“This is Brother Martán, our apothecary, Master Dau. And this is my assistant, Brother Pól. Please enter. Brother Íobhar has been called away again, sadly.”
Liobhan, being a woman, is not permitted to go further than the stillroom. But Brother Petrán is inclined to be helpful. He sends a monk to find Miach, and when she appears, Torcan, Brocc, and Liobhan depart for the bathhouse. The women will stay together, the men will stay together, and I don’t need to tell them not to talk. Miach can tend to Liobhan’s wounds and Brother Pól to Torcan’s. I ask them to come straight back when they’re finished. With Seanan and his crew away from the house, this feels safe enough. It does seem that Brother Petrán will be prepared to listen, at least.
Then it’s just him and me and Brother Martán sitting together in a corner of the monks’ temporary refectory, and it’s time to tell them the story. Time to start things moving.
“I suppose you can see that we’ve been in a fight,” I say. “You’ll be compensated for the damage to those habits, which we borrowed without permission. If I were to tell you I have a group of bound captives not far from the house and that one of them is Master Seanan, how would you respond?”
45
LIOBHAN
The change in Dau is startling. He’s taken charge, not only of our little team but of the most complex and testing situation I could imagine. By the time I’ve got myself cleaned up and changed into my good clothes, with my wounds salved and my hair washed and plaited, then been escorted back to the infirmary by Miach—she’s bursting with questions, but she’s being careful not to ask them—Dau has arranged a meeting with not only Brothers Petrán and Martán, but also Father Eláir, the prior from St. Padraig’s, as well as Master Beanón, Master Naithí, and master-at-arms Fergal. Even more surprising is that the monks have agreed I can be present. Seems the need to keep this out of the public eye outweighs the rule banning women from this area. Brother Íobhar is absent again, visiting another monastic foundation. I know Dau wanted him to be present; hoped Ruarc would find the courage to support him in any hearing. He told me about the early morning encounter in the stillroom, when his brother’s words did not match his actions. I suspect Íobhar has decided to step back from the whole affair. My guess is that he’ll stay away until it’s all over.
We’re in a chamber that must usually be the monks’ eating place. I sit between Brocc and Torcan, trying to look unobtrusive. It’s perhaps unfortunate that the only clean clothing I had was the russet gown with its embroidered overdress, the outfit I wear to sing. It’s on the eye-catching side, but never mind that. It’s bliss to be warm, dry, and clean again. Miach was troubled by the bruising on my face, not only from Seanan’s blow but from having the gag on for so long. I told her I would explain when I was allowed to.
Dau tells the story calmly, setting out what happened yesterday and today without making any judgments. The faces of his listeners grow graver with every statement. When he gets to the part about Seanan’s house of horrors, the herbs and potions and the victims, both avian and human, there’s murmuring between Brother Petrán and the prior, as if this confirms something they already suspected. Fergal, too, looks as if this is not entirely surprising to him. Beanón’s maintaining a lawman’s expression, calm and detached. Naithí fails to conceal his horror.
“One thing I will explain briefly,” Dau says, “though it plays no part in what must be done now. You see I am cured of my blindness. It was quite sudden. During the skirmish between my party and my brother’s, I tripped and fell flat on the ground. My body was jolted with some violence. As I rose, I found that my sight was returning. First came blurry light and shadow, then colors and shapes, and then increasing clarity. Of all the possible cures I had imagined, something so simple and startling had never occurred to me. But there it is. A miracle, perhaps.”
“Praise be to God,” murmurs Father Eláir, and the other brethren echo his words. Nobody expresses doubt about this unlikely explanation; the evidence is right before them. How else could Dau have regained full sight so quickly?
