The Leper's bell

Chapter Three

Before anyone else could move, Fidelma had walked across and taken a vacant seat at the table without being asked. Not only was she sister to Colgú but being a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth, she could sit unbidden in the presence of provincial kings and even speak before they did. Eadulf dropped back into his seat looking worried. Was only he aware of her red-rimmed eyes and haggard features?

‘I thought that you were sound asleep,’ he muttered.

Fidelma grimaced. ‘No thanks to your noxious brews that I am not,’ she replied, but there was no bitterness in her voice. ‘I know that you meant well, Eadulf. But I have slept enough. There is much to be done.’

Brehon Dathal was frowning in irritation. ‘Certainly there is, but not by you. You must hand over to one who is not emotionally involved in this case.’

‘Do you think that I have not the ability to investigate my own son’s disappearance?’ she replied coldly. ‘And has Eadulf lost the capacity to follow logic because the subject of the inquiry is his child? Many times we have been entrusted with investigations on which the safety of this kingdom has hinged. Does that now count for nothing?’

Brehon Dathal’s cheeks crimsoned at her challenge.

‘You and the Saxon are too emotionally involved,’ he protested again.

Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘That only enhances our determination and resolve to find the culprits.’

‘I am Chief Brehon of this kingdom and I-’

Colgú raised a hand to still him. ‘Let us not quarrel at this stage, for we are being sidetracked. We are all involved in this matter. Brother Eadulf was making an interesting point when we interrupted him. We can at least hear what he has to say.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma but she was still regarding Brehon Dathal with ill-concealed anger.

‘I was merely saying that considering the evidence we have heard, being able to reflect calmly on it, a path of questions should come to our minds,’ he said.

‘And does it?’ prompted Bishop Ségdae. ‘Do questions come to mind?’

‘Well,’ said Eadulf, ‘let us start with the first assumption that came to all our minds when we first heard of this event. We immediately thought that someone wishing to kidnap Alchú attacked Sárait. We immediately thought that she was killed trying to prevent the kidnapping.’

‘What other assumption is there?’ demanded Brehon Dathal, still irritable.

‘Let us take it step by step from what we have now heard,’ continued Eadulf, ignoring him. ‘A child is sent to the palace with a message for Sárait purporting to come from her sister, asking her to come to her urgently.’

‘And you have heard from my wife Gobnat and myself that no such message was sent,’ intervened Capa quickly.

‘True,’ agreed Eadulf.

‘And we have also learnt that the child who delivered this message is a stranger to us,’ Colgú added. ‘The description given by the guard, Caol, does not apply to anyone in the palace or the township.’

Again, Eadulf inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Once the message is delivered, the child leaves the fortress. If we accept Caol’s belief, it is a male child and his task is apparently done. A short while after, Sárait leaves the fortress with Alchú. She tells Caol where she is intending to go and explains that she is taking the baby, as she can find no one to leave it with. But that is-’

‘That is the first mystery in this story,’ Fidelma interrupted.

All eyes turned questioningly on her.

‘Eadulf was about to say that there should be no logical reason for the nurse to take Alchú out into the darkness of the night, away from the safety of the palace.’

‘How did you work that out?’ demanded Brehon Dathal sceptically.

‘How many women would you say dwelt within this palace? How many with children? Twenty? More? And how many would Sárait know well enough to call upon if she intended to leave for a short while? How many of them dwelt within a few steps of the chambers she occupied?’

Colgú said nothing but it was clear that the question had never occurred to him.

‘Exactly,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘If Sárait was responding to an urgent message from her sister, there would be no reason why she should take the child. And, before anyone asks, I have questioned some of the women who were in the fortress that night. Sárait did not approach any of them to ask them to look after Alchú while she was gone. The first question, then, is why did Sárait take the baby?’

No one answered him.

‘Let us examine another aspect.’ Fidelma interrupted the meditative silence as they considered possible explanations. ‘Let us say that the child who came with the message purporting to be from Gobnat was part of some plan to lure Sárait and the baby from the fortress, the purpose of which was to seize Alchú. How could whoever planned this entrapment be sure that Sárait would leave the fortress with the infant?’

