‘I’ll ride in front,’ he told Gormán. ‘Brother Drón will follow me and you can bring up the rear to ensure that he does not attempt to flee.’
But Brother Drón was hunched in his saddle, looking shocked. From the arrogant, confident person of a few moments ago, the change was marked.
‘He will not flee,’ Gormán assured Eadulf grimly, hand still on the hilt of his sword.
‘How can this have happened?’ Brehon Ninnid demanded, his face flushed.
They had gathered in Colgú’s private chamber – Colgú, Sechnassach, Brehon Barran, Brehon Baithen, Brehon Ninnid and Fidelma. Most people had now returned from the hunt and the body of Muirchertach Nár had been quietly returned to the fortress under cover of blankets so that no one would recognise the body. It had been taken directly to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.
Fidelma regarded the young brehon of Laigin coldly.
‘That is what we have to discover,’ she said.
Brehon Ninnid’s features were formed into a cynical expression. ‘I thought that Brother Eadulf had gone along on the hunt to see that no accident befell Muirchertach Nár?’
Fidelma coloured a little at the jibe. Her eyes Nárrowed slightly.
‘Eadulf went along and was nearly killed when his horse threw him during a wild boar charge. At least he and Gormán were able to apprehend a suspect.’
‘Brother Drón? I do not believe it,’ Brehon Ninnid snapped. ‘A religious of his background could never do such a thing.’
The High King Sechnassach looked worried. ‘If Brother Drón has done this in retaliation for the killing of Ultán for which you were defending Muirchertach Nár, then I foresee dangers ahead.’
The High King’s Chief Brehon, Barrán, explained:
‘First, Ultán was a leading churchman, an emissary of Ard Macha. Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, in whose kingdom Ard Macha lies, was able to assure me that he could control any protest that Ard Macha might make against the killing of their emissary, providing that he could assure Ségéne, the Comarb of Patrick, that the killer had been caught and punishment pronounced. But now that’ – he glanced at Fidelma – ‘the suspect has himself been slaughtered, things have changed. At the moment, we are told that Brother Drón of Cill Ria is the likely killer of the king of Connacht. Connacht may want retribution from Ard Macha. Before we tell Muirchertach’s heir apparent, Dúnchad Muirisci, we need to give him some assurances. Remember that kings are answerable to their people. It is the people who are powerful in these matters because it is the people who ordain the king. The king does not ordain the people.’
Brehon Ninnid thrust out his chest arrogantly. ‘Then the sooner I speak to Brother Drón the faster this matter will be resolved. I cannot believe a religious would contemplate a revenge killing of Muirchertach Nár.’
‘You can see him whenever you wish,’ Fidelma said.
‘Good. We cannot wait for ever for a solution. Perhaps if we had prosecuted Muirchertach Nár immediately there would not have been any revenge killing.’
Brehon Barran glanced at Fidelma. She was shaking her head in annoyance.
‘You disagree?’
‘It is all too easy,’ she muttered.
The High King sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I have great respect for you, Fidelma of Cashel. Indeed, I might not be High King if it were not for your ability to solve conundrums. I remember how you solved the riddle of the sacred sword of office. So I owe you much. I am prepared to give you more time to resolve this matter, but why do you say that the obvious path is too easy? Surely, it is a painful path that admits a king has killed an abbot and that a churchman has killed a king in vengeance?’
‘If that is what happened, Sechnassach,’ replied Fidelma softly.
Brehon Ninnid began to say something, but the High King waved him to silence.
‘You have an alternative view?’ he asked.
‘I have no view at this time. If we have learnt anything during the countless centuries that our brehons have devised and developed our law code, it is that truth is more important than law. Are we not taught that truth is the highest power, the ultimate cause of all being? So, therefore, we must discover the truth in order that justice might prevail.’
Brehon Ninnid smiled in a superior fashion. ‘When is the prosecution of the law contradicted by truth?’
‘When a judge chooses expediency in favour of a slow, deliberate investigation,’ Fidelma replied sharply. ‘Do you not recall the old story of the gold cup of Cormac Mac Art?’
