Atonement of Blood (7 page)

The girl regarded him for a moment in silence before she said, ‘I know no one of that name and am now tired of all these questions.’

‘As we are tired of asking them and receiving no convincing responses.’ Gormán was clearly irritable.

‘I can only respond as I see fit. Whether you accept my replies is no concern of mine.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ Fidelma said tightly. ‘I am afraid that you will have to come with us until we are satisfied that you are telling us the truth.’

‘Under what authority?’ challenged the girl, her truculent manner returning.

‘Under my authority as a
dálaigh
, under the authority of the Chief Brehon of this kingdom, under the authority of—’

Aibell interrupted with a derisive snort. Fidelma wasted no more time on her. ‘Eadulf, help me carry the things that Gormán found in the hut. Gormán, take charge of this woman. We have stood long enough in this wood. Let’s go back to Della’s place, so that we can examine what you have found in more comfortable circumstances.’

At once the girl started to protest but Gormán seized her right arm in a firm clasp.

‘By order of the King’s sister and a
dálaigh
of the courts, you are to accompany us until we are satisfied that you have given us a truthful account of yourself. There are two ways for you to accompany us – of your own free will or by force.’

She glared up at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare use force!’ she said. But there was no conviction in her voice.

‘Oh, but I would,’ he replied grimly. ‘And don’t try to use your knife again, because this time you will get hurt.’

They stared at each other for a moment before the girl recognised the determination in his fierce gaze and then tried to feign indifference. She fell in step beside Gormán, who kept his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Eadulf and Fidelma picked up the saddle-bag and the horse’s equipment and led the way back towards Della’s cabin. Della had seen them advancing across the paddock and came to open the gate for them. She seemed surprised to see the young woman.

‘We need to request your hospitality for a short while, Della,’ explained Fidelma.

‘Come in and be welcome, lady,’ she replied.

‘This is Aibell,’ Fidelma added, as they entered.

Eadulf left the saddle and bridle on the porch outside. They all went into the large room where crackling logs produced a fierce heat. A cauldron of aromatic-smelling stew was simmering above the fire. The morning’s autumnal sunlight shone through the southern-facing windows so that the room was bright in spite of the weakness of the pale yellow orb.

Della bade them be seated and asked if she could provide refreshment. Fidelma had spotted the girl’s eyes lingering on the cauldron and saw the quick, nervous movement of her tongue over her dry lips.

‘I should imagine that Aibell has not yet broken her fast. I am sure she would like something to drink and eat, if you can manage it.’

‘Of course!’ At once Della became almost a mothering figure, making sure the girl was comfortably seated at one end of the table and fetching a small mug of ale and a wooden platter containing some cold meat and cheese with a hunk of freshly baked bread. The girl hesitated at first, but as Della turned to enquire if anyone else wanted refreshment, she immediately began to tackle the food. Although Fidelma appeared to be ignoring her, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aibell was consuming the food as if she had not eaten for many days. She hoped that none of her companions were watching the girl so as not to embarrass her.

‘First we need to examine the contents of this saddle-bag,’ Fidelma announced as a way of distracting them.

Eadulf opened it and took out the garments inside, placing them one by one on the table for everyone to see.

There was a
bratt
, a cloak of a striking blue colour that would stretch to the knees of an average-sized person. It was loosely shaped and had a fringe of beaver fur around the neck and down both edges in front. There was an over-garment, a coat without a collar, ending about the middle of the thighs, and a pair of
triubhas
, sometimes called
ochrath
– tight-fitting breeches made of thin, soft leather, which were drawn on over the feet. The
criss
or leather belt had a purse attached to it, containing some silver.

Eadulf examined the bag and the clothing to make sure there was nothing hidden inside. Having satisfied himself, he turned to Fidelma and said, ‘There is nothing here that would give us a clue to the assassin’s identity.’

‘What of the clothes themselves?’

Eadulf lifted them each in turn. ‘They are not the kind of clothing worn by a noble; that is for sure. But then neither are they the apparel of a poor man or a labourer.’

‘That is true.’ Fidelma was approving. ‘However, these must be the clothes that our assassin changed out of when he put on religieux robes.’

‘That would be supported by the fact that there are no shoes here – but our assassin was wearing the sort of footwear that could go with such clothing. There is no underwear here either, but our assassin was wearing a shirt of
sróll
or satin which is more likely to go with these clothes than those of a poor religieux.’

