“Master Seanan. Master Dau. Please be seated while we hear Brother Íobhar’s statement,” says the prior.
I’ve thought how easily this whole hearing could descend into chaos, despite the presence of guards. Seanan is no longer bound. He and Dau obviously loathe each other. Dau is an expert fighter. But we are in a monastery. I’m starting to believe that whatever happens, this cannot have a good ending. There is no way father and sons will agree on anything. There is no way they can reach a solution acceptable to all.
Íobhar does not speak with the anger and arrogance of his older brother. He does not speak with the devastating simplicity of his younger brother. He speaks like a man who has held something back too long and must now let it out though it hurts him greatly to do so.
“I give this account with humility. I give it with shame. I give it in the knowledge that those gathered here may judge me, but also knowing the final judgment rests with our heavenly Father alone. I say again that I was present during all the events Dau described from our childhood. I saw them all. I was party to many, under my brother Seanan’s instruction.” A great gasp goes around the chamber. Father Eláir makes an economical gesture, and we fall silent. Seanan’s hands are tight fists on the table before him.
“I was present, too, for the aftermath of those episodes, when our father interrogated us, wanting explanations. Sometimes Dau was found in a place he could not have reached on his own—the dark hole, the high treetop, the tiny island of safety in the bog, the locked chest. Sometimes he was soaking wet, or muddy from head to toe and shivering, or wearing soiled clothing. He had cuts, bruises, hair shaven off, all manner of things that would have given a parent pause. But Seanan was quick with a story every time. Even with the dog, when nobody had ever seen Dau show the creature the least unkindness. Seanan knew how to be plausible, even when his explanation was little short of ridiculous. Dau soon gave up trying to explain. If you are not believed when you tell the truth, why even attempt to do so? He was younger, smaller, weaker. So when Father quizzed him, he said nothing. He took his beatings; he had come to expect hurt.
“And I? I did not plan those cruel escapades, those attacks, those calculated nightmares. That was all Seanan. But what Seanan told me to do, I did. I aided him in his tormenting of our little brother. I held Dau back while Seanan killed the dog. And when Father asked questions, I answered as Seanan had bid me answer. I lied to save myself from a life of terror. Because of my fear, I did great wrong. A lifetime of repentance cannot free me from the stain of that. Daily, hourly, I pray for God’s forgiveness. I must strive to live in truth, and pray that the light of salvation will enter my heart and cleanse my tainted spirit.” Íobhar draws a shaky breath. “You might ask why I did not speak out earlier; why I did not do better for Dau when I first discovered he had been offered such inadequate care, blind and distressed as he was. I would have done so. I wished to do so. But I was called away suddenly to the monastic establishment at Inishmacsaint. Only later did I discover that Master Seanan had arranged that very call for his own purposes. I will provide documentary evidence of his meddling in due course, Father Eláir. A request has been sent to the brethren at Inishmacsaint; I know such a record exists. My presence in his household was inconvenient for Seanan at that time, as indeed it was more recently during the visit of Lord Ross, when I found myself once again required urgently elsewhere. Seanan knew I would no longer countenance his cruel treatment of our brother. He knew I had suspicions about the cause of our father’s continuing ill health. He knew, perhaps, that I might move to thwart certain plans he had in mind. He needed me out of the way and used his influence to make it happen. But I am here now, and I have laid before you the whole truth. If I must pay a penalty under the law for my misdeeds, so be it.”
Dau’s eyes are wide with wonder as he looks at his monkish brother. Seanan jumps to his feet. “Call my witness!” he shouts. “Call Ultán! What is this, an attempt to declare my entire life a crime? I demand that my witness be heard!”
There’s a brief silence. Then Beanón says, “What Master Seanan requests is reasonable, even if his manner of doing so is not. Master Dau’s witnesses were heard.” He glances at the prior.
“Bring Ultán in, please,” says the prior, but his voice is almost drowned by shouting from outside, and the sound of running feet. Two of our guards go out, followed by Fergal. The shouting dies down, but none of them comes back in.
