It was Eadulf who articulated the problem that had been uppermost in Fidelma’s thoughts since they had left Aona’s inn.
‘Is it wise to bring Brother Mochta into Cashel itself?’ he asked. ‘There might be dangers there for him and it is still a few days before the hearing in front of the Brehons.’
Brother Mochta was feeling somewhat better after his night’s rest, with his wounds not paining him so much.
‘Surely no harm will come to me among the religious at Cashel?’ he asked.
‘I would be happier if the presence of yourself and the reliquary in Cashel was not known until the last moment,’ Fidelma announced. ‘There is an unused back road which will bring us to the edge of the town close to where a friend of mine lives. Mochta can stay with her until the day of the hearing.’
‘In the town itself?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Is that wise?’
He was referring to the fact that in towns the people hardly barred their doors and were always in and out of their neighbours’ houses. Towns were usually made up of dwellings of many extended families. There was no fear of strangers.
‘Don’t worry,’ replied Fidelma, ‘my friend is one who does not welcome guests.’
‘I think that you are going to a lot of trouble for nothing,’ Brother Mochta averred. ‘Who could harm me at the royal palace of Cashel?’
The corner of Fidelma’s mouth turned downward momentarily. ‘That is precisely what we have to discover,’ she said quietly. ‘My brother asked the same question.’
They came to Cashel some time later by the back road which Fidelma had led them along. When they came to the edge of the town, Fidelma left Eadulf and Brother Mochta in the shelter of a small copse, after she’d explained that she would go ahead to prepare the way. It was a matter of minutes before she came back. Brother Mochta looked concerned for she was not carrying the reliquary which she had kept carefully since they had left Imleach. She saw his anxious gaze and assured him that she had left it safely with her friend. She led them to a house on the edge of the town, standing a little apart from the others. It was a medium-sized structure with its own outhouse and barn. Fidelma led them immediately into the barn which served as a stable. Eadulf helped Brother Mochta down from the colt while Fidelma secured the horses.
With Eadulf supporting Brother Mochta, Fidelma preceded them to the house. The door opened and together they helped Brother Mochta inside. Fidelma gave a quick glance round, as if to see whether they had been observed, before closing the door behind them.
Inside stood a woman of short stature. She was in her forties yet maturity had not dimmed the youthfulness of her features and the golden abundance of her hair. She wore a smock-like dress which emphasised a good figure whose hips had not broadened and whose limbs were still shapely.
‘This is my friend, Della,’ announced Fidelma. ‘This is Brother Mochta who will stay with you and this is Brother Eadulf.’
Eadulf smiled appreciatively at the attractive woman.
‘Why is it that I have not seen Fidelma’s friend at the court of Colgú?’ he asked in greeting.
He was immediately aware that he had said something wrong.
‘I do not venture out of this house, Brother,’ replied the woman called Della. Her voice was solemn but there was an attractive quality to it. ‘I am reclusive. People in Cashel respect that.’
Fidelma added, almost sharply, as if to cover some error of courtesy: ‘This is why Brother Mochta will be safe here until the day of the hearing.’
‘A reclusive?’ Eadulf was confused. ‘Surely it is hard to be a reclusive in this town?’
‘One can be isolated in the midst of many,’ replied Della calmly.
‘You will look after Brother Mochta, Della?’ Fidelma’s glance told Eadulf that he had said enough.
Della smiled at her friend. ‘You have my word, Fidelma.’ She had already helped the injured monk to a seat. Nearby stood the reliquary of St Ailbe, the sight of which caused Brother Mochta to visibly relax.
Fidelma took Eadulf arm, for he would have stopped and talked more on the principles of solitude, and hurried him to the door.
‘We will be back in time for the hearing, Brother Mochta. Take care of those injuries.’
She raised a hand in farewell to the monk and smiled appreciatively at her friend.
Outside, as they mounted their horses once again, Eadulf remarked: ‘You have a curious friend there, Fidelma.’
‘Della? No, not curious. She is merely a sad woman.’
‘I see no need for sadness. She is still attractive and she does not seem to be in want.’
