Brehon Ninnid glanced at her, shrugged eloquently and sat down. ‘You have contrary evidence then?’ he said, almost with a smirk.
Fidelma hesitated.
‘Well, Fidelma? Do you?’ prompted Sechnassach gently.
‘I have only inconsistencies to put forward at this time. However, such as they are they do cause concern.’
Sechnassach glanced at Brehon Barrán as if seeking help.
‘We all are aware of Fidelma’s reputation,’ Brehon Barrán said. ‘There is none here who does not respect her knowledge of law and the sharp penetration of her questions. I certainly would not dismiss her arguments lightly without some consideration of them.’
Fidelma bowed slightly towards him. ‘If there is one thing that irritates me about this whole matter it is that we have circumstantial evidence pointing to two people. And in their defence, both of them — I am speaking of Muirchertach Nár and Dúnchad — have put forward curious tales, which seem to confirm some guilt. But, by his own weak tale, even Brother Drón is also a prime suspect.’
‘Why does circumstantial evidence irritate you, Fidelma?’ asked Brehon Barrán. ‘It is still acceptable in law.’
‘Because if any or all of them had really undertaken these acts of murder they would have prepared better stories to elude suspicion. They tell stories that are so impossible to believe that they actually speak of innocence.’
Brehon Ninnid laughed aloud in scepticism, but Brehon Barrán’s face was grave.
‘You have made a point that needs consideration, Fidelma, but it comes back to what the High King Sechnassach says. The people are growing restless. Two deaths in two days — an abbot and a king. We cannot keep everyone confined here for ever during this search for the truth.’
Fidelma’s tone was unemotional. ‘You’ll recall that yesterday was meant to be my wedding celebration. If anyone is suffering by this delay, as Brehon Ninnid calls it, it is Eadulf and I.’
Sechnassach grimaced with a wry expression at Brehon Barrán, who gave a a ghost of a nod in the High King’s direction.
‘I am afraid that a decision has to be made, Fidelma. I thought earlier today that I could allow you what freedom you wanted. But the members of my council have made representations about the growing unrest. So I have decided. One further night and a day can pass. Then we shall meet again. The matter must then be pronounced capable of resolution. Is that clear?’
Brehon Ninnid stood up and both he and Fidelma bowed towards the High King in acquiescence.
Outside the chamber, Eadulf could see that Fidelma was unhappy.
‘Justice is not served by pandering to people because they are restless or want to get home.’ Her voice was quiet but angry as they walked back to their chamber.
‘Or get married.’ Eadulf grinned, trying to introduce some humour into the conversation.
Fidelma’s face softened for a moment. ‘Even brehons seem to forget the purpose of the law — jus est ars boni et aequi.’
‘Law is the art of the good and the just,’ Eadulf translated. ‘I think our friend Ninnid believes it to be the art of gaining reputation. Anyway, what now? It is already dark. There is only this night and tomorrow in which to find a solution.’
‘You go on to our chambers, check to see that all is well with little Alchú and Muirgen. Have something to eat. I will be along shortly. I want to have a word with Abbot Laisran.’
‘Laisran? Why?’
Fidelma smiled. ‘He is often a good counsel in times of stress.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abbot Laisran’s cherubic countenance was unusually glum as he welcomed his cousin. ‘I am truly sorry that what should have been a time of happiness for you has been cursed, Fidelma.’
‘Even these days will pass,’ Fidelma said reassuringly. ‘Indeed, by tomorrow evening, it seems that I must have a solution.’
Abbot Laisran waved her to a seat.
‘And are you near one?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Not exactly. I have many questions but cannot find the right people to answer them. That is why I have come to you.’
Abbot Laisran sat back before the fire and folded his hands across his broad stomach. He smiled complacently.
‘As you know, it is my privilege to be abbot at Durrow, whose students not only come from all the corners of the world but, after their training, return to those four corners. There is little gossip that does not eventually reach my ears. How might I be of help? You have doubtless discovered that Ultán of the Uí Thuirtrí was not always the pious religious that he pretended. That surely gives you some scope in your investigation?’
