Atonement of Blood (9 page)

Caol swung round. ‘She’s in …’ He stopped and regarded the young girl at her side with a puzzled look.

‘This is a new guest,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Her name is Aibell. She will be staying with us for a while.’

It seemed that the commander of the guard had difficulty dragging his eyes away from the attractive, dark-haired girl.

‘You were saying?’ Fidelma went on.

‘Oh yes – Dar Luga? You will find her beyond that door.’ He pointed. As they moved away, Fidelma was aware of Caol staring after them.

She made sure that Dar Luga understood that Aibell was to be treated with courtesy as a guest, but was not allowed to leave the palace, unless such instruction was given by Fidelma. Leaving the girl in the care of the housekeeper, Fidelma then went to see old Brother Conchobhar the apothecary. Eadulf, meanwhile, had gone to prepare Alchú for his promised horse-ride. Gormán had been asked to ensure that their mounts were ready and had agreed to accompany them.

Brother Conchobhar greeted Fidelma with a smile, but told her: ‘There is little change from when you saw him this morning, Fidelma.’

‘When will we know that he is out of danger?’ Her voice was anxious.

‘With such a wound, we can never be certain. At least it was a single stab wound, but the knife went in deep. It would have been worse had not poor Brehon Áedo thrown himself across the body of the King, and had not Caol despatched the assassin before he could do further damage.’

‘You will keep me informed?’

‘Naturally.’ As she made to go he added: ‘I heard that you have brought back a prisoner to the palace.’

‘You have eyes and ears everywhere,’ she replied, turning back to the old apothecary with curiosity. ‘I am only returned a short while ago. How did you hear this?’

Brother Conchobhar chuckled. ‘I would be a poor servant, having served the Eóghanacht in this palace since the days of King Cathal son of Áedo Flainn, if I did not hear what happens in any part of the palace. Even a thought articulated in the stable will not escape my attention. Do you say that this girl is part of the assassin’s conspiracy?’

‘I have no idea, old friend,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I feel there is some connection that I cannot understand. All I know is that her mother’s name was Liamuin …’

Brother Conchobhar’s eyes widened. ‘Now that
is
interesting.’

‘But this Liamuin disappeared years ago. The girl claims she does not know what became of her, but suspects her father killed her. She was the wife of a river fisherman. How could that Liamuin have any connection with my brother?’

‘That is even more interesting,’ confirmed the old apothecary. ‘You will have to delve further into this matter, that is for sure. Is the girl from a far distance?’

‘She is of the Uí Fidgente,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Her father was a fisherman as I have said, on the River Mháigh just by the principal fortress of the prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘Ah,’ the old man’s voice was soft. ‘Then you must avoid springing to conclusions, however logical. Be careful that she is not condemned for the one fact of her mother’s name.’

‘Don’t worry. Anyway, she is here in the palace as a guest. She is not confined within her chamber but I have asked Dar Luga to place a restriction on her freedom. She cannot leave the palace and is not to approach the King’s chambers. As you say, there are aspects of her explanation as to why she came to Cashel that must be carefully checked.’ Fidelma sighed. ‘Don’t forget to let me know if there is any change with my brother.’

As Eadulf had entered their chambers, he found Alchú sitting on a chair while Muirgen the nurse was pointing out various objects in the room and getting the child to name them. As soon as the boy spotted his father, he jumped up and ran towards him with outstretched arms. Eadulf scooped him up and twirled him round, which caused the child to gurgle happily.

‘When are we going riding, Father?’ the boy demanded, after his fit of giggling abated.

‘Very shortly,’ Eadulf assured him. ‘As soon as your mother returns from seeing her brother.’

‘King Am-Nar?’ queried the little boy.

Eadulf chuckled. Alchú had managed to understand that Colgú was ‘king’ and that Colgú was his mother’s brother, his uncle. The word for a maternal uncle was
amnair
and this was as close as he could come to naming his uncle.

‘Is King Am-Nar very ill, Father?’

‘He is not well, son,’ Eadulf prevaricated.

‘Will he die?’ the boy asked.

Eadulf set him down and took a chair. ‘All things have to die sometime.’

‘The cat died last week,’ the boy told him. ‘Mother said it was old. Is King Am-Nar old?’

