Atonement of Blood (11 page)

‘Not at all,’ Fidelma replied, much to his surprise. ‘Our task has only just started. I told you that I do not believe in coincidences. Now we must find out more about Liamuin.’

D
arkness had already fallen that early winter afternoon by the time six solemn-faced people gathered in a circle of chairs in the small council chamber of the King’s palace. Finguine, the heir apparent to Colgú, assumed the chair of office in the absence of the King. By his side sat Brehon Aillín, acting Chief Brehon since the death of Brehon Áedo. Caol, the commander of the élite warriors of the Golden Collar and bodyguards to the King, sat next to him. On the other side of the circle sat Beccan, the King’s steward. The only person missing from the King’s intimate council was Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, as senior prelate of the kingdom. A messenger had been despatched to advise him of the attack on the King. Fidelma and Eadulf had been invited to join the council. The lamps had been lit and the attendants had withdrawn.

The members of the council listened in silence to what Fidelma had to report. As if by unspoken consent it was Brehon Aillín who was the first to question her when she had finished.

‘So you believe that this girl, Aibell, is who she claims to be?’

‘It would seem so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But we are faced with accepting two improbable coincidences, and I say that we must take them both into consideration. We found her in the hut where, a short time before she arrived, the assassin changed his clothing, and near where he tethered his horse. Then there is the fact that her mother, who disappeared four years ago after the Battle of Cnoc Áine, was called Liamuin.’

Brehon Aillín made a wry grimace. ‘We should bear in mind what Cicero said:
vitam regit fortuna non sapienta
– it is chance, not wisdom, that governs human life. So chance – coincidence, call it what you will – does have a part to play and is often dismissed when it should be accepted.’

‘I will grant you that, Aillín,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘In this instance, however, we cannot rely on accepting chance to make a decision about the involvement of the girl. We need evidence.’

‘The evidence you already have may be circumstantial but it is still evidence,’ replied Brehon Aillín.

‘Do we not have an old saying “better ‘it is’ than ‘it may be so’,” Brehon Aillín?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Of course, of course,’ interrupted Finguine impatiently. ‘Suspicion is no substitute for fact, but how do we set about establishing what the facts are?’

There was a silence and then Brehon Aillín spoke again.

‘I am sure the young
dálaigh
has some suggestions.’ He looked at Fidelma as he spoke, his words deliberately placing emphasis on her age and legal status. He had not forgotten that a few months before, Fidelma had presented herself to the Council of Brehons of Muman as a candidate to replace the Chief Brehon Baithen, who had died from old age and infirmity. The council, however, had chosen Brehon Áedo as Chief Brehon and, as his deputy, the conservative Brehon Aillín.

It was Beccan, the steward and controller of the King’s household, who replied. ‘Sister Fidelma …’ He paused and smiled apologetically at her. ‘The lady Fidelma as she chooses to be known now, although to most of us she will remain as Sister Fidelma … the lady Fidelma has served both the law and the Eóghanacht well. I think her views and suggestions are well worth our careful attention.’

Brehon Aillín flushed. ‘I would not suggest otherwise, Beccan.’

‘Nor would I have misinterpreted you would do so.’ The steward bowed his head towards the Brehon as if to disguise his sarcasm. ‘I merely emphasise that her view is of importance to us.’

Finguine turned to his cousin, anxious to avoid an argument. ‘You have some suggestions as to how we should proceed, Fidelma?’

Fidelma acknowledged his intervention. ‘We have some clues as to who the assassin was. Each piece of information must be followed and examined.’

‘And these pieces of information are … ?’ Brehon Aillín enquired, in a patronising manner.

‘Firstly, the assassin introduced himself as Brother Lennán of Mungairit. Now, I suspect that his name was
not
Brother Lennán. Perhaps he did not even come from Mungairit. Nevertheless, this must be verified or excluded. Secondly, we were able to confirm that he had changed his clothes before arriving at the palace to attempt his assassination. He rode a good horse, but did not appear to be a warrior, and this evidence leads us to the conclusion that he was a scholar of some description. More importantly, his leather saddle-bag was scored with the sword and serpent symbol of the Uí Fidgente.’

