‘How did you discover where I had hidden Brother Mochta and the Holy Relics?’
‘Nion saw you leave the house of Della. It took no imagination to make inquiries and find out how friendly you were with her.’
‘That is why you went to Della’s house and took Mochta and the reliquary away with you? One thing is puzzling. You have proclaimed your suspicions of the Uí Fidgente on more than one occasion. Why, then, did you take Gionga of the Uí Fidgente to ransack Della’s house?’
Finguine glanced nervously at the judges. ‘Action needed to be taken immediately when Nion reported the matter to me. I was in Solam’s company at the time Nion chose to speak to me. Solam insisted that Gionga accompany me. He was suspicious and wanted an Uí Fidgente witness. I did not have time to send for my warriors and so I had to trust Gionga.’
Solam turned and nodded agreement. ‘That was so, Fidelma.’
‘Having discovered that I had brought Brother Mochta and the reliquary to Cashel, Finguine, why did you think it necessary that they be removed from my safekeeping?’
Finguine looked uncomfortable and then he held her eye for a moment. ‘Because we believed it was you who was behind the conspiracy against Cashel.’
Fidelma was not often given to an astonishment in which she became speechless. This time she was.
Her silence encouraged Finguine to continue.
‘You have only just come back to this kingdom after years away. When you were young you went and studied with the Brehon Morann at Tara. Then you went to Cill Dara and were many years in that abbey. You have been abroad, to Oswy’s kingdom in the land of the Angles and to Rome. How could we trust you?’
‘I still do not see why you felt that I was part of such a conspiracy?’ Fidelma finally voiced her astonishment.
Nion came to Finguine’s defence. ‘I told Finguine what I had heard from Samradán. He once boasted that his patron was powerful. Someone who was very close to the King of Cashel. He never mentioned whether the patron was male or female. It is only now that we have heard that the patron was addressed as a rígdomna.’
‘And rígdomna being male and not female?’ Fidelma reacted with a soft chuckle.
‘It is no laughing matter,’ cut in the Brehon Rumann irritably. ‘You had almost argued yourself into the position of your prime suspect.’
Fidelma suddenly grew serious. ‘Then I had best come to the point, learned judge, before you find me guilty of the conspiracy. Oh, one more question, Finguine. What were you doing at Samradán’s house the other night?’
Finguine frowned. ‘The other night? I was looking for Samradán as I wished to ask him some questions. I rode up to his house but there was no response to my knocking.’
‘You didn’t go in?’
‘I didn’t even get off my horse. I merely rode up to the door and knocked. When there was no response, I turned away. Then the next day I heard the news that Samradán was dead - murdered.’
‘In death, the answer still lies with Samradán,’ observed Fidelma. Once more an icy silence descended and everyone leant forward to catch her words. ‘I mentioned that I had unwittingly asked him if he traded in silver, having been told he did. He had denied it. This was because his trade was illegal. Outside of his co-workers and Nion who extracted the metal from the ore, only his co-conspirator knew of his mining in silver. That same co-conspirator was the rígdomna who sought to overthrow Muman.
‘That man, that young rígdomna, when he rode into Cashel that morning, was the one who raised his hand to give the signal for the assassins to shoot at Colgú. Only Colgú leaning forward suddenly to greet me made the assassin miss his target. The second arrow struck where it was supposed to. A bad but not serious wound for Donennach. Then Gionga, having spotted the assassins, galloped forward.
‘The last thing this man wanted was his conspirators to be captured alive. If they were dead the plot could still work. He had given one of them the emblem of the Golden Chain and told them to drop it at the spot. He had not realised that the other man, Baoill, still carried the crucifix of Ailbe which would mark the start of the trail that led to the conspirators.’
‘Are you saying that Gionga acted wrongly in killing the assassins?’ Solam interjected.
‘He did what he thought was right. He killed the assassins believing that he might be in danger. Probably, if he had hesitated, the chief conspirator, who had ridden after him, would have ensured that both men were killed on some pretext before they could talk. As it was, both men were killed. But, no, Gionga is not to blame.’