‘In other words,’ Eadulf added, ‘if one received a message from one’s sister asking them to come as a matter of urgency, it might be expected that they would leave their charge behind in the care of someone else. Yet Sárait, in spite of the nearby women with whom she could have safely left the baby, took it out into the cold night supposedly to hurry to her sister’s side.’

Again there was silence as they thought about this.

‘These questions merely endorse the fact that my wife did not send the message.’ Capa cleared his throat. ‘If she knew that the child did not come from Gobnat, the answer must be that Sárait lied to the guard, Caol, about the nature of the message?’

‘That is a logical deduction,’ Eadulf acceded.

‘There is another mystery to consider,’ Fidelma went on softly. She glanced at Eadulf and then towards her brother. ‘Not being asked to be privy to your re-examination of the witnesses here, I am not sure if you have picked up on the point. Instead of going to her sister’s home, as she informed the guard she was going to, Sárait took the baby, went round the village and along the track which leads through the woods beyond, where she met her death. Why?’

Brehon Dathal’s tone was patronising. ‘We have already recognised that point, Fidelma. It is a question we have considered.’

‘But it was thanks to Brother Eadulf who pointed it out,’ muttered Bishop Ségdae.

‘And did you find an answer to the question?’ asked Fidelma softly.

‘The questions that are being proposed are unanswerable until we find the culprit,’ Brehon Dathal snapped, irritated by the bishop’s implied mockery. ‘I cannot see any of these questions leading us to the guilty party.’

‘At least the asking of the questions is a start along the path to a culprit,’ Fidelma replied acidly. ‘Or does the learned Brehon have another means of proceeding?’

‘There are other aspects to consider.’ Eadulf spoke quickly before the crimson-faced old man could respond.

They all turned back to him.

‘Such as?’ asked Cerball with interest, forgetting himself and glancing up from his tablet and stylus where he was still recording the council’s words.

‘There is a purpose behind every action,’ replied Eadulf. ‘Have we considered the purpose behind these actions?’

They stared blankly at him, with the exception of Fidelma who gave him an encouraging glance.

‘Let us pose a question,’ he continued. ‘Was the purpose to entice Sárait out to the woods and kill her? Or was the purpose to entice her out with the baby and seize it to carry it away? Was the slaying of Sárait simply the inevitable result of the killer’s attempting to kidnap the child?’

‘Or, having killed Sárait, the intended victim all along, did the killer find himself left with the baby on his hands and have no option but to take it away?’ Brehon Dathal ended.

Bishop Ségdae grimaced wryly. ‘I can’t see a killer, having just stabbed the nurse to death, having such solicitous feelings for a helpless baby that he takes it away with him to save it from the perils of the night.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘I notice that you all refer to the killer in masculine form. Do you have knowledge of the sex of the killer or is it that you do not believe a female capable of killing?’

The bishop stared at her. ‘We presumed that-’

‘I see.’ Fidelma cut him short. She turned to the others. ‘Presumption is a dangerous thing. We must keep an open mind on all things. Eadulf’s questions are ones that have to be considered carefully.’

Brehon Dathal was shaking his head.

‘There is a difference between someone’s snatching a baby on the spur of the moment and abducting it by design. I have come across a case where a demented woman, having lost her own child, snatched a baby as some sort of replacement. But what is being suggested here is…’

‘Fúatach.’ Fidelma used the old legal term for an act of carrying off forcibly.

‘For ransom?’ Brehon Dathal’s voice was incredulous and it seemed that he quite forgot to whom he spoke. ‘No ransom demand has yet been made. If it were abduction we would have heard by now. I think we can dismiss such an ill-conceived notion…’

Colgú began to rise with a deep frown of annoyance. It was the tanist, Finguine, who reached out a hand and placed it as if in pacification on the king’s arm to hold him in his seat.

‘It is true,’ Finguine said hurriedly, ‘that we have had no demands made upon us that would warrant our coming to a belief in the idea that Alchú was kidnapped for a ransom. But we should not rule out the possibility altogether.’