“We will take a brief adjournment,” says Father Eláir. “Master Seanan, if your witness is available we will give him the opportunity to speak. I appreciate the importance of doing so, especially as he will most likely face charges in due course. For now, Lord Scannal needs some private time to consider the statements. Master Beanón, Brother Máedóc, we will attend him in the small room next door, along with Master Naithí. Master Seanan, you are still in custody; you will be escorted elsewhere until my lord needs you again. Master Dau, you may wait here or out in the courtyard if you prefer. Stay close, everyone; we may need to question some of you again. When it’s time to return we’ll ring the bell.”
Doors open. Folk move to their designated areas. Two guards take the protesting Seanan away. Dau comes over to Brother Íobhar and puts his hands on the monk’s shoulders. The meaning of this gesture is clear. You told the truth. That was brave. Brother Íobhar wipes away tears. The two of them retire to a corner, sit down together, and converse in lowered voices. I see no sign of triumph on Dau’s face. He will not gloat over this victory; he’s not that kind of man. Besides, there is too much sorrow wrapped up in it. A tangle of past misdeeds to be unraveled with delicate fingers. Or maybe left alone. I wish I knew what they were saying to each other.
I can’t be honest with my sister. I can’t give her a big hug as I want to. Here in this hall I am a wandering storyteller and I hardly know these people. Instead I go outside with Torcan. We stretch our legs, walking past the burned area, looking at the work just begun. It seems startling that out here the sun is shining, the birds are caroling, and the ancient yews watch on unperturbed, their lives too long and deep to be greatly touched by the follies of humankind. For a while we sit side by side on a low wall, not saying much. At one point I see a pair of brown-robed brethren moving faster than might be thought appropriate for monks, and then consulting with Fergal and a guard at the far end of the building. For all Father Eláir’s caution, I think it will be hard to keep this tale from becoming public. Unless Lord Scannal chooses to believe Seanan despite such overwhelming evidence against the man. That would be easier for him. He’d keep his heir. He’d keep things the way they’ve been for years. But he’d lose the trust of many good folk in his household. Perhaps Seanan would send them all away. But he couldn’t get rid of the prior. And what about the monks who raised the suspicions of a poisoned sleeping draft? What about Brother Íobhar?
“I wonder if they’ll kick him out,” Torcan muses. “The brother, the one who spoke up. Can he keep on being a monk after that?”
“I don’t know the way of such institutions. He’s told the truth, even though it took him a long time. He sounded penitent. Perhaps Father Eláir will set him to digging the garden or emptying the privy for a while.”
“I can’t quite picture it,” Torcan says with a grin. “But there could be worse fates.”
I wonder how long it will take Lord Scannal to make a decision. I’m torn between the need to get back to the forest, where True is waiting alone, and the wish to stay here longer, to be with Liobhan longer and to be certain of her safety. She’d be unimpressed if I told her this. She’d say she’s a Swan Island warrior and can look after herself. That’s true enough, but these circumstances are exceptional. Extraordinary. Bizarre. If Seanan keeps his position in the house and she is forced to remain here, I hate to think what might happen.
The bell rings, clear and bright. We rise and walk back to the refectory.
When we are seated as before, the prior
addresses us. He’s looking grim. “Lord Scannal has reached a decision and will address you shortly. Before he does so, I have some sad news for you. A man has taken his own life within the walls of this house of God. One of the men accommodated in our cells, Master Seanan’s man Ultán. He is in God’s hands now, and at peace.”
Seanan is on his feet. “Where were the guards? I suspect foul play! He was my witness! Why was his statement delayed?”
“Master Seanan, calm yourself. I have answered your questions already; I have no more to add. But for the benefit of those present, I point out that the guards cannot watch every man for every moment of the day. We will, of course, assist Lord Scannal with this matter in any way we can. This tragic sequence of events has now cost two lives. We will pray for both men. But for now, we must move on. Be seated, Master Seanan.”
