They came to a halt so swiftly that some of the horses reared and kicked out in protest. Then the men were sliding from their mounts and figures with torches were rushing out to take charge of the lathered animals, leading them away to stables.
For a moment Eadulf stood, breathless, regarding his companions in curiosity.
They had now dropped their cowls and in the light of the torches and lamps Eadulf realised that none of them were religious. They all had the look of warriors.
‘Are you warriors of Cashel?’ he asked after he had recovered sufficient breath. This drew forth laughter and they all drifted off into the darkness leaving Eadulf alone with their leader.
In the light of a nearby brand torch, Eadulf saw that he was an elderly man, with long flowing silver locks. He took a step forward with a smile and shook his head.
‘We are not from Cashel, Saxon. We are men of Laigin.’
Eadulf frowned in total bewilderment now. ‘I don’t understand. Why have you brought me here? Indeed, where is here? Was it not at the instructions of Fidelma of Cashel?’
The elderly man chuckled softly. ‘Do you think a dálaigh would disobey the law to the extent that they would snatch you from the jaws of hell, Saxon?’ he asked in amusement.
‘Then you are not from Fidelma? I am at a loss … Are you letting me free to continue my journey home?’
The elderly man came forward and pointed to the walls of the fortress, for such was the place to which Eadulf had been brought.
‘These walls are the boundaries of your new prison, Saxon. While I do not agree with the idea of taking life for life, I believe that our native laws must be upheld. I will not submit to the Penitentials of Rome but I will uphold the laws of the Brehons.’
Eadulf was more confused than ever. ‘Then who are you and what is this place?’
‘My name is Coba, bó-aire of Cam Eolaing. See the walls? These are the walls of my fortress. These are now boundaries of your maighin digona.’
Eadulf had never heard the term before and said so.
‘The maighin digona is the precinct of sanctuary allowed by the law. Within these walls I am empowered to extend my protection to any stranger flying from unjust punishment, flying from a hue and cry. I have effectively saved you from the violent hands of your pursuers.’
Eadulf took a deep breath. ‘I think I understand.’
The old man glanced keenly at him. ‘I hope that you do. I have only extended this sanctuary to you until such time as you are summoned before a senior judge and given justice under our native law. Let me warn you, this sanctuary is not inviolate, for if you are guilty under our law you will not escape that justice. If you escape from here before you are judged again then I myself would incur your punishment. I am allowed to avert violence but not to defeat justice. Only death will await you outside these walls if you attempt to leave before further legal judgment.’
‘For that I am grateful,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘For I am truly innocent and I hope my innocence can be proved.’
‘Whether you are innocent or not, that is no concern to me, Saxon,’ the old man said sternly. ‘I simply believe in our law and shall ensure that you will answer to our law. If you escape, then the law holds me, as being the one extending sanctuary to you, responsible for your original offence and I must take your punishment upon myself. Therefore, I shall not let you escape the law. Do you understand what I say, Saxon?’
‘I do,’ Eadulf agreed quietly. ‘You make it very clear.’
‘Then praise God that this dawn,’ the old man pointed to the reddening eastern sky, ‘will not be your last but merely heralding the first day of the rest of your life.’
Chapter Ten
‘Are you the woman who was in trouble with the Brehon of Laigin, Bishop Forbassach, eh?’
The thin, reedy voice seemed vaguely familiar.
Fidelma glanced up from her breakfast to see a scrawny-looking individual leaning over her. There was no one else in the main room of the inn for she had come down to an early breakfast.
She frowned at the man’s unprepossessing appearance. He was clad in the garb of a boatman. It was a moment or two before she recognised him as the little man who had been drinking and had started to complain at having his sleep disturbed when Forbassach had burst into the inn. Yet anyone so untypical of the usual idea of a boatman she had yet to see. He was a wisp of a man, angular with long, lank brown hair. In spite of his beak of a nose, thin red lips and dark, almost fathomless eyes, it was clear that in his youth he might have been handsome; now, however, his weatherbeaten features were moulded not so much by age but by dissolute experience.