Gionga was standing with his brow wrinkled as if deep in thought. He was remembering the incident more clearly in the light of what she was saying.
Fidelma glanced encouragingly across the hall to him.
‘I’ll take a bet with you, Gionga. The same person who came hot on your heels and ensured you killed the two men at Samradán’s warehouse was the same man who suggested that I was determined to conjure evidence to incriminate Prince Donennach. Is that not so? Didn’t he suggest that you would be wise to send warriors to block my way to Imleach? To put a guard on the bridge?’
Gionga’s face lightened. He nodded rapidly. ‘That is so. But he …’
‘You did not realise that you fell into his trap because, by sending your warriors to prevent my leaving Cashel, you immediately brought down more suspicion on your Prince. Your behaviour seemed to compound the guilt of the Uí Fidgente.’
Gionga raised a hand to his forehead and groaned. ‘I did not think of that.’
‘Who is this man?’ cried the Brehon Rumann in frustration. ‘Enough innuendoes. Name him.’
‘What man raised his hand when the bodyguard of King Colgú entered the market square that morning?’ asked Fidelma. ‘We all thought it a signal to his horsemen but it was a signal to the assassins. What man immediately galloped after Gionga? What man told Gionga to set a guard on the bridge across the Suir? What man told me, in an unguarded moment, that he had traded a certain silver brooch from Samradán when Samradán kept his silver dealing such a dark secret that the only person outside of Nion who would know of it was the man who was his partner and protector?’
Slowly, Donndubháin had risen in his place and walked forward to face Fidelma before the Brehons. Throughout the proceedings he had remained silent. He had sat in his seat without responding to events, with no emotion on his stony face. He had simply stared ahead of him, looking neither right nor left. Now the moment had come when everyone finally knew whom Fidelma was accusing. He left his seat and stood a few feet from Fidelma. Even then, he managed a good-natured expression on his features.
‘What are you trying to do to me, cousin?’ His voice was pleasant. Yet the eyes were hard and unblinking.
‘Do - to you? You are the architect of an evil conspiracy, cousin. You were angry and jealous when Colgú was elected as tanist and became King of Muman when you considered that the kingship should have been yours by right. Even when you were elected tanist, heir-apparent, to Colgú, it was not enough. Colgú was young and bar an unforeseen accident, you could never hope to be King. So you decided to make that “accident” occur.
‘Colgú would be assassinated. The Uí Fidgente would be blamed. Disorder and turmoil would rip Muman apart and you, dear cousin, would come forward and claim the crown, promising to unite the kingdom once again. You would have the support of the whole kingdom behind you when you marched to destroy the Uí Fidgente and from the ashes of that land you would give the Uí Néill tribute, allowing Mael Duin of Ailech to once more reach out his blood-red hand to take control of our kingdom.’
Many had risen in the Great Hall and began to crowd towards the spot where the drama was being played out. Eadulf felt himself pushed from his seat and urged forward in their forefront. He clung on desperately to his pilgrim’s staff as a means of keeping his balance in the throng.
He found himself near Donndubhain and Fidelma. He did not like the expression that was changing the tanist’s fa
ce from its handsome pleasant features to a mask of uncontrolled hatred. It was clear that Fidelma’s truth had struck home.
The tanist of Cashel was trying to assume a smug expression as he made another attempt to deny her accusation.
‘The Brehons want proof and not supposition, cousin,’ he said, clearly trying to sound amused but not succeeding. ‘Where is your proof for this outrageous nonsense?’
‘You do not think I have given you proof enough? There is Gionga. He will tell how you persuaded him to send his warriors …’
‘What if I did? You have no proof of anything else. Baoill and Fedach are dead and …’
Fidelma’s broad smile stopped him. ‘What name did you say?’ she asked softly.
‘Baoill and …’ He suddenly paused, realising the slip he had made.
‘I think the name that you gave to the archer was Fedach? Did I not say that no one knew his name? That the only person alive would be … ?’