Dau refrains from saying that he still does not believe in God. He looks around the circle, meeting each man’s eye in turn. It occurs to me that Seanan is not the only accomplished liar in the family. “We have two pressing matters that must be attended to. First, Master Seanan and his party must be retrieved from their current location and brought here. More on that in a moment. Second, my father must be notified of what has happened. You may be aware that he and I are not on the best of terms. Another tale lies behind the one I have just related: the tale of my childhood in this household. It is a dark and difficult story, and this is not the time to tell it, especially as Brother Íobhar, who witnessed those events, is not present today. The enmity between me and Seanan goes back a very long way. My father has always been inclined to believe Seanan’s side of a story over mine. My brother can be . . . persuasive. Master Beanón knows, as a man of the law, that a person accused of a crime must be allowed to present his own case, or to have it presented for him. Seanan must be given his chance to speak.”
Dau has his audience in thrall; nobody stirs so much as an eyelid.
“But not yet. And he must not be given the opportunity to stir up the household, to spread his opinions into every ear, to influence our father before this matter can be aired in a properly conducted hearing. He and the other men in that group must be confined securely. Held in custody. I am not sure how that might best be done, since Seanan carries such authority in this household.”
Beanón clears his throat. “A full legal hearing, with all the required preparation, would take a week or more to organize. But . . . we might conduct an informal hearing similar to the one that was carried out to settle the matter of compensation for your injury. I believe that might be adequate for the purpose. We could hold it tomorrow, meaning only one night’s incarceration would be necessary. However, I cannot represent both parties. Master Seanan would be justified in demanding his own lawman. And in requesting sufficient time to discuss the matter with his representative before the hearing.”
Does that mean Beanón is choosing to represent Dau? I try to keep the look of astonishment off my face.
“Ah,” says Father Eláir. He’s a tall, stooped man with neatly tonsured white hair and a scholarly appearance. “I believe I can assist you in this matter. One of our brethren was a man of the law before he joined holy orders. Brother Máedóc would be entirely capable in this role, and I will gladly give him leave to undertake it.” He glances at Dau. “He would be impartial. He is a man of conscience.”
Hah! If he’s truly a man of conscience, how can he possibly represent Seanan? If I were Brother Máedóc I’d be saying I wouldn’t touch the job with a barge pole. But then, justice must be seen to be done.
“That sort of hearing would be ideal,” Dau says smoothly. “It should be arranged with a minimum of fuss. No grand announcements. The household to continue as usual, as far as that is possible.”
“The arrival of these bound captives is hardly going to escape notice,” says Fergal. “As soon as someone spots them the whole place will be abuzz. Is there any chance all of this can take place elsewhere? Not only housing them securely, but also the hearing itself? I can supply guards. Carefully chosen men whom I can trust to be discreet.”
Brother Petrán and the prior are talking in murmurs, leaning toward each other. Then Petrán says, “They can be housed at St. Padraig’s. The monks’ cells can be locked and the guards could be posted outside. We can arrange other accommodation for those of our brethren still in residence there. Our refectory would be large enough for the hearing. Father Eláir is prepared to make it available to you.”
“However,” says the prior, his expression somber, “this cannot go ahead without Lord Scannal’s agreement. He is chieftain; his is the final authority.”
Ah. I see the looks that go across the chamber. I want to speak up, but I h
old my tongue. It’s Brother Petrán who puts my thoughts into words. “That is undoubtedly true, Father. May I suggest . . . If Lord Scannal will not listen to Master Dau, perhaps he will listen to you. And . . . I think he must also listen to me. We’ve heard some troubling comments on Lord Scannal’s failing health. Equally troubling are certain discrepancies in the record of herbal components taken from our supplies. We are concerned that Lord Scannal may have been regularly dosed with a substance harmful to his well-being. It is a very sensitive matter. He should not take his usual sleeping draft tonight. If you agree, I will advise him on that matter.”
“What are you suggesting?” Master Naithí sounds appalled.
