Murgal gave a loud hiss of annoyance.
There was an uncomfortable silence before Laisre proceeded.
‘Over the years our men and women have intermarried with surrounding clans and through this means we have maintained our strength as a people. We have obeyed the ancient laws against incest and so we have survived strong and healthy. But the wives and husbands who have been brought into our midst have often been of the new religion. They have come to Gleann Geis bringing the new Faith and many have raised their children in it. This community is so sizable now that they demand a church and a priest of the Faith to see to their spiritual needs; they demand a school where they may learn about their Faith.’
Colla muttered something indiscernible.
Laisre ignored him. He turned directly to Fidelma.
‘There are some among us who recognise the inevitability of the triumph of your Faith. In these last two centuries the five kingdoms have been transformed whether some of us like it or not.’
‘A fundamental tenet of our law is that no one dictates what gods or goddesses we follow,’ Murgal intervened. ‘Since the time when those of the new Faith subverted our kings, we have been told which gods we can pray to. We are told that we can only pray to three …’
‘There is only one God!’ exploded Eadulf, unable to keep aloof from the argument.
‘One?’ Murgal sneered. ‘Do you not know your own Faith? There are three, those you call the Holy Trinity. And do you not also pray to a goddess, the mother of your Christ?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘That is not how we, of the Faith, view these matters, Murgal,’ she remonstrated softly. Then to Laisre she said, ‘But surely this is no place to discuss theology, nor was it for that purpose that I came to Gleann Geis.’
The chieftain lowered his head for a moment in thought and then he indicated his agreement.
‘We may discuss the freedom of the individual and the freedom of religion at some other time,’ Fidelma added.
‘Then remember,’ Murgal said, ‘when you speak of freedom, our religion is wedded to the soil of this place; it is the religion of our ancestors for countless generations going back into the mists of time itself. Know then, that it is a hard thing to eradicate entirely from the soil in which it has grown, in which it has been nurtured and borne fruit. Remember that freedom from the bondage of soil is no freedom for the tree.’
Fidelma began to realise that Murgal was no mere unquestioning spokesman of a dying faith. He was a spiritual man of deep thought. In him, Fidelma realised that she had found an adversary not to be underrated.
‘I shall remember what you say, Murgal,’ she acknowledged. ‘But our immediate task is to make an agreement, that is, if you wish to have a church and school in this valley. I had been given the impression that the council had already agreed to this for I did not come here merely to debate theology.’
Laisre coloured a little.
‘I called you here, Fidelma, because it is my wish that my people have these things so that all their beliefs are satisfied. While some of my council inevitably disagree to changes, the greater good of the greater number of my people must remain my guide.’
‘Then I am ready to discuss these practical matters.’
Laisre stood up abruptly.
‘I have decreed that the opening session of our negotiations will begin tomorrow morning at the sounding of the horn. We shall meet here in the council chamber and discuss such matters as may be pertinent. But as for this evening, I have provided a feasting and an entertainment to welcome you into our valley. The horn will summon you to the chamber for the feast.’
Chapter Six
Fidelma had been surprised that she had not been permitted a private meeting with Laisre to discuss the chieftain’s own attitudes. There were a few hours before the evening feast was due to start which Fidelma felt could have been profitably spent in some preliminary discussions on attitude. It appeared that there was some schism among the leaders of the clan over the matter. She had been politely told that neither Laisre nor Colla could make themselves available. Therefore, she and Eadulf found themselves left to their own devices; ignored, though politely so, for everyone in the ráth, including Brother Solin and his young scribe, seemed to have disappeared.
It was Fidelma who suggested that they might usefully examine the fortress and its grounds. It was inevitable that they decided to take a turn around the battlements of the ráth, the wooden walkway which circled the interior of the granite walls. Should the fortress ever be attacked, warriors could take their place in defensive positions, covering the approaches with their bows.
‘It is the only place that I have noticed, at the moment, where we might not be overheard,’ Fidelma commented as she looked around her. ‘It is a place to be remembered when we need to be discreet.’
They paused at an open stretch of the wall, well away from a sentinel who stood above the gateway.
‘Is there something disturbing you then that you should seek privacy?’ Eadulf queried.
‘A few matters still disturb me,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Do not forget there is the riddle of the thirty-three bodies to be resolved.’
‘So you do not trust Colla to come up with any real evidence for the slaughter?’
‘That should be obvious,’ she replied waspishly. ‘Perhaps Laisre does have a valid reason to keep us here but I have the feeling that he does not want us investigating that matter further. I have a feeling we are being manipulated. Why are we dismissed to our own resources when we could have conducted much of the businessthat brings us hither within these precious hours, which we are now wasting?’
‘Well, there is little we can do since Laisre has already set the time for the negotiations. Colla will be on his way at that time.’
Fidelma raised a shoulder and let it fall in an eloquent shrug.
‘I fear whatever report he brings back will not add to our knowledge. There is something more immediate that concerns me. The presence of this cleric from Armagh. It is curious that he has suddenly appeared in this place at this particular moment. And where is he and his young scribe at this moment? Is he in discussion with Laisre on some matter to which I am not privy and, if so, why?’