They each nodded in silence as if concurring with the points she made.

‘We found the assassin’s horse left in Della’s paddock and his clothes stored nearby in a woodman’s hut. In that same hut we found the girl, Aibell. Now, according to Aibell, she had run away from the mistreatment of Fidaig of Luachra, and eventually found her way to the Suir where she was given a ride to Cashel. She arrived here just before dawn. A shepherd then suggested the hut to her as a place where she could spend a few hours in the dry and get some rest. Both the driver of the wagon who brought her here and the shepherd who suggested the hut give testimony to the truth of this statement.’

Fidelma paused for a moment. ‘On that basis, we can accept the girl’s statement. However, Aibell also says that she is originally from Dún Eochair Mháigh, the chief fortress of the princes of the Uí Fidgente. She says that her father was a simple fisherman on the River An Mháigh, a man called Escmug who, she claims, was a depraved person and sold her as a bondservant to Fidaig of the Luachra even though she had reached the age of maturity.’

Brehon Aillín could not help interrupting with a sniff. ‘That is unlikely. Even among the Uí Fidgente such a transaction is against the law.’

‘Nevertheless, this is what is claimed. Now, given the fact that our assassin has a saddle-bag with the brand of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and the girl originally comes from the chief fortress of those people, we have another strange coincidence that is worth pondering on. It may well be just another coincidence – but we must gather more facts.’

Finguine sat back with a frown. ‘You have a proposal as to how those facts may be gathered? I presume you mean to question the girl further?’

Brehon Aillín said deprecatingly, ‘If she has lied already, she will lie again.’

‘That is not what I propose,’ Fidelma said hurriedly. ‘I am afraid there is only one way to gather the evidence that might or might not confirm these matters.’

It was Caol, speaking for the first time, who understood her intent.

‘You propose to go to the country of the Uí Fidgente and see if you can obtain this information?’

Brehon Aillín pursed his thin lips in disapproval. ‘The land of the Uí Fidgente is dangerous to one of your blood, especially after your brother defeated the rebellion of Eoganán at Cnoc Áine.’

‘You may recall that Brother Eadulf and I spent some time among the Uí Fidgente when we went to the Abbey of Ard Fhearta,’ Fidelma said.

‘As I recall,’ Brehon Aillín responded in a pedantic tone, ‘you went there at the invitation and under the personal protection of Conrí the son of Conmáel, the warlord of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘That is true,’ Finguine agreed. ‘But since then there has been much disturbance in that country.’

‘Disturbance?’ Fidelma’s tone was dismissive. ‘That was mainly due to the fanaticism of Étain of An Dún and nothing to do with the Uí Fidgente. Even though they are reluctant to accept the rule of Cashel, Prince Donennach has made a peace with us and has kept to it.’

Finguine seemed to be struggling with the proposition. ‘Do you think that such a journey is the only way to resolve this matter?’

‘The corpse will not reveal any more information,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And if Aibell is lying, then she is quite proficient in her lies. Her story of her arrival is supported by two independent witnesses. Yes, I think there is more to be discovered – and the means of doing so is not, sadly, in Cashel.’

Finguine suddenly turned to Eadulf, who had been sitting silently at Fidelma’s side.

‘You do not speak, friend Eadulf. What have you to say in this matter?’

Eadulf stirred himself. ‘I do not speak out of respect to this assembly for it is not my right, being a stranger in this kingdom.’

‘Nonsense!’ Finguine almost snapped the word. ‘You are no longer a
cú glass
, an exile from over the sea. When you married our cousin you were accepted as a
deorad Dé
, an exile of God, with an honour price in your own right. Colgú the King has always respected your advice. So do I, and now I ask for your opinion on this matter.’

Caol muttered something in support and even Beccan nodded assent.