‘You seem certain then that the clothes are those of the assassin?’ Gormán asked.

‘The clothes fit the pattern,’ said Eadulf. ‘He’s not a noble or a warrior, nor one pursuing a physical trade or an artisan … They confirm what I said when I examined the corpse.’

‘What about the tonsure?’ demanded Gormán.

‘As Fidelma observed, the assassin seemed to have shaved his tonsure recently,’ Eadulf said. ‘He disguised himself as a religieux deliberately. I stick to my opinion that he was a poet, a copyist or illustrator.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Last night, we saw that the assassin’s hands showed that he did not do physical work. The fingernails were well cared for. However, his right-hand thumb and forefinger were stained.’

‘And that indicated?’

‘They were stained by ink, which meant that he often had a quill in his right hand. Who works with a quill and ink if they are not scholars? He could have come from an ecclesiastical college or even from one of the secular schools, but I believe he was not a religieux.’

Gormán was staring at the clothing moodily as if he were trying to gather more evidence from them. Then he suddenly gave a soft exclamation and picked up the saddle-bag, turning the leather over to examine it more closely.

‘It’s just a plain leather saddle-bag, Gormán, my friend,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Good quality and well-stitched, but—’

He was interrupted by a grunt of satisfaction from the young warrior, who had turned over one of the flaps and pointed to something underneath.

‘The leather has been marked – seared by a hot needle. See.’ He held it out for inspection.

Fidelma took the bag from him and peered closely. ‘A serpent entwined around a sword. Why, that is the mark of …’

‘… the Uí Fidgente’s princes,’ Gormán finished with emphasis.

Fidelma turned to where Aibell was finishing her meal.

‘When did you leave Dún Eochair Mháigh?’

‘I told you, as soon as I reached the age of choice. Four years ago.’

‘So you are now eighteen? And where have you been since then?’

Once again, the girl showed reluctance in answering, but seeing the frown gathering on Fidelma’s brow, she changed her mind.

‘I was a long time in the country of the Luachra.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘I served in the household of Fidaig.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Fidaig, the lord of the Luachra?’

‘Yes. I worked in the kitchens of his household.’

‘And why did you leave?’

‘If you must know, I ran away,’ the girl replied defiantly. ‘I was sold to him as a bondservant and I ran away.’

Fidelma’s brows rose in astonishment. ‘You said you were born and raised at the capital of the Uí Fidgente. Who was your father?’

‘He was a fisherman, an
iascaire
, on the River Mháigh.’

‘Of what class was he?’

‘He was a
saer-céile
, a free-tenant, who rented his cabin and stretch of the river from a prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘So what do you mean when you say that you were sold to the Luachra? Why would a free man of the Uí Fidgente allow his daughter to be sold to a neighbouring tribe?’

‘My father declared me to be a
daer-fudir
and sold me.’

Fidelma breathed out sharply.
Daer-fudirs
were the lowest members of society, mainly criminals who had refused to meet their fines and pay compensation, or captives taken in battle. In other words, they were slaves – often foreign – people who had fallen foul of the law and were unable to extricate themselves. However, the fate of these slaves was not hopeless, for the law favoured their emancipation – and with diligence and perseverance they could raise their status and even come to be a free person in the clan.

‘How would you become a
daer-fudir
?’

‘My father sold me, to pay his debts.’

‘But that is illegal!’ exclaimed Fidelma.

‘My father was a beast.’

‘And your father’s name was … ?’

‘Escmug.’

‘A name well-suited for a fisherman,’ muttered Gormán. The name meant ‘eel’.

‘He was a beast,’ repeated the girl. She looked directly at Fidelma and said: ‘At first I was not sorry to escape from my father. If you are as knowledgeable as you seem, then he was similar to Oengus Tuirbech in the stories told about him around the winter fireside.’

Eadulf noticed that this meant as much to Gormán as it did to himself, because the young warrior was also looking puzzled. However, Fidelma appeared shocked by what she had heard.

‘Then you have led a sorrowful life, Aibell,’ she said. ‘Now I begin to understand your bitterness.’

‘Never!’ The word came out like the crack of a whip. ‘No one will ever be able to understand me, to understand what I have had to endure. But I will do so no more. If you try to send me back, I shall resist.’