‘Surely his presence cannot mean anything sinister?’ Eadulf was surprised at her suggestion.
‘Surely it can,’ replied Fidelma seriously. ‘This is an isolated community which usually shuns the representatives of the Faith. Yet now they not only send for a representative from Imleach, which is the main centre of the Faith in Muman, but we find a cleric from Armagh here as well. Not just a cleric but Ultan of Armagh’s own secretary. You already know that Armagh is the main centre of the Faith in Ulaidh. Thirty years ago Cummian, who was the bishop there, sought Rome’s blessing to call himself archbishop and principal bishop of all the five kingdoms. Imleach does not recognise that office. True that Ultan is recognised as Comarb, or successor, of Patrick but Armagh has no right here. And I have no liking for this man Brother Solin. We must be on our guard for I fear there is something amiss.’
Eadulf was surprised at her attitude but did agree that Brother Solin was not a person to be liked.
‘He is not a pleasant man. He is a sly person.’
‘Sly? In what manner?’ Fidelma demanded quickly. ‘Do you have some reason for saying so?’
‘He spoke to me in the council chamber while you were engaged with Laisre.’
‘So I noticed. I saw that you stepped away from him as if you had been insulted.’
Eadulf knew Fidelma too well to comment on the sharpness of her vision.
‘He tried to persuade me that my loyalty should lie with Armagh as the supreme authority of the Faith in the five kingdoms. He claimed kinship with me by virtue of the fact that we both wear the tonsure of St Peter of Rome.’
Fidelma chuckled softly.
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘Little enough. I thought I would let him have his sa
y in order to find out what he was about. He was very concerned to try to make me accept that Ultan of Armagh was the chief bishop of all Ireland.’
‘As I have said before, Armagh is not supreme, though its bishop affects the title “archbishop”. The title our people accord to the bishop of Armagh is Comarb of Patrick; that is, the successor of Patrick, just as the bishop of Imleach is accorded the title of Comarb of Ailbe. Both Armagh and Imleach are coequal among the centres of the Faith here.’
‘Brother Solin seems to think that is not so. He told me that anyone who bears the tonsure of Rome should shun the company of those who do not accept the authority of Armagh.’
Fidelma was annoyed.
‘I know that Ultan has ambition for his paruchia but that is nonsense in itself. What did you reply?’
Eadulf thrust out his chin.
‘I restrained myself from telling him what I felt. I merely pointed out that Theodore, the archbishop of Canterbury, has sent me as emissary to the court of Colgú of Cashel and to no other king or bishop in the five kingdoms.’
Fidelma smiled briefly.
‘And how did Brother Solin react to that?’
‘He inflated his cheeks like a fish and his face grew red with mortification. It was then I stepped away from him and ended the discourse.’
‘Strange, though, that he should have thought he could speak to you in such a fashion,’ she mused.
Eadulf coloured a little.
‘I think he wanted to separate us,’ he confided.
‘In what way do you mean?’
‘I believe that he did not realise that we were old friends and thought that I was merely travelling with you. I think that he hoped to isolate you in your mission here.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘I am not sure. I believe that he was actually trying to warn me that it would be better if I travelled on alone rather than be with you.’
Fidelma was intrigued.
‘He made a threat?’
‘I do not think it was a threat … not exactly.’
‘Exactly what, then?’
‘He spoke in hypothetical abstractions so that I was unsure of his true meaning. All I know is that he means you no good.’
‘We will keep a close watch on Brother Solin, then. We must discover what he is up to.’
‘That he is up to something there is no doubt, Fidelma,’ affirmed Eadulf.
There was a short silence before Fidelma spoke again: ‘This feast this evening will be a formal affair so I am told. You know that there is a priority of places at such gatherings?’
‘I have been in Eireann long enough to know this,’ he acknowledged.
‘Very well. I shall be seated with Laisre and his immediate family simply because I am sister to the king of Cashel. I would imagine Brother Solin will be seated with the ollamhs and the learned men like Murgal. You will probably find yourself seated on the same table with Brother Solin’s young scribe — Brother Dianach. He is not only young but artless. Try to see what information might be garnered from him about the motivations of his master. I would be happier knowing exactly what Solin is up to in Gleann Geis.’
‘I will do what I can, Fidelma. Leave that to me.’
Fidelma paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought.
‘I thought this negotiation was going to be a simple matter, Eadulf. Now I am not so sure. There is something odd going on here, something beneath the surface that we must uncover. I can feel it.’
A hollow cough interrupted them. They had been so intent in their discussion they had failed to notice that a fair-haired warrior had approached them. The man stood a few yards away regarding them quizzically. It was the same warrior who had greeted Orla at the gates of the fortress.
‘I noticed you and the Brother standing here, Sister, and wondered if there was anything that you needed?’ he ventured.
‘No, we were merely taking the evening air before the feast,’ Eadulf explained.
Fidelma was looking at the warrior with interest, taking in his features for the first time. He was a strong-looking man, the fair hair was the colour of harvest corn and his eyes were light blue. He was in his early thirties. He wore an old-fashioned lengthy moustache on his upper lip which came past the sides of his mouth to his jaw bone, adding years to his age. He carried himself well.
