‘That is, if Gelgéis and her household are not mixed up in this matter,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘How can we trust anyone?’
‘You are right to remind me of that fact.’ Fidelma was serious. ‘I am convinced that many answers to our questions will be found here.’
‘Here and not Liath Mór?’ Eadulf was surprised.
‘Here,’ Fidelma repeated firmly. ‘Find Spealáin while I see if I can find anything that will help us.’
Eadulf hurried off on his errand.
Fidelma returned to the body and examined it carefully. All she could tell was that Drón had been facing his killer at the time when he had been stabbed. His dagger was still sheathed and there were no other weapons to hand. She noticed his sword standing in a corner near the bed. She went to look at it. It was obviously where he had placed it when he came to the room. It was now clear to her that he had let the killer come inside and there was no suspicion of any impending attack until the person struck. That indicated that he knew his killer. Nothing else provided any other clue at all. She went back to where the body lay under the window, feeling baffled and frustrated. Another mystery or part of the same mystery – and nothing to provide a link!
As she stood there, a sound came up through the open window. It was a soft footstep on the flagstones below.
She leaned out and glanced down into the small passage that ran under the window. A figure was moving quickly by. It took her only a moment to recognise the young man. She gave a gasp.
He heard the sound and turned, looking up to see where it came from. His eyes widened in astonishment as they met her own.
‘Torna!’ she exclaimed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gelgéis greeted Fidelma and Eadulf with a worried expression as they entered her chamber. Spealáin, her steward, stood to one side with Bishop Daig of Durlus. They obviously shared her anxiety. She waved them to seats without rising herself. That she had forgotten the etiquette of greeting the King’s sister was a token of her concern at the recent news.
‘This is a bad business,’ were her first words.
‘Have you informed Dúnliath?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I have indeed. Bishop Daig has tried to give her comfort but she has withdrawn to her chamber with her grief.’
‘And has Ailill been informed? He is commander of Drón’s bodyguard.’
‘He has, and is making preparations.’
‘What preparations?’ Fidelma was puzzled.
Gelgéis looked at her in surprise. ‘Why, to take the body of Drón back to Gabrán for the aire, the watching, and the funeral obsequies due to a chieftain of Gabrán. Dúnliath intends to join them as soon as she has composed herself.’
It was custom that a day and a night were usually given over to a vigil for the corpse of a noble before burial at midnight on the next available day. Fidelma knew that it would take a few days to reach Gabrán.
‘She cannot leave,’ Fidelma said quietly but firmly.
Gelgéis’s expression now was one of bewilderment mixed with irritation. ‘Who is to say she may not?’ she demanded aggressively. ‘I have agreed to her request to do so.’
‘With respect, lady, the matter is not in your hands. It is a matter of law.’
‘Law? May I remind you, lady, that you are not in your brother’s court now, to dictate what is or what is not the law! This is Durlus Éile and I have my own Brehon by whom I will be guided.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed; a sign of warning to those who knew her. ‘I am acting by commission of my brother, the King of all Muman, and believe this is—’
‘Your belief is no concern of mine, Fidelma. My own Brehon will determine the cause of Drón’s death and who is responsible,’ snapped Gelgéis, unnerved by events.
‘Your own lawyer … who is he?’ asked Fidelma mildly.
‘He is named Brocc. He is well-qualified to handle this matter.’
‘Ah, I think I have heard of him. But I am told he is qualified only to the level of cli.’ There was a pause and Gelgéis’s brow furrowed. She sensed what Fidelma was about to say.
‘I suppose you hold higher authority over his qualification?’
Fidelma smiled tightly. ‘I am qualified to the level of anruth, as well you know,’ she said.
Gelgéis sighed with resignation: ‘So, are you assuming authority over this matter?’
‘I am.’
‘Then we must await your orders.’ She glanced at her steward and Bishop Daig, saying with faint sarcasm: ‘We must all cooperate with Fidelma of Cashel.’
The two men shuffled uncomfortably but said nothing.
