Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 6

  Fidelma knew that to behave in any other fashion would have been a slight against the honour of the prince. When she expressed her acceptance of the situation, the warlord relaxed.

  ‘Excellent. Follow these attendants and they will show you the way to your quarters. Having been here before, I think you will find the surroundings familiar. I will be attending in the great hall when the bell rings for the feasting.’

  As Fidelma and Eadulf followed the attendants into the main palace complex, Eadulf shivered slightly. It was not so long ago that they had been under this very roof, little realising that their host at the time was one of the conspirators who, had he known what they were about, could easily have had them killed. They walked across the same great hall, made more impressive on its inside than the outside walls. Huge tapestries covered the walls, and around the lower parts hung shields bearing the symbols of their owners who had once used them in battle. Swords of many varieties were displayed along with the shields; some were ornate and bejewelled, indicating the wealth of their owners.

  At the end of the hall was the prince’s chair of office, an elaborately carved piece of oak with the icons of the Uí Fidgente inscribed on it. It was placed on a small raised platform overlooking a long oak table. Next to it, at a slightly lower level, was a smaller chair – presumably for the heir-apparent of the prince. The table was the very one where they had once dined under the watchful eye of the renegade steward, Cuána.

  It was amusing to find they were being led to the same guest chamber that they had occupied at the time of their first visit. This was where the young attendant, Ciarnalt, had warned them of the steward’s treacherous nature.

  The attendants laid down the visitors’ bags in the chamber and the elder of the two, a gentle-looking man with white hair and sharp blue eyes, bowed and announced, ‘I shall order water to be heated and the dabach filled for your pleasure. One of the females will attend you, lady, with soap, scents and linen towels.’

  The dabach was a large tub or vat-like affair in which heated water was poured and into which bathers could climb. There, with the aid of sleic, or soap, they would cleanse themselves ready for the evening meal.

  ‘We have a separate facility for you, brother,’ the man added to Eadulf. ‘You will be called when all is ready. Is there anything else that you require in the meantime?’

  There was nothing they could think of and so the attendants withdrew.

  They had luxuriated in the hot baths, with spices and scents. Fidelma had half expected Ciarnat to appear as her attendant but another young girl helped her. It was when she had been at the fortress last and bathed in exactly the same bath-house that Fidelma had met Ciarnat for the first time. When she enquired after her, the attendant – a young, fair-haired girl – had explained her absence.

  ‘Ciarnat is not in this household today, lady. She has an elderly mother in the township and some days she goes to take care of her.’

  Having bathed and rested, they found the summer sun was lowering and beginning to cast shadows across the courtyard and buildings; lanterns were being prepared for the coming darkness. Finally, a distant bell resounded four times and there came a discreet knock on their chamber door. It was the male attendant come to escort them to the great hall.

  To their surprise, having arrived at the fortress with hardly a sign of anyone to greet them, the hall was athrong with many people. Fidelma noted that there were very few females present – apart from the attendants. The only immediately familiar face belonged to Conrí, who came forward to greet them at once and explained that he would act, for that evening at least, as the prince’s rechtaire or steward. He then led Fidelma and Eadulf to the dais on which the prince’s chair of office was located.

  Prince Donennach rose from his seat and took a step down to the same level to greet Fidelma in recognition of her rank. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man in his mid-twenties, standing with legs spread slightly apart in the manner of a warrior. His grip was firm, an indication of the power of the muscles behind it. His features were not exactly handsome, but pleasant, and his light grey eyes seemed to regard everyone with amusement. The prince’s hair was fair with a dusting of red in it as, indeed, was the long moustache that dangled either side of his mouth – the only facial hair on an otherwise cleanshaven face.

  ‘You are welcome, lady. Or should I call you Sister Fidelma?’ He greeted her with a genuine smile of recognition.

  Fidelma returned his greeting with a bow of her head. ‘I have left the religious, Prince Donennach, and now serve only as adviser in law to my brother.’

