Eadulf joined him and examined the cloth. ‘It is what you call sídna or siriac,’ he said, feeling it.
‘Indeed, it is silk, and good for cloaks or undershirts,’ agreed Cenn Faelad. ‘The other is sróll, satin. It is usually expensive.’ He addressed the boy. ‘I shall want to buy enough for some cloaks and other garments. Later this day, I will send my bollscari to make the purchases — sell them to no other. He will also come to taste some of the wine and purchase several amphorae. Sell that to no other.’
Surprisingly, the merchant did not look happy.
‘I was hoping to make the deal quickly, Majesty, and be on my way back to my ship.’
‘Tell him,’ Cenn Faelad said to the boy Assid, ‘we cannot let you depart so quickly as your journey has brought you such a long way. As soon as my steward has conducted my purchases with you, you may open your stall to others, but not before. Then you must remain and feast with us before returning to your ship.’
Eadulf understood what Cenn Faelad was about. He was giving the opportunity for the boy to escape and seek sanctuary from his slave master.
‘Assíd, I hope you understand what has been said here,’ Cenn Faelad stated, looking with a smile directly at Verbas as if he were addressing him. ‘Assure your master, Verbas, that he will get a fair price. And if you escape, you will be treated fairly too.’
The boy translated the necessary part of the sentence to the man, whoraised a hand again to his forehead and bowed — but his features bore a sullen look.
Cenn Faelad turned to Irél. ‘Let your man stay here and keep an eye on Verbas just in case he intends to remove himself back to his ship before I am ready.’
‘It shall be done,’ Irél said.
To Assid, Cenn Faelad said: ‘Explain to Verbas that I am leaving a warrior here for his own protection to make sure that others do not try to get his goods unfairly. Now,’ the young man grinned at Eadulf, ‘enough of these intrigues. I shall return to the royal enclosure.’
‘In that case, with your indulgence,’ Eadulf said, ‘I’ll look round the market for a while before I return.’
‘As you will,’ Cenn Faelad replied, turning away with Irél at his side.
Eadulf stood a moment, gazing after him. One thing worried him about Cenn Faelad. The heir apparent had shown himself capable of some duplicitous dealings and Eadulf was unsure whether to approve of his intentions or be suspicious of what this behaviour said about his character.
For a while Eadulf wandered through the noisy market, looking at the bright stalls and boisterous side-shows. All of a sudden, he came upon a smithy’s forge. It was situated at the end of the market stalls but was clearly not a temporary affair. A burly man was beating metal on an anvil; with tongs in one hand and his hammer in the other, he was striking at it with ringing tones. Eadulf was about to pass on when he noticed some of the smith’s work hanging up for passers-by to admire and purchase.
Among the items was a collection of keys.
An idea suddenly occurred to Eadulf.
‘Are you the only blacksmith in Tara?’ he asked the man.
The smith paused and put down his hammer.
‘I am not, Brother Saxon,’ he replied, showing his recognition of Eadulf’s clothes and accent. ‘But this is my forge. Why do you ask?’
‘How many smiths would there be here?’
The man laughed uproariously. ‘In the royal enclosure alone there may be half a dozen serving not only the nobles but the Fianna as well. Outside,’ he waved his arm around, ‘well, my friend, Tara is a large settlement.’
Eadulf nodded, slightly disappointed. Then: ‘But you are nearest the main gates of the royal enclosure,’ he observed.
‘I’ll not deny it and that, I grant, does help with my business. I get agood trade. Now, why are you asking such questions? You don’t want to set up as a smith, surely?’
Eadulf grinned and shook his head. ‘If I wanted a key made, would I come to you?’
‘A key, is it? I do make keys, but not often. Only the nobles want them. What sort of key do you want made?’
‘I do not want a key made myself, but within the last few weeks someone from the royal enclosure did — and probably they did not want anyone to know.’
The smith looked surprised and then he frowned in recollection. After a moment’s thought he asked: ‘Would the man have been a member of the Fianna?’
