Muirgen and Nessán?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘When do they head back to Sliabh Mis?’

‘If you agree, they will not. I was going to bring this up later. Muirgen will make a very good nurse to young Alchú and my brother has herds on the slopes of Maoldomhnach’s Hill that need a good pastor.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Have they agreed to this?’

Fidelma gave a gesture of affirmation.

‘We now await your approval of the idea. If so, Nessán can head back to Sliabh Mis to make the necessary arrangements for closing their homestead and dispersing their flock before rejoining his wife. Muirgen seems to have taken to life in Cashel with some enthusiasm. And perhaps we can find an orphan for them to foster as their own as well. Perhaps someone for Alchú to go into fosterage with.’

‘Fosterage?’ Eadulf frowned.

‘You know our laws now, Eadulf. When Alchú reaches the age of seven we must send him to fosterage until he is seventeen. Under the law, we must send him to some chieftain or learned person who will tend to his welfare and education. This is our custom, intended to make our people strong by creating bonds between families.’

‘Have I nothing to say in the matter?’ Eadulf felt a pang of his old frustration.

‘Not under our law,’ she replied gently. ‘Alchú is the son of a eu glas, a foreign father, and therefore it is up to me as mother to make the arrangements for fosterage. It is our custom and our law.’

‘Which raises a point…’ began Eadulf.

‘It does,’ said Fidelma, looking suddenly serious. ‘In a few days’ time, our trial marriage comes to an end. The year and a day is up and I shall no longer be a ben charrthach and you will cease to be my fer comtha”

Eadulf knew the terms well. He waited silently. He had known for some time that this day would come.

‘Well, Eadulf, we must make a decision. Do you want me to become a cétmuintir?’

Eadulf looked at her. He realised that she was smiling. A cétmuintir was the first contracted wife. The partner of a permanent relationship. Eadulf put down his goblet of wine and reached out both his hands to her with a growing look of amazement.

‘Let’s talk about it,’ he said softly.