‘Pagan fiddlesticks!’ Brehon Ninnid replied in a tone of dismissal.
‘To those who only see the story and fail to realise its symbolism. The story is that Cormac came to possess a gold cup that fell asunder into three sections if three lies were told and would come together again if three truths were told. The act of truth made the cup whole.’
‘What are you saying, Fidelma?’ demanded the High King.
‘I am reminding you of the words of my mentor; of Morann’s advice to the princes of these kingdoms. Let them magnify truth, it will magnify them. Let them strengthen truth, it will strengthen them. Let them preserve truth, it will preserve them . . .’
The Chief Brehon Barrán made an impatient gesture with his hand. ‘His words are well known, Fidelma.’
‘Then, in justice, the High King must not rush to judgement, pursuing law and expediency rather than truth.’
Sechnassach sighed deeply. ‘You have made your case. I have said that you will receive more time to hear the evidence, Fidelma. But that time is not unlimited.’
‘Tempus omnia revelat,’ Fidelma reminded him. Time reveals all things.
‘That is so,’ agreed the High King. ‘But for mortals such as we, time is not infinite. Our decisions must be measured in days, not left to eternity. I will speak to Dúnchad Muirisci and also to Blathmac. They are civilised people. But once news of what has happened here is voiced through their kingdoms, they may have difficulty controlling the hotheads who will cry vengeance. Time may not grace us with solutions.’
Fidelma rose and inclined her head towards Sechnassach.
‘I will bear that in mind,’ she said quietly. ‘But I will attempt to present the solution in days and not wait until eternity.’
She found Eadulf waiting with Gormán in the corridor outside her brother’s chamber.
‘Has any word of Muirchertach Nár’s death been leaked?’ she asked Eadulf anxiously.
‘We think not. Only Rónán the tracker and two others who helped cover the body and bring it here know of its identity and they have sworn to keep silence until word is released. But it cannot be long before the news spreads. Someone will notice that Muirchertach is missing.’
Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘First, we must tell Aíbnat. Then we should see Dúnchad Muirisci, for he is now heir assumptive to Muirchertach’s throne.’
‘What about Brother Drón?’
‘What has been done with him?’
‘We handed him over to Caol, who has taken him to one of the chambers and stands guard over him,’. Gormán said quickly. ‘I am told that he is still protesting his innocence. Quite volubly.’
‘We will not keep him waiting longer than we have to,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You may tell Caol that Brehon Ninnid is allowed to see him. Eadulf and I first have to speak with the lady Aíbnat.’
Aíbnat met them at the door of her chamber. She stared with open hostility at Fidelma before glancing at Eadulf with an expression that left him in no doubt what she thought of him.
‘What do you want now? My husband has not returned from the hunt,’ she demanded, her voice brittle.
‘We have some bad news for you, lady,’ Fidelma said softly.
Aíbnat stiffened slightly. ‘Bad news?’
‘It is your husband. He has . . . been hurt.’
Aíbnat’s expression was controlled. Then, as Fidelma hesitated, she recognised something in her expression.
‘He is dead?�
�� she whispered.
Fidelma tried to express sympathy towards this arrogant woman. ‘I am afraid he is,’ was all that she could say.
Aíbnat turned quickly away and stood with her back to them, her shoulders slightly hunched. Fidelma followed her into the room, Eadulf at her side. He closed the door gently and they waited awkwardly for a moment.
‘Who killed him?,’ Aíbnat asked after a while, turning back to them.
Eadulf exchanged a glance of surprise with Fidelma.
‘What makes you think that someone killed him, lady,’ he said, ‘and that it was not an accident in the hunt?’
Aíbnat swung her gaze round to Eadulf, her features under perfect control. There was now no hint of moisture in her eyes.
‘I know my husband’s abilities. He was a good horseman. Also, it was obvious from the threat that his life was in danger.’
‘The threat? Danger?’ queried Fidelma in surprise. ‘Has he been threatened?’
‘A raven’s feather was found on the pillow of our bed last night when we returned from the evening meal.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘Did you report this to the guard? I was not told.’