A thrill of excitement went through Eadulf. ‘You know of such a person?’
‘A matter of fact, not so many weeks ago, a warrior from the Fianna did ask me to copy a key for him. He said it was a key to a lady’s chamber — a lady who was jealously guarded by a husband …’ He smiled and winked. ‘You know how these things go, my friend, for you look like a man of the world.’
‘Tell me, did the key have a nick on it, as if it had been struck by something sharp — and did the warrior ask you to copy even that mark?’
The smith suddenly looked apprehensive. ‘You are not the husband, surely? I have done nothing wrong … ’
‘You have done nothing wrong,’ Eadulf immediately reassured the man, ‘and if you give me a description of the warrior, there is a screpal in it for you.’ He produced the coin and held it up.
The smith scratched his head for a moment and said: ‘He had dark hair, bony features and close-set eyes. Oh, and he had a scar over the right eye. I gave him the key and the copy of it and he paid and went away happy enough.’
Eadulf smiled broadly and handed the man the coin. He returned to the royal enclosure with a light step.
Fidelma had met Gormflaith only once before and that was less than a year ago when the latter had accompanied her husband Sechnussach, the High King, to the festivities of Fidelma’s own wedding at Cashel. She was a handsome woman and no more than thirty-two or three. She must have married young, only a year or so after the age of choice, Fidelmathought, for her daughter, Muirgel, being sixteen, must have been born soon after. Gormflaith bore a striking resemblance to her daughter so that they could have been sisters. She had black hair, dark eyes and a pale skin, and the same arrogance about her features. She carried herself with that regal bearing that suited the meaning of her name — ‘illustrious sovereignty’. At the same time, she wore an air of extreme melancholia. It was as if tears were glistening on her eyes which, Fidelma reasoned, was to be expected of someone whose husband or lover had met their death.
Unlike her daughter, Gormflaith rose and welcomed Fidelma as an equal, recognising her position as sister of the King of Muman, and acknowledging her with courtesy. She ordered refreshing drinks to be brought and bade her be seated.
‘It is a sad business that brings you hither, Fidelma.’
‘Sad indeed, lady. I presume that you know why I am here?’
‘Cenn Faelad …’ She paused. ‘Cenn Faelad has told me that the Great Assembly had sent for you. A logical decision and one with which I agree. While I have great respect and friendship for Barrán, it is best if the people see that someone outside of the Uí Néill has investigated this matter. Have you made progress?’
‘We can say that we are making steady progress,’ replied Fidelma in a neutral way.
‘That is good. How may I help you?’
Fidelma leaned forward confidentially. ‘I hope you will bear with me, lady, when I ask you under which law you were married to Sechnussach?’
Gormflaith stared in surprise for a moment.
‘Which law? Why, our marriage was under the lánamnas comthinchuir — the marriage of equals, of course.’
There were three main types of marriage in the five kingdoms: a marriage of equals, those of equal social and financial position; then there was the marriage where the man was of higher social and financial position, and the marriage where the woman was of higher social and financial position. Each type of marriage had particular rights and responsibilities.
Fidelma smiled gently. ‘So you stood in equal position before the law?’
‘I mar
ried Sechnussach before he was High King and when he was merely a noble of the Sil nÁedo of Brega. His being High King did not change our status under law.’
‘Exactly so, lady,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘And, forgive me not knowing, what was your lineage?’
Gormflaith smiled thinly. ‘I am a banchormba. My father was Airmetach Cáech, chieftain of Clan Cholmáin.’
‘Clan Cholmáin, who dwell around the sacred Hill of Uisnech and by the shores of Loch Ainninne?’
‘For someone from Muman, you are well-informed of the geography of Midhe, lady.’
‘For eight years I studied at the college of Brehon Morann of Tara, not more than a short walk away from where we now sit,’ pointed out Fidelma.
Gormflaith raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘Ah, is it so? I must have forgotten, if I was ever told.’
‘No matter. So, you and Sechnussach stood on equal terms?’
‘Even as I have said.’