Seems I do have to speak up. “I was forcibly dosed with what I believe to have been a similar mixture last night,” I say. “By Master Seanan and one of his men. I’m prepared to talk about that at the hearing. And about the various preparations we found in that outhouse. It’s important that the lawmen concerned go up there and have a look today. And that nobody is given the opportunity to meddle with the evidence. There should probably be guards posted there, too.” After a moment I add, “If Lord Scannal’s been regularly taking a draft containing devil’s-foot, he needs to come off it gradually, not all at once. The side effects of that could be quite severe. Brother Petrán or Brother Martán should make up a weaker version for him to take tonight or he may be unable to attend any sort of gathering tomorrow.”
“That is wise counsel,” murmurs Brother Petrán. “But it would be Lord Scannal’s decision whether to take such a draft or not, once he understands the circumstances.”
“I hesitate to say this,” puts in Master Beanón, “but if charges may be laid at some future time in relation to this matter, Lord Scannal’s response to the sudden withdrawal of the draft would stand as solid proof, one way or the other.”
Shit. He’s right, of course. But at what cost?
Everyone looks as shocked as I feel. It’s Dau who asks the question nobody else is prepared to frame. “Can you describe the likely response, Brother Petrán? How severe might it be? Would my father be incapacitated?”
“A crippling headache, at the very least, sufficient to keep a man to his bed for some while. Tremors. Dizziness. If Lord Scannal did not take the draft tonight, he would be unlikely to sleep. We could offer him something different, not containing devil’s-foot. A light sleeping draft. Whether it would help him, I cannot say. Should he choose to cease the old draft straightaway rather than ease off slowly, we should consider delaying the hearing for a few days at least.”
More glances around the circle. Everyone knows how important it is to do this as soon as possible. How long can they keep Seanan locked up at St. Padraig’s? And what about Brocc, who can stay only one more day? He’s the sole independent witness and his statement is crucial.
“We will put the options to Lord Scannal,” Beanón says. “He will make his own decision.”
There’s a moment’s somber silence. Then Dau speaks again. “One more thing.” For the first time, his voice is unsteady. “I mentioned earlier that one of our number was killed in the attack. We’d all have been dead had not Master Brocc and his companion intervened. The body of Corb, the young man who was my assistant, lies near the building up there. His family lives not far from here. He lost his life in my service. I intended to convey the sad news to his family in person. Perhaps to bring his body home to them . . . But these other matters mean I cannot take the time to do so. Might someone arrange . . . ?”
He looks wretched. I know how badly he wanted to do this himself.
“We’ll see it done, Master Dau,” Naithí says. “Father Eláir might perhaps permit one of the brethren to accompany the party, so prayers for the departed may be spoken. If I may share this sorrowful news with Iarla, who is always discreet, he and I will make any necessary arrangements.” He hesitates for a moment. “Master Dau, may we advise the family that you will pay them a visit in due course? Perhaps within a few days?”
“Thank you, Master Naithí. Yes, do tell them that, please. And offer my heartfelt condolences. To say that Corb was a fine young man is barely adequate.”
The room falls quiet again. The enormity of what has happened is sinking in, and with it the dwindling time available to do what must be done.
Father Eláir is the first to speak. “The circumstances dictate that we should act without delay. Along with Master Beanón and Brother Petrán, I will accompany Master Dau to break this unwelcome news to his father. Brother Martán, ask Brother Pól to take charge here for now. Then go over to St. Padraig’s and have a discreet word with Brother Máedóc. Provide him with some information about what has occurred; ask him to keep it to himself, but alert him to the fact that he may want to brush up his knowledge of the law as it applies in such matters, and to do so speedily. Master Beanón, when you are free, perhaps you can go across and speak with him also. Answer his questions and prepare him for his conversation with Master Seanan, whenever that might occur.”
“I will do so, Father.”
“I will ensure one of our brethren is ready to go with the party collecting the young man’s body,” Father Eláir goes on. “That must be done today. I will send our man to see you, Master Naithí.”
“The most urgent thing is assembling the guards,” Dau says. “Can you speak to your men straightaway, Fergal? Without raising any alarms?”
“I can and will, Master Dau. You believe the prisoners will still be under the effects of this draft?”
Dau looks at me.
