‘If you want to trade with the stranger, he is over at the
bruden
yonder.’ He indicated one of the quayside inns.
Fidelma turned to Gormán. ‘Take our horses to that other inn,’ she instructed, pointing to a building at the opposite end of the quayside. ‘Make sure they are watered, rubbed down and rested. Then come and join us.’
‘Why not take them with us, lady?’ asked Gormán. ‘After all, we are going to an inn, aren’t we?’
Fidelma smiled wryly. ‘That’s a sailors’ inn. The one back there has stables; this one doesn’t.’
Caol did not hide his grin at his comrade’s irritation. ‘A logical observation,’ he said smugly.
As they began to walk away, a cry of pain rang out behind them, loud and clear. Caol, who was leading, halted and caused those behind him to do so as well. He glanced uneasily towards Fidelma and unsheathed his sword.
‘That’s a child’s cry,’ Fidelma observed grimly.
The cry came again and before anyone could move, the door of the sailors’ inn opened and a small boy darted out; he ran unseeingly towards them, fear on his face. At the last moment, he saw them, tried to avoid them but collided with Brother Eadulf. For a few seconds, the boy struggled and then, seeing the silver crucifix around Eadulf’s neck, he stared up with a sudden hope in his eyes. He did not seem to recognise him as Cenn Faelad’s companion at the market in Tara.
‘Help me!’ he cried. ‘Please. If you are a priest of the Christian god, protect me.’
Eadulf said gently: ‘Of course, boy. There is nothing to fear. I promise.’
The lad almost collapsed in Eadulf’s arms.
Just then, the door of the inn burst open again and a tall man of dark appearance lurched out. He was holding a small length of leather in his hand and stared moodily round. Spotting the boy, he began to move forward with an unsteady gait and a grin of triumph. He had clearly been drinking.
Caol halted the man with his sword-point and demanded to know what he was doing.
Eadulf recognised the man immediately.
‘It’s the merchant,’ he said quietly to Fidelma. ‘Verbas of Peqini.’
Fidelma regarded the man in disapproval.
Verbas of Peqini looked at the group, and lowered his hand with the flagellate. Swaying, he tried to encompass them in an oily smile and said something in a strange tongue. Meanwhile, Eadulf had been examining the boy’s face and arms.
‘This child has been badly beaten, Fidelma,’ he said.
Verbas seemed to guess what he was saying. He looked at Fidelma and shrugged, then said something more in his own language.
‘The child is his slave,’ Eadulf volunteered. ‘He acts as this man’s translator.’
Fidelma had already noticed the metal slave ring around the boy’s neck. Her frown deepened.
‘What language do you speak?’ she asked Verbas, resorting to Latin. ‘Do you speak this language?’
The man nodded slowly. ‘I speak a little,’ he answered, to Eadulf’s surprise. When Eadulf had first met Verbas at the market in Tara, it had not occurred to him that he would speak Latin. But, of course, the Roman Empire had spread its tongue throughout the known world as a language of trade and commerce, and not only the language of the conquering legions. Any merchant worth his salt would need to know Latin in order to conduct his business.
‘What is happening here? Why are you maltreating that child?’ demanded Fidelma.
Verbas frowned. ‘Who are you, lady, who asks this? I am not used to women questioning me.’
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, a lawyer and sister to a king,’ she said, trying to find the right words to translate her authority.
The man’s eyes widened a little. ‘You have authority in this land?’
‘I have.’
‘Then know, lady, this boy is my slave. He has just tried to escape from me: I am legally entitled to capture and chastise him. His life is mine to do with as I will. I have bought it.’
Assid had now recognised Eadulf and spoke to him. ‘Lord, it was said if I managed to escape I would find sanctuary in this land. I escaped and ask sanctuary. The great lord at Tara promised.’
‘So he did,’ agreed Eadulf in a kindly fashion.
Fidelma, hearing the boy speak, turned to him. ‘You speak our language well, child. What is your name?’
‘I am Assid, lady.’
‘Assíd? It is an ancient name in our land, from one of the ancestors of those they call the hounds of the sea, a tribe that live in Connacht. Are you of this land?’
‘I do not know, lady. I only know that I want to find sanctuary here.
Eadulf quickly explained what Cenn Faelad had promised, should the boy escape.
She nodded thoughtfully. Meanwhile Verbas, who had not understood this exchange since it was in the language of Éireann, was looking uncomfortable.