‘It complicates things. I know that many hated him.’
‘Just so. He was not a likeable person.’
‘But that being so, it means that many desired to kill him.’
‘And, from what I hear, many with justification,’ agreed Abbot Laisran. ‘Though I was not surprised when the finger of suspicion fell on Muirchertach Nár.’
Fidelma regarded him with interest. ‘What do you know of Muirchertach Nár?’
‘Ah, poor Muirchertach.’ Laisran shook his head, his features in an expression of mock sorrow. ‘I have heard that he is no longer of this earthly realm. They do say de mortuis nihil nisi bonum. . of the dead speak nothing but good. But, in justice, when good and bad mingle, one should speak truthfully. He was a sad man. Overshadowed by his father, King Guaire. When he became king of Connacht, he tried his best to emulate him. I’ll wager that you have no liking for his wife. . his widow,’ he corrected himself. ‘The lady Aíbnat. Truly, she is a strange lady. There is a saying among her servants that if you put her in an empty chamber, she would pick a fight in it within seconds.’
Fidema chuckled appreciatively. ‘I can agree with that.’
‘I am not sure why she and Muirchertach married. She, of course, is of the Uí Briúin Aí — they are rival families for the kingship of Connacht. I do not think mutual feelings had anything to do with their relationship. Muirchertach found his carnal pleasures elsewhere, by all accounts. I think it was a marriage of convenience. The two families trying to patch up their quarrels. A marriage of politics.’
Fidelma had gathered that much from Dúnchad Muirisci.
‘You have heard of Muirchertach’s clash with Bishop Ultán over Aíbnat’s younger sister Searc? Was that to do with a desire to pacify the Uí Briúin family rather than any regard for his wife?’
‘I have heard about this matter,’ agreed Abbot Laisran. ‘It seems a little out of character for Muirchertach to pursue such a course unless he were doing it for politics rather than out of personal affection. That might make sense.’ He rubbed his chin reflectively and seemed to fall into deep thought.
‘Do you have another conclusion?’ she prompted.
‘I have heard that Searc was a beautiful girl and, as I say, Muirchertach was disposed to forming attachments to young women.’
Fidelma shook her head immediately. ‘But Searc was in love with the young man named Senach of Cill Ria.’
‘Just so. But there were stories that Muirchertach was attracted to her. I understand that she initially went to live at his fortress at Durlas to be companion to her sister Aíbnat.’
‘Before she met Senach?’
‘I don’t know. However, there is certainly no question that the attraction was mutual. She rejected Muirchertach’s advances. At least, that is what I have heard.’
Fidelma looked at the leaping flames in the fire for a few moments. ‘Are you saying that Muirchertach tried to seduce Aíbnat’s sister?’
Abbot Laisran’s chubby face was not exactly serious. ‘It would not be the first time that such a thing has happened. Whether of the nobility or the Faith, men are often led by their desires. Myself now, I am too old to desire anything more than a good jug of wine, a nicely cooked repast and perhaps the entertainment of a good horse race.’
Fidelma broke into a smile. ‘I know your faults only too well, Laisran. You shou
ld add to them the fascination of the gaming board.’
‘Ah.’ The abbot nodded reflectively. ‘I had not forgotten. I fail to mention that because I have learned never to challenge you to bran-dubh or fidchell, either board game would spell disaster for me against one of your wit.’
Fidelma suddenly frowned again. ‘Are you saying that Muirchertach had a reputation with women and that his wife Aíbnat knew about it?’
‘It is what I have heard. I cannot bear witness to it.’
‘But where did you hear this? Durrow is a long way from Muirchertach’s fortress at Durlas.’
‘As Virgil said: fama malum quo non aliud velocius ullum,’ Laisran replied with a wink.
‘It is true that nothing travels faster than scandal,’ Fidelma agreed, ‘but one has to separate mere rumour and mischief-making.’
