Atonement of Blood (26 page)

Conrí was perplexed. ‘I have not heard of any group of brigands strong enough to attack my fortress, and my warriors guard the merchants crossing through this territory.’

‘I presume that the only other major fortress near here is Dún Eochair Mháigh?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Is there a large force guarding it?’

‘Less than a score of men, I believe. There is little need of warriors to guard it when …’ Conrí paused.

‘… when Prince Donennach is in Tara with his personal entourage to have discussions with the High King,’ Fidelma ended softly.

Eadulf considered the matter. ‘When Prince Donennach succeeded after Eoganán was killed at Cnoc Áine, after Donennach made the initial peace treaty with Cashel, was everyone happy with that choice?’ he asked.

Conrí gave a slight shrug. ‘Of course not. Many thought the Uí Fidgente should have fought on to avenge the dishonour of their defeat.’

‘But you were not one of them?’

Conrí flushed. ‘I was not. After the defeat we had been occupied by the warriors of Cashel for months. We suffered much for the mistakes of Prince Eoganán. True, that created resentment among many. But others, like myself, believed it was wrong to try to take by force what was clearly a matter to be resolved among the Brehons of all the Five Kingdoms. The Brehons found the claim of Eoganán invalid. I stood by their decision.’

‘Then let me put out this thought to you,’ Fidelma said. ‘We know that Prince Donennach has left the territory to visit Tara and pay his respects to the High King. Would he have taken most of his loyal advisers with him?’

‘I remain to guard the peace of the territory,’ Conrí replied defensively.

‘What of his
tanaiste
, his heir apparent?’

‘Ercc? He is a loyal man and accompanies Donennach to Tara.’

‘Isn’t it curious that both the Prince and his heir apparent have left the territory?’ Fidelma observed pointedly.

‘It was on the advice of Donennach’s Brehon – Brehon Uallach.’

Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘I can’t recall him.’

‘He has not been at Donennach’s court for long. Uallach succeeded as the Prince’s Brehon, when his former adviser, the one who helped Donennach negotiate the peace with Cashel, died in a hunting accident.’

‘What reason did Uallach give for both Prince and heir apparent to leave their territory to go to the High King?’

‘After the visit to the High King, the party were to call on your brother in Cashel to negotiate the new treaty. To do so, both Donennach and Ercc had to be present and in accord.’

‘And Brehon Uallach also accompanies them?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yet it is a weak legal reason, for a Prince can agree a treaty without the presence of his heir apparent. Is Uallach trustworthy?’

‘His advice was accepted as sound and lawful. Are you making some accusation against Uallach?’

‘When did Donennach leave for Tara?’

‘The party left about a week ago.’

Fidelma inclined her head pensively. ‘So you are the only person who would protect the territory, should there be any manifestation of dissension?’

Conrí’s eyes narrowed angrily. ‘I hope you are not impugning my loyalty … ?’

‘What I am saying is that this is an ideal time for anyone who wishes to overthrow Donennach, while he and his advisers are out of the kingdom! Perhaps this might be a reason for Adamrae’s strange behaviour here.’

‘A plot to overthrow Donennach? But why here? The conspirators would surely try to seize control of his fortress at Dún Eochair Mháigh,’ Socht argued.

Conrí was thinking rapidly. ‘If there is danger in this land, we had best be near the centre of it. We should ride to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

Grey fingers of light were appearing over the eastern treetops when Eadulf and Fidelma made their way down to the main hall after a fitful night’s sleep. Conrí and Socht were already at the table which had been laid for the first meal of the day. However, they saw that Conrí had been talking to two warriors who were just leaving the hall when they came in.

‘It seems that an early morning search has found Lachtine, our apothecary,’ Conrí greeted them sombrely. ‘You were right, lady.’

‘Dead, I presume?’ she said quietly.

‘Dead,’ confirmed Conrí, gesturing for them to be seated.

‘Where was he found?’

‘Not far away. He was almost buried in a manure stack at the back of the chapel. It just so happened that one of the searchers we sent out this morning was passing into the forest that way and saw a hand sticking out of the stack. The apothecary had been stabbed twice in the chest.’

Fidelma grimaced sadly. ‘I did not expect miracles,’ she sighed. ‘This Adamrae seems a ruthless man in pursuit of his purpose.’