‘As you see, I am in no trouble,’ Fidelma replied shortly, returning her attention to her plate.
The boatman sat down without invitation, seemingly unabashed at her unfriendly response.
‘Don’t give me that,’ he sneered. ‘I saw what I saw last night. A Brehon does not come out in the middle of the night with a half-a-dozen warriors if there is no cause. What did you do?’ He smirked, showing a line of blackened teeth. ‘Come on, you can tell me. Why, I might even be able to help you. I have quite a lot of contacts in Fearna – influential contacts—and if you make it worth my while …’
The boatman suddenly let out a sharp exclamation, and the next moment it seemed that he was rising unwillingly from his seat, his head bent to one side. Holding him by the ear was Dego whose tight grasp was expertly applied.
‘I believe that you are annoying this lady.’ Dego’s voice was soft but menacing. ‘Perhaps you would like to move on?’
The man twisted and attempted to struggle before realising that his antagonist was a muscular young warrior. His reed-like voice rose to a wail in protest.
‘I was not insulting her. I was offering my help and—’
Fidelma waved her hand casually.
‘Let him go, Dego,’ she sighed, adding firmly to the boatman: ‘I do not want your help. Certainly, I do not wish to pay for any help that you might be offering. Now, I suggest that you follow the advice of my comrade and move on.’
Dego let go of the man’s ear and the boatman, clutching it, staggered back a step or two.
‘I will not forget this,’ he whined, keeping out of reach of Dego. ‘I have friends and you will pay for this. You think that you can get the better of me? Others have tried. They have learnt better.’
Lassar had entered to attend to Fidelma’s wants and heard the man’s complaint.
‘What has happened?’ she demanded.
Dego smiled vindictively and seated himself in the chair which the boatman had just vacated.
‘It was my mistake,’ he told Lassar with a smile. ‘I had the impression that this little man,’ he jerked at thumb at the boatman, ‘was pressing his unwanted attentions on Sister Fidelma. I have apologised for misunderstanding.’
The man had been standing rubbing his ear. He stopped when he heard her name, clearly recognising it. Fidelma wondered why.
‘I am sure this fellow accepts your apology, Dego, and has no wish to cause any more trouble,’ Fidelma said firmly.
The boatman hesitated for a moment and then jerkily inclined his head.
‘A person is entitled to make a mistake. Isn’t that the truth?’ he muttered.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed suddenly as a memory came to her.
‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’
The little man scowled. ‘No!’
‘I have it! You were in the abbey courtyard watching them take down the body of Brother Ibar.’
‘Why shouldn’t I have been? I do a lot of trade with the abbey.’
‘Do you have a morbid interest in the grotesque, or was the fate of Brother Ibar of particular interest to you?’ Fidelma asked the question out of instinct rather than logic.
Lassar, who had been standing by, puzzled at the exchange, intervened helpfully.
‘Gabrán does do a lot of trade up and down the river. Isn’t that right?’
&
nbsp; The man merely turned and left the inn without replying to either question. Lassar smiled apologetically.
‘I think you may have hurt his feelings. If you want to know, Sister, it was one of Gabrán’s men who was killed and robbed by Brother Ibar.’
Dego grimaced towards Fidelma. ‘Did I do wrong in intervening?’
She shook her head and turned towards Lassar who was putting freshly baked bread on the table.
‘He does not look much like a boatman or river man to me, apart from his clothing.’
The big woman shrugged. ‘Yet he is a river man, Sister. He runs his own boat called the Cág, trading along the river. Now and then he stays here in the inn when he has had his fill of drink and cannot find his way back to his boat. He was here the night his man was killed.’
‘The Cág? Isn’t Jackdaw a strange name for a boat?’
Lassar was indifferent to the nuance of the name. ‘Each to their own, I say.’