Muirgen cast a meaningful glance at Eadulf. It was obvious that she thought such subjects should be avoided with such a young child. Eadulf suppressed a sigh.

‘I heard you showing your knowledge of objects when I came into the room, Alchú.’

The little boy pouted. ‘Oh, that is all easy stuff. Table, chair, cupboard … I can do other things. Listen, Father, I am counting in the language!’

Eadulf smiled to himself. Alchú always called Eadulf’s own language ‘the language’,
berla
, to differentiate it from Fidelma’s Irish, which was the language of every day and with which he was surrounded.

‘Go on then, son,’ Eadulf encouraged.

‘An, twegan, thrie, feower, fif, six, seofon …’
The boy paused. For an instant, Eadulf was going to make the mistake of helping him but, after a moment, he added, with a broad smile of triumph:
‘Eachta, nigon, tiene.’

‘Well done.’ Eadulf clapped his hands. ‘You will soon be able to converse fluently.’

Muirgen sniffed in disapproval. ‘I don’t see the sense in stuffing the boy’s head with that nonsense,’ she said. ‘What avail is this Saxon gibberish when you are trying to buy cattle in Cashel market?’

Eadulf said sadly, ‘I swear, Muirgen, you must broaden your mind a little. To speak other languages is a great asset. Besides, it is the language of my people – the Angles.’

‘It’s all right for you, Brother Eadulf, but you no longer live in the land of the Angles. The boy lives here and it will not help him. Surely, there is no room for a child’s mind to be filled with something that will stop him learning his own language properly. He’ll be mixing things up next, not knowing what words to speak. Too much learning damages the mind.’

Eadulf chuckled. ‘Do you suggest that my mind is damaged or, indeed, that the lady Fidelma’s mind is damaged?’

Muirgen flushed. ‘I have suggested no such thing at all,’ she bridled.

‘But the lady Fidelma speaks her own language; she also speaks Latin, Greek and also some Hebrew – the three languages of the Faith. She even speaks my own language, which gives her some knowledge of that of the Franks and, indeed, she has knowledge of the language of the Britons. According to your philosophy, she should be unable to absorb these languages for they would damage her understanding.’

‘The lady Fidelma is a wise and an exceptional person,’ replied Muirgen undeterred. ‘But have not the priests warned us of the confusion of the Tower of Babel? They say it is God’s will that we should all speak one language, but that it was the Devil who made us speak many tongues.’

‘Now I heard a similar story,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘In that version it was God Himself who scattered the language of Babel to the four corners of the earth to create many languages.’

‘That is not what the priest told me, Brother Eadulf. He said that after the dispersal of the language it was our great King Fenius Farsaid who sent scholars to the four corners of the earth and, with God’s blessing, they gathered a knowledge of the seventy-two languages that had come from the dispersal and had then put together the best of each of them, trying to recover the one true language. And they did so and the language was called after Fenius’ fosterling Gaedheal Glas, and that is why our language is called after Gaedheal for he brought the language to this country.’

‘So what language did God mean us to speak, Muirgen?’ Eadulf tried to sound solemn but he knew laughter was not far away.

Muirgen saw his expression and flounced off in annoyance. At once Eadulf felt contrite. He realised that he should have known better than to make sport of other people’s beliefs and he called her back with an apology.

‘I meant no disrespect to you, Muirgen. All I say is that, in place of a common language, the more languages we can absorb the more we can understand and communicate, especially with our neighbours. I believe it will be a sad day when languages are destroyed because we do not appreciate them. Why, just think what would be lost if, in the fullness of time, the very language of the Kings of Éireann is destroyed and its culture lost?’

Muirgen turned with a laugh. ‘Now you are making fun, Brother Eadulf. Sooner will the mountains disappear than that will ever happen. But I will allow that Alchú, if his mother so wills it, may speak what languages he likes. That is because the lady Fidelma is a noble, the sister of a king and a descendant of kings,’ the woman said, as if that was the explanation.