‘And you think his purpose is to overthrow Donennach?’

‘It would be the logical conclusion – except for one point.’

They all turned and looked at her in surprise.

‘But you said last night …’ began Conrí.

‘Oh, I made a speculation last night. I still think that speculation has to be followed. But if Adamrae’s purpose was to claim to be Prince of the Uí Fidgente, then he would surely be known to people here. To you, for example. He would have to be kin to Prince Donennach and his family, even as Donennach was cousin to Eoganán. He would be recognised even with the disguise he assumed.’

Conrí saw the point immediately. Succession of a noble to office had to be approved by a gathering of the
derbhfine
of a family, usually no more than three generations of the family of the last approved chieftain, petty king, or even High King. Therefore, one claiming the office had not only to be of the bloodline but approved by the electoral college called the
derbhfine
. In ideal circumstances this ensured that the most worthy member of the family held the office and that no one usurped it; thus inheritance by the eldest son or daughter was almost excluded.

‘You mean,’ Conrí said after a while, ‘we should consider which members of Donennach’s family are conspiring against him?’

‘It would be one way of approaching things,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Well, then there are several people to consider. I know a farmer who is a cousin and even the master of the stables at Mungairit is a cousin to Prince Donennach,’ observed Socht cynically.

Conrí suddenly chuckled. ‘Not a likely choice of succession. Twenty years or more working in the stables of an abbey suddenly to be elevated to Prince of the Uí Fidgente is too far-fetched. I, too, must be a prime suspect. I am also a cousin, albeit distant. How else could I have become warlord of the Uí Fidgente?’

‘I had forgotten the obvious, Conrí,’ Fidelma sighed.

‘That is unlike you, lady,’ replied Conrí, amused. ‘But I am afraid you would have too many suspects to contend with if you are looking just for relatives of Eoganán. Even old Abbot Nannid is uncle to Donennach. The descendants of the Uí Fidgente Princes are many, lady.’

‘However, you have made me recall another obvious thing that you said yesterday.’

‘Which was?’

‘You pointed out that the Ford of Oaks is a crossing which many merchants often use.’

‘That is so. Further along the track to the west is a large inn that caters for the merchants; they can rest there and keep their wagons and animals safe. You are returning to the idea that Adamrae was a brigand, planning a raid on the merchants who pass through here?’

‘I had almost forgotten the visits he made to the inn.’ Fidelma turned to Socht. ‘You did say that Adamrae visited it several times?’

‘I did. The inn is run by Sitae.’

‘Then let us go and speak with the inn-keeper.’

‘I’ll take you there,’ Conrí offered. ‘It is just a short walk.’

The square was now bustling with people, some of whom saluted Conrí in elaborate fashion while others passed with a nod or courteous greeting.

Conrí was correct in that the inn of Sitae was just a short walk along the roadway to the edge of the settlement. It was a fairly large construction with a paddock in which several horses were enclosed – strong muscular beasts better suited to pulling wagons rather than carrying warriors or nobles. There was also an area in which a number of wagons were parked, many of them with a canvas cloth, called a
bréit
, covering them to protect whatever goods they held. Outside the building was a pole on which an unlit lantern hung. It was the duty of the inn-keeper to light this when darkness fell so that travellers could recognise the place as an inn.

Conrí led the way to the main doors, but before they reached them, the doors were flung open and a short, portly man with unkempt white hair and flushed features seemed to bounce out to greet them. He was light on his feet and his movements were almost comically dramatic. To imagine him in any other role than mine host would be hard.

‘This is Sitae the inn-keeper,’ Conrí announced as the man approached them.

‘My lord, welcome; my lady, welcome, welcome.’ He almost made obeisance to Fidelma, bobbing up and down as he spoke. Obviously the news of her arrival in the settlement had spread. ‘But why are you on foot? The road is muddy after the rains yesterday and you will ruin your pretty shoes. Come in, come into the dry, I entreat you.’

Like a mother hen, the inn-keeper seemed to cluck as he marshalled them to enter his establishment and bade them be seated before a fire. Fidelma felt an overpowering impulse to tell him to stay still, for the man, in addition to moving his head up and down, had a disconcerting habit of stepping from side to side with tiny little movements as if performing some curious dance.