‘We have searched the surrounding countryside,’ Capa pointed out. ‘There is no sign of the child that Caol has described as coming to the palace and no sign of Alchú. Unless he and his abductors are well hidden, he must have been removed from the area.’

There was another silence. Eadulf sighed inwardly. It appeared that there was no path down which to proceed.

‘I say that the baby must have been snatched by someone seeking a child,’ Brehon Dathal announced. ‘Any child and not necessarily the son of Fidelma. Whoever has him has moved on, passing through this territory. I see no other conclusion.’

Eadulf saw Fidelma’s mouth tighten. Then, surprisingly, she relaxed in a smile, a sarcastic smile but a smile nevertheless. She turned to Capa.

‘The Brehon Dathal has made a good point,’ she said. Eadulf almost flinched waiting for the biting sarcasm that must surely follow, for he knew that she did not have too high an opinion of the pompous chief judge of Muman. But the sarcasm did not come. ‘Cast your mind back three or four days — or to a period just before — and tell us what strangers passed through Cashel?’

Capa shook his head as he vainly tried to dredge his memories but it was Finguine the tanist who answered.

‘I immediately thought of that possibility, Fidelma, and so I took it on myself to make a thorough check, but alas, cousin, it proved worthless. There were three boats that came up the River Suir, traders from the seaports. They unloaded their cargoes, waited to take on a return cargo and sailed back. My men searched those boats very thoroughly, and there were no children on board. Then there was a small group of pilgrims, a sad little group of disabled religious, who were taking the road to Imleach…’

Ségdae, the bishop of Imleach, gave swift confirmation. They had heard that I was staying here at Cashel, so they came here to ask a blessing before they passed to the holy shrine of the Blessed Ailbe. They sought a balm for their afflictions, some born malformed and others disabled by terrible wounds in the wars. There were neither children nor babies amongst them when they arrived.’

Finguine nodded agreement. ‘I went to the inn in the township where the pilgrims slept that night, and questioned them as to whether they had seen or heard anything amiss. Poor creatures. I hope their prayers and supplications are rewarded.’

‘I presume that they neither heard nor saw anything?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Their leader, Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas, said he was disturbed by the noise of the guards and that must have been after the finding of Sárait. They could offer no information that would help us.’

‘And this band of pilgrims have now passed on to Imleach?’ queried Fidelma.

‘They left on the morning after Sárait’s body was found and would have reached Imleach some time ago,’ agreed Bishop Ségdae.

‘There were no women among them, no children and no babies,’ confirmed Finguine. ‘And they were the only strangers to pass through Cashel.’

Capa suddenly contradicted him as if with an afterthought.

‘Apart from the northerner and the foreigner…’ Then he hesitated and shrugged apologetically. ‘But they passed here the day before Sárait was killed.’

‘What foreigner? What northerner?’ Fidelma quickly demanded.

‘The foreigner called himself a religious and a healer. He said he was from some distant land to the east.’

‘Persia,’ Colgú confirmed. ‘That was the land he said he came from.’

Eadulf and some of the others were looking blank.

Cerball, the bard, looked up from his transcription and smiled with the superiority of knowledge.

‘It is an ancient land that borders on Scythia. Herodotus, in his fourth book, recounts how the Scythians repelled Darius, a king of Persia, who attempted to invade their land. And Justinian is likewise a witness to this history…’

Colgú interrupted the bard’s lecture, waving him to silence.

‘I had almost forgotten him in view of what has happened since then. He stayed as our guest on the night before Sárait’s murder. A man of middle age, travelling, as he told me, in search of knowledge of these western lands. He spoke Greek and Latin and was accompanied by a young brother from Ard Macha who served him in the role of guide and interpreter during his travels. They travelled by horse and certainly had no child with them.’

‘In what direction were they heading when they left here?’ asked Eadulf curiously.

‘West. I think they said their destination was the abbey of Coimán,’ replied Colgú. ‘Anyway, they left before Sárait was killed. The day before, as Capa said.’

Fidelma turned back to Capa. ‘Just to clarify things in my own mind, what were you doing while Finguine was checking the religious travellers and merchants? As commander of the guard, was that not your role?’