‘The child is my property, bought fairly,’ he repeated in Latin. ‘I have a right to punish him for trying to escape me. I now intend to take him back to my ship.’
He moved forward a step but Fidelma snapped: ‘You have no rights on this soil save the rights accorded to you under our laws. And under these laws, children have protection and their honour price is the same as that of a bishop until they are of age, which is seventeen years. It is not our custom to enslave anyone unless they have committed a heinous crime, and even then they are not incarcerated but allowed freedom to work for the restitution of their full right to freedom. Further, it seems that this is one of our own and entitled to our protection. The child comes with us.’
Verbas was staring at her sullenly.
Caol had been watching the two men who had left the inn after Verbas. It was obvious that they were crewmen and they started to move forward as if they would help him. Caol made a gesture with his sword, that they should stay back.
‘This is an outrage, lady! I shall appeal to your king,’ stormed Verbas.
Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘Do so,’ she replied. ‘In the meantime, this child is under our protection and we shall decide his fate under our laws. He has demanded sanctuary. We have granted him that wish. We will consider his entitlement under the law. You may come and argue your case at Tara.’
If looks could kill then Verbas would have slain Fidelma on the spot. He had suddenly sobered up, and his alcohol-dimmed eyes were sharp and vicious.
‘I will return to my ship and find out where I might bring a lawyer of your nation to come and argue my case before your king,’ he said coldly. ‘I did not come to this country to be robbed of my property.’
‘We have different ideas of what constitutes property, my friend,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘But since we speak of why you came to our land, Verbas of Peqini, did you come here to forment rebellion against its king?’
The merchant snarled, ‘You speak in riddles, woman.’
‘I’ll speak more plainly then. You are giving passage, I am told, to rebels who have lately been in arms against the legitimate authority of this land. You are sailing with them to Alba, is that not so?’
The answer was clearly written on the man’s features.
‘There are two ways of proceeding, Verbas of Pequini. The first way is for you to hand over Cuan and his companion, the men you are seeking
to transport, so that they may be taken back to Tara for trial. The second way is for my warriors to come on board your ship and take them by force. If the latter, then you will be deemed as guilty as the man Cuan, and your ship may be confiscated in payment of the fines and compensation that will fall due.’
Verbas bit his lip and stood hesitating a moment. Then he shrugged.
‘Whatever trouble the men have put themselves in, it is not my business. They came to me and offered money for a passage. In good faith, I accepted it. But if they are fugitives from your justice, I will … ’
There was a call from along the quayside and they turned to see Gormán struggling with someone. Ardgal ran back to help him. Together, they succeeded in restraining and binding the man’s hands before marching back with him to join the group. Gormán was grinning cheerfully. He was also carrying a saddlebag over his arm.
‘Our friend Cuan,’ he said, gesturing at the subdued and downcast warrior. ‘He must have seen you talking with Verbas on the quayside from the ship and decided not to wait around for the result. So he slipped ashore … right into my waiting arms. However, his companion seems to have escaped. Luckily, Cuan decided to keep hold of
this
.’
He held out the bag to Fidelma, who immediately looked inside. She was smiling broadly.
‘Excellent. I have some questions to ask you, Cuan. You will accompany us back to Tara to answer them.’
Eadulf was staring at the bracelet of silver coins around Cuan’s left wrist and an idea suddenly occurred to him. He lifted the wrist to examine the bracelet.
‘These appear to be Gaulish coins,’ he observed. ‘Rather an expensive piece of jewellery, isn’t it?’
Cuan scowled at him. ‘They are mine,’ he grunted.
‘Then I will have to ask some questions of my own, Cuan,’ Eadulf said quietly and added no more, even though Fidelma was looking quizzically at him.
Verbas of Peqini coughed irritably. ‘If that is all, I shall return to my ship and seek advice as to this robbery of my property.’
‘You may do so,’ Fidelma said nonchalantly.
‘I shall remember you, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the man added heavily.
‘And I hope I will be able to forget you very quickly, Verbas of Peqini,’ she replied evenly.
They watched as the merchant turned and rejoined his two equally sullen crewmen before moving along the quayside to board their ship.
Fidelma smiled encouragement at the boy, who was staring at them, still unable to believe that the threat had truly been lifted.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.
‘Not much, lady,’ he replied with a faint smile. ‘Nothing that may not heal.’
‘We will have an apothecary examine you as soon as we reach Tara,’ she assured him. ‘But perhaps we can find a blacksmith first to remove that loathsome metal collar from around your neck.’