‘Often there is truth in rumour,’ the abbot replied. ‘Tales told from different sources may be treated with less suspicion than a tale told by a single source. There were several religious arriving at Durrow and each told a similar tale.’
Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘For Virgil I give you Horace — say nothing in case what you say hurt another or bring down on us an unfavourable act of the gods.’
The abbot smiled broadly. ‘You cannot believe that,’ he rebuked humorously. ‘Otherwise, where would you be? You could not function if people obeyed the favete linguis that Horace suggested we obey. Without gossip, without speculation, without people talking to you, your investigations would hardly lead anywhere.’
Fidelma thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘I agree that there is truth in that, Laisran. I suppose the secret is knowing where to look for the nuggets of truth among the silt of hearsay, calumny and defamation.’
‘I am afraid that is your task in life, Fidelma. You chose your profession.’
‘So,’ Fidelma returned to a more practical issue, ‘these rumours that religious wanderers from Connacht brought to you at Durrow had a consistency? They spoke of Muirchertach as a libertine, profligate in his behaviour to women?’
‘They did.’
‘Even in his behaviour to Searc, the sister of his wife Aíbnat?’
‘It is so.’
‘Even if this were just scandal without substantiation, something is strange,’ she said with a shake of her head. Then she rose to her feet. Abbot Laisran looked up with a questioning expression.
‘Have I been of help?’
‘I think so,’ she replied, after a moment’s thought. ‘At least you have prompted an interesting question in my mind. Unfortunately, there are many pieces that seem to form patterns but I am not sure whether they are the right patterns. I don’t think, as yet, that I have all the pieces.’
‘With both Ultán and Muirchertach dead, is there any reason to seek any more pieces?’ queried Abbot Laisran. ‘After all,’ he waved a hand, an odd little gesture as though unsure of himself, ‘it does make a resolution to the matter, doesn’t it? Ultán killed and no great loss to anyone. Muirchertach was blamed and now Muirchertach dead, perhaps in revenge.’
‘But who killed Muirchertach?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Does it serve anyone to find out?’
‘It serves justice and that is what we are about or we are about nothing at all in life.’
‘I have heard that one learned brehon would prefer not to implicate anyone from Laigin,’ he said softly. Fidelma gazed sharply at him. ‘It is just a thought that I heard expressed.’
‘I think I know where that thought came from. Sometimes I forget that the abbey of Durrow lies across the border in the kingdom of Laigin.’
‘You have a sharp mind, Fidelma,’ sighed Abbot Laisran. ‘I always thought that you were a great lawyer.’
‘When you see Brehon Ninnid of Laigin you might say that you heard that I was as determined to track down whoever killed Muirchertach as I was to clear Muirchertach Nár’s name of the murder of Abbot Ultán by discovering who really killed him.’
‘I shall tell Brehon Ninnid. Perhaps, if I were looking for Muirchertach’s killer, I would be thinking of the type of man that Muirchertach Nár was. If the rumours that he was a libertine are true, who might be the one to suffer from his behaviour?’
‘Aíbnat?’ Fidelma grimaced dismissively. ‘I should not think that she would care one way or another.’
‘Yet with her own sister?’
Fidelma thought a moment and then inclined her head, turning for the door. ‘I will bear in mind what you say, Laisran.’
Fidelma had just finished telling Eadulf the gist of her conversation with Laisran when there was a knocking on their chamber door. Muirgen the nurse hurried across the chamber to open the door, making a disapproving noise as she did so, glancing in young Alchú’s crib as she passed by to ensure that he had not been disturbed. It was Caol, the commander of the guard, on the threshold, looking agitated. He glanced past Muirgen and caught site of Fidelma.
‘Lady, a thousand apologies, but it is Fergus Fanat. .’ he called.
Fidelma rose and hastened to the door to join him, dismissing Muirgen with a motion of her head.
‘What about Fergus Fanat?’ she asked softly.
‘He has been attacked.’
Eadulf now joined them.
‘Is he dead?’ he asked.
Caol shook his head. ‘But he is barely alive.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He has been taken down to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.’
