‘I could not say. There was a lot of chaos after the captain died.’
‘What did he die of? Was he killed in the mutiny?’
‘He simply dropped dead at the wheel. His heart stopped beating. I have seen a few such deaths, inexplicable deaths before and even after a battle. Death not from wounds but because the heart stopped beating.’
‘And the captain was the only competent sailor?’ pressed Murchad.
‘That is strange.’
‘Strange or not, you saw the result. Thankfully you were there to see it or else I would not be alive. Captain, I need a passage to Laigin.’
Murchad shook his head.
‘We are on a pilgrim voyage to the Holy Shrine of St James. I doubt that we will see Ardmore again for a full three weeks or more. But we are putting in to Ushant. You will soon pick up a ship sailing home from there.’
The former warrior smiled ruefully.
‘I’ll have to sell a few of these baubles.’ He indicated his bejewelled hand. ‘A year’s earnings have sunk to the bottom of the sea there.’ He jerked his hand back towards the rocks. ‘I own only what you see. Ah well, perhaps I can persuade a ship to take me on as crew.’
Murchad examined him doubtfully.
‘Do you have experience as a sailor?’
The man laughed uproariously.
‘By the gods of battle, not at all. I am a good warrior. I know battle strategy and the art of weaponry. I love horses and have an ability to train them. I know three languages. I can read and write and even cut some Ogham. But as for sailing a ship, no experience at all.’
Murchad pursed his lips.
‘Well, it will be up to you to find a passage at Ushant. You will excuse me?’ He turned back to his duties.
Wenbrit had come up with the spirits and handed the cup to the warrior.
‘You should change out of those wet clothes,’ he advised. ‘I think I can find some spare garments that will fit you.’
‘Good for you, youngster …’ The man paused in mid-sentence.
Fidelma noticed that the former warrior had frozen, the cup of spirits halfway to his mouth. His mouth was open as if to swallow the liquid, but his eyes were wide and staring. An expression of disbelief crossed his features; a nerve began to twitch in the side of his face.
Fidelma turned to see what had caused his abrupt change of attitude.
On to the deck had come Cian, looking around as if to see what had taken place since the pilgrims had been sent below by Murchad. He saw Fidelma and started to come towards them.
A curious animal sound came from the back of Toca Nia’s throat. The cup dropped from his hands, spilling its contents onto the deck.
Before Fidelma realised what he was going to do, the man launched himself across the deck towards an astonished Cian.
‘Bastard! Murderer!’
The two words cracked twice like a whip into the air.
Almost at the same time, he reached Brother Cian and his fist impacted straight into the dumbfounded man’s face. For a moment, Cian stood there, his nose a red, bloody pulp; his eyes wide with incredulity above it. Then he fell backwards, slowly, as if his fall was in defiance of gravity.
Fidelma was rooted to the spot in stupefaction. It was Wenbrit who reacted first, giving a cry of alarm. Two of Murchad’s crew managed to reached Toca Nia as he was raising his foot to stamp on Cian’s unprotected head while he lay on the deck. The sailors dragged him, struggling, away from Cian’s prone form. Murchad came running back across the deck.
‘What the devil … ?’ he began.
‘Devil is right!’ snarled Toca Nia, wrestling in the grip of the sailors, his face contorted with hatred.
Fidelma came forward and bent down to the unconscious Cian to check his pulse. She raised her head to Murchad.
‘Would someone mind carrying Brother Cian below to his cabin and attending him? I don’t think the blow is serious, but he is unconscious.’
Murchad signalled to two crewmen and without a word, they lifted Cian’s body and carried it below deck.
Fidelma had risen and faced Toca Nia. He stood still in the firm grip of the sailors. She folded her arms and regarded his agitated features with a frown.
‘What does this mean?’ she demanded.
Toca Nia did not reply.
‘You have been asked for an explanation, my friend,’ Murchad said. ‘I did not pluck you from the sea to watch you murder one of my passengers; a holy Brother on a pilgrimage, at that. What possessed you?’
Toca Nia gazed at the stern features of Murchad and then turned to address Fidelma.
‘He is no holy Brother!’
‘Explain yourself,’ insisted Murchad. ‘Brother Cian is one of a band of pilgrims taking passage on my ship.’
‘Cian! That certainly is his name: I have cause to remember it. But he is a warrior, like me. One of the warriors of Ailech. He is the “Butcher of Rath Bíle”!’
Fidelma stared at Toca Nia, trying to understand his accusation.
‘The “Butcher of Rath Bile”?’ she repeated, bemused.
