‘Nor do I,’ Eadulf replied with a smile. ‘But it happens.’
The point was merely acknowledged with a grimace.
‘Síabair is trusted by Brehon Rónchú. I believe his report would be accurate as it was endorsed by Brehon Rónchú and he has been in my trust since he left his law training. That is a long, long time.’
‘So you trust him implicitly as to the truth of these matters?’ Fidelma asked.
‘He is a Brehon,’ Dicuil Dóna said flatly.
‘Are not Brehons also human beings with all the same faults?’ she smiled. ‘The rank of a Brehon does not automatically absolve one from conspiracy otherwise you would not have been suspicious of me when I came into your territory. Anyway, I was merely wondering because this Brehon Rónchú does seem to have been conspicuous by his absence recently.’
‘So far as I know he is in Láithreach.’
‘His assistant, Beccnat, with whom I studied at Brehon Morann’s college at Teamhair, seems to be the only Brehon in that township at the moment. She told me that Brehon Rónchú was away on his legal circuit to hear cases in the countryside. Can you tell me exactly when this incident of the discovery of the thieves and their deaths took place?’ She turned to Teimel. ‘Were you in Láithreach at the time?’
‘I was away,’ Teimel replied. ‘I can’t be specific. I was told that Brehon Rónchú brought the bodies back up the river and that Síabair, the physician, examined them. I suppose it was a few weeks ago. I was hunting in the northern peaks.’
‘About the same time as the body of Brehon Brocc was found?’ Eadulf asked quickly.
The lord of The Cuala agreed. ‘Some days before, as I recall. Brehon Rónchú was here when we first heard the news of the discovery of Brehon Brocc.’
‘Presumably your pigeon method of communication informed you of the event?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Of Brehon Brocc? Yes.’
‘Then I would deduce you have an informant in the abbey who can use the abbot’s pigeons for messaging.’
‘You are clever, Fidelma, but I will keep my sources to myself for the time being. Anyway, Brehon Rónchú was here at that time. He came here to see my mining steward, Garrchú, as I told you. Garrchú’s forge is not far from here on the other side of the valley.’
‘What did Brehon Rónchú report about the ore, exactly?’
‘He had not seen Garrchú before he saw me but he said he thought Garrchú might give him an expert opinion on the ore. He did not return afterwards but Garrchú sent his report by my steward.’
‘Isn’t that unusual? If Brehon Rónchú left to go on his circuit to deliver judgments, should he not have reported back to you what Garrchú told him first?’
‘Garrchú himself sent me the report. Anyway, he could only say the ore was of such a quality he had not seen before. Garrchú was certain that the Brehon returned directly to Láithreach after he had left the ore with him.’
‘And has not been seen since?’ Fidelma pointed out with a frown.
‘The length of his absence depends on the number and locations of the cases awaiting his attention,’ Dicuil Dóna said, unconcerned. ‘Surely his assistant would know exactly where he is now?’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘I would like to meet this Garrchú.’
‘Simple enough,’ Dicuil Dóna replied easily. ‘As I say, Garrchú lives less than half a day’s ride from here across the valley. As a master of all the miners and mines, he is classed as an ollamh, so he dwells in his own rath. He lives in the High Fort, Dún Árd. The path to this is indicated by a granite stone carved with our ancient writing called Ogham. It is inscribed with the name of Éo, the salmon.’
‘The salmon?’ queried Eadulf.
‘The story is that Éo lived centuries ago and, because he was wise, he was known as the “Salmon of Knowledge”. Show my emblem to Garrchú and say I sent you. He will tell you anything you want to know.’
They realised that Enda had been looking slightly puzzled at the mention of the name Garrchú. Now he seized an opportunity to ask a question.
‘This name does not seem a complimentary one. Doesn’t it mean “wolf’s ordure”?’
Dicuil Dóna chuckled. ‘It does, but it is worn by his family as a badge of pride.’
‘Explain.’