‘I tell you this so that you may not refer to it ever again. Della was a woman of secrets.’ She used the term bé-táide.
‘Woman of secrets?’ Eadulf frowned, struggling with the euphemism. Then his face lightened. ‘Do you mean that she was a prostitute?’ He dredged from his memory the word echlach.
Fidelma nodded curtly. ‘That was why I did not want you to say more in there. It is a sensitive matter.’
They had turned from the side street into the main street through Cashel and passed a tavern on a corner. A shadowy figure was standing outside with a drinking horn in his hand. The man stared at them and then hurried inside. Eadulf pretended not to notice him but once they had ridden past, he turned to Fidelma.
‘I have just seen Nion in the doorway of that tavern back there. It is obvious that he has seen us but does not want to be seen himself.’
Fidelma was not perturbed. ‘After he paused at Aona’s inn this morning, I would have expected him to be in Cashel.’
Eadulf was disappointed by her reaction but interested in returning to the subject of Della.
‘How did you become friendly with Della?’ he asked.
‘I represented her when she was raped,’ replied Fidelma calmly.
Eadulf pulled a cynical face. ‘A prostitute raped?’
Fidelma’s face became a mask of irritation. ‘Cannot a woman be raped simply because she is a prostitute? At least we have the provision which allows a woman compensation in such circumstances even if she is a bé-táide. Half of her honour price is paid.’
Eadulf stirred uncomfortably at the vehemence in her voice. He spoke penitently. ‘It is just that I thought that a prostitute was not entitled to such compensation nor did I think that she could acquire a property.’
Fidelma became a little mollified. ‘She can inherit property from her parents but, generally, she cannot acquire property through marriageor cohabitation and, if a profit has come through her work in such a union, she has no claim to a share of it.’
Eadulf smiled in satisfaction. ‘So I was right?’
‘Except that you neglected the fact that a prostitute can renounce her previous way of life and, if so, can be reinstated in society.’
‘Is that what happened with Della?’
Fidelma gave an affirmative gesture. ‘To a certain extent. She renounced her previous life after the rape. After the case in which I represented her, she withdrew to the house that had been owned by her father. This was a few years ago. Many people, sadly, still treat her with contempt and her means of protection has been to become a recluse.’
‘That is no answer,’ Eadulf replied. ‘You only find in solitude what you take into it.’
Fidelma glanced at him. Now and then Eadulf came out with such pertinent remarks that she knew clearly why she had come to like and almost rely on the Saxon monk. At other times he was clumsy and did not seem sensitive to people and events. He was a man of paradoxes; brilliant and intuitive on the one hand, slow and unheeding on the other. There seemed no continuity in his character. It was so against her own clear, analytical nature and her trenchant temperament.
They relapsed into silence as they rode through Cashel. Many people recognised her and some greeted her with a smile while others stood in groups along the way, watching her in undisguised curiosity and whispering among themselves. They continued up to the gates of the towering
royal palace of the Kings.
Capa, the captain of the guard, was at the gate.
‘Welcome back, lady,’ he greeted, as they rode in. ‘The Prince of Cnoc Aine arrived this morning, so we knew you would be arriving sometime late today.’
Fidelma exchanged a look with Eadulf.
Before she could speak, her cousin Donndubhain, the heir-apparent to Colgú, came hurrying out of some nearby buildings, smiling in welcome.
‘Fidelma! Thank God that you are safe. We have heard all about the attack on Imleach. Of course, Prince Donennach is denying any Uí Fidgente involvement in it … but he would, wouldn’t he?’
Fidelma dismounted and was embraced by her cousin. She turned to unstrap her saddle bag while Eadulf followed her example.
‘You must have a lot to tell us about the attack on the abbey!’ Donndubháin sounded excited. ‘When we heard — why, I was hard pressed to prevent your brother leading a guard to Imleach. But-’ he glanced around in conspiratorial fashion — ‘that would have leftCashel unguarded and there is Gionga and his Uí Fidgente troop to consider.’
