‘Then it is a pity that Beccan is not here to corroborate your story,’ Eadulf observed dryly.
‘Not here?’ An expression of apprehension crossed Deogaire’s features. ‘Where is he? He said he would not be long.’
‘Tell me, how is it that Brother Conchobhar came to throw his own relative out of his house?’ Fidelma asked without answering him. ‘He is a great respecter of old custom and holds that the laws of hospitality, especially to a blood relative, are not easily dismissed.’
Deogaire had lost more of his confidence by now.
‘You know that he and I do not see eye to eye on matters of religion,’ he muttered. ‘I maintain the old paths while he accepts this new mysticism from the east. It is not to be trusted! The ancients say – knowledge is found in the west, battle to the north, danger to the east and tranquillity to the south. Danger to the east! That danger is coming.’
‘You threatened me once,’ she replied, recalling. ‘You said: “two glances behind would be better than one before”.’
‘A warning to some is seen as a threat by others. I foresee the danger from the east. That is no threat – that is a warning. Be afraid and you will be safe. That was all I said.’
Fidelma grimaced at the old saying. ‘I am aware of what was said. You also mentioned that death could come in many forms – even a winged demon out of the sky.’
Eadulf breathed in sharply. ‘And the statue was . . .’ he began.
‘Was it the statue of Aoife?’ Colgú asked in a curiously strangled tone, his features suddenly pale.
When Fidelma silently nodded, there was an obvious unease among those present.
‘Aoife? Who was she?’ asked Eadulf, knowing there was some significance that was lost on him.
‘Aoife was a wicked stepmother, and in punishment for her evil acts against the Children of Lir, the god Bodh Dearg changed her into a demon of the air.’ It was Gormán who explained. ‘The statues on the roof are representations of creatures from our ancient legends.’
Deogaire’s eyes had widened slightly. Then he quickly recovered his poise. His chin thrust out defiantly. ‘And what does that prove? The only thing it shows is that I am truly blessed with the gift of the
imbas forosnai
, of the prophecy of the poets.’
Fidelma reflected for a moment, then said: ‘Foreknowledge of events is usually explained by involvement. I am no seer, as you claim to be, Deogaire. I have to rely on facts and logic. That is the beginning of
my
wisdom.’ She looked at him before continuing.
‘Your claim to be in the guests chambers by invitation of Beccan cannot be confirmed until the King’s steward returns. Do not worry, we will not condemn without seeking evidence. That is not our way. While we wait for his return, we will provide you with another bed for the rest of this night.’ She turned to Gormán. ‘Take Deogaire to the
Laochtech
and secure him there as a prisoner until I order otherwise. It will go badly for you, Deogaire, if you do not leave peacefully with these warriors.’
The young man looked anxious. ‘The last person who was secured there was found hanged – and not by his own hand,’ he protested.
‘Do not be concerned,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You will be placed in one of the rooms within the
Laochtech
and a warrior will be within call at all times. You will see to that, Gormán,’ she added.
‘It shall be done, lady.’ The warrior touched Deogaire on the shoulder. ‘Are you going to cause trouble, or will you come with us peacefully?’
Deogaire, still rubbing his wrists, sighed and said, ‘Peacefully, by all means, let us proceed peacefully.’
After Gormán had left with Aidan and the prisoner, Fidelma slumped uninvited into a chair.
‘I don’t suppose you have some
corma
left, brother?’ she smiled faintly.
Colgú poured the fiery alcoholic drink for her before indicating that they should all be seated and take a drink. Everyone seemed shocked at the events of the evening. Only Brehon Aillín excused himself, somewhat stiffly, and retired to his chamber.
‘So Deogaire is the guilty one?’ Abbot Ségdae phrased the question with an air of satisfaction. ‘Guilty of the other deaths as well . . . you think? And why? To have his prophecy fulfilled, no doubt.’
Fidelma stared, preoccupied, into her drink before telling them: ‘I am not sure of his guilt.’
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
‘Not sure that he is guilty of the other deaths?’ Eadulf asked.
‘It all sounds a little too plausible,’ she replied.
‘Sometimes things
are
simple and straightforward. Not everything is as complicated as many would have us believe,’ pointed out her brother.