  ‘And yet I find it strange not to use that prefix “Sister”. It is the title by which your reputation precedes you throughout the Five Kingdoms.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is a designation I no longer have and so, in proof of the one I do have, I present this.’ She produced the hazel wand of office which she carried, bearing the silver mounting of the stag rampant. This was the symbol of her authority as representative of her brother, the King.

  ‘Your credentials are without question, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Prince Donennach said. ‘Your reputation precedes you under whatever title you use – as, of course, does that of Eadulf your husband. Welcome, friend Eadulf. It has been some years since I was a young visitor to Cashel when we tried to negotiate a peace. I was glad of your healing knowledge then, my friend.’

  It was true that Eadulf had taken the arrow from Donennach’s leg during an incident when Fidelma and he were investigating the mystery of a vanished member of the Abbey of Imleach. Eadulf had almost forgotten the event. He inclined his head gravely in acknowledgement. ‘That’s right. You were wounded by an arrow from a would-be assassin.’

  ‘And was nursed back to life by you,’ Prince Donennach said warmly. ‘Your powers helped me to recover.’ He paused and then continued: ‘Indeed, you are both welcome here, although in the circumstances I had hoped your brother and his Chief Brehon would be represented.’

  ‘I am here in their place. My brother, the King, whose regrets I bring to you, is detained with pressing matters …’ She noticed Donennach’s mouth lift slightly in a cynical gesture. ‘Aillín, our Chief Brehon, is also on an embassy to the High King in Tara. As this seems a matter of urgency, and one of very serious consequence, I am here to represent both their offices.’

  ‘One of those offices on your shoulders would be an enormous responsibility,’ said a new voice, ‘but to have to represent both …’

  Fidelma turned towards the man who had made the observation.

  ‘This is my Brehon, Brehon Faolchair,’ the prince said.

  ‘We have not met.’ Fidelma regarded the man of middling years who took his place at the side of the prince. His hair was an unruly mass of ginger curls, his cheeks bright red above the pale white flesh around his neck. He looked to her as though laughter was more the normal expression on his features than the rather sombre cast of them now. ‘I hope I will be able to demonstrate to you that I am capable of sustaining both such offices,’ she said with dignity.

  ‘I am sure that you will, lady. I have heard much of you, Fidelma of Cashel, and,’ he gave a slight bow of his head to Eadulf, ‘much of your husband Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Your counsel in the predicament we now find ourselves in will be greatly appreciated.’

  There was an ill-concealed snort of disdain from someone within a group of clerics to one side.

  Without looking in the direction of the sound, Fidelma observed coldly: ‘Evidently, some do not see this either as a predicament or feel that my counsel should be appreciated.’

  Prince Donennach looked at the group of clerics and said with weary resignation: ‘I believe that you have already met Abbot Nannid?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fidelma watched as the tall, gaunt figure of the Abbot of Mungairit moved forward. His pale face was unfriendly, the thin red lips twisted in a curious scowl, which suited his demeanour well. The man’s eyebrows met across the brow – a feature
which Fidelma had long seen as a sign of a bad temper. His tiny ice-cold eyes bored into her with dislike.

  ‘We have met,’ Fidelma acknowledged quietly.

  ‘I see that Brother Eadulf is still your companion.’ The abbot emphasised the term ‘Brother’ as a subtle sneer.

  ‘As well you know, Abbot, Eadulf is my husband under the law,’ she returned, equally coldly.

  ‘I also see that Brother Eadulf still wears the tonsure of the Blessed Peter, which proclaims his allegiance to the rules and rituals of Rome. That allegiance seems strange in one who is now an obsequious servant of Cashel.’

  Eadulf met the abbot’s mocking tones with an easy smile. ‘And I see that you still wear the tonsure of the Blessed John. Thus you proclaim your allegiance to the churches of the Five Kingdoms and the Faith that exists under the approval of the kings and laws of those Five Kingdoms. I personally find that strange in one who, I hear, is trying to abolish the laws of the Five Kingdoms in obsequious obedience of these curious rules from the east.’