‘I am told that you and he were estranged?’ The question came quickly and without preamble.
Gormflaith coloured a little and blinked, but that was all the emotion she showed.
‘It seems that your enquiries are indeed making progress.’
‘Do you confirm it?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Does it need confirmation?’
‘It needs explanation.’
‘Then it is easy to explain. Soon after Bé Bhail was born, perhaps there was a change in me or perhaps there was a change in Sechnussach. I cannot apportion blame as to who changed first. All I know is that we began to grow apart. He became arrogant towards me. Once he told me that he preferred a woman who made no demands on him and came and went like a maid when bidden to his bed. Our arguments grew strident and he struck me on three occasions. I demanded my own apartments and we no longer were man and wife. For the sake of the five kingdoms, we appeared together at feasting and other occasions when it was required.’
‘Do I understand,’ Fidelma asked softly, ‘that there was no relationship between you other than your duty as wife of the High King?’
Gormflaith bowed her head. ‘None.’
‘And what was your relationship to Dubh Duin?’
The question was asked in the same soft voice so that for a moment it seemed that it had not registered with Gormflaith. Then her head came up sharply.
‘What did you say?’ she almost whispered.
‘Dubh Duin,’ repeated Fidelma. ‘Your husband’s assassin. What was the nature of your relationship with him?’
Several expressions crossed Gormflaith’s features as she tried to form an answer.
‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma continued in her soft tone, ‘it would save time if I tell you that we have questioned the guard who let him into the royal enclosure several times after midnight. He did so on the authority of your daughter, Muirgel. We have already spoken to her.’
Gormflaith’s shoulders slumped noticeably. ‘Then you must know that he was my lover,’ she said simply.
Fidelma was nodding gently. ‘You realise that there are implications to what you say, lady?’
‘Implications?’ Gormflaith was puzzled.
‘It provides a motive as to why Dubh Duin killed your husband, and furthermore, it also casts suspicion on you as having some role in a conspiracy to kill him.’
Gormflaith stared at her for a moment and then, to Fidelma’s surprise, she gave a wistful smile.
‘I regret that Sechnussach’s murder is not so easily solved, lady,’ she replied.
‘How so?’
‘I believe you are suggesting that Dubh Duin killed my husband to release me from wedlock, so that he and I could go away and get married. Is that so?’
‘It seems a logical thought,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Logical for one not fully acquainted with the facts,’ rebuked Gormflaith.
Fidelma looked carefully at her. ‘It is my task to try to gather the facts.’
‘The facts are that Dubh Duin was, indeed, my lover and that we planned to marry. That is why I do not believe that he assassinated Sechnussach.’
Fidelma started in surprise. ‘But the evidence, the eyewitnesses to the killing …?’ she began.
‘He had no reason to kill Sechnussach,’ insisted Gormflaith.
‘You have given me one, lady,’ replied Fidelma. ‘So explain why it is not valid.’
‘Because there are the laws of imscarad — of divorce.’
Fidelma smiled tightly. She had already pointed this aspect out to Eadulf.
‘Indeed there are,’ she said. ‘And, from what you say, being married ina union of equals and with claims that Sechnussach struck you and repudiated you for another, if you could convince a Brehon of this, then you could simply have divorced him without loss of your wealth or honour. But, lady, you did not and there is the reason why we come back to Dubh Duin’s motive.’
Gormflaith was already disagreeing. ‘But I did begin the process of imscarad, two weeks before Sechnussach was killed. I would have started the proceedings earlier but my mother was ill, was dying, and she had a naive faith and pride in the fact that her daughter was wife of the High King. I did not want her to feel shame that I had been treated so ill.’
There was a silence while Fidelma considered the implications of this.
‘You can, of course, prove this? That you began the act of imscarad?’ she asked slowly.
‘I would not say it otherwise.’
‘And Duin Dubh was fully acquainted with this?’
‘He was.’
Fidelma sat back, gazing thoughtfully at the woman and realising that, if nothing else, Gormflaith believed the truth of what she was saying.