‘That is not proof enough. I might have heard it from someone else and …’
‘When you decided to kill Samradan the other night you made your fatal mistake. Without that killing, the jigsaw puzzle, our game of tomus, with which we played as children, would not have come into place within its frame.’
‘But it was I who led you to the assassin’s horses which had been hidden at Samradán’s stables,’ protested Donndubhain. ‘Would a guilty man do that?’
‘Yes. You hid the horses there yourself. Samradán was in Imleach at that time. Those horses had been kept elsewhere. Perhaps in your own stables. Then you took them to Samradán’s the very evening you killed him in order to close the circle so that a dead man would take the blame. You made a mistake in showing me those horses in your eagerness to throw me off your track. They were still hot and sweaty from their run from the place where they had been these last days. We will probably find which of your servants hid the horses on your instructions. From your own lips we have learnt the name of the archer - Fedach.’
‘Nonsense! The name proves nothing.’
‘You removed all items of identity from those horses, except for the Uí Fidgente symbol on the saddle by which you hoped that I might still be persuaded to blame Prince Donennach. You had emptied the archer’s purse, which was a stupid thing to do for it showed most clearly that everything had been tampered with. But you overlooked a single coin, however. A píss, an Uí Néill coin of Ailech.’
She held it out.
‘It showed me that the archer had been in Ailech recently.’
‘But it does not show that I was in Ailech’s pay,’ Donndubháin said. ‘Nor does it prove my guilt.’
‘No. But the death of Samradan showed me that you killed him. Where is your silver brooch, the one you said that you had traded from Samradan, the one that came out of your illegal mining activity with him? The one he asked Nion the smith to make especially for his patron with its five red garnets?’
Donndubháin’s hand went automatically to his shoulder. His face went ashen.
Fidelma was holding out the brooch that she had taken from Samradán’s dead grasp. She held it up for everyone to see.
‘I found it clutched in Samradán’s hand. He tore it from Donndubháin in his death struggle along with the cloth you see attached to it.’
‘You can’t prove it is mine. A silver brooch with a solar symbol and red garnets on the ends,’ sneered Donndubháin. ‘I have seen others like it. Look!’
He pointed to where Nion was standing. It was true that the smith wore a similar solar emblem with red garnets.
Donndubháin swung round angrily to Finguine.
‘And look! He wears one exactly like it.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Yes. Finguine’s solar emblem was also crafted by Nion. That is why they are so alike. Those brooches were made by the same craftsman who made your one. But whereas the emblems worn by Nion and Finguine carry three red garnets, this one was made especially for you. It has five red garnets. I saw you wearing it on the day of the attempted assassination. Maybe it is meant to represent the five kingdoms of Eireann. Is your ambition so high, Donndubhain?’
Donndubhain acted so quickly that it was over in a moment. He slid one hand into his shirt and drew forth a short dagger, hidden in his waistband. At the same time he reached out a hand and grabbed Fidelma. She had not been expecting such a move and the next moment she was pressed, back against his chest, with the knife at her throat.
‘Donndubháin!’ cried Colgú, springing forward from his place. ‘You fool! You cannot hope to escape!’
The Great Hall had burst into chaos and there were cries of alarm.
‘If I do not, then your precious sister dies with me,’ shouted the Prince across the heads of the crowd.
The knife was so close against Fidelma’s neck that there was a faint spot of blood oozing along the knife edge.
‘Tell Capa to saddle me a fast horse. No tricks for Fidelma is coming with me …’ ordered Donndubháin.
He began to edge backwards from the pale-faced judges, and the anxious eyes of those gathered in the Great Hall.
There was a dull thud. The knife hand of Donndubhain trembled and then the knife dropped from the senseless fingers to the floor. A moment afterwards it was followed by the unconscious body of the tanist of Cashel.
Fidelma swung round, eyes wide, heaving for breath.
Eadulf was standing there looking concerned. He held his pilgrim’s staff in two hands. He suddenly smiled as his eyes found Fidelma’s.