He obeys, glowering. Not saddened by the death of his man or the nature of Ultán’s passing, only furious because he’s lost the one person he was sure would support him.
“I will proceed, then,” says the prior. “We have passed the matter of those men-at-arms who were involved in the skirmish to Master Fergal to deal with, since as master-at-arms he has the authority to do so. He spoke to each man in the company of a scribe this morning. The written record reveals that each man stated he was acting under Master Seanan’s orders, and that each man believed that if he did not obey, he would lose his place in Lord Scannal’s service. Master Fergal will make arrangements for those men to return to Lord Scannal’s household, where they will be under strict supervision for a period.”
It surprises me that Seanan does not leap to his feet and challenge this. Instead he sits silent with arms folded.
Father Eláir sits down; Lord Scannal stands. I understand he is close to my own father’s age, but he looks years older. The tremor in his hands has increased.
“I have considered all the statements,” he says, and his voice is uneven now, his breathing labored. “I have weighed the evidence. As chieftain of Oakhill, I bear responsibility for ills that occur within my household and my community. As the father of three sons who were brought up without their mother’s presence, I bear responsibility for ills that occur within my family. We are not here today to consider events of the distant past. We are not here to weigh guilt or innocence in the matter of my eldest son’s treatment of his young brother years ago, nor the choice of the middle brother to stand back and let certain things happen. We are not here to pass judgment on lies that were told at that time, nor on my own failure to open my eyes and ears to the unpalatable truth.
“We are, however, bound to give those events some weight in determining responsibility for what has happened now those boys are men. I remind myself that when Dau was ten years old his eldest brother was no child, but a young man of fifteen. When the episode with the dog occurred, Dau was thirteen years old. His brother, five years older, was a man by all standards. At that time, I chose to believe the story he told, not least because Ruarc—Brother Íobhar, as he is now—backed it up. It was the same with earlier incidents. I was deaf to the truth. I heard what I wanted to hear. Anything else was too hard. I was weak. I will not be weak again.”
It is so quiet in the chamber, a person could hear the footsteps of a beetle in the wall, the subtle movement of a spider in a web high above. It is so quiet, I might hear my own heart beating.
“Seanan. You were my right-hand man. You were my heir. I took pride in your abilities. I saw a bright future for you. Your acts of pointless cruelty, then and now, your choice to control others by fear, your senseless hatred for your brother, all these render you unfit to hold any position of authority. You are unfit to be chieftain of Oakhill, and you will not inherit that title from me. As penalty for your misdeeds, I banish you from Oakhill forever. Should you set foot within my territory again, or cause others to enter this place with ill intent, you will be taken into custody and these matters will be dealt with in a formal hearing. You will be gone from this place by nightfall, and you will be beyond my borders by morning. Is this understood?”
Seanan is silent. I am not sure he has taken in the import of this.
“Is this understood?” Lord Scannal asks again. “I might point out to you that there is a matter of a sleeping draft still to be investigated. Should that become a formal charge, you might find yourself facing a far graver penalty.”
“You wrong me,” Seanan says, tight-jawed. “You wrong me grievously. How can you rule here without me? For years I have done everything for you, everything! How will you—?”
“Enough,” says Lord Scannal. “You will be escorted from this place and given time to gather your possessions. You will not ride alone to the border. Guards will accompany you. Guards chosen by Master Fergal. You may leave us now.”
And Master Seanan does, head still held high, blue eyes glaring baleful challenge to anyone who dares look at him. Just as well he’ll be guarded until he is away from here. He looks capable of anything.
The door is closed behind him and his escort.
“I thank you for your attendance and for your tolerance,” Lord Scannal says. His voice is fading; I think he is fighting tears. “I thank the community of St. Padraig’s, and Father Eláir in particular, for their assistance on this most difficult of days. I have just one more thing to say, and I must say it before this company. Dau. My son. I am sorry. But no apology, no payment in silver, nothing can compensate for what was done to you in this house. I will regret that for the rest of my days. You stood up today and showed yourself to be a fine young man. A son of whom I could be truly proud. A future leader.” He’s about to say something more and I can guess what it may be. So, it seems, can Dau, for he speaks quickly, before his father can go on.