‘Very well.’ Eadulf learned forward slightly in his seat. ‘I think you will all agree that since my partnership with Fidelma, we have spent longer away from Cashel than in its vicinity. You may also know that it has been my preference to stay in one place long enough to see our son, Alchú, grow to the age for what you call
áilemain
, the act of education. Personally, I would prefer to be the boy’s teacher myself, but this I know is not your way.’

Brehon Aillín seemed to suppress a snort. ‘I fail to see how this is answering the question of the
tánaiste
, the heir apparent.’

‘I preface my remarks in order that you will know that I am not responding lightly,’ replied Eadulf, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Continue,’ Finguine ordered, casting a frown at the Brehon.

‘I have said what I have said so that you will know that my preference would be for Fidelma and me to stay here to look after the wants of our son. However, in this case, the only logical path to discovering who is behind the attempted murder of Colgú and the death of the Chief Brehon, is to follow what little information has been given to us. That is the path Fidelma has outlined to you. If there is any other way we can proceed, then let me hear it now.’

There was a silence among the gathering. It was finally broken by Brehon Aillín. ‘This opinion contains a rather arrogant presumption.’

Fidelma’s head came up quickly. There was a dangerous look in her eyes.

‘I was responding to a question,’ Eadulf said quietly. ‘I fail to see the arrogance in my response.’

‘Perhaps “arrogance” is too strong a term,’ Brehon Aillín replied with a thin smile. ‘And yet the opinion you express is that only you and the lady Fidelma would be fit to take on the task of investigating this matter among the Uí Fidgente.’

Eadulf witnessed the stormclouds gather on Fidelma’s features and put his hand on her arm.

Finguine also noticed, for he said immediately: ‘You are quite right, Brehon Aillín. You do well to remind us that you are senior in this matter.’

Fidelma noticed there was a twinkle in her cousin’s blue eyes as he brushed his Eóghanacht red hair away from his forehead.

‘As the senior Brehon, Aillín himself might want to take on this task of riding into the country of the Uí Fidgente to discover what more can be found out,’ explained Finguine.

The heir apparent’s voice sounded innocent enough, but Fidelma was sure he was inwardly laughing at the crusty old judge, whose features had whitened considerably at the suggestion.

‘It would be an honour to undertake this task,’ Brehon Aillín stuttered a little. ‘Of course, I could do so … But – but I am now acting Chief Brehon following the death of poor Brehon Áedo.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘It is therefore my duty to remain in Cashel as your adviser, Finguine, until the King returns to health. Perhaps a more junior
dálaigh
would be capable of gathering what additional evidence there is to be garnered?’

‘Naturally,’ agreed Finguine solemnly. ‘And since Fidelma has investigated thus far, and with some notable success, I would suggest that she continues to fulfil this task.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘And in accepting it, I suggest that our friend Eadulf be at your side as always.’

Fidelma bowed her head so that her amusement was not seen by Brehon Aillín.

‘I will carry out the wishes of my cousin, the
tánaiste
,’ she forced a sombre note in her voice. ‘And I am sure that Eadulf, in spite of his stated reluctance,’ she glanced meaningfully at the old judge, ‘will be happy to accompany me.’

‘But you cannot go into the country of the Uí Fidgente alone.’ It was Caol who protested. The commander of the élite warriors of Cashel turned anxiously towards Finguine. ‘They must be accompanied by a bodyguard of warriors.’

But Fidelma was already protesting. ‘If we go into the country of the Uí Fidgente with a company of warriors, we will be asking for trouble. There is peace between Prince Donennach and Cashel. Armed warriors riding into his territory will be seen as a sign of aggression. Best go there as what we are – two people who travel in peace.’

‘We cannot trust the Uí Fidgente,’ Caol said obstinately. ‘I have fought against them at Cnoc Áine, and I am responsible for your safety as a Princess of the Eóghanacht. Remember that Abbot Nannid of Mungairit is the uncle of Prince Donennach. I cannot allow …’