‘It’s true. And yet let us bear in mind what has happened here during the last few days. Is it so easy to say that Deogaire was guilty of Brother Cerdic’s death? That he hanged Rudgal? Then what of the attack on the river and the—’ She stopped suddenly, realising that she was about to say too much. The cloth that Rudgal had hidden had to remain secret for the time being. Yet Brother Conchobhar knew of it . . . did that mean that Deogaire knew of it too? She turned her gaze to Eadulf, hoping he would pick up the warning message from her eyes, without her having to speak it.
‘What now?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Do we wait until Beccan comes back?’
Gormán had just returned to report that the prisoner was now locked up and under guard, and overheard him.
‘I could go down to the township myself and search him out, if I knew where this sick relative lived,’ he offered. He looked to the King. ‘Does anyone know where his relative is to be found?’
Colgú turned to him, puzzled. ‘You mean, Beccan’s relative is not known here? But everyone knows who lives in the township of Cashel. There are surely no strangers here.’
‘I have never heard Beccan speak of having a family member living nearby,’ confirmed Gormán, ‘but my mother knows everyone. It should be easy to find him.’
‘While we wait for his return, I will have a word with Brother Conchobhar,’ Fidelma said. ‘At least that will confirm whether it is true that he threw Deogaire out.’
Abbot Ségdae emptied his goblet and set it down with a disapproving look. ‘I would have thought Deogaire’s guilt is clear. I don’t understand you wanting further proof, Fidelma.’
‘It is not clear to me – but then I am a
dálaigh
,’ she replied. Then, realising that she had sounded rather curt, she added: ‘He might well be telling the truth.’
‘But if he
were
telling the truth, then it implies that the murderer, or attempted murderer, if you will, is someone else,’ the abbot said. ‘That someone has to be one of us in the guest chambers, and that—’
‘That means,’ Gormán continued with a grin at their sudden discomfiture, ‘that you have quite a choice. There are four suspects: the abbot’s steward, Brother Madagan; Brehon Aillín; Abbess Líoch and her
bann-mhaor
Sister Dianaimh.’
‘Each accusation is as ridiculous as another,’ Abbot Ségdae said impatiently. ‘Why, I’d sooner believe in Deogaire’s demon from hell springing into the statue of Aoife. Evil from the east, indeed!’
They sat quietly for a while and finally Fidelma rose.
‘Come, Eadulf, the hour grows late.’
Gormán was on his feet. ‘I will come with you to make sure you get to your apartments safely.’
Fidelma shook her head with a smile. ‘I think we are safe now. Besides, I am told that lightning never strikes in the same place twice. We will be safe.’
They left the King’s quarters but this time Fidelma took a slightly different path around the building to their chambers. When Eadulf commented on the longer route, he heard her chuckle in response.
‘Because I realised after we left that it was a misconception,’ she whispered.
‘What was?’ He frowned.
‘Lightning
can
strike again in the same place. There was once a shepherd near where I studied at Brehon Morann’s law school. He tended his sheep on the hills nearby and often refused to take shelter during the storms. He was struck four times on four different occasions by lightning and survived each time. However, I do not want to tempt fate.’
‘I am glad that you told me,’ Eadulf grumbled. ‘But why are we going this way?’
Fidelma pointed through the darkness beyond the chapel. There was a light in the building. It was the apothecary.
‘I think we should take the opportunity for a word with Brother Conchobhar.’
‘It’s going to be a late night,’ Eadulf protested, ‘and I promised to take Alchú riding first thing in the morning.’
Fidelma did not respond. She walked to the apothecary’s door and tapped sharply on it. There was only a little pause before there was a movement behind the door and it swung open. The old physician peered at them as the light from the lamp he held shone on them.
‘You are abroad late,’ he observed, before standing back to let them enter. When they did so, he closed the door behind them.
‘And you are up late,’ Fidelma replied, moving through the musty-smelling room to where she knew Brother Conchobhar had some chairs placed before his fire.
Brother Conchobhar shuffled after her, with Eadulf following.
‘You know that it is my habit,’ he said. ‘Late to bed, late to rise.’
‘You don’t believe in the old saying then –
sero venientibus ossa
?’ sighed Eadulf wistfully, thinking of his own bed. It literally meant ‘for the latecomer the bones’ but implied that the person who rose early succeeded in life.