Fidelma smiled shortly. ‘A wise saying. What do you know of the murder of his crewman?’
‘I know nothing at first hand.’
‘You must have heard some gossip about it, though,’ Fidelma pressed.
‘Gossip is not always truth,’ replied the woman.
‘You are right in that. Yet sometimes, prejudiced knowledge is very helpful in discovering truth. What did you hear?’
‘All I know is that the boatman was found on the quay the day following the murder of the young girl by the Saxon. A day later Brother Ibar was caught with some of the boatman’s belongings and so he was tried and convicted for the crime.’
‘Who heard the case against him?’
‘The Brehon, of course, Bishop Forbassach.’
‘Do you know if Brother Ibar ever admitted that he was guilty?’
‘Not during the trial nor afterwards, so I am told.’
‘And the evidence was that he had the belongings of this boatman on him?’
‘To confirm those facts you would have to ask someone who attended the trial. I have work to do.’
‘One moment! Would it be your brother, Mel, who was involved in catching Ibar? He was captain of the watch, wasn’t he?’
To her surprise, Lassar shook her head.
‘Mel had nothing to do with the case of Ibar. It was one of his watch, though. Daig was the man’s name.’
Fidelma considered this fact in silence and then observed softly: ‘There seems to be much death on that quay by the abbey. It seems an unhappy, dark place.’
Lassar grimaced as she picked up some dishes. ‘There is truth in that. You have met Sister Étromma and her half-wit brother, haven’t you?’
‘Cett? I have. What have they to do with it?’
‘Nothing. I mention them as an example of unhappiness. Would you believe that Sister Étromma was a descendant of the royal line of Laigin, the Uí Cheinnselaig?’
Fidelma tried to recall why it came as no surprise. She was sure that she had been told before.
Lassar grew confidential. ‘Did you know that when the Uí Néill of Ulaidh raided the kingdom when Étromma was a child, she and her brother were taken as hostages. They say that this was when Cett received a wound which has made him simple. A sad tale.’
‘Sad, indeed, but not unique,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘Ah, but what was unique was the fact that although Étromma was of the royal house, the King, Crimthann it was who ruled at that time, refused to pay the ransom money and left the two children to the tender care of the Uí Néill. Étromma’s branch of the family were poor and could not afford the ransom.’
‘What happened?’ asked Fidelma, interested.
‘After a year, Étromma and her brother managed to escape from the north and return here. I think she was very bitter. They both entered the service of the abbey. So you are right, there is much sadness there.’
Lassar gathered the dishes and left the room. Fidelma sat in thought for a moment before finally rising. Dego looked up questioningly.
‘Where to now, my lady?’ he asked.
‘I am going back to the abbey to see what further information I can pick up,’ she told him.
‘Do you think that Bishop Forbassach was right and Brother Eadulf had help to escape?’ asked Dego.
‘I think it would be hard to escape from the cell in which he was incarcerated without any outside assistance,’ she agreed. ‘But who helped him and why is the mystery we must solve. There is one person who might have helped him and that is a chieftain called Coba. He certainly upholds the Laws of the Fénechus against the Penitentials which Fainder is so fond of. But perhaps it would not do to approach him directly just in case I have been misled. While I am at the abbey, find out what you can about Coba. Don’t make it obvious, though.’
Dego inclined his head in agreement. ‘Eadulf has done a dangerous thing, lady. Do you think he will attempt to contact us?’
‘I hope so,’ Fidelma said fervently. ‘I would want him to stand before Barrán to clear his name. Bishop Forbassach is right in that escape can be interpreted as the sign of a guilty man.’
‘Yet had he not escaped he would have been a dead man,’ Dego reminded her dryly.
For a moment Fidelma felt a surge of bitterness.
‘Do you think I have forgotten that I was helpless to aid Eadulf for all my knowledge of law?’ she snapped at the warrior. ‘Maybe I should have done what someone else has now done.’