‘Centuries ago the Uí Máil shared a common ancestor with the Uí Garrchon. The name Garrchú was thrown at one member of the family by one of the Uí Máil as an insult. Fincaith, who received the insult, was progenitor of a line of Laigin kings. They declared themselves to be the Uí Garrchon, sons of Garrchú. So the name lives on as a badge of pride. My mining steward is one of that clan and is as respected as any noble.’
‘Very well. It seems our first enquiries must then begin with your ollamh of the unsavoury name,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘We will leave tomorrow.’
Fidelma awoke the next morning as sunrise was shimmering behind the eastern peaks. Her mind was still full of questions. It was cold but she swung out of bed and drew on her clothes before finding a basin with icy water to wash her face and hands, which was the custom. The forthrucud or bath, a full body wash, thankfully, was only done in the evening. She washed her face with cléic, a perfumed soap, wiping it on the linen towel provided. There was a mirror nearby and so she took it to the window. In the short time, the dawn light had grown stronger and, with the use of her own comb, she arranged her hair. Having completed her toilet, Fidelma left Eadulf, still sleeping in their guest chamber, and decided to go for a walk around the battlements of the fortress to clear her thoughts. Back in Cashel it was often her custom to walk around the walls. It acted as a therapy, putting everything into place in her thoughts, very much like the dercad, or meditation, she practised.
She had followed one of the attendant’s guidance through a passage, up a stairway, to find the way to the battlements, but soon found it did not provide her with the solitude that she was seeking. Every short distance was filled by one of the lord of The Cuala’s warriors who, though they greeted her respectfully, made it impossible for her to concentrate by their very presence. So she turned back to the lower levels of the fortress, where she had seen some secluded courtyards. Some of them were actually cultivated gardens rather than simply areas of carved rock or granite interspersed by trees and grass.
Fidelma moved down to one such gallery, which seemed to her larger than others. Grass interweaved between the stone flags and the surrounding borders were shaded by small trees – aspen, so she hazarded – which ran around the borders between the walkway and an oblong central area. It was a strange construction. At one end of the oblong – a grass lawn – stood two curious-looking tripods on which were balanced roundels of straw covered with a linen cloth with the outline of a head drawn on it. Fidelma realised it was a target set up for bow practice.
No one seemed about. Observing an exit through an arch in the stone wall, beyond the tree border, she walked leisurely towards it.
The arrow embedded itself in the tree just in front of her. Another step forward and it would have pierced her body.
FIFTEEN
Fidelma stood stock-still as a cold, icy feeling froze her forward momentum. The arrow was familiar in its markings. It took some moments for her to recover and to swing round to face the danger.
A young woman came hurrying forward, bow still in hand, and started to swear at her in haughty tones. ‘Have you not learnt that you are forbidden entrance to this yard when I am using it? I’ll have the steward take a rod to your back and teach you a lesson.’
Fidelma stared in disbelief. The young woman was scarcely beyond the ‘age of choice’. She carried her youthful attraction with an air of arrogance. It made her appear as a spoilt petulant brat.
‘Speak, woman,’ stormed the girl. ‘Do you not know how to apologise to your betters?’
‘Why should I apologise to you?’ Fidelma demanded, still feeling shocked by the near-fatal incident. ‘I did not let loose the arrow that might well have ended my li
fe. So it is the reverse that should be done.’
The young girl examined her with an expression bordering on incredulity at being so curtly addressed.
‘What labour do you do here, woman? Whatever you do, I will have you thrown out of this fortress!’ The girl’s voice was still heavy with arrogant anger. Then she paused as she examined Fidelma more closely. ‘You are not one of the usual servants.’
‘That is because I am not a servant but a guest here,’ Fidelma replied controlling her rising temper.
If Fidelma expected this to bring forth an apology she was soon disabused of the notion.
‘Then you are trespassing in this place. This is the courtyard where I always practise my bowmanship during these hours. There is a gate there. Go. You are forbidden to be here.’
‘I am forbidden?’ Fidelma repeated in a tone most would have taken as a warning. ‘And who are you?’
