âAre you sure it was AssÃd?'
âWho else could it have been?' countered the girl. âThere was no one else staying here.'
âSo they were quarrelling? About what?'
âI do not know. Their voices were not raised but intense. Angry sounding.'
âAnd what was Dacán studying that night?' Fidelma frowned. âI have been told that nothing has been taken from his chamber. Yet there were no books there nor any writing by Dacán in the room.'
Sister Necht shrugged and made no reply.
âWhen did you last see Dacán?'
âI had just returned from the service for the
completa
when Dacan summoned me and told me to fetch him a pitcher of cold water.'
âDid you visit his chamber after that?'
âNo. I avoided him as much as I could. Forgive me this sin, sister, but I hated him and cannot say otherwise.'
Sister Fidelma sat back and examined the young novice carefully for a moment.
âYou have other duties, Sister Necht, I shall not detain you from them. I will call you when I have further need of you.'
The young novice rose looking chagrined.
âYou will not tell Brother Rumann of my sin of hatred?' she asked eagerly.
âNo. You feared Dacan. Hate is merely the consequence of that fear; we have to fear something to hate it. It is the cloak of protection used by those who are intimidated. But, sister, remember this, that feelings of hate often lead to the suppression of justice. Try to forgive Dacán in death for his autocracy and understand your own fears. You may go now.'
âAre you sure there is nothing else I can do?' Necht asked, as she hesitated in the doorway. She looked eager again as if the confession of her hatred of Dacan had cheered her spirits.
Fidelma shook her head.
âI will call you when there is,' she assured her.
As she went out, Cass rose and came to sit in the chair vacated by Necht. He regarded Fidelma with sympathy.
âIt is not going well, is it? I see only confusion.'
Fidelma pulled a face at the young warrior.
âCome let us walk by the seashore for a moment, Cass. I need the breeze to clear my head.'
They walked through the complex of the abbey buildings and found a gate in the wall which led onto a narrow path winding down to the sandy strand. The day was still fine, still a little blustery, with the ships rocking at anchor. Fidelma drew in a deep breath of salt sea air and exhaled it loudly with a resounding gasp of satisfaction.
Cass watched her in quiet amusement.
âThat is better,' she said, and glanced quickly at him. âIt clears the head. I have to admit that this is the hardest inquiry that I have undertaken. In other investigations that I have worked on, all the witnesses remained in the one place. All the suspects were gathered. And I was at the scene of the crime within hours, if not minutes, of the deed being done so that the evidence could not evaporate into thin air.'
Cass measured his pace to match her shorter stride as they walked slowly along the sea's edge.
âI begin to see some of the difficulties of a
dálaigh
now, sister. In truth, I had little idea before. I thought that all they had to know about was the law.'
Fidelma did not bother to answer.
They passed fishermen on the shore, unloading their morning's catch from the small canoe-like vessels, locally called
naomhóg,
boats of wickerwork frames, covered in
codal,
a hide tanned in oak bark, and stitched together with thongs of leather. They were easy and light to carry and three men could manage the largest of them. They rode high in the water, dancing swiftly over the fiercest of waves.
Fidelma paused watching as two of these craft came ashore towing the carcass of a great beast of the sea behind them.
She had seen a basking shark brought ashore only once before and presumed that the beast was such an creature.
Cass had never seen anything like it and he moved eagerly forward to examine it.
âI had heard a story that the Blessed Brendan, during his great voyage, once landed on the back of such a monster thinking it was an island. Yet this beast, big as it is, does not look like an island,' he called across his shoulder to her.
Fidelma responded to his excitement.
âThe fish Brendan is reported to have landed on was said to be far bigger. When Brendan and his companions sat down and made a fire to cook their meal, the fish, feeling the heat, sank into the sea and they barely escaped with their lives into their boat.'
An aged fisherman, overhearing her, nodded sagely.
âAnd that's a true story, sister. But did you ever hear of the great fish, Rosault, which lived in the time of Colmcille?'
Fidelma shook her head, smiling, for she knew old fishermen carried good tales which could often be retold around a fire at night.