‘Lady,’ Dego said swiftly, ‘I meant no criticism of you.’
Fidelma reached out to lay her hand on his arm.
‘Forgive my temper. I am at fault, Dego,’ she said contritely.
‘If Eadulf can avoid capture for the next few days then there is a chance that Aidan will return with Brehon Barrán,’ Dego said reassuringly. ‘If so, that retrial you wish for can be held.’
‘But if he is a free agent now, where will he go?’ mused Fidelma. ‘He might try to take ship and sail for the lands of the Saxons, back to his own country.’
‘Leave this land without telling you, lady? He would not do that now he knows that you are in Fearna.’
This did not comfort Fidelma.
‘He may not have a choice, but I hope he does not delay on my account. Rather he should take to the mountains or woods and wait until the hue and cry has abated.’ She paused, uncomfortably; a dálaigh should not be considering how best the law could be avoided. ‘Where is Enda, by the way?’
‘He went out early. I thought he said he had a mission to perform for you?’
She could not recall instructing Enda to go anywhere but she shrugged and said: ‘If I do not see you before, I will try to meet you both back here, at the inn, sometime after noon.’
She left Dego finishing his breakfast and walked purposefully through the streets towards the abbey.
It was clear that the news of Brother Eadulf’s escape had spread in the township for, as she walked along, people glanced with undisguised interest at her, some stopping to whisper to their neighbours. Their expressions ranged from hostile to simply curious. Only once or twice did a few people express their suspicions of her by shouting abuse. She ignored them. No one in Fearna, it seemed, remained ignorant of her identity, nor of her connection with the Saxon who had been due to hang at midday.
Within her, Fidelma still felt an intensity of different emotions about the situation. She realised that if she was to achieve anything now, she must keep those emotions in check. She had to make a tremendous effort of will and sweep all sentiment from her mind. If she thought of Eadulf in any other way than someone who desperately needed her help and experience, then she could go mad with the anguish that bubbled just below the surface of her calm exterior.
At the gates of the abbey, Sister Étromma greeted her with deep suspicion.
‘You are the last person I expected to see,’ she said rudely.
‘Oh? Why so?’ demanded Fidelma innocently, as the rechtaire grudgingly let her through the gates.
‘I would have th
ought that you would be returning to Cashel rejoicing. The Saxon has escaped. Isn’t that what you wanted?’
Fidelma regarded her seriously.
‘What I wanted,’ she replied with heavy emphasis, ‘was that Brother Eadulf should have justice and be cleared of the charge against him. As for returning to Cashel rejoicing, I will not leave here until I find out what has happened to Brother Eadulf and, indeed, until after I have cleared his name. Escape does not absolve people before the law.’
‘Escape is better than death,’ the stewardess of the abbey pointed out, almost echoing the words of Dego.
‘There is truth in that but I would rather that he was cleared than became a fugitive, in which case any man can treat him as one who is without the law and act accordingly.’
‘Everyone in the abbey thinks that you had a hand in the escape. Did you?’
‘You are direct, Sister Étromma. No, I did not help Eadulf to escape.’
‘It will be difficult to convince people of that.’
‘Difficult or not, it is the truth. Nor am I interested in wasting time trying to convince people.’
‘Here you may find that lies win you friends but truth only begets hatred.’
‘Speaking of hatred, you do not like Abbess Fainder much, do you?’
‘It is not a requirement for a stewardess to like the abbess whom she serves.’
‘Do you like the way she governs the abbey? I refer to this business of the Penitentials.’
‘The Rule of the Abbey has been pronounced. I have to obey it. But I can see where you are leading, Sister. Do not attempt to persuade me to condemn the attitude of the abbess, nor of Bishop Forbassach. Whether punishment be by the Penitentials or by the Law of the Fénechus, remember that the Saxon was found guilty of rape and murder. For that crime, punishment under law must be made – whatever the law. Now, I am busy. There is much to be done in the abbey this day. What is the purpose of your visit?’
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