The girl’s chin was thrust out belligerently. The dark eyes flashed with antagonism.
‘Know that I am Aróc, daughter of Dicuil Dóna. Now be gone; you are presuming on my patience.’
Fidelma was coldly amused. ‘I would not wish to prevent you from your much-needed bow practice. I hope your ability with your aim improves. I noticed you have a tendency to pull the bow to the right. I am presuming that is because you are left handed? You must watch that tendency in future.’
As she turned away and resumed her walk towards the arched exit, she heard the girl exhale angrily and was sure that she heard her stamp her foot.
‘How dare you speak to me in that manner?! Stop! How …?’
Fidelma pretended not to hear the outburst and walked on. But an arrow whizzed past her head so dangerously close that she spun round to see the girl fixing another arrow to her bow. Before she could move in self-defence the young steward, Scáth, appeared. He moved quickly behind the girl, grasped the bow and flung it across the yard. Then he followed suit with her quiver of arrows.
Aróc turned on Scáth with a fury that distorted her face completely. She was on him like a cat, hands reaching out like claws; claws scratching towards his face, the teeth bared as if seeking for the bare flesh of his neck to sink into.
Fidelma’s first thought was to run forward and help drag the girl from the body of the steward, who was holding her back, hands around her wrists. Then he released one of his hands, drew it back and hit the girl across the face, palm outward, with such force that she went spinning to the ground and lay there sobbing.
‘You’ll get into trouble for that,’ Fidelma told the boy worriedly as she came hurrying forward.
‘She was shooting at you,’ replied the young steward, apparently not concerned.
‘I will support you,’ Fidelma assured him, ‘but for a steward to strike the daughter of a noble …’ She shook her head. She was about to say, especially a lord like Dicuil Dóna, but the boy interrupted her.
‘My father won’t hurt me,’ he replied in a cold tone. ‘He’ll just shout at me as he always does.’
Fidelma was puzzled. ‘Your father?’
‘Did you not know that my father is Dicuil Dóna? This girl,’ he motioned to where Aróc was now rising to her feet, ‘she is my sister.’
The girl’s face was full of malice as she scowled at Scáth.
‘I’ll have my revenge on you,’ she said between clenched teeth, interlacing the sentence with expletives that shocked even Fidelma. ‘Just you wait and see. You wait!’ Then she turned and ran off into the fortress.
Scáth grimaced apologetically at Fidelma. ‘I hope you have not been hurt, lady. Aróc is just a spoilt brat. Our father has indulged her too much.’
Fidelma was now in control of her surprise and felt sorry for the boy.
‘I have certainly not seen your father indulging you much so I suppose he pampers your sister?’
Scáth’s face expressed resignation: ‘I think it is the way with fathers to favour one child more than another? Everything I do appears to displease him because I am not the champion warrior that he wanted a son to be.’
‘Not all fathers would wish to create discord like that,’ Fidelma sighed philosophically. She barely remembered her own father, and her mother had died while giving birth to her. She had relied on stories from her two brothers, Fogartach and Colgú. In truth, she realised that she knew little about her parents other than from family stories and the songs of the bards.
‘The only reason why my father appointed me as his rechtaire, his steward, was because he trusts no one with family matters of tribute and property,’ Scáth went on sourly.
‘I admit I was curious as to why someone so young was steward to the senior noble of the Uí Máil. I presume you have no elder brother?’
The boy shrugged. ‘I had an elder brother. He was named Gerr and he wanted to join the abbey of Mo Aodh Óg in Fearna. My father forbade it and made him train in the use of weapons because he believed the sons of the lord of The Cuala should be warriors. You may know that my father is uncle to King Fianamail.’
‘Where is your elder brother now?’
Scáth shrugged without emotion ‘Dead. Gerr hated warfare but he was sent off to serve the High King in skirmishes against the Cruithin, the raiders in the north. He was slain in battle.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Don’t be. My father judges strength of character by strength of arms. Aróc is not the only one to be taught marksmanship with the bow. We are all trained in arms. At least I do not have to follow my brother’s fate and that suits me fine. What saved me was my father’s suspicious nature. He needed a close family member, whom he could control, to ensure tributes were gathered from the clans. That has its recompense. I can go gathering tributes from the settlements and farms among the mountains. I have even been sent to conduct discussions on matters of mutual importance with the King of Osraige. So, I have my own power and influence once away from my father.’