Fidelma did not even look at them. ‘My orders are firstly that Dúnliath and her retinue must remain at Durlus until my investigation is concluded.’
‘And secondly?’
Fidelma held Gelgéis’s eyes with her sharp gaze as she spoke. ‘Secondly, you will now produce the man called Torna.’
It was Bishop Daig who answered her. ‘I think that you have asked once before about a man called Torna and were told that no one in Durlus knows anyone by that name.’
‘Then perhaps you know him as Tormeid? By whichever name you know him, I want him produced.’
She saw Gelgéis’s eyes widen at the sound of the name. It was only a slight movement before her features tightened into a mask. This time it was Spealáin who spoke. ‘I am confused, lady. When you were here a few days ago I recall that you told us that this person, Torna, had been taken against his will into Osraige. Why would he now be here?’
‘He was taken to the Abbey of Liath Mór across the river in Osraige and made prisoner there. However, he managed to escape. I saw him a short while ago in the passage that runs below Drón’s chamber, just after Eadulf and I found the body of Drón. So please do not waste time playing word-games with me, nor pretend that he is not in this fortress!’
Gelgéis was silent, staring at the floor. The others waited uneasily for her response.
‘The time for prevarication is over, lady,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘I speak not only as sister to the King but as a dálaigh, and there is little need for me to remind you that there are penalties for one who ignores the request to speak the truth. Torna, as I know him, or Tormeid, as I think you know him, is one who, by whatever name he bears, has suffered the events that I have told you about – abduction, imprisonment at Liath Mór, escape and arrival here in your fortress. Do you deny knowledge of him?’
She caught sight of Bishop Daig’s glance towards Gelgéis and said, ‘I see that some spark of memory is now awoken in you, Bishop.’
‘I know of no one called Torna,’ he muttered stubbornly.
‘That was not the last question I asked,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘As a Bishop, you will recall that you should not bear false witness. That is part of the Faith as well as our law.’
Bishop Daig flushed. ‘I do not think you need lecture me about matters appertaining to the religious, Fidelma of Cashel. As I recall, you have formally renounced your vows in this matter.’
‘My vow is to uphold truth and the law, and that was made long before I entered a religious community and found it as corrupt inside its walls as the world is outside! So I ask you again – and please consider my question before you answer it.’
Bishop Daig flicked a tongue over his dry lips.
Gelgéis intervened before he could reply. ‘Are you accusing this man, Tormeid, of the murder of Drón of Gabrán?’
‘How can I decide that until I have questioned him?’ Fidelma replied, sensing that she was finally breaking through the barrier of denial.
Gelgéis then said: ‘Can you tell me something of what you know about Tormeid?’
Eadulf groaned inwardly as he recognised another prevarication. Nonetheless, Fidelma stretched almost lazily in her chair.
‘Let us concede that the real name of the man I know as Torna is Tormeid of the Uí Duach. He pretended to be a poet and knew Torna was the name of a famous bard. Tormeid, however, was a warrior
. I saw, even in the darkness on the riverbank, how he attempted to fend off the abductors that night.
‘Not everything he said was a lie when we camped with him by the river, and so I have interpreted what he said using some of the information that we have gathered recently. I believe I can recount his background. Cronán is not well disposed to the Uí Duach clan and had asserted his authority over them. Tormeid told me that he had been taken prisoner during warfare between his clan and a powerful chieftain. That powerful chieftain was, of course, Cronán. Cronán had seized many of the Uí Duach and made slaves of them – daer-fuidir.’
She paused. There was a quiet tension in the room as everyone waited for her to continue the story. Gelgéis cleared her throat a little and motioned to her to go on.
‘So there was Tormeid, a prisoner – a slave – in the fortress of the Lord of Gleann an Ghuail … a daer-fuidir. There he fell in love. The girl was called Muirne. Unfortunately, Muirne was Cronán’s daughter. They were about to be betrayed by a fellow prisoner whom Tormeid had consulted and so they eloped. They were crossing a river, which I believe was the Suir, when the girl was drowned.’
