Atonement of Blood (15 page)

‘Is all well, Gormán?’ Fidelma asked as he entered the ruins of the chapel. She had been preparing a cold meal. ‘You were a long time.’

‘I came upon a she-wolf and her offspring at the far end of the village,’ he told her. ‘I felt it wise not to announce my presence. The animal was watching over her cubs. Anyway, they have gone up the hill now but it would be wise if we made sure the fire was well lit through the night. There is a pack nearby.’

‘A wise precaution,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Did you see anything that might give a clue about the destruction of the village?’

‘So far as I can tell, the whole settlement seemed totally abandoned after its destruction,’ Gormán replied. ‘That is,’ he added, ‘if there was anyone left to abandon it. Either there were some survivors or others came along and tidied away any human remains. It seems that Étain’s rebels from the Glen of Lunatics did a thorough job of destruction.’

‘Well, at least we do not have to worry about them,’ said Eadulf as he stacked more wood on the fire. He had brought in quite a store to last them through the night.

‘Perhaps,’ Gormán said shortly.

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed in interest at his comment. ‘You’d best explain.’

‘I was thinking. The attempt to kill your brother, the King, must surely be an act of vengeance for the defeat of Étain’s rebels and their allies in Osraige. It is unlikely to be connected with a defeat that happened four years ago. On the other hand, it is only a few weeks ago that our armies defeated Étain and stormed Cronán’s fortress at Liath Mór.’

Fidelma regarded the young warrior thoughtfully. ‘An interesting point. But it is only speculation and …’

‘… without information, speculation is a waste of time,’ piped up Eadulf.

Fidelma was about to express her annoyance but then shrugged. ‘I have always said so,’ she acknowledged.

‘But sometimes such thoughts are a logical process,’ protested Gormán.

‘I will not deny it. However, if one acts on speculation only, therein lies a danger. Do not disregard speculation but do not act solely upon it.’

‘Surely that is difficult? For example, if I have chosen a tender joint of meat for my supper and placed it on the table, then I am called away for a moment and on my return I find the meat on the floor and my hound standing over it, it is logical that the hound must be guilty of theft. However, I have not
seen
the hound take the meat from the table. So that is speculation.’

Eadulf chuckled. ‘That is a good example of a legal argument. But as I understand your law, a witness is called
fiadu
, one who “sees”. So what does not take place before the eyes of the witness is irrelevant.’

‘Well done, Eadulf.’ Fidelma smiled in approval. ‘You have obviously read our text, the
Barrad Airechta
, on the law of evidence. It does say that a person can only give evidence as to what they have seen and heard – and that would imply that speculation must be eliminated.’

Eadulf smiled smugly. Over the years that he had been with Fidelma he had tried to learn as much of the laws of her country as he could, spending time among the law texts in the
tech screpta
or libraries.

Fidelma turned thoughtfully to Gormán. ‘However, you have also made a good example, for the law texts admit that indirect evidence can be presented if there are grounds for suspicion. But because your hound is standing by the meat which is on the floor, that cannot be the only grounds for blaming the dog. Were the doors and windows closed in the room where the dog was found with the meat? Was the hound enclosed in the room when you left? Could some other animal have entered and could the hound have chased them off after they had taken the meat and left it on the floor? You see, your speculation must be extended to full capacity. When all other avenues are closed then a judge is allowed to decide if there is only one explanation and accept that as indirect evidence which otherwise would be inadmissible. And yet I would still be unhappy with that decision.’

The young warrior was frowning as he followed her reasoning. ‘Unhappy?’

‘There is still room for error unless there is proof. When speculation has convinced people to condemn another, the truth will remain the truth and it is the truth that must prevail.’ Fidelma gave a sudden yawn. ‘And now, we should eat and then get some rest. If we leave after first light, we will reach the Abbey of Mungairit just after midday.’