Aíbnat shook her head. ‘Muirchertach dismissed it, thinking it was just a silly gesture from one of Ultán’s followers. That man Drón has been muttering dark curses of vengeance. But we thought we were well protected by your warriors. You have failed us. You failed to protect us, just as you failed to protect Ultán.’
‘You should have reported this,’ Fidelma said, ignoring her anger.
‘Whether we did or not, there can be no excuse for not protecting Muirchertach,’ she snapped.
Eadulf was frowning. ‘What is the relevance of this raven’s feather?’ he asked Fidelma.
‘It is a symbol of death and battles,’ she said quickly. ‘The goddess of death often appears in the form of a raven. Where is the feather now?’
Aíbnat shrugged. ‘My husband had it.’
The woman seemed to be emotionally bearing up quite well, but then Fidelma remembered that she had not seemed particularly close to her husband when she had interviewed them on the previous day.
‘Your husband’s body has been taken to the apothecary of Brother Conchobhar here, lady. It will be washed and prepared, and taken to the chapel where the High King wishes it to receive all honour while you and Muirchertach’s tánaiste decide its fate.’
‘Its fate?’
‘As king of Connacht, it is his right that his remains be taken back to his kingdom in pomp and state.’
Aíbnat nodded slowly. ‘That will be up to Dúnchad to decide. Muirchertach’s father lies in the abbey of Cluain Mic Nois with many other kings of Connacht.’ She paused and added: ‘Has the man who killed Muirchertach been captured?’
‘Man?’ queried Fidelma softly.
Aíbnat’s face was without emotion. ‘I presume whoever killed Muirchertach was a man.’
‘We are investigating.’
‘Well, all you have to do is look among Ultán’s followers. There is only one among them capable of the deed of vengeance. However, I shall have my attendants prepare for my leaving here tomorrow. There is no need for me to remain. Dúnchad Muirisci will doubtless take care of the obsequies and the disposal of Muirchertach’s body.’
Fidelma stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I am afraid, lady, you will have to remain here until there is a resolution of this matter,’ she said quietly. ‘You will leave only when I say so.’
Aíbnat blinked in surprise at being contradicted. ‘Do you know to whom you speak? You may be sister to the king of Muman but I am wife to the king of Connacht.’
Fidelma smiled coldly. ‘You are now the widow of the king of Connacht who lies murdered and unburied in our chapel. I am the dálaigh given to his defence in the matter of the crimes he was accused of and therefore now the investigator of his murder. You stand before the law equal as all others are in this case.’
Aíbnat’s eyes Nárrowed. ‘I will see Sechnassach, the High King, and tell him of your impertinence.’
‘Excellent. Sechnassach is well acquainted with the law and how things must be governed. In the meantime, should you wish it, a guard will continue at your door . . . for your protection. You may also speak to the Chief Brehon Barrán.’
Aíbnat stared at her as if not believing her ears. ‘I will certainly speak to him,’ she snapped. ‘You may send the Abbot Augaire to me. I have need of some religious solace.’
Fidelma did not reply but merely turned and, followed by Eadulf, left the room.
Outside, Eadulf noticed that she was trembling slightly in anger.
In answer to his glance she shrugged. ‘There are few people who have such an effect on me, Eadulf. The woman is so arrogant and cold that I feel I would like to strike her on the cheek.’
Eadulf reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘That is unlike you. However, I have to say that she did not leave a favourable impression on me. In fact, her coldness at the news of her husband’s death was surprising.’
‘I do not think there was much love lost between them,’ Fidelma agreed.
‘She is right about vengeance, though. Brother Drón’s story is so weak that it is laughable. When we came upon him leading Muirchertach’s horse it all fell into place. By the way, why didn’t you tell her that we are holding Drón for the murder?’
‘We have to be certain of everything in this matter, Eadulf.’
‘But it all fits together,’ protested Eadulf. ‘And now we hear that a raven’s feather, the symbol of death, was left on their pillow last night. A threat of vengeance for Ultán’s killing.’
Fidelma regarded him seriously. ‘That is the one thing that doesn’t fit.’
‘Why not?’