Capa returned her gaze reproachfully for a moment or so. ‘I was searching for your baby, lady. I and three companies of my guards spread from Cashel and made a day’s travel in all directions but found no trace either alive or dead.’

‘I intended no criticism, Capa. I merely wanted to get a complete picture of events.’

‘It can only be some unknown traveller who took the opportunity to seize a child, any child.’ Brehon Dathal’s voice was heavy. ‘That is my conclusion, and when Sárait, the nurse, tried to defend the baby, they killed her and made off with it.’

Even Eadulf saw the flaws in his argument before Fidelma spoke. He caught her antagonistic movement out of the corner of his eye, and intervened quickly.

‘With respect, Brehon Dathal, that is contradictory to the evidence that we have already discussed.’

Brehon Dathal’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, Saxon?’ His voice held a degree of restrained belligerence.

‘If Sárait had just chanced to be out at night with the baby, then your suggestion might have to be considered. But the evidence seems to point to Sárait’s deliberately being lured from the palace to her death. If she was not lured, then — and we have posed the question — she went out knowing whom she was about to meet. In either situation, the identity of the child — the strange mute child who came to the palace — is crucial. The fact that this child, whose identity no one knows, came with a message for Sárait throws everything into confusion. That is one of the paths we must follow.’

‘But there are no paths to follow now,’ protested Brehon Dathal, spreading his hands and appealing to his fellow council members.

‘When there are no logical paths to follow,’ Fidelma observed in a tight voice, ‘the only thing to do is follow the paths that are open, however illogical they may seem.’

Colgú glanced at her with a frown. ‘What have you in mind, sister?’

‘I will ride to Imleach and question those religious travellers. It may be that they heard or saw something on their travels.’ She glanced towards Finguine and smiled apologetically. ‘I am sure that you observed them well and questioned them diligently, but I would feel better if I did so as well.’

Finguine answered with a polite smile and the suggestion of a shrug. ‘It is your prerogative, cousin.’

‘I think it will be a wild goose chase,’ Brehon Dathal asserted.

‘It is the only goose there is to chase,’ Fidelma returned shortly.

Colgú rose and, respectfully, they all rose with him.

‘This council has ended. Finguine, you may dismiss the witnesses to their homes, but organise a company of our best warriors to search the countryside once more. Lead them yourself.’

Capa made to intervene indignantly, for the command of the warriors should rightly be his and he wanted to protest that he and his men had already scoured the countryside with no result. However, Colgú spoke before he could articulate his protest.

‘I have a special task for you, Capa. Take the opportunity to tell your wife that you will be away for a few days and then choose two trusty men. You will accompany my sister.’ He turned swiftly to Fidelma. ‘Remain with me a moment. You as well, Eadulf. We will discuss this matter in private.’

The king waited in silence until the rest of them had left the chamber before returning his worried gaze to his sister and Eadulf.

‘Come to the fire and sit down,’ he instructed. ‘Some mulled wine?’

They sat but neither felt in the mood to drink. Fidelma still had the sickly taste of Eadulf’s sleeping brew in her mouth. Alcohol on that would surely make her nauseous.

‘Are you absolutely determined to set out after these pilgrims?’ Colgú began, helping himself to a goblet of wine and stretching before the blazing hearth.

‘I have said as much,’ Fidelma replied shortly.

‘And you agree?’ Colgú turned to Eadulf. ‘You will go as well?’

‘Of course,’ Eadulf was about to add that he felt insulted that such a question should even be posed but compressed his lips. Colgú knew how he felt about Fidelma and must know how he felt about his lost child. ‘We must take any opportunity, however slight, of tracking down those responsible for the disappearance of Alchú and returning him to our care.’

The king inclined his head in silence for a moment.

‘Go then you must,’ he sighed. He glanced quickly at Fidelma. ‘You do not look well.’

The beginning of an angry frown crossed her face and then she carefully controlled her expression.

‘There is nothing wrong that some sleep or simple relaxation will not cure. Have no concern for me, brother. I have vented my emotion and am now in control, and will remain in control until I have come to a resolution of this matter.’ She looked quickly at Eadulf, almost in reproof, before turning back to her brother. ‘Whatever you have heard, I am capable of investigating this matter. My mind is now clear and ordered. My feelings are restrained until such time as I can indulge them.’

