Once again they were in complete darkness.
There was a moment’s pause and they were propelled onwards once more. It was not long before they came to a halt again. The atmosphere was suddenly warm. Fidelma could feel the presence of a fire from the warmth on her cheek.
‘We have caught a couple of spies from Gleann Geis, my lord,’ came the voice of the leader of their escort.
‘Spies, eh?’ The voice was familiar. ‘Untie their blindfolds and let them see.’
The blindfolds were taken off again with rough hands.
‘Gently!’ rebuked the familiar voice sharply. ‘Do not harm our honoured guests.’
Fidelma stood blinking in the smoky atmosphere of a large cave which was lit by spluttering torches. She noticed it contained sleeping rugs, a fire in one corner, strategically placed under what appeared to be a natural chimney with a cauldron hanging over its flames, steaming away. At her side, Eadulf was still blinking and not yet taking in his surroundings. Apart from the men who had escorted them into the cave, there were half-a-dozen other warriors squatting on the rugs with one of them standing over the cauldron. At one end, perched on a wooden camp chair, was a familiar figure.
Fidelma smiled grimly as she recognised the young horse trader.
‘I thought our paths would meet again, Ibor of Muirthemne.’
The young man laughed good naturedly.
‘Untie their hands and let them be seated,’ he instructed.
‘But, my lord …’ protested the red-haired man who had captured them. ‘Look!’ He took out the gold torc and thrust it at Ibor. ‘The woman carries this as proof of her guilt.’
Ibor took the torc and examined it. Then he raised his eyes to the man.
‘Untie them at once!’ he said firmly.
Reluctantly, the red-haired man drew out his knife and severed Fidelma’s bonds and then the rope which tied Eadulf’s wrists. They stood for a moment rubbing their chaffed wrists and examining Ibor in curiosity. Now he was clothed as a warrior, a costume that seemed to fit him better than his previous form of dress. Fidelma smiled grimly as the former assessment that Ibor looked more a warrior than a horse trader now appeared to be correct. The erstwhile trader from Muirthemne was obviously a fighting man.
‘Be seated and accept my hospitality,’ invited Ibor as politely as if he had simply invited them as guests to his ráth. ‘It is rather poor hospitality since we are camped out here …’
‘Hiding from lawful authority,’ interjected Eadulf sourly.
Ibor shook his head and his smile broadened.
‘Not hiding but merely not wishing to announce our presence. Come, be seated. You shall not be harmed while you are my guests.’
Reluctantly, but with no other option, Fidelma and Eadulf sat on the rugs which had been indicated.
‘Why did you allow the people in Gleann Geis to believe that it was you who bribed Artgal?’ Fidelma opened without preamble.
‘I thought that they had already decided that without my help,’ replied Ibor humorously.
‘By running away you simply confirmed it.’
‘A strategic withdrawal to join my men.’
‘And to do what exactly?’
Ibor shrugged, still smiling.
‘Who knows? Maybe to destroy that nest of vermin.’
‘Brother Dianach is dead. I know that he was the person who bought the cows to bribe Artgal with and not you.’
The young man did not look surprised.
‘And Artgal? What does he say now?’
‘Artgal is missing.’
There was a silence but Ibor’s composure did not alter.
‘As soon as Artgal started to lie about Brother Dianach, I knew that suspicion would fall on me. I knew that I would be apprehended for something I did not do … even as you were, Fidelma.’
‘You knew that I was innocent?’ Fidelma could not hide her surprise.
‘I knew that you had little reason to kill Brother Solin,’ he confirmed. ‘I was hoping to be able to find out who did before it became necessary for me to withdraw from Laisre’s ráth.’
‘It is hard to believe that you claim innocence,’ Fidelma observed skeptically. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
‘You know already that I am Ibor; Ibor, lord of Muirthemne.’
‘That is a proud title. It is not the title of a trader in horseflesh.’
‘I am proud to bear it. It is an ancient lineage. Was not my ancestor named Setanta of Muirthemne who men called Cúchulainn, the hound of Culainn?’
Fidelma looked into Ibor’s eyes and saw a pride in his ancestry.
‘You have not explained why the lord of Muirthemne in Ulaidh was skulking in Gleann Geis in the guise of a merchant. This is a curiously isolated part of the world for a band of warriors from the north to stumble on without some evil intent?’
‘In truth, we did not stumble on it and we did come here with a specific purpose.’
‘At least you are honest with me. Why?’
Ibor smiled disarmingly.
‘I would ask you to promise that you will be circumspect as to what I tell you.’
Fidelma held her head slightly to one side. Her expression one of curiosity.
‘Circumspect? You do not ask me for secrecy?’
Ibor shook his head.
‘I trust your discretion and honesty as I hope you will trust mine once you hear my story. I know of your reputation. I told you so
before. And I also see that you wear the cross of the order of the Golden Chain. This is why I shall put my trust in you.’
Fidelma continued to gaze at him thoughtfully.
‘I would answer that I apply discretion in all things but as to accepting your honesty, that remains to be seen.’
‘I would expect no more in the circumstances.’ The young lord of Muirthemne glanced quickly at Eadulf. ‘Your voice also speaks for the Saxon brother?’
‘You may be assured of Brother Eadulf’s discretion as you are of mine.’
‘Discretion is all I ask.’
‘You can expect little more, especially when you hold that gold torc which I found at the site of the slaughter of thirty-three young men,’ Fidelma added quietly.
Ibor glanced down at the torc in his hand and nodded absently.
‘It is a torc fashioned for the warriors of Ailech,’ he commented absently. ‘You will hear the explanation for this shortly. To begin, my men and I have been following Brother Solin of Armagh this past week.’
‘On whose authority?’ Fidelma asked at once.