  Abbot Nannid’s lips twisted even more angrily. He was about to make some unpleasant rejoinder when another man moved forward to intervene. He walked with a slight limp, and leaned heavily on a blackthorn stick.

  ‘If there is a predicament here, lady, then let us pray that it is one we may resolve together,’ he said, his tone gentle but firm. Fidelma detected an iron quality in the voice and examined the newcomer with interest.

  He was a short man, inclined to be fleshy, with nondescript brown hair and dark eyes. He wore the robes of a churchman and his hair grew in unruly tufts around the tonsure of the Blessed John. In spite of his plump build, his features were long and mournful – like a breed of dog that knew it had done wrong in the eyes of its master and was now waiting for some sign of forgiveness. His appearance was totally at odds with that tone of authority in his voice.

  ‘I am Cuán, lady,’ the man introduced himself before she could articulate the question. ‘Cuán of Imleach where I serve as airsecnap.’

  ‘We meet under trying circumstances, Prior Cuán,’ Fidelma greeted the man. He appeared to be half a head shorter than her and had to raise his dark eyes to meet her own. She wondered if the shortness was caused by him leaning so heavily on his stick. The prior saw the direction of her gaze and hastened to explain.

  ‘This is the result of an argument with a horse, lady,’ he told her. ‘I broke my leg some years ago when I fell from the beast. The break did not heal well and I was left with a limp and this stick as my permanent companion.’

  ‘I am sorry. Does it give you much discomfort?’

  ‘No discomfort, lady – just frustration that nowadays I have to limit my travels and confine myself to transport by a mule cart.’

  ‘Ah, I see. My brother and I were wondering why you had not yet come to visit us at Cashel.’

  The prior hunched his shoulders in an expressive gesture.

  ‘It seems there has not been a suitable opportunity in the short time since I was appointed Abbot Ségdae’s deputy.’ He hesitated and then added: ‘I must advise you, lady, that I was only appointed in a temporary capacity. It will be up to the derbhfine of the abbey to approve of me before the king and his council are then asked to endorse their decision.’

  ‘Of course. Yet you now stand in line to become abbot of the kingdom’s oldest and most influential abbey,’ she said.

  Becoming aware of a certain restlessness in the atmosphere as the others waited for greetings to be exchanged, Cuán now turned to the man at his elbow. ‘Let me present the steward of Imleach, Brother Tuamán.’

  Conrí had called Brother Tuamán vain, Fidelma recalled, and the man who greeted her now was certainly overbearing. He was as tall as Conrí and, if anything, of a more muscular build even than the warrior. In fact, his physical presence was enough to cause awe in anyone he met.

  ‘I think I recently saw you at my brother’s court,’ Fidelma said pleasantly. ‘But we were not formally introduced.’

  ‘You are most kind in remembering such a fleeting encounter,’ the tall steward said in a deep voice. ‘I attended Abbot Ségdae on only one occasion when he visited Cashel.’

  ‘I believe that you succeeded Brother Madagan as steward after he was disgraced?’

  Brother Tuamán was eager to explain his position. ‘That is so. I have now agreed to continue to act as steward to Prior Cuán during these difficult days, as it is felt that continuity is essential.’

  Prince Donennach interrupted impatiently. ‘There will be plenty of time later for getting to know one another better. However, I was hoping that before we sit down to the evening meal, we could engage in a short discussion in order to outline the problem that brings us all together. I feel that we should take the opportunity to state our respective viewpoints as this will prepare us for a more informed debate on the matter tomorrow.’

  ‘Our respective viewpoints?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘There is a suggested difference in the application of law.’ It was Brehon Faolchair who explained. ‘Brehon Law or these new rules of the Faith.’

  Fidelma glanced at the empty seat by Prince Donennach. ‘Is your tanaise, your heir-apparent, not in attendance?’ she asked. ‘In a discussion of problems arising about the law, then your heir-apparent should also have a voice.’

  Donennach shook his head. ‘My tanaise is my sister, my banchombarba, and she has been called to attend on an urgent matter. I apologise for her absence.’