Colgú hesitated and then shrugged.

‘Very well. But there are many aspects of this matter that give me concern and you need a clear mind to consider them.’

Fidelma examined her brother with a frown.

‘Then there is something worrying you? I do not simply mean your immediate concern for Alchú. Something else worries you.’

‘I think Brehon Dathal can be a fool at times,’ Colgú said unexpectedly.

Fidelma could not repress a quick grimace. ‘Have you only just reached such a conclusion?’

Colgú almost smiled. ‘I begin to think he is growing more eccentric as he ages. However, in truth, sister, I fear that this is some extraordinary plot either against you personally or against our house in general. Why, or who is behind it, I cannot guess at the moment. I think that you both share my feeling — this is neither an infant being randomly snatched by someone wanting a child, as Dathal fondly believes, nor, apparently, a means to some financial recompense.’

Fidelma looked thoughtfully at her brother. ‘I thought that I was alone in that view.’

Eadulf compressed his lips in annoyance at being excluded. ‘You will remember that I pointed this out when Brehon Dathal was-’

‘The point is,’ cut in Colgú, ‘that you have both made enemies, both within and without this kingdom. There are many who might like to seek revenge on you.’

‘I think we are well aware of it,’ Eadulf said softly. ‘I would say that anyone engaged in the enforcement of law is open to those who nurse grudges. You cannot gain the reputation that Fidelma has without creating enemies — and often in high places.’

‘This is true,’ agreed the king. ‘But there are other areas from which danger might come, and not just from enemies that you have made in your pursuit of the law. Enemies with a personal grudge. You should consider these as well.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘I presume that you mean danger from those who object to my liaison with a foreigner?’ she demanded.

Colgú shot an apologetic look at Eadulf and shrugged.

‘Do not take this the wrong way, Eadulf, but we must examine all possibilities. Fidelma is of the royal house of the Eóghanacht, a daughter of a king and a sister of a king. Do you know what this means to us, Eadulf? Not just to our family, but to those of our culture?’

Eadulf’s jaw rose a little. He spoke coldly.

‘In my own land, Colgú, the lineage of our Saxon kings is held sacred. Each king of the Angles and the Saxons traces his descent from one or other of the seven sons of Woden. Many Angles and Saxons still believe in the divinity of Woden, chief of the raven clan, the All-Father of our people. My people have worshipped Woden from time immemorial, whereas the New Faith has only been accepted among us for a generation or so, far less in many places.’

Colgú smiled at the soft tone of belligerent pride in Eadulf’s voice.

‘Then you will appreciate it when I tell you that the Eóghanacht trace their lineage back to the beginning of time. Our bards, the Keepers of the Word, hail me as the ninety-sixth direct generation from the loins of Adam, the eightieth generation from Gaedheal Glas, son of Niul, who led the children of the Gael out of the Tower of Babel. I am the fifty-ninth generation from Eibhear Fionn son of Milidh who brought the children of the Gael to this land.’

‘What is the point you are making, brother?’ asked Fidelma softly.

‘The point is that there are many, and many I suspect within our own family, who, as you say, object to you being the ben charrthach of a Saxon — and one of lower rank than you.’ He held up his hand as Fidelma and Eadulf made to speak at once. ‘I am merely pointing out a fact, not commenting upon it. It would not do to blind yourselves to this fact. Many would be outraged when you became mother to Eadulf’s child.’

‘You need not tell us that,’ Eadulf replied quickly. ‘It is not something that I am liable to forget or be allowed to forget.’

Fidelma glanced at him, surprised at his tone. The words were spoken softly, and there was no obvious bitterness in them, but she felt the suppressed anger behind them. She was on the verge of saying something then closed her mouth firmly. Her face became a mask.

‘I presume that these are just general observations, brother? You have no immediate suspicions?’

Colgú regarded her for a moment without expression and then shook his head.

‘I cannot point to anyone and accuse them. I believe that everyone within our household behaves with proper etiquette but feelings can often be hidden, secret things. There may be some who think that a daughter of the Eóghanacht should be the mother of a son of Éireann and not a son of Saxony.’