âI used to fish up Connacht way when I was a lad,' the old man went on, hardly needing an invitation. âThe Connacht men told me that there was a holy mountain inland which they called Croagh Patrick, after the blessed saint. At the foot of the mountain was a plain which was called Muir-iasc, which means “sea-fish”. Do you know how it received its name?'
âTell us,' invited Cass, knowing there was no other answer to give.
âIt was named because it was formed by the great body of Rosault when it was cast ashore there during a great storm. The dead beast, as it lay decomposing on the plain, caused a great pestilence through the malodorous vapours which rose from its body and descended on the country. It killed men and animals indiscriminately. There be many things in the sea, sister. Many threatening things.'
Fidelma cast a sudden glance towards the Laigin warship.
âNot all of them are creatures of the deep,' she observed softly.
The old fisherman caught the direction of her gaze and chuckled.
âI think that you would be right there, sister. And I am thinking that the fishermen of the Corco LoÃgde might one day have to go casting their spears at stranger creatures than a poor basking shark.'
He turned and sank his skinning knife into the great carcass with relish.
Fidelma began to walk along the shore again.
Cass hurried after her. For a few moments they walked on in silence and then Cass observed: âThere are signs of war in the air already, sister. It does not bode well.'
âI am not oblivious to it,' she replied shortly. âYet I cannot work miracles even though my brother expects it of me.'
âPerhaps we have to accept that this war is our destiny. That there will, indeed, be war.'
âDestiny!' Fidelma was angry. âI do not believe in the
preordination of things, even if some of the Faith do. Destiny is but the tyrant's excuse for his crimes and the fool's excuse for not standing up to the tyrant.'
âHow can you change what is inevitable?' demanded Cass.
âBy first saying that it is not so and then by proceeding to make it otherwise!' she answered with spirit.
If there was anything she did not need at this moment in time it was someone telling her that things were inevitable. Sophocles had once written that that which the gods have brought about must be born with fortitude. Yet to make the excuse that one's self-induced limitations were simply destiny was a philosophy that was alien to Fidelma. The creed of destiny was simply an excuse to save oneself from choice.
Cass raised a hand, opened it and gestured as if in resignation.
âIt is a laudable philosophy which you have, Fidelma. But sometimes â¦'
âEnough!'
There was a catch to her voice that made the young warrior stop. He realised how suddenly vulnerable was this young woman
dálaigh
of the court. Colgú of Cashel had put great responsibility on his sister's shoulders â perhaps too much? As Cass saw things, the death of Dacán was a riddle that would never be solved. Better to simply prepare for war with the Laigin than squander time in sorting out the tangled and insoluble web of this mystery.
Fidelma suddenly sat down on a rock and gazed at the sea as Cass stood restlessly by. In turning matters over in her mind she was trying to remember what her old master, the Brehon Morann of Tara, had once said to her.
âBetter to ask twice than lose your way once, child,' he had intoned when she had failed some exercise of the mind by failing to grasp an answer he had given.
What question was she not asking; what answer had she failed to realise the significance of?
Cass was startled when, after a moment or two, Fidelma sprang up and uttered a snort of disgust.
âI must be dull-witted!' she announced.
âWhy so?' he demanded as she started to stride swiftly back towards the abbey.
âHere I have been bemoaning to myself the impossibility of the task before I have even begun it.'
âI thought that you had already made a very good start on the matter.'
âI have but merely skimmed the surface,' she replied. âI have asked a question or two but have not yet started to seek the truth. Come, there is much to be done!'
She walked swiftly back to the abbey, through the gate and across the flagged courtyards. Here and there little groups of scholars and some of the teaching religious turned from their huddled bands to surreptitiously examine her as she passed for the news had spread rapidly through the abbey of her purpose there. She ignored them, moving swiftly to the main gateway and there saw the object of her search â the enthusiastic young Sister Necht.
She was about to hail her when Necht looked up and saw Fidelma. She came running towards her, with an undignified gait.