‘I have heard about the finding of Lachtine our apothecary, and the flight of Brother Adamrae,’ the inn-keeper began, glancing nervously towards Fidelma and her companions as they settled themselves.

‘I am told that during the past few days, Brother Adamrae frequented this inn,’ Fidelma said, once they had settled themselves. ‘Why was that?’

The inn-keeper spread his hands apologetically. ‘To explain, I must first tell a long and curious story.’

‘Then the sooner you proceed, the sooner we will hear the story,’ replied Conrí with an air of resignation.

‘It was a peculiar story that Lachtine told me some time ago.’

‘Go on,’ Fidelma prompted impatiently.

‘Well,’ the inn-keeper grew confidential. ‘It was a month or so ago when Lachtine came in, all breathless-like, and told me that he had seen something very singular in the forest. He was there gathering herbs, which he often did, when he witnessed a meeting in a glade. He saw two men – one was in religious robes. However, they both rode good horses, which is not usual among the religious. One was a thickset man, that was the religieux, and the other was a younger man. Lachtine said he thought the thickset man had a humped back, but it turned out he was carrying a sack on his back under his cloak. It was obviously heavy, as when he handed the sack to the younger man, he dropped it. It fell to the ground and the sack split open – whereupon the elder shouted at him to be careful; that it was a sacred object. Well, it did not look like any religious object known to Lachtine, although it was made of some sort of metal. He said it was more like an image of some animal, so far as he could see.’

‘And what was Lachtine doing all the time this exchange was taking place?’ asked Conrí. ‘Why was he not spotted by these two men?’

‘He had been crouching behind a bush gathering some herbs and remained so because of the curious way the men were behaving.’

‘What was this animal that they dropped?’

‘He could not see too well from where he was concealed. It might have been a dog. The elder man dismounted and examined it. Satisfied that it had sustained no damage, he handed it to the younger man. Then he said something to the effect that he had to go, but that he would leave it to the younger one to hand it to the merchant. No names were mentioned and the reference was just to “the merchant”. The younger man said that the merchant was due to be at the very spot shortly so the elderly man mounted and rode off.

‘Lachtine decided to remain hidden and time passed while the young man sat in the glade, apparently growing impatient. But, sure enough, eventually, a heavy wagon rolled along the forest track. The young man handed the bundle to the driver of the wagon and said, in curt fashion, “Remember, the best work must be done on it” and then the wagon rolled on. The younger man then rode off. Realising that he had spent too much time in the glade, Lachtine rose to come back to the Ford of the Oaks. He was trotting along the track towards the settlement when he encountered a group of local farmers and stayed to talk. It was just then that a horseman came trotting by. It was the young man he had seen in the glade. He did not pause but Lachtine felt that he had stared especially at him as he rode by.’

‘This story is a curious one and makes no sense,’ muttered Conrí. ‘What is its relevance to Adamrae?’

‘I will explain,’ the inn-keeper said hastily. ‘Lachtine recognised the man with the wagon as a merchant who frequently passes by here.’

‘And you are going to tell us who that was?’ Fidelma asked patiently.

‘Of course. It was Ordan of Rathordan.’

There was a silence in which Fidelma could not help exchanging a quick glance with Eadulf.

‘I presume that you know Ordan?’ Sitae went on, noticing the look.

‘Rathordan is next to Cashel,’ Gormán answered for her. ‘So yes, we know him.’

‘And how does this answer my question of why did Brother Adamrae visit this inn so frequently?’ asked Fidelma.

Sitae smiled as if he was about to produce some wonderful object to tempt them.

‘Adamrae first came to my inn five days ago and asked after Ordan. He paid me to keep the matter between us but said that he had business with Ordan and must be told the moment he came here.’

‘Why have you decided to tell us now?’ asked Conrí. ‘Adamrae has been here five days.’

‘Because of the news of Lachtine’s death.’

‘Please explain.’

‘Brother Adamrae was the young man whom Lachtine saw in the forest.’

‘Did Lachtine tell you this?’

‘It is my own conclusion. It was on that first day that Brother Adamrae arrived here and came into the inn to ask about Ordan. While he was here, Lachtine came in. They did not speak, but I had the strange feeling the two men recognised one another.’