Fidelma felt a moment of sadness for the young man. Then she realised time was passing.
‘You should probably go to your father before your sister finds him, as I think she will present a different story to him as to what has happened here. Don’t worry, I shall support you with the truth.’
‘I am used to him taking Aróc’s side, lady. She has been almost insufferable since she reached the age of choice. She never ceases to let everyone know her father is lord of The Cuala. Her demands have become many, as if she already imagines herself as a ruler who can demand this and that and must be instantly obeyed. I have to confess that even when a trillsech, she used her tresses and looks to good advantage with men. But I am her brother and she is family, so I must try to protect her, even from herself.’
Fidelma was reminded that in some places the phrase ‘a girl in tresses’, trillsech, meant a girl under the age of choice but attractive, and passing as older than her years.
‘Can I get you anything?’
Her thoughts were interrupted by Scáth. Fidelma shook her head and tried to set her mind to the matter she was dealing with. She smiled at the steward. ‘Just point me in the direction of the feasting hall, where I said I would meet my companions.’
Eadulf was already there. ‘You were up early,’ he greeted her as she took her seat beside him. ‘Any developments?’
Fidelma told him about her encounter with Aróc and the fact that Scáth was the son of the lord of The Cuala and not just his steward.
Eadulf sighed. ‘I feel sorry for the boy. So young, and responsible as a steward already. He seems treated almost as a fidhir.’ It was the lowest rank of society without many rights.
‘I also feel sorry for the girl,’ rejoined Fidelma.
Eadulf looked surprised. ‘Surely not, from what you told me?’
‘At least the boy is intelligent and perhaps can break free of his father’s control at some point. There seems little hope for the girl to develop when she has been conditioned since birth to get whatever she demands. She will have a rude awakening in the real world
once she can no longer rely on her father. She is barely over the age of choice and yet … yet …’
Eadulf chuckled. ‘You are beginning to sound like a mother.’
‘I am a mother,’ she replied in irritation. ‘I still have memories of how we could well have ruined little Alchú through my neglect after his birth.’
‘You were a little depressed at that time and old Conchobhair, the apothecary, was able to offer some advice on that.’
‘But you stepped in and took control. For that, Eadulf, I shall always be grateful. I certainly learnt much from the experience.’
He paused awkwardly, then said: ‘I suppose it is right to be concerned about such a girl. I find little enough to like about the lord of The Cuala and his arrogance.’
‘I suppose Dicuil Dóna could be right?’ Fidelma asked suddenly. ‘I mean, that the culprits who killed Brehon Brocc were conspirators after precious metals.’
‘Brigands would be equally daring,’ Eadulf frowned. ‘I still have not accepted Dicuil Dóna’s claim that there is a conspiracy.’
‘I agree that stealing from mines is an old occupation and we have specific laws to punish those who steal gold and silver from the mines.’
Eadulf seemed impressed. He had not realised the law system covered mining as well. ‘We must accept that Dicuil Dóna is right, and that the gold and silver found by Brehon Rónchú was not a single theft but part of a continuing problem.’
‘I can’t see why he would invent that. But it is strange that Beccnat did not mention anything about it. Brehon Rónchú is her chief and he would surely have mentioned this to her.’
‘I suppose so. Teimel has never mentioned it either.’
‘That’s a point,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Where is he, by the way?’
‘I suppose he is still at the warriors’ quarters, talking with his old cronies. He seems to have a lot of old friends among the warriors.’
‘He was one of them himself, remember, so I would not be unduly surprised that he knows several there. Don’t forget, Corbmac offered to let him go.’
‘In spite of that, he volunteered to stand by us in his role of guide and trapper,’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘It seems we can trust him.’
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