‘If anything, it rather precludes Brother Drón from involvement as it is a token of the Old Faith and not the new one. Why would one of the New Faith send a symbol of the goddess of death and battles?’
Eadulf thought for a moment. ‘Old ways die hard. Maybe he put the feather there to mislead whoever took on the investigation – or maybe it was someone else entirely who put it there – someone unconnected with the killing.’
‘Perhaps,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘Does a raven’s feather have the same meaning among the pagan Saxons as it does here?’
Eadulf considered. ‘The women Woden sends to gather the corpses of the slain are accompanied by ravens, so the raven is always a bird of ill-omen.’
‘Then there is no need to explain the symbolism. We’d better have a word with Dúnchad Muirisci now that we have told Aíbnat.’ She halted suddenly with a frown. ‘You mentioned Rónán the tracker. I have known him since I was a little girl here. He is a good huntsman, so we must respect what he has to say. I presume that you have checked all he told you?’
‘We were able to follow the tracks he pointed out quite well for a while before we lost them on the stony ground,’ said Eadulf. ‘Anyway, the fact that we caught Brother Drón with Muirchertach’s horse seemed certain enough to me.’
‘Rónán specifically mentioned to you that the horse ridden by the person who met Muirchertach in the wood, and who appears to be his attacker, had a particular identifying mark,’ Fidelma pointed out patiently.
Eadulf stared at her for a moment and then gave a groan.
‘I meant to check that as soon as we came back to the fortress,’ he said. ‘That would be an argument that Drón could not deny.’
‘Then you’d better check it now,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘We should do that before going to break the news to Dúnchad Muirisci and certainly before we go to question Brother Drón further. I’ll meet you at Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.’
Eadulf hurried away, rebuking himself for overlooking the point that could so easily have confirmed Brother’s Drón’s guilt. He had recounted everything to Fidelma: the finding of the body, Rónán’s observations on the tracks, and the overtaking of Drón. To her credit, Fidelma had not pointed out t
he obvious but had diplomatically pushed Eadulf into a realisation of what was needed.
Eadulf crossed the courtyard to the stables and found the gilla scuir, the head stable lad. He asked to examine the horse that Brother Drón had ridden. The man looked curiously at him but nodded assent, taking a lantern and leading the way to the stalls.
‘I want to examine its shoes,’ Eadulf explained. ‘I am not very good with horses. How do I go about it?’
The gilla scuir’s expression became somewhat pitying but he said nothing. Fidelma was an expert horsewoman but the stable lad knew all about Eadulf’s unease with horses.
‘Hold the lantern, then, Brother Eadulf,’ he instructed. ‘Which hoof did you want to see?’
‘Front left.’
The stable lad entered the stall, talking softly to the animal, touching its muzzle so that the beast would recognise him, before bending forward and picking up the foreleg, so that the underside of the hoof could be seen.
‘Come into the stall with the lantern,’ he said. ‘Gently now, and hold it so that you can see what you need. What were you looking for? A loose shoe?’
Eadulf shook his head. He peered at the hoof. There was nothing wrong with the horseshoe, no crack, no uneven quality. His mouth compressed to hide his disappointment while he considered the matter.
‘Let’s look at the others,’ he said, just in case Rónán had been mistaken as to which leg it was.
It took a very short time to ascertain that there were no distinguishing marks on any of the shoes of the animal that Brother Drdn had ridden.
Outside the stall Eadulf stood thinking carefully. The only conclusion he could come to was that Brother Drdn was not the rider who had led Muirchertach’s horse from the scene of the slaying. Did this mean he was not the killer? He came back to the present to find the gilla scuir looking at him expectantly.
‘What were you looking for, Brother Eadulf?’ he asked.
‘I was looking for a horse with a cracked or broken shoe.’
The lad’s features broke into a smile. ‘In that case, brother, you were looking at the wrong beast.’ He pointed to another stall. ‘That one came in this evening with the shoe cracked in two. A bad casting of the metal. It happens sometimes. I’m happy to say it wasn’t cast here. One of those northern smiths did that.’
A Prayer for the Damned Page 22