‘A whole village and fortress destroyed, the buildings burnt, men, women and children annihilated at the orders of Cian of Ailech. One hundred and forty souls, dispatched to heaven by that most monstrous evil …’ Toca Nia’s voice rose in agitation.
Fidelma held up a hand to silence him.
‘Calm yourself, Toca Nia. What makes you certain that Brother Cian was the man responsible for such an outrage?’
The Irishman’s face was a mask of fury and his eyes were blazing in torment.
‘Because my mother, sisters and young brother were butchered there; because I was there and stand as witness.’
Fidelma sat on the bunk in Murchad’s cabin while the captain sprawled in a chair. Toca Nia had been placed in Gurvan’s cabin with Drogon standing guard outside. Fidelma was looking anxious. There seemed an unreality about the new situation.
‘I have never seen such a change in a person’s character before,’ she observed to Murchad. ‘This Toca Nia seemed a pleasant, friendly person at first but the moment he saw Cian he became a raging maniac, totally out of control.’
Murchad shrugged.
‘If his claims are correct, his frenzy is understandable. Surely, as you knew Cian in the past, you must have heard something of the claim Toca Nia is making?’
Fidelma stirred uncomfortably.
‘I knew Cian ten years ago,’ she admitted. ‘He was a warrior in the King of Ailech’s bodyguard. But beyond that I know nothing. I have never heard of this Rath Bile.’
There was a long silence while it seemed that Murchad was trying to dredge up a memory.
‘I recall something of it,’ he said at last.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Several years ago now. Maybe five years ago. Rath Bile is in the country of the Uí Feilmeda, in the Kingdom of Laigin.’
‘That is south of the Abbey Kildare,’ frowned Fidelma. ‘I was some years in the Abbey, but I do not recall hearing the story.’ She considered for a moment. ‘Five years ago? It may well have happened when I was sent to the west for a while. What do you know of this massacre?’
Murchad shrugged.
‘Precious little. There was some conflict between the High King Blathmac and Faelán of Laigin – some dispute about whether the Uí Chéithig should pay tribute to Blathmac at Tara or to Faelán at Fearna.
‘I know a treaty was agreed. But it seemed that Blathmac wanted to teach Faelán a lesson for his defiance and sent a band of his elite warriors by ship down the coast to the country of the Uí Enechglais. They marched on the fortress of Faelán’s brother at Rath Bile and there was a great slaughter. It is true that many old men, women and children died as well as the handful of Laigin warriors who were defending the place.’
Fidelma was troubled.
‘This is a complication which we did not want on this voyage.’
Murchad shared her anxiety.
‘And you are no nearer solving the murder of Sister Muirgel? There is a whisper that Sister Crella is responsible. Is that true?’
‘I am not satisfied yet. There is more here than meets the eye. How long before we reach harbour in Ushant?’
‘With this wind, we will be there within the hour. You will have to advise me what to do about Toca Nia and Cian, lady.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘If I remember the laws appertaining to crimes committed in war in the
Críth Gablach
, it states that once the
cairde
, the peace treaty, is agreed, only a month is allowed for anyone to pursue claims under its condition. Those wishing to exact retribution under law for any unlawful deaths that might have occurred have to make claim by that time. This massacre you speak of took place several years ago.’
Murchad looked morose.
‘Murder and now war crimes! Never in all my sailing days have I encountered the like. What must we do? Toca Nia is quoting the Holy Book at me and demanding vengeance.’
‘Vengeance is not law,’ replied Fidelma. ‘This matter needs to be heard before a senior Brehon, for I am not competent to advise what should be done.’
‘Well,
I
certainly am not, lady.’
‘I will speak with Cian,’ Fidelma decided, rising. ‘The first thing to do is see what he has to say on this matter.’
Cian was lying back on his bunk, though in a semi-sitting position with a bloodstained rag at his nose. The cabin he shared with Brother Bairne was in gloom. A lantern swung from a hook in the ceiling, casting flickering lights which chased one another about. No one, as
yet, had apparently told him of Toca Nia’s accusation. He removed the rag and gave Fidelma a lopsided smile as she entered the cabin.
‘Our shipwrecked mariner has a curious way of expressing gratitude to his rescuers,’ he greeted her wryly.
Fidelma remained impassive.
‘I presume that you did not recognise the man?’
Cian shrugged and then winced painfully.
‘Should I have recognised him?’
‘His name is Toca Nia.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘He was not a mariner but a passenger on the ship that went down. In fact, he was a warrior of the Faelán of Laigin.’
Cian was dismissive.
‘Well, I do not know all the warriors of the Five Kingdoms. What is his quarrel with me?’
‘I thought you might know him, as he knows you.’