âSister Fidelma!' she gasped. âI was about to set out to find you. Brother Tóla asked me to give you this package. It is from Brother Martan.'
She handed Fidelma a rectangular piece of sackcloth. Fidelma took it and unfolded it. Inside were several pieces of long strips of linen, as if torn from a larger piece of material. There were spots of deep brown which Fidelma presumed to be the stains of blood. The colour of the linen itself had been enhanced by dyes in parti-coloured fashion consisting of blues and reds. The pieces were frayed and looked fragile. Fidelma took one of the strips and held it, one end in each hand, giving it a sharp tug. It tore easily.
âNot very efficient as a constraint,' observed Cass.
Fidelma glanced appraisingly at him.
âNo,' she replied thoughtfully as she rewrapped the cloth and placed the material in her large satchel purse. âNow, Sister Necht, I need you to conduct us to Sister Grella's library.'
To her surprise the young girl shook her head.
âThat I cannot do, sister.'
âWhy, what ails you?' Fidelma demanded testily.
âNothing. But the abbot has also sent me to seek you out and bring you to him. He says he must see you without delay.'
âVery well,' Fidelma said reluctantly. âIf Abbot Brocc wants to see me then I shall not disappoint him. But why the urgency?'
âTen minutes ago, Salbach, chieftain of the Corco LoÃgde, arrived in response to a message which Brocc sent him. The chieftain appears very angry.'
Fidelma and Cass began to follow as Sister Necht led the way towards the chambers of the abbot. After a moment, the young novice noticed Cass following. She halted and looked embarrassed.
âWhat is it now?' demanded Fidelma.
âI was told to bring only yourself, sister,' she explained, with an awkward glance at Cass.
âVery well,' Fidelma sighed. âYou can wait for me at the hostel, Cass.'
The tall warrior made a small grimace of disappointment but took himself off while she continued to follow Necht. The broad-shouldered sister seemed agitated and hurried while Fidelma maintained a more leisurely pace. The young novice had to keep stopping in order to wait for her. Fidelma refused to be hurried and rejected the idea of arriving before the abbot and the chieftain of the Corco LoÃgde in a flustered and breathless fashion.
âIt's all right, Necht,' Fidelma finally said, irritated by the girl's insistence on trying to get her to hurry. âI know the way to the abbot's chambers from here, so you may leave me in safety.'
The girl paused and seemed about to protest but Fidelma drew her brows together in annoyance. The expression was enough to dissuade the novice from any arguments that might have been forming on her tongue. She bobbed her head obediently and left Fidelma.
Fidelma continued across the flagged yard into the granite building which housed the abbot's chambers. She had moved into a small, dark hallway and was crossing to the steps which led up to the second floor on which the abbot's main chamber was situated when a shadow stirred in the darkness at the foot of the steps.
âSister!'
Fidelma halted and peered curiously into the shadows. The figure was familiar.
âIs that Cétach?'
The figure of the boy moved forward into the gloomy light. Fidelma noted the tension in his body, the way his shoulders were positioned, the poise of the head.
âI must speak with you,' whispered the young black-haired lad, as if he were scared of being overheard.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in the gloom.
âIt is inconvenient now. I am on my way to see the abbot. Let us meet later â¦'
âNo, wait!' The voice almost rose to a wail of despair. Fidelma found Cétach's hand clutching imploringly at her arm.
âWhat is it? What are you frightened of?'
âSalbach, the chieftain of the Corco LoÃgde, is with the abbot.'
âThis I know,' Fidelma said. âBut what is frightening you, Cétach?'
âWhen you speak with him do not mention me or my brother.'
Fidelma tried to examine the boy's features, annoyed that the shadows obscured his expression.
âAre you scared of Salbach?'
âIt is too long a story â I cannot tell you now, sister. Please, do not mention us. Do not even say that you know us.'
âWhy? What do you fear from Salbach?'
The boy's grip tightened on her arm.
âFor pity's sake, sister!' His voice was filled with such fear that Fidelma patted his shoulder in reassurance.
âVery well,' she said. âYou have my promise. But when I am finished, we must talk and you must tell me what this means.'