‘And is not Alchú my son as well?’ Eadulf found a note of hurt creeping into his voice. He felt guilty once more for snapping at the woman, for she was a simple soul and did not mean to rouse his insecurity. Under the law of the country he had been classed as a
cú glas
, literally a ‘grey fox’, which meant an exile from over the seas without any rights and no honour price. On his marriage to Fidelma, her family had acknowledged him and he was elevated to the status of
deorad Dé
, exile of God. He therefore was bestowed with half the honour price of Fidelma’s rank, but without the rights or responsibility for rearing his own children. It was Fidelma who had the final say in such matters. But Muirgen would not, perhaps, have known this. She would not have questioned him on that account. Nevertheless, it was often difficult for Eadulf, as a foreigner in this land, to feel totally secure.

He was about to frame another apology when the door opened and Fidelma herself came in.

‘Are you ready, both of you?’ she asked brightly.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ cried the child. ‘Are we going riding? Are we?’

‘Yes, we are,’ answered Fidelma. She fussed over the boy, making sure he had the right clothes and cloak and then she and Eadulf led their son down to the courtyard.

Gormán was already there with the horses. There was a small piebald pony for Alchú, and Eadulf’s roan-coloured cob, which he had actually come to enjoy riding, though still admitting that he was not a good rider. Fidelma preferred her short-necked, ancient breed from Gaul, which she called Aonbharr, the ‘supreme one’, after the horse ridden by the Ocean God, Mannanán Mac Lir. Gormán was accompanying them on his cob.

‘Where are we off to?’ asked the boy again. He sat on his pony with ease and without fear, much to Eadulf’s quiet admiration.

‘We are going eastward a little way, towards a place called the rath of Ordan,’ Fidelma replied with a smile.

‘What’s a rath?’

‘It can be many things. It can be goods, chattels, property that is given as surety in law …’

The boy looked blank and Fidelma realised that the lawyer in her was speaking. It was Gormán who explained.

‘A rath is also the ramparts that surround a chieftain’s residence; it can be his fortress.’

‘Oh.’ Alchú was excited. ‘Are we going to see a fortress?’

‘Except Rathordan is no fortress,’ muttered Gormán. ‘It is just a pretend chieftain’s residence, for Ordan is certainly no chief.’

Alchú either didn’t hear or had lost interest as he guided his little mount out of the courtyard between his parents on their horses. Gormán brought up the rear.

They had descended from the Rock to the road that led towards the eastern hills when they saw a man walking up in the direction of the palace. He was elderly and dressed in clothes that easily identified him as a shepherd. It was Muirgen’s husband.

‘Hello, Nessán,’ called Fidelma.

Little Alchú smiled broadly and waved a tiny hand, ‘Nees-awn, Nees-awn!’ he chanted.

The shepherd touched his forehead nervously at the party. He always appeared uneasy in the presence of Fidelma and Eadulf even though his wife was nurse to young Alchú. He could never forget that when the boy had been kidnapped as a baby, he and his wife had been given the child to raise as a shepherd by the kidnapper, the evil Uaman, lord of the Passes. The motive of the kidnap was vengeance. Nessán and Muirgen were to have taken in and hidden the child without them knowing whose son he really was. Fidelma and Eadulf had tracked down their son and, instead of punishing the elderly couple for their unwitting role, they had invited Muirgen to be Alchú’s nurse at Cashel while her husband had been employed to look after Colgú’s sheep.

Nessán cleared his throat. ‘There is great sorrow on me at the news of the attack on your brother, lady. Is there better news of his health?’

‘He is doing as well as can be expected.’

‘He is in my prayers, lady.’

‘Thank you, Nessán. It is good that we should meet you on this road. Perhaps you can help us?’

‘If I can, lady.’

‘Were you abroad early this morning?’

‘As you know, I attend your brother’s sheep in the northern rough pasture, behind the Rock. But I was up late last night, lady. I am afraid I went to Rumann’s tavern in the town and so it was after dawn that I left to tend the sheep today.’

‘At An Screagán – I know the place.’ Fidelma was disappointed because Della’s homestead lay on the other side of the township. Then a further thought occurred. ‘Do you know any of the other shepherds around the township? Those that pasture their flocks to the west of the town?’

‘I dare say, lady. I meet with them on lambing days and when the time comes to shear the flocks. And when there is no work in common, we gather in Rumann’s inn.’

‘Do you know anyone who would be going to the fields to the west, just beyond Della’s homestead, very early this morning? You see, I am trying to find a man, a shepherd, who was abroad before dawn and said he was going to tend his sheep. Would you know who that was?’