Eadulf leaned forward eagerly and added: ‘Hence, when Cronán’s project for the rebuilding of the Abbey at Liath Mór as a fortress was coming to fruition, he insisted that it would be renamed Dún Muirne in his daughter’s memory – even though it was his action that caused her death.’
Fidelma observed from Gelgéis’s expression that she was right. ‘Tormeid reached the far bank in safety. He came here in the land of the Éile but was unable to return to his own clan, the Uí Duach. So he took service with you on this side of the river. Am I correct, thus far?’
The ruler of the Éile blinked rapidly and blushed.
‘You tell a good story, Fidelma,’ was all she replied.
‘I hope it will get better,’ said Fidelma. ‘I have told you that Tormeid was abducted. I was also taken because the abductors thought I was his companion. This was not Muirne, of course, since she was dead. Then who did they mistake me for? I was left for dead by these abductors when they realised I was not Tormeid’s companion. Thankfully, I was rescued by my friends, who had tracked our passage. Tormeid was taken on to the Abbey of Liath Mór. My companions and I followed the abductors there. At Liath Mór, another old friend arrived. This was the person who had called himself Brother Biasta, the man who had murdered Brother Ailgesach. In escaping from Liath Mór, Torna killed Biasta. I had not seen Torna since our abduction until a short while ago when I saw him from the window of Drón’s chamber. In this very fortress.’
Gelgéis’s face was white and strained.
Fidelma smiled without humour. ‘Am I coming closer to an understanding with you, lady? Do you still say that this man, Tormeid – by whatever name he is now called – is not here? He may wish to know that five of his friends and cousins were executed by Cronán as vengeance for his escape and the death of Muirne. I wonder how many will be executed now that he has escaped a second time?’
There was a shocked silence. Gelgéis finally turned to her steward. ‘Spealáin, you had best go down and give the order that the Lady Dúnliath and her party are not to depart until I, or Fidelma, have given permission.’
Spealáin bowed his head without comment and left the chamber.
Gelgéis sat staring at the floor for some moments, tapping her foot absently. Bishop Daig stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as if awaiting her decision.
‘This puts me in an awkward situation, Fidelma,’ the Princess said after a while.
‘No situation is so awkward that recourse to truth will not remedy it.’
‘Yet the truth is not entirely mine to share.’
‘That needs a better explanation,’ replied Fidelma.
‘I wish I could provide one immediately, but I would ask that you give me some time before I answer you.’
Fidelma raised her brows slightly. ‘Time? When is the telling of truth dependent on time? Anyway, time is not in a plentiful supply at the moment.’
‘If you give me a short time, you shall have your truth. That I swear. And I also swear this: I am a loyal defender of this Kingdom of Muman and of her legitimate Kings. Everything that I have done is in support of that conviction. I am your brother’s truest ally, lady.’
Fidelma searched the woman’s face, seeking any sign of guile or deceit, but found only anxiety.
‘Very well,’ she agreed at last. ‘But I need a response. When you have discussed the matter with Tormeid, or whatever you call him, I hope he will come and supply me with clear answers to my questions.’
Gelgéis met her gaze and held it, realising that Fidelma knew exactly why she was prevaricating. Then she dropped her gaze and indicated her acquiescence with a nod.
It seemed that she was about to say something when a distant shouting came to their ears. Gelgéis rose from her chair and went to the window. Fidelma and the others joined her, looking down towards the main gate of the fortress. Some riders had arrived in the courtyard and one of them had dismounted and was speaking volubly to Spealáin, the steward. They saw Gormán emerge and greet the newcomer.
‘What is this?’ muttered Gelgéis.
As they watched, Spealáin was leading the newcomer and Gormán towards the main building. In expectation, Fidelma and the others turned to the door, and within a few moments there was a quick knock and Spealáin entered, followed by his companions. The first thing Fidelma noticed was that the newcomer wore the gold collar of the Nasc Niadh, the élite warriors of Cashel.