âYou promise that you will not mention us?'
âI promise,' she replied gravely.
The boy abruptly turned and scurried away into the shadows leaving a bemused Fidelma staring in the gloom.
She waited a moment or two before heaving a sigh and then she began to mount the steps.
Abbot Brocc was waiting impatiently for her. He had apparently been pacing before his table and stopped as she entered his chamber. Her eyes immediately fell on a figure sprawled indolently in a chair before the great fire in the abbot's chamber. The man was leaning back in the carved wooden chair, usually reserved for the abbot, one leg dangling over an arm, a large goblet of wine in one hand. He was a handsome man with hair the colour of jet, contrasting with a white skin and ice-blue eyes. He was in his early thirties. There was something saturnine about his slim features. His clothes told of wealth for they were fine woven silks and linens and he wore a small fortune in jewellery. The sword and dagger he wore were worth the full honour price of a
ceile,
a free clansman of the kingdom. All this Fidelma took in at a glance but one thing, of all the visual information, registered with her; the cold blue eyes of the chieftain had a close, foxy look. Here was a shrewd and cunning man.
âAh, Fidelma!'
The abbot was clearly relieved as she entered.
âI was told that you had sent for me, Brocc,' she said, closing the door behind her.
âI have, indeed. This is Salbach, chieftain of the Corco LoÃgde. '
Fidelma turned towards the chieftain. Her mouth tightened as the man made no effort to rise but continued to sprawl in his chair, sipping his wine with deliberate slowness.
âSister Fidelma from Kildare is my cousin, Salbach,' the abbot said nervously, seeing the clouds gathering around Fidelma's brows.
Salbach regarded her coldly over the rim of his goblet.
âI am told that you are a
dálaigh
,' he said. There was a tone in his voice as if he found the subject amusing.
âI am Fidelma of the Eóganacht of Cashel, sister to Colgú, heir-apparent of Muman,' she replied with a tone of steel. âI am qualified in law to the level of
anruth
.'
Salbach returned her gaze for a moment or two without moving. Then he carefully put down his goblet and, with exaggerated slowness, he eased himself from the chair and stood before her. He bowed ungracefully with a jerky movement of his neck.
That Fidelma had to remind him of his manners in greeting her was a source of irritation to her. It was not because she had an abundance of vanity that made her demand that he recognise her as the sister of the heir-apparent to the kingdom, nor that she was so conceited that she had to draw attention to the fact that she possessed the status of
anruth,
only one degree below the highest that the colleges of the five kingdoms could bestow. It was the scorn that Salbach implied towards her, which she took as an insult to her sex, that caused her to demand the traditional hero's portion that was due to her. Yet even when she gave way to this emotion she recalled her mentor, the Brehon Morann, saying: âRespect received from fear is not respect. The wolf may be respected but it is never liked.' Generally, Fidelma ignored social conventions provided people showed regard and consideration for one another simply as fellow humans. But when she came across individuals who showed no natural respect she felt she had to
make the point as example. Salbach appeared to respect no one but himself.
âI apologise, Fidelma of Cashel,' he said in a tone which she felt gave no value to his words. âI did not know that you were related to Colgú.'
Fidelma seated herself and her expression was bland.
âWhy should my relatives dictate good manners?' she demanded softly.
Abbot Brocc coughed hastily.
âFidelma, Salbach has come in response to the message I sent him.'
Fidelma found herself being scrutinised again by the cold blue eyes of Salbach. He returned to his sprawling position in the other chair and took up his wine again. There was something hooded about those eyes. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes of a buzzard regarding its prey before swooping to bear it away.
âThat is good,' Fidelma replied. âThe sooner the crime committed at Rae na ScrÃne is dealt with, the better.'
âCrime? I am told that some frightened, superstitious people, afraid of the plague at Rae na ScrÃne, attacked the village in an effort to drive the people into the mountains and fire the place so that the plague might not spread. If there was a crime there, it was a crime of fear and panic.'
âNot so. It was a calm and deliberate attack.'
