Atonement of Blood (43 page)

‘Is it such nonsense?’ Fidelma said coolly. ‘The attempt to assassinate my brother, the confusion that would be created, the fact that Prince Donennach was away visiting the High King in Tara and being advised to take most of his loyal advisers with him, with the exception of Conrí, his warlord … presented the ideal opportunity.’

Some suspicious looks were cast towards Conrí by those surrounding him. Brother Cuineáin was quick to seize on the idea.

‘So why was Conrí left behind, to ensure all was peaceful during the Prince’s absence?’ he demanded. ‘It was a perfect position to be in if he was one of the conspirators. He is a Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

Conrí flushed angrily. ‘Are you accusing … ?’

Fidelma held up her hand to still the inevitable outburst. ‘Things were coming together for the person who had probably begun plotting this when he left the bloody field of Cnoc Áine.’

‘I did not fight at Cnoc Áine, as you know,’ snapped Conrí.

Brother Cuineáin glowered at Fidelma. ‘This sounds like fairytales spun for the entertainment of children. You will have to do better than simply speculate that someone in this abbey is orchestrating this so-called conspiracy.

‘Only someone of the ruling family of the Uí Fidgente could make such a claim to re-animate our people to rise up once more,’ Brother Cuineáin said nastily.

‘Suanach has already told us who that person is.’ Fidelma spoke casually but the effect was gratifying. Astonished faces were turned towards her. She paused a moment and then resumed. ‘Let me show you the way forward. Remember that Suanach was the sole survivor of the attack on Menma’s rath.’

‘But you say that this survivor saw only what she was meant to see and spread the word that this unknown Cashel warrior led the attack,’ pointed out Marban. ‘She did not even identify him correctly, for she described the shield whose emblem was that of your brother.’

‘All true,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘Except that you have forgotten the most important part. She added something else.’

They waited patiently while Fidelma relished the dramatic pause she had often practised in pleading cases for a Brehon. However, Eadulf spoiled it.

‘She was able to describe how Liamuin was killed,’ he intervened excitedly. ‘Liamuin apparently picked up an axe to defend herself as the warrior rode towards her. As he lunged at her, she swung the axe and knocked the sword from his hand. She wounded him so that the blood flowed from his wrist. Liamuin was then shot by the warrior’s companions – killed by two arrows.’

Fidelma glanced in approval at Eadulf. ‘Such a wound would have left a scar on the man’s sword wrist,’ she added. ‘Even weakened it.’

Gormán turned quickly to Brother Cuineáin, whose face now had a pallid tinge. He began to back away from the young warrior.

‘You have all seen how he is constantly massaging his right wrist with his other hand,’ Gormán said in ringing tones. ‘When we were here days ago, he dropped a beaker because he was unable to hold it. It was the same when he nearly dropped the lantern a moment ago.’

Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘I suspect that Brother Cuineáin did enter this abbey after the defeat at Cnoc Áine not to escape attention but because he was steward to Prince Eoganán. I think he is actually Codlata from the Ford of Flagstones.’

‘I did not know Codlata,’ Conrí said, staring in curiosity at the man. ‘His relationship was distant to that of my family.’ He moved towards the steward, hand on the hilt of his dagger. It was Eadulf who intervened.

‘It is not a wound that causes Brother Cuineáin’s hand to shake. It is what you call
crithlam
– a palsy. It is just as he said – he suffers from some strange ague that causes the hand to be weak and to shake uncontrollably.’

The warlord stepped back, blinking. He turned to Fidelma for guidance, then glanced towards Abbot Nannid.

‘If he is Codlata, then Abbot Nannid must have known him.’

‘One’s relations are not proof of guilt,’ blustered the abbot. ‘I gave sanctuary to Codlata and will maintain it. He was only administrator to Prince Eoganán.’

‘You are at liberty to do so,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘That is, unless Codlata or Brother Cuineáin, as he is now called, is proved guilty of some crime.’

She had been looking at Abbot Nannid as she spoke. As if in answer, the abbot drew back the sleeves of his robe, showing that he had no blemishes on his wrists. He stared back at her in silent challenge.

‘I was not about to accuse you, Abbot Nannid,’ she told him, ‘although, of course, you are Prince Donennach’s uncle and also of the bloodline. It seems this abbey has become home to several Uí Fidgente nobles. No, it is the man Suanach described that I want.’ Then, turning quickly: ‘And you have a scar on your right wrist, don’t you, Brother Lugna?’