‘Alchú has … will have … a choice of cultures and lands,’ replied Fidelma. ‘His is the choice that will determine his own future. We will not presume to do that for him. And in this Alchú is in no way unique. Did not Oswy, king of Northumbria, have a child with Fina, daughter of the old High King Coimán Rímid? His name is Aldfrith and I hear he is a promising young scholar in Beannchar but is at home both in his mother’s culture and in that of his father.’

The king smiled, a little sadly. ‘You have good intentions. But again, I am not commenting, merely pointing out things that you should both be aware of. And there is something else.’

‘Something else?’ Eadulf mused cynically. ‘I thought that we had enough to be meditating on.’

‘It will not have escaped your notice that, apart from the considerations of nationality, you are both members of the religious. You have decided to pursue your talents primarily in the service of the New Faith. It was not so long ago that all our learned folk, whether judges, lawyers, bards or physicians, were accepted among the orders of druids. We accept that the New Faith has replaced the druids in most corners of the five kingdoms. Now, those following the New Faith do so without diminishing their personal lives. We accept that, like the druids before them, the religious of the New Faith can marry and bear children. There are mixed houses. You, Fidelma, were trained in the conhospitae of Kildare, the double-house founded by Abbess Brigid and Bishop Conlaed.’

Fidelma frowned. ‘What are you trying to say, Colchú? Have you been converted by this new movement within the religious that argues that those who serve Christ should not be married nor consort with others of the opposite sex? Not even the Bishop of Rome has agreed that this should be a dogma of the Faith. It would be unnatural to forbid relationships between men and women. It is only small groups of ascetics here and there that argue thus. There have always been such people in all religions, who believe that they show faith and loyalty to the Deity by sublimating all human desires.’

‘You may rest assured that I have not been converted, Fidelma. But several in the five kingdoms have,’ Colgú said defensively. ‘There are many who feel that they can best serve their Faith by the path of celibacy…’

‘And they have my good wishes, even though I think it is unnatural. But it is one thing to follow one’s own personal belief and another thing to force those ideas on everyone else as a dogma and the only path to take to serve God,’ responded Fidelma.

‘What I am trying to say, Fidelma,’ went on Colgú patiently, ‘is that there are now many religious within the five kingdoms who are taking vows of celibacy. Their movement is gathering strength and power. The fact that you, a princess of the Eóghanacht, have married a Saxon monk and given birth to a child, thus setting an example to your fellow religieuses, might be perceived as provocation by such groups. This might be another area where enemies may lurk.’

‘Nonsense! It is-’ began Fidelma, but Eadulf interrupted.

‘I understand exactly, Colgú,’ he said quietly but determinedly. ‘Before we left for Rath Raithlen, I had an argument with Bishop Petrán on this very subject. And-’ He stopped suddenly and his eyes widened. ‘Where is Bishop Petrán? I have not seen him since we returned.’

Fidelma looked at Eadulf in surprise.

‘Come, Eadulf. He is an old man with strong views but you don’t suggest that he…? Why, I have known him since I was a child.’

Colgú leant forward with sudden suppressed excitement.

‘But Eadulf’s point is exactly that which I am making. Tell me more about this argument that you had with Bishop Petrán?’

‘It was on the day that you asked us to meet your cousin, Becc of Rath Raithlen. You must remember that, Fidelma? It was nothing much but it irritated me. I have heard the arguments a hundred times before. He believes that we should follow the decision made at Whitby and accept the full authority of Rome in the matters of liturgy, tonsure and the dating of Easter. I believe that, too. I have never made a secret of it. Indeed, I supported the argument at the Council of Whitby. Yet Petrán goes further and argues that we should accept the principles laid out at the second Council of Tours — that clerics found in bed with their wives should be excommunicated for a year. He hopes that the next major council of the western bishops will decree that all clerics should take a vow of celibacy.’

There was a moment of silence.