  Eadulf knew that a banchombarba, a female heir, was not unknown. However, it was not often one found a female elected to the rigours of chieftainship. The derbhfine, the members of a family, usually elected the person best suited to be head of the family from the male line – unless there was no suitable male candidate.

  They were directed to seats at the long table. Fidelma noted that most of those present were merely advisers and onlookers. Only the principal participants sat at the table. Prince Donennach took his official chair. Standing behind the chair, slightly to his left, was Conrí who, as warlord of the Uí Fidgente, was the only warrior officially allowed to wear his weapons in the great hall of the prince. Just below the prince sat Brehon Faolchair as the prince’s legal adviser. Fidelma and Eadulf were placed immediately below him on the right side of the long table.

  Next to them, a little further down the table, Prior Cuán sat with the tall steward, Brother Tuamán, and another religious equipped with a wax-covered tablet and stylus. He was of average height with straw-coloured hair and deep-set light eyes that seemed almost colourless. His features were pallid and gaunt, as if he did not eat well. His brows were drawn together in what they discovered was a permanent frown. The man had been briefly introduced as Brother Mac Raith, a scribe of Imleach.

  Almost opposite them, on the left side of the table, sat Abbot Nannid. At his side was a familiar-looking cleric. The latter also had a wax-covered tablet called a ceraculum on which to make notes with a graib or stylus. The bald pate, fleshy features and unfriendly expression reminded them of someone … but it took a moment or two for both Fidelma and Eadulf to recognise another old antagonist, Brother Cuineáin, Abbot Nannid’s steward. Fidelma noticed that the cleric still had the curious habit of rubbing his right wrist with his left hand.

  Prince Donennach sat back, nodding to his Brehon with a signal to begin.

  Brehon Faolchair cleared his throat. ‘Abbot Ségdae of Imleach had come to this place to discuss with our leading cleric, the Abbot Nannid of Mungairit, how the churches of our two peoples could better work together in view of the peace that has been agreed between the Uí Fidgente and the King of Cashel. Abbot Ségdae was murdered. I shall go into the details as Fidelma of Cashel was not present at the hearing which investigated that murder.’

  The Brehon went on without waiting for approval. He listed the details – which were the same that Ciarnat and then Conrí had given – of how Brother Tuamán and the warrior named Lachtna had discovered the body and found Gormán with the mur
der weapon in his hand. There being no other means of entering or leaving the chamber, which had been locked from the inside, the Brehon had to come to the inevitable conclusion that Gormán was responsible for the crime.

  At this point, Fidelma interrupted. ‘Did Gormán admit to the crime?’ she asked.

  ‘He did not,’ replied the Brehon at once.

  ‘What explanation did he offer?’

  ‘None that could be believed,’ Abbot Nannid sneered.

  ‘I am not asking for an opinion but fact from the judge who heard this matter,’ Fidelma hissed, with a sharpness that caused the abbot to blink rapidly.

  ‘He said,’ Brehon Faolchar went on in a slightly louder voice, ‘he said that he had been talking to Abbot Ségdae when he was struck from behind and fell unconscious. When he came to, Brother Tuamán and the warrior, Lachtna, were standing over him. The abbot was dead and the murder weapon lay close to Gormán’s hands. That is all he could tell us.’

  ‘And this was investigated by you?’

  ‘Of course. I examined the chamber and found there was nowhere that any assailant could possibly have hidden. Brother Tuamán told me that he was outside the chamber the whole time until he heard the commotion, tried to enter and discovered that the door had been locked from the inside.’

  ‘This is true, lady.’ Brother Tuamán felt he should say something at this point.

  ‘A waste of time checking,’ grunted Abbot Nannid. ‘It was a pathetic defence which no one could believe,’

  Fidelma did not bother to look at him as she hit back with: ‘So pathetic that no intelligent man, such as the commander of the warriors of the Golden Collar, would have used it and expect it to be believed.’

  ‘I offered him every means to amend his story,’ Brehon Faolchair replied sadly.