The stable-master started in bewilderment. ‘Yes, I do. Everyone knows it. You saw it when you were here before. A horse bit me years ago. It was an accident, I told you.’

‘Brother Lugna has served this abbey for many years as my stable-master,’ Abbot Nannid said irritably. ‘He entered the abbey when he was seventeen years old, many years before Prince Eoganán started his war against Cashel. Brother Lugna was renowned for his piety and devotion to the abbey as well as his love of horses. He never wanted anything to do with his father’s claims nor did he have sympathy with his brothers Torcán and Lorcán. Why would he suddenly want to lead such a conspiracy, and claim power after all these years?’

Fidelma was aware of the looks of doubt on the faces of her companions.

‘People do change with experience,’ she conceded. ‘When Brother Cú-Mara was here a few days ago, he mentioned that he had noticed a change in Brother Lugna’s attitudes after Cnoc Áine.’

‘Brother Lugna is a man of great piety,’ insisted the abbot.

‘Indeed he
was
,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘His brother Lorcán was not. Perhaps it is time for you to speak as yourself, Lorcán!’ She added the last sentence sharply, wheeling round on the man.

In the silence that followed, Temnén was shaking his head. ‘No, no, no, lady. Lorcán was killed. Everyone knows that. It was Uisnech who killed him.’

‘I am afraid not. Lorcán killed his twin brother, Lugna, so that he could take his place as stable-master in this abbey. You, Temnén, were not alone in remarking how alike the brothers were physically but how unalike in temperament. Brother Cú-Mara, who had known Lugna for some years before Cnoc Áine, noticed a subtle change in the stable-master’s temperament. But everyone was willing to agree that attitudes had changed after that great defeat.’

‘But I have known Brother Lugna for … This is impossible!’ stammered Abbot Nannid. ‘I also knew Lorcán. He was not only a son of Prince Eoganán but one of his chief commanders. Speak up, Lugna.’

‘What better way of hiding, after the defeat, than in full view of everyone, passing as his own twin brother? People see what they expect to see,’ Fidelma said. ‘Lorcán’s twin brother was renowned for his lack of interest in Uí Fidgente pretensions, and for his piety and goodwill, having served a long time in the abbey. What a perfect disguise!’

‘But to kill his own brother and switch identities …’ Conrí was shaking his head in disbelief.

‘There is an easy way to get confirmation,’ Eadulf murmured. ‘Any competent apothecary or physician can tell the difference between the scar left by an axe and the bite of a horse.’

Brother Lugna, who had remained silent the whole time, went to move forward, as if to extend his arm for inspection, but then he suddenly turned and made a grab for Gormán’s sword, his placid features twisted in anger. Gormán was quicker and his dagger was at the stable-master’s throat. Brother Lugna wisely halted his action and stood glowering at them.

Eadulf glanced briefly at the man’s wrist. ‘No horse made that scar,’ he confirmed.

Fidelma pointed to the forehead of the erstwhile Lugna. Anger had caused the blood to flush his features. In so doing, a faint white scar was shown in relief.

‘A further proof? That is doubtless where poor Brother Lennán struck his killer when he tried to seize the
Cathach
on Cnoc Áine.’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ the abbot almost wailed.

‘This fits with Lorcán’s character.’ Temnén was reflective. ‘I knew him, as I told you. He was ambitious and cruel. I did say that physically, Lorcán and Lugna could pass as one another except for their differences in personality.’

‘I am afraid that it was Lugna who was slain,’ repeated Fidelma. ‘And it was not by Uisnech, although he received the blame – presumably from tales circulated by Lorcán. He, as you say, had no morality. After the defeat and death of his father, he fled to this abbey. He did not think twice about killing his own twin brother and taking his place. Brother Lugna would not be suspected. Who would question him? Then he was free to plot for the future. As the surviving son of Prince Eoganán he determined he would find a way to claim the princedom and continue the war against Cashel. It was as simple as that.’

‘Yet not so simple to me,’ Conrí said. ‘Explain the details of this.’

‘It was Lorcán, in his guise of stable-master, who learned from poor Brother Ledbán, working as a groom under him, where his daughter Liamuin was hiding. He also learned that she had the
Cathach
which her brother had given her for safekeeping. Having heard that a warrior of the Golden Collar was living at Menma’s rath, he conceived the idea of retrieving the
Cathach
in the guise of Eóghanacht warriors, even taking the shield that he knew had been retrieved from the battlefield and kept in the shrine here, along with one of the Cashel torcs. It was not hard for him to gain access to the shrine room.