‘It would be best not to ignore Petrán,’ Colgú finally observed in a soft voice. ‘It is well known that he is a woman-hater as well as the leading advocate of the idea that the clergy of the New Faith should be celibate. When he heard that there were women in the hinterlands of the kingdom, as in Gaul and Britain, who were still being ordained as priests of the Faith, he demanded I lead a crusade to destroy the ungodly. I pointed out that who is ordained and who is not is a matter for the bishops of the New Faith and not for a secular authority such as myself.’

Eadulf raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I thought that three centuries had passed since the Council of Laodicea decreed that women were not to be ordained as priests to conduct the Mass?’

‘What is agreed in principle and what is done in practice are often two different things,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘Brigid herself was not only ordained priest by Mel, son of Darerca, sister of Patrick, but had episcopal authority conferred on her. Hilda, whom you met at Whitby, was also ordained bishop. And there are still many women in Gaul who are ordained to conduct the Mass.’

‘One should not ignore Bishop Petrán’s rage. He may be old but he has influence and followers,’ added Colgú.

‘It is hard to ignore someone so pugnacious as Petrán,’ Eadulf admitted ruefully. ‘I openly admit that I am a supporter of the Petrine theory — I attended the Council of Whitby on behalf of the pro-Roman school. However, I do not support this group of ascetics who follow those who first gathered at the Council of Elvira and considered that celibacy should be enforced on all the clergy.’

Colgú frowned. ‘Petrine theory?’ he queried.

‘It is the argument that the Bishops of Rome, Innocent and Celestine, first put forward two centuries ago: that it was the right of Rome to rule over all the Christian churches. That is why the Bishop of Rome is addressed as the Father of the Faithful, the Papa, as it is in Latin,’ Fidelma explained.

‘I support that idea for the very reasons accepted at Whitby,’ added Eadulf. ‘We are taught that Peter was the rock on which Christ placed the responsibility for His church on earth and it was in Rome that, we are told, Peter founded that church. Rome has the right…’

Fidelma did not suppress her exasperated sigh.

‘This is no time for such theological arguments. My brother is stating that people like Bishop Petrán may have cause to hate us and hate our child because of their religious attitudes. Is that right?’

Colgú nodded. ‘I hasten to say that I do not point the finger at Petrán but simply at people who think like him and might harbour hatred and take that hatred to extremes. There are always fanatics about.’

Eadulf grimaced morosely. ‘Petrán is fanatic enough. Our argument nearly came to physical blows.’

‘Why so?’ Fidelma frowned, leaning forward suddenly. ‘You did not mention that.’

‘It was when he was declaiming on the piety of the Bishops of Rome in connection with his celibacy argument. I could not help but point out that if the Blessed Hormidas, Bishop of Rome, had not slept with his lady, then Rome would not have had his son the Blessed Silverius sitting, as his successor, on the throne of Peter. He was almost bursting with anger in attempting to deny that any Bishops of Rome married, let alone had children. Why,’ Eadulf warmed to his theme, ‘even Innocent, the first of his name to be Bishop of Rome, and who expounded the Petrine theory, was the son of Anastasius who had also been Bishop of Rome, and-’

‘Is Bishop Petrán still at Cashel?’ interrupted Fidelma, cutting Eadulf’s enthusiastic argument short.

Colgú shook his head. ‘Bishop Ségdae sent him on a tour of the western islands. He left over a week ago.’

‘So that eliminates Petrán,’ Fidelma said with satisfaction.

‘But Petrán has followers, and it is precisely because he has strong views and leads a group who are fanatic about their ideas that such things should not be overlooked. I will ask Finguine to check the religious quarters of the palace as a matter of course.’

Fidelma shrugged. ‘I doubt whether it will reveal anything, because, if such a plot was envisaged, exacting minds such as Petrán and those around him would not leave any evidence of it in their quarters,’ she said, as if dismissing the matter.

‘That is true, but even the most clever mind can sometimes overlook the obvious,’ commented Colgú.

‘I think we should set out before the day is older.’ Fidelma rose abruptly from her chair.

‘You still wish to catch up with the pilgrims at Imleach?’ Colgú demanded.

‘There is still no other path to follow.’

‘Then, in view of what I have just said, I am sending Capa, my commander of the guard, with you. I told him to stand ready.’

Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.