Fidelma turned to Capa and instructed him to ensure that the horses were taken to the stables and cared for. Then she turned back to her cousin.
‘Has anything else transpired here that I should know of?’
Donndubháin shook his head. ‘We were hoping that you had brought some news that will resolve the mystery.’
Fidelma smiled wanly. ‘Things are never simple,’ she commented in a tired tone.
‘Your brother, the King, wants to see you right away,’ her cousin went on. ‘Do you mind? Or do you want to refresh yourself from your journey first?’
‘I’ll see Colgú first.’
‘There is no need for Brother Eadulf to accompany you,’ Donndubháin said hurriedly, as he led the way.
‘I will see you later then,’ Fidelma smiled, a trifle apologetically at her companion.
Colgú was waiting for Fidelma in his private chambers. Brother and sister exchanged affectionate greetings and Fidelma immediately asked after her brother’s wound.
‘Thanks to our Saxon friend, the wound is healing well. See?’ He raised his arm above his head and moved it about to show its mobility. ‘There is slight discomfiture but no infection and it will be all right soon, just as he promised it would.’ He paused then asked: ‘Is Brother Eadulf not with you?’
Fidelma glanced to Donndubhain who was standing by the door with a frown.
‘I understood that you wanted to see me alone?’
Colgú looked puzzled for the minute.
‘Ah, so I did. Very well, Donndubháin. We will join you shortly.’ After he had left, Colgú motioned her to a chair. ‘Donndubháin has become an ardent believer in the conspiracy theory, that enemies lurk everywhere. I hope Eadulf was not insulted. He is a person whom I can trust.’
Fidelma smiled quickly as she seated herself. ‘I think your trust will not be misplaced.’
‘What information have you been able to gather at Imleach? We have had the news of the attack. Our cousin, Finguine, the Prince of Cnoc Aine, arrived earlier today. He gave us details.’
‘So I understand,’ Fidelma replied. ‘There is little to add, apparently. Abbot Ségdae and the witnesses from Imleach should be here in the next day or so.’
‘Witnesses?’ queried Colgú, hopefully.
‘I believed that the events at Imleach, the disappearance of the Holy Relics and the attack on the township, are all connected with the attempted assassination. How is the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, by the way? I neglected to ask about his wounds.’
Colgú was sardonic. ‘He bears a slight limp. The wound is better but his temper is worse. Otherwise he is in good health and still claiming a plot against us. His bodyguard Gionga hardly ever leaves his side.’
‘Did you know that Gionga placed warriors at the bridge over the Suir to prevent me leaving here?’
Her brother looked troubled. ‘I found that out afterwards. Gionga, or his Prince, was cunning. Once it was known that you had reached Imleach safely, Prince Donennach came to me and explained that Gionga, through zeal, had placed a guard there to prevent any accomplices of the assassins escaping. Misinterpreting their orders, they tried to prevent you from going to Imleach. Donennach apologised profusely and said he had ordered the warriors to disperse.’
Fidelma chuckled derisively. ‘If one believes that …! They had specific orders to prevent my going to Imleach. They made that clear enough.’
‘But can we prove it? Just as Donndubhain argues his conspiracy theory against the Uí Fidgente, what proof is there? The ninth day will be here soon. I am told that the Brehon Rumann from Fearna, with his entourage, will be here shortly. Perhaps tomorrow. The Brehons Dathal and Fachtna are already come. The nobles of the kingdom are also gathering. Oh, and our cousin Finguine has come escorting Solam, the dálaigh for the Uí Fidgente.’ Colgú did not disguise his anxiety. ‘I am worried, Fidelma. I freely confess it. Do you have a solution to this conundrum yet?’
Fidelma was torn between sounding optimistic and telling her brother the brutal truth.
‘I believe that I can see various paths along which the truth may be found but they are paths to be explored only. The short answer is, alas, I do not have the solution as yet.’
‘I thought as much, otherwise you would have told me immediately. It seems that we will have to trust that your skills in the court will discover the truth during the hearing.’
Fidelma wished that she could reassure her brother, but instead she asked, ‘Is Donennach of the Uí Fidgente still persuaded to go ahead and claim conspiracy against you?’