‘But when he recovered the
Cathach
from Menma’s rath he found it had been damaged during the battle. It needed repair – and who were the greatest smiths in the kingdom? The almost legendary smiths of Magh Méine, the Plain of Minerals on the Great River.’

‘And so they restored the
Cathach
?’ queried Temnén.

‘The task was given to Gláed, one of his loyal followers. Gláed knew Ordan of Rathordan and made the deal with him to take the
Cathach
to the smiths of Magh Méine. When it had been repaired, Ordan was to bring it back to him at the Ford of the Oaks. Gláed also gave Ordan money to purchase some new weapons – swords, spears and shields, for the quality of items produced by those smiths is known throughout the Five Kingdoms. And this Ordan did … he fulfilled his task – except that he fell into our hands. Then Gláed was caught by Conrí.’

Brother Cuineáin was aghast. ‘I served with this man for four years and was fooled. He was my cousin, and I was fooled. Why did he hide here for four years in disguise before acting?’

‘He had to await the right opportunity. That was when Prince Donennach felt secure enough to make a visit to Tara to see the High King. It was then Lorcán decided to use another weapon. As I have told you, that weapon was poor demented Maolán, whose secret he had learned. He told Maolán that it was my brother Colgú, the King of Cashel, who had led the raid on Menma’s rath. Maolán was advised to dress as a religious and say he had a message from this abbey in order to gain entrance to Cashel. Perhaps it was his own idea to give his name as that of Liamuin’s brother, Brother Lennán. That I do not know.’

Conrí was undecided. ‘I am not sure what to do with him.’

Lugna scowled. ‘You would know what to do if you were a true Uí Fidgente! Call yourself a warlord? If you hold the sacred banner of our people in respect, you would turn on our oppressors! You, too, Temnén – you fought against the Eóghanacht. Are you still possessed of any Uí Fidgente manhood and pride? Will you let an Eóghanacht trample on your people?’

Gormán and Eadulf edged protectively close to Fidelma. But Conrí’s sword arm did not waver.

‘It is out of respect for the sacred banner that I do what I do now,’ he returned coldly. ‘Many Uí Fidgente would be alive today, had they not listened to the siren call of your father. And now you, too, would have them follow you into the field of blood again. Follow
you
? In your ambition you even slaughtered your own brother, who was a good, moral man. The blood of many is on your hands.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘What do you suggest, lady? Is he to be escorted to Cashel for trial?’

Fidelma was shaking her head.

‘I believe Lorcán and his confederates should be tried by his own people. It is to them that he owes an atonement of blood. The decision of what to do with Lorcán will be made by the Uí Fidgente, so that it will create no fresh cause for the Uí Fidgente to nurture any more grievances against Cashel.’

Temnén grinned. ‘Did I not say that you were a wise woman, Fidelma of Cashel? That is a sound judgement.’

‘A judgement that shall be carried out,’ Conrí said firmly.

‘My suggestion is that Lorcán be taken to Dún Eochair Mháigh. He can be imprisoned there until the return of Prince Donennach.’

Lorcán chuckled sourly. ‘If he ever returns.’

Fidelma cast a look of satisfaction at Conrí. ‘Well, then, I will let you await in your prison cell to hear whether Prince Donennach survives the ambush you have set for him and returns with Brehon Uallach as a prisoner.’

She saw the dismay spread over Lorcán’s face as he was led away. He had obviously been banking on the fact that she had not worked out a major part of his plan to kill Prince Donennach on Cashel territory.

‘You are forgetting Gláed, lady,’ muttered Conrí.

Artgal took a pace forward. ‘You promised that I could take my brother back to Sliabh Luachra to be tried for the murder of our father, lady,’ he reminded her.

‘And so it shall be done,’ she said without hesitation. ‘I think Gláed will receive the justice he deserves from his own people.’

A grim smile was on Artgal’s lips. ‘You may be assured of that, lady.’

‘What about the abbey?’ Abbot Nannid sounded uncharacteristically humble.

‘What about the abbey?’ Fidelma enquired innocently.

‘If this conspiracy was nurtured in this abbey, are we not culpable for fines under the law?’

‘Not in my judgement,’ she assured him. ‘However, I will, as I have said, take my brother’s shield back to him as well as the golden collars of those of my brother’s warriors who died in battle. They belong to their widows and children. I would advise you that a shrine to a battle is one thing, but a shrine which has the potential for perpetuating hatred is another. Any representations you may want to make are best submitted to the Brehon of the Uí Fidgente – that is, once a new Brehon is appointed.’