“I believe justice has been done today, Father. I also thank those who made it possible. I do not wish for any compensation. I wanted only that the truth should come out, and that my brother’s ill deeds should be recognized. I am satisfied with the way that has occurred. I thank Master Beanón for his expert help. I thank Brother Íobhar for his courage in speaking out at last. It is not easy to acknowledge past faults. I hope his honesty does not put his future among the brethren in jeopardy. I am glad that he has found a right path, and I wish to make it plain that I forgive him.” He bows his head in his brother’s direction, and Íobhar returns the gesture. In my mind a grand song is writing itself, a song I cannot sing for nearly a year, about the bonds of brotherhood.
“As for the future,” Dau goes on, “we might discuss that privately, Father. But I must make it known that I have no desire to remain here in Oakhill as part of this household, in whatever capacity.” Thus he neatly avoids any discussion of who might become Lord Scannal’s heir with the departure of Seanan. “I wish to leave Oakhill within a few days. I need your sworn promise that since my vision is now fully restored, you will free Liobhan from her debt bondage immediately so she may return home with me. We are comrades. We work together. We live in the same community. Her freedom is the only compensation I require. I want your promise on this issue before we leave this hall.”
Oh, gods! The look on Lord Scannal’s face is terrible to behold. He gazes at Dau and sees the strong, courageous, honorable chieftain that might have been, the son who, because of those past ills, will turn his back on Oakhill and make his own life on his own terms. Seanan will not be chieftain. Ruarc cannot be chieftain. There is no other. “I give my word,” Lord Scannal says. “Consider the debt bondage acquitted in full. You are free to go, you and your friend. Fergal, Iarla, you will attend to the arrangements.” He draws a shaky breath. “Dau. I would be pleased if we could meet later, privately. If you wish, Master Beanón could be present.”
Dau nods in assent. I think he, too, is fighting back tears.
And just like that, the proceedings are over. Father Eláir thanks everyone again and we disperse. I stand outside with Liobhan, waiting for Dau. He is slow to follow;
he is in some kind of discussion with the monks. The afternoon shadows are growing longer. I know what I must do, and it hurts.
“I should go straight back,” I tell my sister. “No need to return to the house; I have everything with me. And True will be waiting. If I walk straight to the forest we’ll have enough time to be home before dark.”
Liobhan gives me a penetrating look. She looks tired beyond belief. Her eyes are rimmed by blue-gray shadows. There’s a crease of pain on her brow. “That’s quite a distance,” she says, summoning a ghost of a smile. She knows, of course, that in the Otherworld time and space play all sorts of tricks.
“True knows the secret ways better than I do. But it is far, yes, so the sooner we’re off the better.” I gaze on her, wanting to remember the way she looks now, her dauntless courage shining through despite everything. “Make sure you get a fresh dressing on that burn,” I say. “That’s your sword arm.”
“Don’t remind me. I can just see myself arriving on Swan Island and being told I’m not fit enough to have my old place back.”
“Liobhan . . .” I glance around to make sure nobody is close enough to overhear. “About that. Going back, I mean. You and Dau . . . ?”
“Me and Dau what?” There’s a combative note in her voice now. I take that as a good sign.
“I could hardly fail to notice that there’s something more than comradeship between you now. Won’t that create difficulties for you on the island? I don’t imagine the rules have changed since I left the place.”
Liobhan grimaces. “Isn’t Swan Island all about making the impossible happen? We’ll work something out.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’m told certain of the elders may have bent the rules a little in the past. Anyway, it might amount to nothing. Don’t read too much into our sharing a bedchamber. A lot of the time that was Dau having nightmares and me trying to calm him down. I slept on the floor.”
A Dance with Fate Page 43