‘So far as I know, Solam is persuaded to argue that I was involved in a plot to kill Donennach. The nobles of Muman have let it be knownthat they will have none of it. Rightly or wrongly, they believe in me as their King and say that I have done no wrong …’
‘That is true.’
‘But we must be able to prove it. If I and the Eóghanacht are condemned in a court, then I fear the nobles will cry conspiracy, even as Donndubhain is doing! They will take matters into their own hands to punish the Uí Fidgente. Donndubháin has become increasingly incensed at the behaviour of the Uí Fidgente. For him, there is no doubt that it was they who attacked Imleach. I can see a position arising where Donndubhain will lead the nobles in an attack on all the Dál gCais clans. The kingdom could be split by wars. Instead of this peace that I had hoped for, we could enter another cycle of conflict lasting for centuries.’
‘The nobles of Muman will obey you, if you order them …’ Fidelma began but her brother interrupted.
‘Already there are threats and mumblings against the Uí Fidgente. It is claimed that the whole affair has been a deliberate attempt to destroy the Eóghanacht and the power of Cashel. What can I answer them about the attack on Imleach …?’
‘We do not know yet if the raid on Imleach was inspired by the Uí Fidgente,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘Brother, you must control the nobles of Muman for if anything happens before the hearing then we will truly stand condemned before the five kingdoms of Eireann.’
Colgú was unhappy. ‘All my efforts are being made to that effect, Fidelma. But I fear … truly I do … I know just how hot-headed some of the younger nobles can be and they might take justice on the points of their swords and ride into the lands of the Uí Fidgente to take revenge for the destruction of the great yew at Imleach.’
‘I can only tell you that there is more to this matter than mistrust between the Eóghanacht and the Uí Fidgente, brother. Tell me, as I was away from Cashel at the time, was there ever any dissension between you and Finguine of Cnoc Aine?’
Colgú was slightly bewildered by the question.
‘Finguine? Our cousin? Why should there be?’
Fidelma did not feel his questions needed an answer. ‘Was there?’
‘None as I recall. Why do you ask?’
‘When the derbfhine of our family met to appoint the
tanist to his father Cathal Cú cen Mathair, was there dissension between you?’
Cathal had been King of Cashel before Colgú.
‘I do not think so.’ her brother frowned.
‘Cathal had two sons,’ she pointed out. ‘Finguine, who is now Prince of Cnoc Aine, and Ailill, who is Prince of Glendamnach. Of the two, Finguine was of age to be elected tanist; surely hewas hurt when he was not chosen to succeed his father as King of Cashel?’
‘So were many others of the derbfhine who were equally qualified, Fidelma. But that is the law of our kingship succession. It has been so even when our ancestor Eber Fionn settled with the children of the Gael in this land and it will be so while noble Gaelic families survive in this land. Our young brother, Fogartach, might well have been my tanist if he had chosen but he prefers to stay away from politics. So when Donndubhain was elected my tanist, my heir-apparent, it could be said that many of our cousins were disappointed. Yet the heir is always elected by the derbfhine of the family. The tanist must be appointed and confirmed by the derbfhine.’
Fidelma understood the kingship succession of the kingdoms of Eireann very well. There was no automatic eldest male heir succession as in other lands. Among the children of the Gael, the family of the king formed an electoral college, and a tanist, or heir-apparent, was chosen as being the man best fitted for the task of kingship; he could be a son, but equally a brother, uncle or cousin of varying degrees of relationship. While usually a male tanist was chosen, it had even been known that a female could be chosen as leader but only for the term of her life, for her offspring could only be regarded as belonging to the clan of their father and not to the people of their mother’s father.
‘What makes you ask about Finguine?’ Colgú was interested.
‘I was interested, that’s all. Some idea that I had.’
‘Well, I can’t recall any animosity between Finguine and myself when I was made Cathal’s heir-elect although …’ he paused, as if he had suddenly remembered something.
Fidelma raised her head and looked searchingly at him. ‘What?’
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