‘On the authority of Sechnassuch, High King at Tara.’
‘With what purpose?’
‘With the purpose of discovering his reason for coming to this land.’
‘You say that as if you suspected him of some transgression against the law?’ intervened Eadulf.
The lord of Muirthemne chuckled grimly.
‘I would venture that my view has long passed the point of mere suspicion. And as for transgressing the law, he has transgressed every moral code that I know of.’
‘I do not understand,’ Fidelma said. ‘You are a man of the north and yet you appear to be claiming that you are an enemy of Brother Solin? Why is this? Is Brother Solin not only a man of the north but also of the cloth? He maintained that he was on a mission for the Faith.’
‘A mission for the Devil!’ snapped Ibor. Then he leaned forward, his voice grave. ‘Surely you know something about the dissensions among the kings of the north? You have been to Tara and you have also been to Armagh.’
‘Is it a coincidence that Brother Solin once asked me this very same question? I have been to Tara and I have been to Armagh but I was not privy to any internal disputes there.’
Ibor sat back.
‘I will explain the divisions as simply as I can. First you must know that I am an emissary of the High King, Sechnassuch. As you know, he is of the southern Uí Néill, of the seed of Aedo Slaine. Here is his royal seal as proof of my word.’ He reached beneath his shirt and brought out a gold seal on a golden chain and held it out for her inspection. ‘You have been to Tara and know it well.’
Fidelma glanced at the gold medallion. On it was stamped a regal upright hand symbolising the duty of the king to reach out his hand to protect his people, for in ancient times it was said that both words
rí
for king and
reach
were the same. Fidelma recognised the seal of the Uí Néill immediately.
‘Go on,’ she invited. ‘Tell us your story.’
‘Brother Solin was secretary to Ultan of Armagh.’
‘That I know,’ Fidelma said, a trifle impatiently.
‘Ultan has secretly sworn to support the claims of the dynasty of the northern Uí Néill, the kings who sit at Ailech.’
Fidelma had never had dealings with the northern Uí Néill kingdom. She only knew that Ailech was a fortress city in the extreme north-west of the country where the king was currently Mael Dúin, who also claimed descent from the great High King, Niall of the Nine Hostages.
‘Your man said that the torc was made in Ailech,’ she observed quietly.
Ibor nodded.
‘There is little love lost between the two dynasties of the Uí Néill, northern and southern,’ he explained. ‘Mael Dúin is not the first king of the northern Uí Néill line to argue that his dynasty are the true heirs of the kingship of all the north, and not only the kingship of Ulaidh but he claims the right to the High Kingship at Tara. He further claims that the High Kingship should not be a matter of conferred honour among the provincial kings but a reality and that the High King should have a real power over all the five kingdoms of Éireann.’
Fidelma examined him suspiciously.
‘And what does Sechnassuch say to this?’
‘You have met Sechnassuch,’ Ibor replied. ‘His principle is the law. He is king of the southern Uí Néill of Tara and acknowledges the courtesy accorded by the laws of the
Míadslechta
of being High King. But as the
Míadslechta
says – why are the provincial kings greater than the High King?’
‘Because they appoint and ordain the High King,’ interrupted Fidelma quoting the text, ‘the High King does not ordain the provincial kings.’
Ibor nodded appreciatively at her knowledge.
‘You are correct,
dálaigh
of Cashel. Sechnassuch would give his entire honour price of fourteen
cumals
in forfeit if he ever broke this law.’
‘Is there any likelihood of him doing so?’
‘Not while he is alive. But this cannot be said of the northern Uí Néill; nor of Mael Dúin of Ailech. He has ambition. And that ambition has grown since he went on a pilgrimage to Rome before he took the crown of Ailech.’
‘How so? What has a pilgrimage to Rome to do with this matter?’
‘He saw the greatness of Rome and became enamoured of the Roman path of the Faith. He went to a Roman-trained confessor and priest who taught him about the great temporal empires and the peoples who fell under the suzerainty of the emperors of Rome.’
‘There are several in the five kingdoms who have already accepted allegiance to Rome,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Allegiance to Rome is surely a matter of individual conscience? My companion, Eadulf, bears allegiance to the Roman ways, unlike myself being committed to the Church of Colmcille. We do not fight but we discuss in fruitful amity.’
‘Fair enough, Fidelma of Cashel. Each to his own path. But when one is forced along a path one does not wish to take, then there is dissension in the land.’
‘This Mael Dúin believes, then, in forcing his beliefs on others?’
‘That he does. And he does so in two ways. Firstly with his religion and secondly he has been fired to create in this island the feudal empire of the type which he has learned about in Rome, a central kingdom ruled by one emperor. And he wants that emperor to be himself.’
Fidelma let out a soft breath.
‘I begin to see where you are leading us. Mael Dúin of Ailech wishes to firstly subsume the southern Uí Néill to his kingdom of Ailech. Then he wishes to claim the High Kingship and turn it from an honour alternated between the provincial kings into a single dynasty which will maintain a supreme authority over all of the five kingdoms in the manner of the Roman emperors?’
‘That is exactly what he proposes,’ confirmed Ibor.
‘Then the kings of the provinces must be warned against Mael Dúin’s ambitions. They would never stand for such a usurpation of law and morality.’
‘But there is something further.’
‘What more can there be?’ Fidelma’s expression was grim.
‘Mael Dúin has, as I say, won the support of Ultan of Armagh.’
‘I knew that Ultan has long been in favour of adopting the rules of Rome in our Church and prefers to use the title of
archiepiskopos
instead of Comarb. Indeed, many have, out of courtesy referred to him as such. Even I myself. I know he would wish to reorganise our Church on the model Rome has provided but not even Ultan can believe that he can change our law of kingship.’