‘A messenger from—’ began Spealáin.
‘I know who this is,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘I remember Aidan very well from when he helped us rescue Eadulf from the evil intentions of Abbess Fainder of Ferna.’
The young warrior cast a smile at Fidelma, pleased by her recognition, but he was obviously still very agitated. As one of her brother’s élite bodyguards, he was certainly no fool, and it was clear that he had grave news.
‘My companions and I have ridden from Laigin. We bring news of serious import for King Colgú, lady. The southerly routes to Cashel have been cut off, so we have had to make our way north across Osraige territory to reach here.’
Fidelma was surprised. ‘Cut off? In what way are they cut off?’
‘By armed bands of Laigin warriors, lady,’ replied the warrior. ‘We had to take the lesser known paths from Laigin through forests, bog lands and remote places of Osraige to reach here.’
‘What news do you bring that causes you to be so disturbed?’
The warrior visibly braced himself. ‘It is bad news, lady. Muman will soon be under attack from Laigin.’
There was a silence as his words registered. Then Fidelma asked: ‘How do you know this, Aidan?’
‘Fianamail, son of Máele Tuile, the King of Laigin, has issued a call to arms. We saw the crois tara, the fiery cross, being carried from settlement to settlement. His main force has marched from Ferna to gather at Dinn Rig on the west bank of An Bhearú …’
‘That’s on the border with Osraige,’ put in Spealáin, seeing Eadulf’s baffled frown.
‘The fortress of Dinn Rig is just north of Gabrán,’ muttered Bishop Daig, with a meaningful look at Gelgéis.
‘You say the Laigin army has crossed the river of An Bhearú?’
‘His main army is on the west bank,’ repeated Aidan. ‘They are not yet crossed into Osraige.’
‘Do you know this for a fact and not from hearsay?’ Gelgéis demanded of him.
‘My companions and I saw Fianamail’s troops gathering there – and they were not there to look at the sunset over the mountains.’ Aidan’s response was cutting.
‘How long ago was this?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Only two days ago, lady. As I say, we managed to cross into Osraige and travelled by the use of new roads that have been built across the bog lands. If Fianamail gives the order for Laigin to march on Cashel, those new roads are going to allow his ar
my a quick passage across Osraige into Éile and Muman.’
Gormán was grim. ‘I cannot believe it. Muman is at peace with Laigin. It has been centuries since Laigin incurred the wrath of the High King by making an unprovoked attack on a neighbouring kingdom. Have they not learned a lesson from the bórama yet? And why attack at this time?’
‘I don’t grasp the meaning of that.’ Eadulf had not understood the reference that Gormán had made.
It was Gormán who explained to him: ‘Centuries ago, when Tuathal Techtmair was High King in Tara, the avarice of Eochaidh, who was then King of Laigin, caused a great warfare. It resulted in the death of many, including the two daughters of Tuathal. For that crime, as well as others, Tuathal faced Eochaidh with a large army, defeated and killed him. Then the High King imposed a tribute on the people of Laigin, called the bórama – the cow tribute. Five thousand cows had to be paid to Tuathal and to his successors if Laigin ever broke the peace again. The legitimacy of the tribute remains. If Laigin ever breaks the conditions and attempts to go to war with a neighbour, unless that neighbour is invading Laigin, the High King has the right to march his army into the kingdom and demand the bórama fine.’
‘But we have heard that Moling, the Bishop of Ferna, and adviser to Fianamail, King of Laigin, was sent by Fianamail to Tara some weeks ago,’ Bishop Daig said. ‘We were told that he was sent to persuade the High King and his Chief Brehon to declare the tribute as no longer applying.’
‘It might have been a ruse,’ added Gelgéis. ‘We expected as much.’
‘You expected this!’ Fidelma exclaimed. ‘You had knowledge that Fianamail and Laigin were preparing for this invasion?’
‘We had word of a conspiracy,’ said Gelgéis. ‘It was mostly suspicion, but suspicion is not evidence. We needed evidence. We—’
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