“They should still be deeply asleep,” I say. It sounds better than unconscious. “Maybe you should take a cart. Bringing what look like corpses slung over the backs of horses can’t in any way be made unobtrusive.”
“Leave it to me,” says Fergal. I get the impression he’s almost looking forward to the challenge. That doesn’t really surprise me; I couldn’t spend time with the men-at-arms and the stable workers without learning how many of them resented Seanan’s way of ruling over the household. What does astonish me is that in this gathering of powerful men not one has challenged Dau’s account of what just happened. Can it be true? That by speaking out bravely Dau has given every one of them the courage to do the same?
He looks exhausted now. But despite the shadows around them, his eyes are bright with resolve. I wish I could walk over and put my arms around him. Tell him how brave he is. Tell him I understand his pain. Instead I stand respectfully as they all leave the room after agreeing to meet again before supper. As the others move out through the stillroom, Dau lingers to speak with us.
“Liobhan, you should have a word with Iarla about accommodation for Brocc. And Torcan—don’t return to the stables. Best if you stay out of sight in case of awkward questions. Go back to our quarters; act as if nothing has changed.”
“Iarla’s going to be busy,” I say. “Brocc can squeeze in with us. I’ll ask Miach; she can find us some extra bedding. It’s only for one night.”
Dau’s mouth curves into a crooked smile. “If you say so. I suppose when this is all over, it’s hardly going to matter what gossip arises from our sleeping arrangements.”
I manage a smile in return, though my face hurts. “Never took much notice of gossip myself. You’d better go. Master Beanón is waiting for you.” What if his father refuses to listen? What if Lord Scannal is incapable of understanding? I felt confused enough after taking that draft once, and I’m young, strong, and healthy. What must it do to a man who drinks it night after night? I attempt a calm and confident expression. “Go well, Dau.”
“And you.” He turns and is gone.
46
BROCC
Dusk is falling on this day of surprises. When True and I rushed out on our rescue mission, knowing Liobhan needed us, we did not expect to arrive in the middle of a fight. But we came as warriors, and as warriors we helped our friends overcome their enemies.
I saw what Dau’s brother had done to his captives and shuddered to imagine how it was for the Crow Folk he had held in that place. I saw the brand on my sister’s arm and felt a cold fury possess me. But bringing justice to Master Seanan is another man’s quest. Even in the grip of such terrible anger I recognized that. My quest lies with the Crow Folk. It was clear they had been tortured there over a long period. How Seanan trapped them, how he brought them in without sustaining injuries himself, why some were left to die out in the forest, is a mystery I hope can be unraveled when he is questioned. I only wish I had known of this sooner. I could have saved more.
So, True’s potion gave the survivors back their strength, and the two flew free. The weight in my chest lifted a little with that. I thought I saw some understanding in their eyes, in the moment between healing and flight. I hope I did. I am happy that True chose to use the last drops from his vial to help Dau. I have seen, with some astonishment, a bond between Dau and my sister far deeper than that of comrades. I have seen the startling change in the man we found so arrogant, so difficult, when we trained together on Swan Island. Our mission in Breifne changed Dau for the better. But he is changed again; he is becoming a man of authority and purpose. He was deserving of True’s gift. I know this. But I fear how Eirne will respond when we take this story to her. That there was such a cure among us, and that the last of it is gone . . .
Now I am here in Lord Scannal’s house, in a quiet chamber with Liobhan and Torcan, eating supper. As the day unfolded, the three of us were called separately to talk to the lawman, Master Beanón. He asked me some questions about what brought me to these parts, and explained how the hearing will be conducted—it is to be tomorrow—and how I should present my account of events when asked. He wanted to know more about the other man who joined the fight, my traveling companion. Among other things, I mentioned that Elouan—I gave True this Armorican name—was an unusually tall and broad man, almost a giant. We’d met at a wayside inn where I’d been telling stories in exchange for a night’s lodging. Since we were both heading in the same general direction, we walked on together. No, I was not sure exactly where he was going. To a family wedding, that was all he said.
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