Brother Conchobhar regarded him with an expression of amusement.
‘I spend hours on my little roof above watching the movement of the heavens, seeing the bright lights in the night sky moving here and there, and charting the course of our fortunes against the darkness of the canopy. It is not an occupation one can do in the daylight.’
Eadulf had forgotten that the other man was a student of the stars and their motions.
‘And what did you see tonight, old friend?’ asked Fidelma, as she sank down into a chair. The apothecary moved to a table and began to pour them drinks.
‘Mostly the signs show a calm night with the moon in balance and no less than four planets floating on water, including the planet of knowledge. It is from water that we gain knowledge, according to the ancients. Therefore from tonight’s actions much can be learned. That does not mean all is tranquil, for the defending planet stirs to action.’
Eadulf, who half-understood the symbolism, grimaced, saying: ‘Did you see in the skies tonight a flying demon ready to attack Fidelma and myself?’
Brother Conchobhar turned to him with an expression of alarm. ‘Are you joking with me, friend Eadulf?’ he demanded.
‘Alas, he is not, old friend,’ Fidelma said, casting a look of disapproval at Eadulf. ‘But tell me first, what was the cause of your earlier argument with Deogaire?’
Brother Conchobhar did not appear surprised at being asked.
‘I hope he has not been causing problems,’ he muttered. ‘But relative or not, I confess I found myself losing my temper with him. I have accepted his strange views for the sake of my poor sister and our common ancestors, but there are limits to what I should have to put up with. We did, indeed, have a quarrel earlier today. We exchanged some sharp words over our respective beliefs. It came to the point where I could not restrain my temper, for which I am truly sorry. I told him to leave my house and not to return. So he left.’
Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘Who, between you, would you say provoked his leaving?’
‘
Mea culpa
. It was my fault and I am heartily ashamed that, even at my age and with my experience, this young man could provoke me into losing my temper. I was made even more ashamed and angry because Abbot Ségdae’s steward was a witness. Brother Madagan had come to get some wild garlic for a distemper he had. But why do you ask this? What has happened to him? What has this to do with flying demons?’
Fidelma explained about the attack on them, quickly and succinctly. ‘He will be all right under guard,’ she added, patting the old man’s hand. ‘Tomorrow we will get down to the truth.’
Brother Conchobhar looked at her sorrowfully. ‘I can believe many things but I can’t believe that my nephew is guilty of an attack on you and Eadulf. For all his mistaken arrogance, he is right in one thing. There is evil here, if it is not among us already. Perhaps we should be fearful. We should fear what is coming from the east.’
‘All we know is that it is supposed to be a peaceful deputation of members of the Faith. There should be no need to fear them.’
‘You choose your words carefully, Fidelma. There
should
be no need to fear them. That means you have not discounted any such fear.’
Fidelma made a ‘tut-tut’ sound with her tongue. ‘You have a sharp ear, Brother Conchobhar.’
‘I need two sharp ears and sometimes a sharper mind,’ replied the old man. ‘Tell me, Deogaire was not the only one in the guest house, was he – the only one with access to the roof at the moment the statue crashed down on you?’
‘He was not,’ Fidelma nodded.
‘And have you eliminated all the others from any possible involvement?’
‘I have not,’ she replied, much to Eadulf’s surprise.
‘You haven’t questioned the others yet?’ asked Brother Conchobhar.
‘Not yet,’ she confirmed. ‘They are not likely to go far, all being safely abed in the guest chambers. You seem to have something on your mind, old friend.’
‘Wasn’t Brother Madagan there to support my nephew’s claim that Deogaire and I had quarrelled?’
Fidelma realised that it was true: Brother Madagan had remained silent.
‘How much did he hear?’ she asked. ‘Did he hear you telling Deogaire to leave?’
Brother Conchobhar was hesitant. ‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted. ‘But he would have heard our voices raised.’
‘That might not signify anything.’
‘Brother Madagan speaks some of your language, Eadulf,’ the apothecary told him.
‘And fairly well, too,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘I know that, and he told us that he learned the language while in Láirge, the harbour township.’
‘He was quite open about that,’ Fidelma added. ‘He told us that he spent two summers there teaching students from the Saxon kingdoms before they passed on to our colleges. Láirge is a favourite port where ships come from the lands beyond the seas.’