They sat before the fire and consumed bread, cheese, some cold meats and an apple, all washed down with cold spring water. As frugal as it was, the meal tasted good after their long journey. Eadulf banked the fire again.

‘Do we need to keep a watch?’ asked Gormán.

‘It is not necessary,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Just so long as we do not let the fire go out. Although I doubt whether the wolves will bother us.’

Her sentence was curiously punctuated by the distant howling of the animals on the hillside. It started with a solitary cry from what could only be the leader of the pack; this, after a moment or two, was joined by others. The whole chorus was eerie, rising gradually to a crescendo, until the wolf-pack fell silent.

Eadulf shivered a little. A nearby sound caused him to start nervously before he realised it was only the mournful call of an owl, perched on the ruined wall above him. He found Fidelma trying to hide her amusement, pulled a face at her, and turned to find a comfortable spot for a bed.

It seemed that he had barely stretched out on his cloak in the corner of the ruined chapel than his eyes opened to the cold grey light of morning. He blinked and sat up. The fire was no longer blazing but a plume of smoke was rising where Gormán had placed some dew-dampened wood on it in an attempt to rekindle it. The young warrior was kneeling by the side of the fire, poking at it. Beside him, Fidelma was stirring. Eadulf rose to his feet, stretched and smothered a yawn.

He was about to make a remark to Gormán when the whinny of a horse outside stayed him. The young warrior came quickly to his feet, head to one side in a listening attitude. Fidelma also jumped up, exchanging a glance with Gormán. To most people, one horse sounds much like another. But to someone who has spent their life with horses, there is an ability to detect differences as another might observe the contrast in the sound of people’s voices.

It was at that moment when a harsh voice called from outside of their makeshift compound.

‘Come on out, strangers! And if you have weapons, discard them. I have bowmen here, and their arrows are strung and ready. If we see a sign of any weapon, you will have seen your last dawn.’

‘P
ut down your weapon, Gormán,’ Fidelma ordered quietly as she saw the warrior clutch the hilt of his sword in automatic reaction. ‘We have no reason to suppose whoever is outside is not speaking the truth.’

Gormán slowly drew his sword and placed it on the ground. Fidelma then went to the doorway and pulled aside the temporary barricade they had erected to protect themselves from stray animals during the night.

‘We are coming out – unarmed,’ she called.

‘Come forth, then,’ invited the grating voice.

She glanced over her shoulder at Eadulf and Gormán. ‘Do nothing foolish until we see who summons us in this fashion.’ Then she turned and took a step outside.

The man who had summoned them had not been lying. Five men sat on their horses forming a semi-circle before the ruined chapel. Those at either end of this semi-circle had bows strung with arrows aimed. Two others had their swords ready while only the central figure sat at his ease on his horse without a weapon in his hand.

Fidelma automatically noted that once this man might have been handsome. He was tall, muscular, with a shock of sandy-coloured curly hair and a beard to match. However, his face was disfigured by a scar that caused a white welt from his forehead diagonally across his left eye, nose and cheek. It was not clear whether the eye was blind but it was certainly a pale, opaque colour compared to the restless blue orb that was its companion. He stared at them almost with disinterest. There was no way of telling whether he was smiling or not, for the thick beard hid all his lower features.

‘Well, now, what have we here?’ he muttered as Fidelma, followed by Eadulf and Gormán, appeared through the doorway. ‘A warrior.’ The glance fell on Gormán’s empty scabbard. ‘You were wise to abandon your sword, warrior. Now raise your hands just in case you are tempted to seek the knife I see still in your belt. Quickly!’

Keeping a rein on his anger, Gormán did as he was bid.

The man nodded approvingly. ‘Bowmen, keep a watch on that one. He wears a golden circlet around his neck. You know what that means? He is a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the Golden Collar, who regard themselves as élite champions. They don’t surrender easily and are full of tricks. If he even moves a finger to scratch his nose, loose your arrows.’

Fidelma took a step forward.