‘Where did the attack take place?’ asked Fidelma, reaching for a cloak, for the hour was nearly midnight and the night was chilly.
‘Outside the guest chambers given over to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, and his attendants.’
‘Who was responsible?’ demanded Eadulf, as, by common consent, they left Muirgen looking after the still sleeping baby, and followed Caol into the corridor.
‘No one knows.’
‘Were there no witnesses?’
Caol shook his head. ‘None so far as is known.’
‘Tell us what you do know, Caol,’ said Fidelma.
‘The servant of Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, came to find me a short time ago. He told me that Fergus Fanat, the king’s cousin, had been found badly injured.’
‘Stabbed?’ asked Eadulf quickly.
‘I don’t think so. Brother Conchobhar will know the extent of his injuries, for, having ascertained the man still lived, I had him removed to the care of the good apothecary.’
‘Let us go and see Blathmac immediately, while the events are still fresh in his mind,’ Fidelma suggested.
They found the ruler of Ulaidh in his chamber, looking a little careworn, seated with a flagon of corma at his side. His two personal attendants were standing in the room, wearing their short swords, while outside his chamber were two more warriors of Caol’s guard. Blathmac greeted Fidelma with a wry smile.
‘Until I know whether there is a design to kill me, I am taking no chances,’ he explained, indicating his men. ‘It seems that kings’ and abbots’ lives are not over-valued in Cashel.’
Fidelma did not seem to take offence.
‘I think you may be assured that Fergus Fanat was not attacked in place of yourself, Blathmac,’ she said, seating herself as was her right, while Eadulf stood behind her chair, as custom dictated.
Blathmac grimaced. ‘A king has already been killed. One of my abbots also. How can I be sure that the design is not against me?’
‘There is no surety in this world except that we all die at some time,’ she returned. ‘However, I would not lose sleep over fear that you were the intended victim. Can you tell me what happened?’
Blathmac shrugged indifferently. ‘There is little enough to tell, lady. I was taking supper when I heard a noise outside my chamber door.’
‘A noise?’
‘I suppose you might call it a scuffle. Unsteady footsteps. A cry of pain abruptly cut off and the sound of what, in retrospect, would have been a body falling. Fergus’s bo
dy. I grabbed my sword and went to the door and found Fergus lying there in front of the threshold. His head was covered in blood.’
‘Who else was in the corridor?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? Had you heard the sound of any doors along the corridor being shut?’
Blathmac shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘Because it is a long corridor. How long was it from when you heard the sound of the body falling until you opened the door?’
‘Only moments.’
‘In those moments, the attacker had time to vanish. They would have had to go into another chamber.’ Fidelma paused, suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Unless. .’
Blathmac looked at her expectantly. Abruptly, she changed the subject.
‘What did you do next?’
‘I called my servants and sent one of them to raise the commander of the guard. He came, found Fergus still living, thanks be to God, and had him removed to the care of an apothecary. That is all I know.’
‘Fergus Fanat was unconscious all this time?’
‘He was.’
Fidelma stood up.
‘Will you search the corridors — I mean the rooms leading off?’ asked Blathmac as she turned to the door.
Fidelma glanced back with a grimace. ‘In retrospect, I do not think anyone eluded your scrutiny of the corridor by entering one of the chambers. Whoever it was had left by another means. Have no fear, Blathmac, this attacker means no harm to you. But if it makes you feel more secure, I am sure Caol will allow his warriors to maintain a watch for the rest of this night.’
Outside the chamber, Fidelma glanced down. There were bloodstains in front of the threshold. She looked up and down the corridor while Eadulf watched her in perplexity. Then she grunted and walked swiftly a short distance along the corridor to an alcove in which a window was set.
‘Ah.’ Eadulf suddenly understood what she was thinking. ‘You believe that the culprit ran back here into the alcove?’
‘Just so,’ Fidelma muttered, peering at the window which was, of course, unglazed and open to the elements. ‘Bring a lantern here.’
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