‘So two weeks before Sechnussach was slain, you went to him and proposed a divorce, as is custom.’
‘I did. He agreed that it would be a divorce without contest, with no fault on either side. I would therefore remain the owner of all I had brought into the marriage and take away half of all the wealth that had accrued during the period of the marriage which is right and proper according to the laws of equal marriage.’
‘And Sechnussach agreed to this?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘Not only agreed,’ said Gormflaith, ‘but I think he was pleased by it.’
‘But was this merely a verbal agreement between you?’
‘Not at all. As custom has it, we first discussed it and agreed. Then we called the Brehon to transcribe it. While he was doing so, I went to the abbey of Cluain Ioraird where my mother — indeed, all the chieftains of Clann Cholmáin — are interred. I went there with my young daughters to pray for her soul and to ask her forgiveness as she waited for me in the Otherworld. The idea was, that by the time I returned, the Brehon would have the document ready and could pronounce the divorce. Then Dubh Duin and I would return to my father’s lands in Clann Cholmáin.’
‘If this were so,’ Fidelma said quickly, ‘why did Dubh Duin come to Tara, knowing you were at Cluain Ioraird?’
Gormflaith blinked. ‘That is the one thing I do not understand,’ she acknowledged. ‘There was no reason for him to be here at all until my return.’
‘And you still claim that he did not kill your husband?’
‘He had no reason to. The divorce was ready.’
‘Why was this story not told to us immediately? In fact, we were informed that you had dutifully remained at Tara as the grieving widow with your children. That does not fit with the image of someone who was about to divorce,’ Fidelma observed.
Gormflaith shrugged. ‘You must think what you like, lady. I have told you the truth. And the fact is that when I returned and found Sechnussach dead, and my poor lover dead too, I did not think it politic to admit to what had happened.’
‘But surely the Brehon who drew up the divorce settlement for you would know the real story?’
‘He knew of my estrangement with Sechnussach and, of course, he knew that we had agreed a divorce as he had drawn up the agreement. In fact, he knew well my situation because it was he who had
introduced me to Dubh Duin. He advised me that I should forget the matter for, as widow of the High King, I would inherit more than just the divorce settlement. Also, Sechnussach’s name and reputation would then be untarnished in death. There was no need to besmirch his name as a cruel husband now that he was dead. So he was buried and I played the grieving widow, as you put it.’
‘You surely realised that the truth must come out eventually?’
‘The truth? I do not know the truth and I think that you are only guessing so that Dubh Duin becomes a scapegoat.’
Fidelma shook her head sadly. ‘Then, lady, perhaps you had better let me start down the road to the truth. Let us begin by identifying this sowise Brehon who gave you what appears to be such bad advice and to whom you entrusted the divorce proceedings.’
Gormflaith hesitated a moment.
‘We must have that name, lady,’ Fidelma advised her sharply, ‘otherwise there is nothing said that does not refute our original thoughts of the motive for killing Sechnussach.’
Gormflaith bowed before the inevitable.
‘Very well, Fidelma of Cashel. If you need to know the name — it was the Chief Brehon, Barrán.’
Fidelma stared at her in surprise. ‘Well, that can be easily verified.’
‘I have no objection to you doing so,’ Gormflaith said confidently.
There was a silence and Fidelma said softly: ‘I am confused. In spite of the evidence, the eyewitnesses, the fact that Dubh Duin took his own life and, in his dying breath, gasped a word to Lugna, apparently accepting the blame, you still maintain that you believe he was not the person who killed your husband?’
‘I do.’ Gormflaith met her gaze evenly. ‘As I say, he had no reason to kill the King on my behalf. Once I was divorced then we would have married.’
‘Then perhaps there was another motive?’
‘Such as?’ snapped Gormflaith. ‘What other motive could there be?’
‘There are many reasons why one man kills another but of those, if what you say is true, we can only speculate until we know more about the character of Dubh Duin.’
The other woman glowered at her.
‘I am Gormflaith of the Clann Cholmáin and do not lie,’ she said quietly and firmly.
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