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Authors: Peter Tremayne
Atonement of Blood
Peter Tremayne
Copyright © 2013 Peter Tremayne
The right of Peter Tremayne to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2013
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 9780 7553 7755 8
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Table of Contents
Peter Tremayne is the fiction pseudonym of Peter Beresford Ellis, a well-known authority on the ancient Celts, who has utilised his knowledge of the Brehon law system and seventh-century Irish society to create a new concept in detective fiction.
An international Sister Fidelma Society has been established, with a journal entitled
The Brehon
appearing three times yearly.
Details can be obtained either by writing to the Society at: PMB #312, 1818 North Taylor Street, Suite B, Little Rock, AR 72207, USA or by logging on to the Society website at:
www.sisterfidelma.com
Absolution by Murder
Shroud for the Archbishop
Suffer Little Children
The Subtle Serpent
The Spider’s Web
Valley of the Shadow
The Monk who Vanished
Act of Mercy
Hemlock at Vespers
Our Lady of Darkness
Smoke in the Wind
The Haunted Abbot
Badger’s Moon
Whispers of the Dead
The Leper’s Bell
Master of Souls
A Prayer for the Damned
Dancing with Demons
The Council of the Cursed
The Dove of Death
The Chalice of Blood
Behold a Pale Horse
The Seventh Trumpet
Atonement of Blood
Winter, 670 AD. King Colgú has invited the leading nobles and chieftains of his kingdom to a feast day. The gathering is interrupted by a religieux claiming that he has an important message for the King. Suddenly, the man, shouting ‘Remember Liamuin!’ stabs King Colgú. The assassin is slain but Colgú is on the verge of death.
Who is Liamuin and who is behind the assassination attempt? Colgú’s lawyer sister, Fidelma of Cashel, and her companion, Brother Eadulf are charged with solving the mystery. They must journey into the territory of their arch-enemies, the Uí Fidgente, uncover the evil secrets in the dark, brooding Abbey of Mungairit, and venture into the threatening mountain fastness ruled by a godless tyrant.
Danger and violence are their constant companions until the final devastating revelation …
For Tanya and Marianne in memory of the good guidance of
Cyrille (1899–1970) and Odeyne (1907–66)
Remember the days of our youth
And with fondness recall
Lemon teas in the garden
Those long summers of yore.
Anon
Sister Fidelma
of Cashel, a
dálaigh
or advocate of the law courts of seventh-century Ireland
Brother Eadulf
of Seaxmund’s Ham in the Land of the South Folk, her companion
At Cashel
Colgú,
King of Muman and brother to Fidelma
Finguine,
heir apparent to Colgú
Beccan,
steward of the palace
Áedo,
Chief Brehon of Muman
Aillín,
Deputy Chief Brehon
Caol,
Commander of the Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the King
Gormán,
a warrior of the Nasc Niadh
Enda,
a warrior of the Nasc Niadh
Dar Luga,
airnbertach
or housekeeper of the palace
Brother Conchobhar,
the apothecary
Muirgen,
Fidelma’s nurse
Nessán,
her husband
Aibell,
an escaped bondservant
Ordan
of Rathordan, a merchant
Spelán,
a shepherd
Rumann,
inn-keeper
At Ara’s Well
Aona,
the tavern-keeper
Adag,
his grandson
At the Abbey of Mungairit
Abbot Nannid
Brother Cuineáin,
the steward
Brother Cú-Mara,
of Árd Fearta
Brother Lugna,
the abbey’s horse-master
Brother Ledbán,
an elderly groom
Maolán,
a copyist
By the River An Mháigh
Temnén,
a farmer and former warrior
At the Ford of Oaks
Conrí
, warlord of the Uí Fidgente
Socht
, a warrior
Adamrae (Gláed)
Brother Cronan
Sitae
the inn-keeper
At Dún Eochair Mháigh
Cúana
, steward of the fortress
Ciarnat
, a servant
At the mill of Marban
Marban
, a millwright
Near Rath Menma
Cadan
, a farmer
Flannait
, his wife
Suanach
, an old woman
By the River Ealla
Fidaig
of Sliabh Luachra, chief of the Luachair Deaghaidh
Artgal
, his son
The events in this story follow in chronological sequence those related in
The Seventh Trumpet
. They are set during the month called
Cet Gaimrid
, the start of winter, on the feast day of the Blessed Colmán mac Lénine of Cluain Uamha (Cloyne, County Cork), which in modern calendars is 24 November.
Quia anima carnis in sanguine est et ego dedi illum vobis ut super altare in eo expietis pro animabus vestris et sanguis pro animae piaculo sit.
For the life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.
Leviticus 17:11
Vulgate Latin translation of Jerome 4th century
E
adulf was staring moodily out of the window at the darkening sky above the fortress of Cashel, the stronghold of Colgú, King of Muman. The Kingdom of Muman was the largest and most south-westerly of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann. The air was chill, and all day grey stormclouds had raced across the sky; low and intense, driven by strong and angry winds.
‘It will snow before long,’ he observed, turning to where his companion was seated before a mirror, putting the final touches to the position of a silver circlet which crowned her red-gold hair.
‘Rain is more likely,’ Fidelma replied, continuing to concentrate on her reflection. ‘It is not quite cold enough for snow.’
‘It’s cold enough for me,’ Eadulf muttered with a shiver as he left the window and crossed to where a wood fire was crackling in the hearth. ‘At least, whatever arrives, it should come and go quickly, for the clouds are moving fast with this westerly wind.’
‘It is the month of
Cet Gaimrid
, the start of winter,’ Fidelma pointed out, rising from her seat. ‘What do you expect but cold weather?’ She turned again to regard herself critically in the mirror. ‘Now, tell me truthfully, how do I look?’ She moved her head from side to side in order for him to inspect her.
Eadulf smiled softly. ‘Even more beautiful than the first time I saw you.’
Fidelma pulled a face at him in mock disapproval but she was not displeased with his response. Having finally left the religious, casting aside the robes of brown woollen homespun, she had now donned the clothes that revealed her as a Princess of the Eóghanacht. Eadulf knew that she only put on such fine clothes when there was an important occasion to be observed; this night was such an occasion.
There was a gentle tap on the door, and in response to Fidelma’s invitation it opened to admit a middle-aged woman of ample proportions with greying, untidy hair. Judging from her weathered skin, she was more used to the open air than the enclosure of the palace. She was dressed in comfortable homespun. Clutching her hand was a young child, about three years of age, with a mop of bright red hair and features that resembled Fidelma’s.
‘I thought you would like to say good night to your little one before you go to the feast, lady,’ the nurse, Muirgen, announced.
Fidelma immediately dropped into a crouch and held out her arms.
The boy ran forward to hug his mother. Then he pulled away from her with an anxious frown. ‘
Muimme
says you are going to a feast. Are you going away for a long time? When will you come back?’
Fidelma laughed easily and hugged her son again. ‘We are only going down into the great hall, Alchú. You know where that is. We shall be back after our meal.’
Eadulf tried to conceal the emotion he felt. During the first three years of little Alchú’s life it seemed that they had barely spent any time with the boy. They were always travelling on some errand, either on behalf of Fidelma’s brother, the King, or on behalf of the clergy. Eadulf had seen what effect it had on the child, and he felt that it was time they settled into a more stable way of life. Their son was always nervous when there was any hint of them leaving. Eadulf’s one abiding image of Alchú was of the boy, standing in the cobbled courtyard, clutching at his nurse’s hand and trying not to give way to tears as he watched them ride out from Cashel.