‘Why do you address me as “Sister”?’ Fidelma suddenly asked sharply. ‘Those who do not follow the Faith do not usually do so.’
The warrior let his eyes meet hers for a long moment, cast a quick look at Eadulf and dropped them again. Then he glanced along the walkway as if fearing to be overheard, before placing his hand inside his shirt and pulling out something on the end of a leather thong. It was a small bronze crucifix.
Fidelma regarded it thoughtfully.
‘So, you are a Christian?’
The man nodded quickly and put the crucifix back into his shirt.
‘There are more of us here than Murgal the Druid likes to admit, Sister,’ he answered. ‘My mother came here to marry a man from Gleann Geis and when I was born she raised me secretly in the Faith.’
‘So when Laisre said that he wanted a church and school for the Christian community here, for those already raised in the Faith,’ mused Eadulf, ‘he was not telling a lie?’
The fair-haired man shook his head.
‘No, Brother. For many years our community has pressed our chieftain and his council to allow us a priest to tend to our needs. They have refused until recently. Then we heard the joyful news that Laisre had sent to Imleach and Cashel for just such a purpose.’
‘And what is your name?’ asked Fidelma.
‘My name is Rudgal, Sister.’
‘And you are a warrior, I see.’
Rudgal chuckled slightly.
‘There are no professional warriors here in Gleann Geis. I am a wagon maker by trade but answer Laisre’s call every time he needs the services of warriors. Each man here pursues his own calling. Even Artgal, who Laisre considers his chief bodyguard, is also a blacksmith.’
Fidelma remembered what Orla had told her.
‘And why do you make yourself known to us, Rudgal?’ asked Eadulf.
Rudgal looked swiftly from one to the other.
‘In case there is any service I can render. Call upon me should you need anything that is in my power to provide.’
There came the sound of a horn close by. Rudgal gave a grimace.
‘Ah, the trumpet! We are summoned to the feast.’
Eadulf found, even as Fidelma had predicted, that Laisre was a strict traditionalist. Everyone had gathered in the large anteroom before the council chamber of the ráth. This was now converted into the feasting hall. Three officers of Laisre’s household wentinto the hall first. Murgal, as official advisor to Laisre, a bollscare, or marshal, to regulate the order of precedence of those about to be seated, and the trumpeter or fearstuic. At the sound of the next single blast on his horn, Laisre’s shield bearer and others carrying the shields or standards of Laisre’s warriors entered. The shields were then hung on hooks above the chairs according to ranks.
At the third blast, the bearers of the emblems of those of other ranks went in and fixed these devices to indicate where each guest would sit. Finally, at the fourth blast of the trumpet, the guests all walked in leisurely, each taking their seat under their own shields or emblems. In this manner, all unseemly disputes or jostling for places were avoided. No man or woman sat opposite another, as only one side of each table was occupied. This rigid adherence to an order of priority was, Eadulf noticed, the strictest rule.
Large wooden tables had been set up in the chamber. Laisre’s marshal continued to fuss about to assure himself that every person was seated in their proper place according to their rank. Sometimes, or so Eadulf had been told, it was known that serious arguments could break out over the seating arrangements at a feast.
At the top table, Fidelma was seated next to Laisre by right of being an
Eóghanacht princess. On her other side was Colla, the tanist, then his wife Orla and their daughter, Esnad. Other members of the chieftain’s family were ranged on both sides. The warriors were seated at another table; the intellectuals, men like Solin and Murgal with others Eadulf could not identify, were seated at another table. Eadulf’s table apparently contained those of lesser professional rank. Sub-chieftains and minor functionaries sat at yet another table.
Eadulf noticed that Brother Solin’s scribe, Brother Dianach, had taken the next seat to his left, just as Fidelma had anticipated. Eadulf decided to begin the conversation by remarking on this emphasis on placing people thus as if it were a strange custom to him. The young cleric overcame his apparent shyness to shake his head in serious reproval at Eadulf’s implied criticism.
‘In my father’s time, it was the placing of Congal Cloén below his proper place at the banquet of Dún na nGéid, which was the main cause of the Battle of Magh Ráth,’ he said in quiet seriousness.
Eadulf decided to develop the conversation.
‘What battle was that?’
‘It was the battle at which the High King, Domnall mac Aedo, annihilated Congal and his Dál Riada allies from across the water,’ answered the young scribe.
An elderly man, seated on the opposite side of Dianach, who had introduced himself as Mel, scribe to Murgal, intervened.
‘The truth of the matter was that the battle marked the overthrow of the old religion among the great kings of the north.’ There was disapproval in his voice. ‘True there was an argument about the insult offered Congal as to where he was seated at the feasting table. But so far as the great chieftains of Ulaidh were concerned, they had long resisted the new Faith and the Christian king Domnall mac Aedo was determined to impose it on them. Their resistance finally came to an end with their defeat by Domnall mac Aedo at Magh Ráth. The old faith was thereafter confined to the small, isolated clans.’
The young scribe, Brother Dianach, tried to repress a shiver and crossed himself.
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