There was still plenty of daylight left when, fed and rested, the party mounted their horses and moved downriver, along the west bank of the Bóinn to a place which Ardgal identified as the church of the cairn, where a ferry, a large flat-bottomed raft, plied its trade transporting horses, wagons and people across the broad river. From the landing on the east bank it was only a short ride to the great complex of the palace of Tara.
T
heir welcome back was not as warm as Fidelma and Eadulf had expected. When news of their return had reached the Chief Brehon, Barrán, he lost no time in sending for them and was pacing his chamber when they entered.
‘Well, what news?’ he asked without preamble. ‘Have you solved this riddle?’
Fidelma smiled faintly at his obvious anxiety.
‘The reason why Dubh Duin killed Sechnussach?’ she said as she seated herself without waiting to be asked.
Brehon Barrán looked taken aback. ‘What other riddle is there?’ he demanded.
‘There are many riddles in life, Barrán. There is a boy named Assid who presents a riddle.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said the Chief Brehon.
‘It seems that Assid was captured and held prisoner by sea-raiders some years ago. He was probably travelling with a group of pilgrims to the Holy Land. His name and tongue indicate that his parents might have been from some Connacht religious group. Such things happen. From my own land there is the story of the Blessed Cathal who studied at Lios Mór. He went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land some years ago and on the return voyage, his ship was wrecked in the Gulf of Taranto. Now I hear he is considered as a great miracle-worker in that area and renamed Cataldo … ’
Brehon Barrán made a cutting motion with his hand.
‘I fail to see how this story, interesting though it is, relates to the death of the High King!’
‘Everything in life relates, one thing to another,’ replied Fidelma
philosophically. ‘This poor mite sought asylum here, the land he came from, from a harsh slave-master who had bought him.’
‘You helped the boy escape?’ The Chief Brehon said irritably. ‘That cannot be. We cannot interfere in the customs of others.’
‘The boy escaped by himself,’ interposed Eadulf. ‘Cenn Faelad had warned his master, Verbas of Pequini, that if the lad escaped and sought sanctuary, he would be granted it.’
‘Cenn Faelad wears his heart on his sleeve,’ Brehon Barrán muttered. ‘I should have been consulted before the law of sanctuary was invoked.’
Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying that the interpretation of the law is wrong in this respect?’
‘I would have advised both Cenn Faelad and you, Eadulf, to let well alone,’ Barrán said heavily. ‘Other peoples have different customs and it does not do well to interfere. Since you have taken action, it is now something that has to be decided by a Brehon. I presume the merchant you mentioned, Verbas of Peqini, will lodge a complaint?’
‘He might, but I doubt it,’ Fidelma replied with satisfaction. ‘And there is no way we can hand one of our own people back into slavery.’
‘I would not be so worried over a small boy when you have the matter of the High King’s death to consider,’ snapped Brehon Barrán.
‘Are we not a Christian land?’ Fidelma snapped back. ‘Is it not said that Christ exhorted us to look after one another, saying: “Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, you have done it unto Me”. Or am I mistaken? I thought the words were written in the Holy Scriptures.’
‘Are you seeking to lecture me, Fidelma of Cashel?’ Brehon Barrán’s face was red.
‘Far be it for me to lecture the Chief Brehon on law. Perhaps my own interpretation is at fault. I was merely quoting from the religious writings that we now accept.’
Barrán snorted and then suddenly shrugged as if dismissing the entire matter.
‘Well, the boy must remain confined here in the safekeeping of Brother Rogallach until the matter is decided. I have no time to consider the case at the moment so I will give it to the care of my deputy, the Brehon Sedna. The important thing is this question of a report on the causes of the death of Sechnussach. Abbot Colmán told me that before you left Tara, you had said that you would make your report within a week. We
cannot allow the matter to drift on for ever! Cenn Faelad needs to be installed formally in office before the five kingdoms fall apart in argument and conflict. The kings and nobles have already begun to arrive for the Great Assembly.’
‘I agree that the sooner the matter is resolved, the better for the five kingdoms,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘However, justice cannot be rushed. As to the exact date I can appear before the Great Assembly, I have a few more enquiries to make. When I have satisfied myself, I will let you and Cenn Faelad know.’