‘If you recognise a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of your King, you know that you trespass on dangerous ground, whoever you are. Name yourself!’

This time there was no doubting that the sandy-bearded warrior was laughing, as a deep throaty sound issued from where the beard hid his mouth. He then focused his gaze down on Fidelma.

‘I have no wish to name myself,’ he replied evenly. ‘I am the captor and, in case you have missed it, you are the captives. Now, who are you that travel in the company of a foreign religious and a warrior of the Golden Collar?’

Fidelma thrust out her jaw pugnaciously. ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to your King, Colgú.’

‘Not my King, woman,’ replied the man, as if amused. ‘And if you are Fidelma of Cashel, why do you sport clothes of this fashion. It is well known that Colgú’s sister went into religious service. Does not everyone talk of Sister Fidelma?’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘So might they. But since you know so much, you may know that I have left the religious and pursue my rôle as
dálaigh
, an advocate at my brother’s court.’

The sandy-haired leader grunted indifferently and glanced at Eadulf.

‘So who is the foreigner?’

‘I am able to speak for myself,’ Eadulf snapped. ‘I am Eadulf of Saxmund’s Ham in the Land of the South Folk, among the Angles.’

‘There is a sound of arrogance in your voice, Saxon,’ sneered the man.

‘I am an Angle,’ replied Eadulf.

‘Angle or Saxon – what matters? You are a foreigner.’

‘And now you know who we are, I suggest you identify yourself,’ Fidelma said again, to show she would not be intimidated.

The man turned his gaze on her for a moment and then said, ‘I see no reason to do so.’ He addressed one of his companions. ‘These folk have no use for their horses. Turn them loose.’

With a grin at his leader, the man trotted off to the makeshift paddock where Gormán had left their horses. A few moments later came the sound of shouting and the thud of hooves on the soft ground. Then the man returned.

‘In more arduous times,’ the leader of the group addressed them languidly, ‘we might have had need of your horses. But we can dispense with them.’

Once again he signalled to his two immediate companions who, leaving the others with their arrows still strung and threatening, dismounted swords in hand and moved towards the captives.

‘This can either be done easily without the shedding of blood, or the harder way which will cause you much suffering,’ the leader called.

‘What is it that you want?’ Fidelma demanded suspiciously.

‘Only that which is valuable,’ replied the man. ‘We will take your belongings and leave.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You are just thieves? Robbers?’

‘Were you expecting that we were warriors with some lofty purpose in mind?’ The sandy-haired man laughed in amusement. ‘I regret that I have disappointed you. Alas, I am no more than a simple brigand who would relieve you of the burden of carrying such items as the golden torque that your friend of the Golden Collar wears around his neck.’

Even as he said this, his two men began to search Gormán at swordpoint, removing his dagger that he wore at his belt, the gold circlet showing his rank, a ring from his finger and a few other trinkets. Then they moved on to Eadulf, taking the silver crucifix he wore and a few other items of value including the silver seal that Brother Conchobhar had given him.

Fidelma glared at the leader of the brigands. ‘You may regret this day,’ she said fiercely.

The man made a bored gesture with his hand. ‘Indeed, I may. But “may” is a word of uncertainty. I may regret it and I may not. That is something only the future and soothsayers can tell.’

While the arrows unwaveringly covered them, the two men searched Fidelma with professional detachment, removing her jewellery and the smaller version of the golden circlet she wore at her neck. In her
marsupium
they also discovered a small wand of white rowan wood on which was fixed a figurine in gold. It was the image of an antlered stag, the emblem of Fidelma’s authority when acting for her brother. They added this to their store of booty while Fidelma and her companions looked on powerlessly. When they had finished collecting the spoils, one of the men packed the loot into a bag and tied it to his saddle while the other went into the ruined chapel and apparently searched the belongings they had left there. He came out after a few moments, holding Gormán’s sword which he handed to the leader. The sandy-haired man glanced at it, weighed it in his hand and muttered approval.