Salbach's mouth twitched and his tone was sharp. âI have come here, Sister Fidelma, because I have heard your accusation against one of
my bó-aire,
a magistrate that I myself appointed but recently. I presumed that there was some mistake.'
âI take it that you refer to the man Intat? If so, there is no mistake.'
âI am told that you have accused Intat of leading a band of his warriors in the destruction of the entire village? My
information is that a band of panic-stricken people from some neighbouring village burnt it down.'
âYou have heard incorrectly.'
âThat is a serious accusation.'
âIt is a serious crime,' confirmed Fidelma coldly.
âI shall need evidence before I can act on such a charge,' Salbach replied stubbornly.
âThe evidence will be found in the charred ruins of Rae na ScrÃne.'
âThat proves the village was burnt and perhaps that people were killed. What evidence is there that Intat was responsible?'
âCass, of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel, and I rode into the village while the terrible deed was being done. We spoke with the man called Intat. He turned us away with threat to our lives.'
Salbach's eyes widened a fraction with incredulity.
âHe let you go? Surely, if he were engaged in such a crime, you would not be here to tell of it?'
Fidelma wondered why it seemed that Salbach was attempting to protect his
bó-aire.
âIntat did not realise that we had seen what he was doing. We doubled back to the village after we had left him on the highway. Nor did he realise that there were survivors from the village who can give better testimony as to what happened than we can.'
Did Salbach swallow nervously? Did a look of apprehension grow over his features?
âThere were survivors?'
âYes.' It was Abbot Brocc who replied. âThere were half-a-dozen survivors. Some children â¦'
âChildren cannot testify under law,' Salbach snapped. âThey have no legal obligations until they reach the age of choice.'
Fidelma noted that point of law came trotting swiftly from Salbach's tongue.
âThere was also one adult with them,' she said softly. âAnd if the one adult is not enough, then bring this man Intat before Cass and myself, and we will testify whether he is the man we saw leading those who held burning brand torches and swords in their hands and who threatened our lives.'
âHow was Intat identified anyway?' demanded Salbach sullenly. âHow could you know the man's name?'
âHe was identified by Sister Eisten,' answered the abbot.
âAh! So she is the survivor of whom you speak?'
Salbach's eyes were hooded again. Fidelma would have given anything to hear the thoughts which appeared to be tumbling in his mind. His face was a mask but there seemed to be a frenzy of thoughts behind those hooded eyes.
âIt is hard to believe this of Intat.' Salbach sighed suddenly, putting down his drained goblet of wine, as if he were finally convinced. âI am saddened to hear of this evidence against him. Are Sister Eisten and the children staying in Ros Ailithir?'
Brocc replied again before Fidelma could speak.
âYes. We will probably send them shortly to the orphanage run by Molua.'
âI would like to see them,' pressed Salbach.
âIt may be some days before that can be,' Fidelma said hurriedly, with a meaningful glance at Brocc. The abbot stared in bewilderment at her. âThe abbot has ordered them to be placed in quarantine so that they can be cleared of any contagion from the Yellow Plague.'
âBut â¦' began Brocc. Then bit his tongue.
Salbach had not appeared to notice this unfinished protest and was rising to his feet.
âI will be back to question Sister Eisten and the children when it is more convenient,' he said. âBut, since the matter contained a grave accusation against one of my magistrates, I felt I had to come immediately to test the evidence. I shall set
out to find Intat and see what he has to say. If the crime is laid at his door, then he will answer for it before my own Brehon. You may rest assured of that, Sister Fidelma.'
âCashel would expect no less,' replied Fidelma gravely.
Salbach stared hard at her, seeking some hidden meaning but Fidelma continued to return his look without expression.
âWe are a proud people here, Sister Fidelma,' Salbach said. His voice, while soft, was full of hidden meaning. âThe Corco LoÃgde claim their descent from the family of MÃl Easpain, who led the ancestors of the Gaels to this land at the beginning of time. A challenge to the honour of one of us is a challenge to the honour of all of us. And if one of us betrays his honour, he betrays us all and will be punished.'