Brehon Barrán sighed impatiently. ‘You have spent much time here, Fidelma of Cashel, and you have been allowed a great deal of licence. But time is pressing. Justice
must
be rushed, lest a greater injustice fall upon the people. If you feel that you are unable to resolve the matter, stand aside. We will pronounce it unresolved but state the known facts – that Sechnussach was slain by Dubh Duin who then took his own life; the motive remains unknown.’
Fidelma flushed angrily. ‘I have
not
said I am unable to resolve the matter, and will
not
lend my name to any obfuscation of the truth! Understand me, Barrán. I mean to get to the bottom of this murder and demand to be allowed to do so. If you prevent me, I shall speak before the Great Assembly and tell them the reasons why I refuse to be bullied into an arbitrary resolution.’
Brehon Barrán looked for a moment as though he was going to lose his temper. Then he forced a smile to spread across his features as he replied.
‘You possess too much of that Eóghanacht temper to be a religious, Fidelma of Cashel. Leave it and devote yourself entirely to the law. You will serve it better.’ Then, seeing her eyes harden, he added: ‘Very well. You may have one extra day but beyond that, no more time can be allowed. A kingdom without a strong figurehead is no kingdom at all but a place that descends into anarchy and warfare as each group struggles for power. Cenn Faelad must be acknowledged within the next few days.’
Fidelma sniffed angrily. ‘I am fully aware of the circumstances. I will return to you as soon as I can.’ With that she turned on her heel and, accompanied by a worried-looking Eadulf, left his chambers.
Outside, Eadulf was nervous.
‘Dubh Duin assassinated the High King because of his link with the pagan raiders. The evidence is there. Should we not simply accept what
Brehon Barrán has advised – report just that fact? It will surely satisfy the Great Assembly.’
Fidelma shook her head firmly. ‘But it will not satisfy
me
, Eadulf. There is evidence that Dubh Duin was connected with this return to the old religion and that can be presented. But I personally believe there is something more to this. I have all the strands in my hands but cannot, as yet, tie them together to make a complete tapestry. But I think I can, given time. Yes, I think I can.’
Night was falling as they walked slowly back to the guesthouse.
It was Brother Rogallach who welcomed them and offered to fill their baths in preparation for the evening ablutions before the main meal of the day. He was apologetic that the female servants had been needed to help at some feast Cenn Faelad was giving that evening for those kings and nobles attending the Great Assembly, who had arrived in their absence. He was, he told them with a smile, fully recovered from his injury and able to attend to their needs. Fidelma allowed Eadulf to bathe first. After the experience of Eadulf’s capture and her desperate attempt to rescue him from the Hag’s Mountain, she had come to realise just how much she really did care for the Saxon, and to be aware of how ill she had often treated him. She sat for a time, tapping her fingers on the tabletop in an unconscious rhythm, torn between feelings of guilt about Eadulf and irritation with herself, for she knew she was missing some vital clue about the death of Sechnussach.
‘Something ails you, lady?’ asked Brother Rogallach as he re-entered the room, having left Eadulf to his bath.
Fidelma grinned apologetically. ‘I am sorry, I was distracted for a moment. I was trying to solve a riddle.’
The
bollscari
looked eager. ‘I am good at riddles.’
‘I doubt if you could solve this one,’ she replied gravely.
‘Try me.’
‘Very well, then.’ Fidelma chuckled. ‘I was wondering what the formula was for a happy marriage.’
Brother Rogallach pulled a face. ‘Oh. As you say, it is not a question I give much thought to. I have decided to follow the ways of celibacy which many in our Faith now argue is the best way to be.’
‘Quite so,’ smiled Fidelma, still grave.
‘However … ’
She looked up as Brother Rogallach paused thoughtfully. ‘However?’ she prompted.
Brother Rogallach actually blushed. ‘Nothing, lady. At least, nothing that is appropriate to your question.’
‘Tell me,’ pressed Fidelma, intrigued.
‘It was a favourite saying of the late High King. I believe it was an epigram from the poet Marcus Martialis.’
‘And it was?’
Brother Rogallach looked embarrassed. ’
Sit non doctissima conjux.’
Fidelma snorted. ‘May my wife not be very learned? That is not a good attitude towards my sex, Rogallach.’
Brother Rogallach smiled nervously. ‘I have to say that Sechnussach utterd it many times recently, after … ’He stopped suddenly. ‘I will set about heating more water now, lady.’
He left Fidelma sitting thoughtfully at the table.
‘May my wife not be very learned,’ she muttered. Then she leaned back and sank into a meditative silence.