‘Are you are concerned, brother, that we are really in some tangible danger?’ she asked softly.

‘For the very reasons that we have just been discussing, sister,’ Colgú replied solemnly.

For a moment or two, Eadulf thought that Fidelma would argue with her brother. He knew she hated to be accompanied by armed warriors, even for her own protection. But Fidelma simply shrugged.

‘Then make sure that Capa is at the gates within the hour, for Eadulf and I will depart for Imleach before the noonday bell has finished striking.’

They left the king’s apartments, passing Capa as he entered to receive his instructions. They were passing down the corridor back to their own chambers when a young warrior halted them by the simple expedient of standing in their way in the narrow corridor.

‘Forgive me, lady,’ he began awkwardly.

He was a youthful man with a shock of raven-black hair, a fair skin and eyes to match the colour of his hair. He was well muscled, and a scar on his arm showed that he had already served in combat. In spite of his youth, he wore the golden torque of the élite bodyguard of the king and his clothes were well cared for. His features were pleasant and seemed vaguely familiar to Fidelma. She presumed that she must have seen him about the palace. His eyes held a look of anxiety, and she controlled her impatience at being waylaid.

‘Well, warrior? You wish to speak to me?’

The young man swallowed. ‘Lady, my name is Gorman.’

‘Well, Gorman?’ Her voice was frosty and not encouraging.

‘Lady, I have heard that Capa, our captain, is looking for a couple of warriors to accompany him. The rumour says that he is to escort you to Imleach in search of Sárait’s murderer, the kidnapper of your child. Capa has already chosen Caol for this task.’

‘And?’ snapped Fidelma, angry that the news had spread so rapidly.

‘I would like very much to go with you, lady.’

Fidelma’s annoyance increased. ‘It is no concern of mine what choice Capa makes. You must speak to him.’

The young warrior shook his head. ‘Capa has taken a dislike to me, lady, although I have done him no wrong. But I must, I must go with you.’

Fidelma stared at him in surprise for a moment.

‘Must? Why?’

The young man shrugged awkwardly.

‘I… I knew the lady Sárait. I feel… feel…’

Fidelma’s forbidding features softened as the young man stood with reddening face.

‘I presume that you were in love with her?’

The young warrior coloured hotly, dropping his gaze as if he were confessing to some heinous crime.

‘I am … was.’

‘Why does Capa dislike you that you need my intervention with him to ensure you come on this journey?’

‘My youth, I suppose. I think that is why Capa ignores me.’

He hesitated and Fidelma felt that he was holding something back.

That is not the real reason, is it?’ she pressed.

The young man blushed. ‘I am baseborn. My mother was a prostitute.’

‘But you wear the golden torque,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘I thought that…’ He hesitated, feeling awkward. ‘I thought that only nobles could join the élite bodyguard?’

‘Donndubháin, who was heir apparent to Colgú before Finguine, promoted me to the élite bodyguard when I was instrumental in turning back an Uí Fidgente attack at the battle of Cnoc Áine. Capa thinks only sons of nobles should serve in the Nasc Niadh — the bodyguard. I want a chance to prove myself to him.’

Eadulf sniffed in dismissive fashion. ‘A young man wanting vengeance to prove himself with his commander disliking him…’ He shook his head. That sounds a recipe for disaster to me.’

Gorman turned pleading eyes on Fidelma.

‘Please, lady…’

‘Gorman!’

It was the stern voice of Capa, who appeared behind them on his way back from Colgú’s chambers. The commander of the guard raised his hand in salute as he recognised Fidelma and Eadulf.

‘I beg your pardon, lady. I wanted a word with young Gorman here.’ He glanced at the warrior, now stiffening to attention. ‘You will be ready to accompany Caol and me within the hour. We are to be escort to the lady Fidelma and Brother Eadulf.’

The young man dropped his jaw in surprise at the announcement. Capa inclined his head in salute again and turned down the corridor.

Fidelma smiled at the confused young man.

There, you did not need to ask for my intercession. Have you heard of the saying si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit?’

The young man shook his head.

‘If the end is good, everything will be good.’ Eadulf smiled. ‘We will see you at the main gate within the hour.’