‘What was his name again?’ frowned Cian.
‘Toca Nia.’
Cian thought for a moment and then shook his head.
‘Toca Nia of Rath Bile,’ added Fidelma coldly.
There was no doubting that the addition of Rath Bile meant something to. Cian.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Fidelma went on.
‘About what, precisely?’
‘About what happened at Rath Bile.’
‘It was at Rath Bile that I lost the use of my arm.’ There was bitterness in his voice.
‘What were you doing at Rath Bile?’
‘I was in the service of the High King.’
‘I think I need a little more information than that, Cian.’
‘I was commanding a troop of the High King’s bodyguard. We fought a battle there and I received an arrow in my upper arm.’
Fidelma heaved a deep breath, indicating her frustration.
‘I do not want to fight for every detail.’
Cian’s mouth tightened.
‘What exactly is it that this Toca Nia accuses me of?’
‘He is claiming that you are the “Butcher of Rath Bile”. That it was on your orders that some one hundred and forty men, women and children were slaughtered and the village and fortress put to the torch. Is there truth in that?’
‘Did Toca Nia tell you how many warriors of the High King were slain there?’ Cian countered in anger.
‘That is no defence. If those warriors were attacking the village and fortress, then it was their choice to put themselves in harm’s way. The death of women and children is no compensation for their deaths. There is no just cause that exonerates mass slaughter.’
‘How can you say that?’ challenged Cian. ‘Just cause enough if the High King wills it!’
‘That is a precious morality, Cian. It is no justification at all. I would urge you to tell me what happened, otherwise it might be argued that Toca Nia’s charges must be true and that you are answerable for them.’
‘Not true! Not at all true!’ cried Cian in frustrated anger.
‘Then tell me your version of events. There was some border dispute between the High King and the King of Laigin, wasn’t there?’
Cian reluctantly agreed.
‘The High King believed that the Uí Chéithig who dwelt around Cloncurry should pay tribute directly to him. The King of Laigin argued that he was lord over them. The High King said that their tribute stood in place of the
bóramha
.’ Cian used an old word meaning cattle-computation.
‘I do not understand this,’ Fidelma told him.
‘It goes back to the time when the High King Tuathal the Legitimate sat in judgement at Tara. Tuathal had two daughters. The story goes that the King of Laigin was then called Eochaidh Mac Eachach and that he married the first daughter of Tuathal but found he did not like her as much as he liked the second daughter. So he returned to the court of Tuathal and pretended that his first wife had died and thus he was able to marry the second daughter.’
Cian paused and grinned despite the seriousness of his position. ‘He was a sly old goat, that King Eochaidh.’
Fidelma made no comment. There was no humour in the deception.
‘Well, naturally,’ continued Cian, ‘the two daughters eventually discovered the truth. The second daughter learned that she was married illegitimately, for her sister was still alive. When they found out that they had a husband in common, it is said that they died of shame.’ He interrupted his narrative and smirked. ‘What stupidity! Anyway, the story came to the ears of their father, the High King, and as revenge he marched his army into Laigin and met Eochaidh in battle. He slew him and ravaged the kingdom.
‘The men of Laigin came forward and sued for peace and agreed to pay an annual tribute – predominantly in cattle. From that time onwards the Uí Néill successors of Tuathal demanded this
bóramha
or cattle tribute, but often they had to use force to obtain it. That was why Blathmac ordered us to go south and raze Rath Bile as a demonstration to show he was determined to extract the tribute from the Laigin King.’
‘But hadn’t a treaty already been agreed?’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Didn’t you go south after both kings agreed the treaty?’
Cian replied with a gesture of impatience.
‘It is not for a warrior to question his orders, Fidelma. I was ordered to go south. South I went.’
‘You admit that you were in command?’
‘Of course I was. I do not deny it! But I was acting under the legitimate orders of the High King. I went to extract the tribute.’
‘Even the High King himself is not above the law, Cian. What do you say happened?’
‘We sailed in four ships, four fifties of warriors of the High King’s Fianna. We were the best warriors of the elite bodyguard itself. We landed at the port of the Uí Enechglais and marched west across the River Sléine until we came on Rath Bíle. The brother of Laigin’s King refused to surrender the fort and village.’
‘So you attacked it?’
‘We attacked it,’ confirmed Cian. ‘It was the High King’s orders that we did so.’
‘Do you admit that you and your warriors slaughtered women and children?’
‘When our men went in, we could not stop to enquire who was our enemy and who not. People were fighting us, shooting arrows at us, whether they were warriors or old men, or indeed women or children. Our job was to fulfil our objective and obey our lawful orders.’