‘You shall not be sent back. If you were at the age of choice when you were sold, then your father was contravening the law in selling you as much as Fidaig was in buying you. Both will answer to the law. I promise this.’

The girl sniffed; scepticism was clearly on her features.

‘My father is dead and who is going to punish Fidaig? He is powerful and rules the mountains of Sliabh Luachra.’

It was Della who intervened. ‘Young girl, I do not know your troubles but I will tell you this – when the lady Fidelma says that something will be done, then it will be done.’ Her voice was vehement and, for a moment, seemed to impress Aibell. Then the girl turned away with a defensive movement of her shoulders.

Fidelma glanced at Gormán. ‘Keep an eye on our young friend here,’ she said quietly before turning to Eadulf. ‘Eadulf, come with me to the paddock. I want your advice.’

Eadulf was about to comment when he saw her expression and so followed her without demur. They walked slowly down to the paddock gate.

‘What is it?’ he asked, when they stopped. They both leaned on the wooden bar of the gate watching the two horses that still stood grazing contentedly in the field.

‘This is perplexing,’ she sighed.

Eadulf grinned. ‘It is not often that you admit to being perplexed about anything.’

Fidelma said, ‘Well, I am now. When we found this girl, I thought we would be reaching a rapid conclusion in this matter.’

‘I am not so sure that we have not,’ replied Eadulf. ‘We know the assassin came here on horseback. He arrived, put some narcotic on the meat for Della’s dog so it wouldn’t cause an alarm, and thus was able to place his horse in Della’s paddock. Then he changed into the guise of a religieux from Mungairit, leaving his clothes in the woodman’s shed, and came to the palace. His saddle-bag is branded with the symbol of the Uí Fidgente, not just any of that clan but the mark of the princely family itself. The Eóghanacht and Uí Fidgente have been blood enemies for generations … you know well enough that if there is any rebellion in the kingdom, the Uí Fidgente are usually behind it.’

‘Not always,’ objected Fidelma. ‘Not since my brother defeated them at Cnoc Áine.’

Years before, Colgú had crushed a rebellion mounted by Eoghanán, the prince of the Uí Fidgente, on the slopes of Cnoc Áine. Eoghanán’s warlike sons, Torcán and Lorcán, also met their death during the same conspiracy. And when the princedom of the Uí Fidgente passed to Donennach, son of Oengus, he had agreed a peace with Cashel; since when an unsettled calm had been maintained over the kingdom.

The cause of the friction was thus: the Uí Fidgente had long insisted that they should be in the line of the rightful rulers of the kingdom and not just the Eóghanacht, the descendants of Eóghan Mór. They claimed to be descended from Cormac Cass, the elder brother of Eóghan Mór, and sometimes called themselves the Dál gCais, descendants of Cass. But outside of their own lands, they found little support for the claim.

‘True, your brother defeated the Uí Fidgente and that could be the reason behind this attack. The assassin could have come to enact vengeance on him for defeating them in battle. Their capital is Dún Eochair Mháigh where this girl says she came from. We find her sheltering in the very hut the assassin used. She is truculent and uncooperative. What more is needed to make the connection?’

Fidelma was looking unconvinced. ‘These things make sense only superficially.’

‘Superficially?’

‘Your arguments are correct, Eadulf. But they need to be tied together by logic.’

‘I thought the logic was clear.’

‘Let us put ourselves in the place of this assassin. He has come to take revenge on my brother for some crime. We think it is something to do with a woman called Liamuin – a name that means nothing to Colgú, incidentally. The assassin appears to be a scholar rather than a warrior.’

‘Agreed.’

‘We presume that he arrives unseen on the outskirts of Cashel. Why does he come to this spot? Darkness must have fallen for it does so early at this time of year. Yet he is able to have a potent mixture at hand, ready to smear on a joint of meat to send Della’s dog to sleep. How does he even know that Della has a dog? He then unsaddles his horse and leaves it in her paddock, even though the horse is bound to be noticed, come daylight. Then he is able to find his way to that hut in the forest, which even I did not know existed, and changes his clothes to assume the guise of a religieux. He waits until the rainstorm is over and enters the palace on the pretext that he has an urgent message from the Abbey of Mungairit; once inside, he makes his attempt on my brother’s life.’