‘What works for a canis lupus can work for a human wolf as well.’
Fidelma threw back her head and laughed with relief as she embraced her companion.
Epilogue
Fidelma and Eadulf had paused on the south-west corner of the battlements of the walls of Cashel. Their eyes were on the westward mountains. It would not be long before the bell tolled the hour for the evening meal. It seemed peaceful and quiet now that the palace grounds were almost deserted and the town below the great seat of the Kings of Muman was emptying of its visitors. They had come for a spectacle in the court of the Brehons and had not been disappointed. Conflict had been averted, the guilty found and punished. Tomorrow morning, the Brehons would be departing and within a few days the Prince of the Uí Fidgente would return to his own land, having sworn a treaty of peace with Cashel.
It seemed that the month was going to end, as it usually did, with another period of fine, warm weather. The sun was lowering rapidly, a bright golden ball heading towards the western mountains in a splash of soft, rose-redness. The clouds, what few there were, lay in thin, long strands of darkness, tinged along the top by the rays of the light from the setting sun.
‘It will be a fine day tomorrow,’ Fidelma observed almost sleepily.
Eadulf nodded morosely.
‘You seem despondent.’ Fidelma caught the mood of her Saxon companion.
‘There is one mystery in this matter that has not been resolved,’ he said. ‘At least, I cannot find the answer.’
‘What is that?’
‘Who killed the raider in Imleach? Was it Samradan? That does not make sense.’
‘No. The death of the raider was almost superfluous, if death can be so described. He was killed, as I first suspected, for the most common of motives. Vengeance.’
‘You mean that he was killed as we suspected by Brother Bardan?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Vengeance for Daig’s slaughter?’
‘No. He was killed by Brother Madagan whose eyes betray his unforgiving nature. Madagan simply wanted vengeance for being struck down by the raider outside the gates of the abbey. The next day, Madagan took the purse of the raider, filled with coins from the King of Ailech, and donated them to the abbey as compensation. Ségdae showed me the coins before I left Imleach. They were the same type as the one I found in the assassin’s bag at Samradán’s stable.’
‘Does Abbot Ségdae know?’ gasped Eadulf.
‘Yes. It will be for him to pursue the matter if he
wants to and for Madagan to come to terms with his own conscience. At least the raider’s coins as a gift to the abbey is some recompense, I suppose. But not for Madagan. He has to find his own salvation.’
They fell silent awhile.
‘I was also thinking how close you came to death and by the hand of your own cousin no less.’
‘A pilgrim’s staff is good to have to hand.’ She smiled softly. ‘At least your aim was true.’
‘What if it had not been?’ Eadulf grimaced and shivered.
‘But it was and here we are.’
‘Tomorrow the Brehons will have departed. But will Muman be safe again?’
‘The Uí Fidgente have come to a peace accord with my brother. The Brehons will make their findings known and Mael Duin, the Uí Néill King of Ailech, will be given warning to desist from plotting against Muman. So will Ultán, the Comarb of Patrick. I believe that there will be peace here for a while. I am also told that Colgú will be proposing my cousin, Finguine, as his new tanist when the derbfhine of our family next meet. I think the choice will be a wise one.’
‘And what now?’ asked Eadulf. ‘This matter has been an exhausting one. I have never been so confused in my life. I was wondering whether you could have proved Donndubháin’s guilt had he not condemned himself by his action.’
Fidelma gazed at Eadulf in mild rebuke.
‘Surely you know me better than that? I do not believe in chance. However-’ she smiled ruefully - ‘it would have taken some time to examine all the witnesses and the evidence. Some might have become confused with it. I don’t think so, though. In the end, the evidence would have been clear to anyone.’
‘So what are you planning now?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘I have seen that meditative look on your face once too often not to realise that you are working something out.’
Fidelma smiled sadly. She had, indeed. It was going to be difficult. ‘Do you know how our scribes mark the end of a manuscript as they finish work?’
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