‘You had best tell me now the essence of that news,’ Fidelma instructed him, excited in spite of herself.
‘In short, Nannid is no longer the Abbot of Mungairit. Neither is Brother Cuineáin his steward there. They left the abbey six or more months ago having been dismissed by the derbhfine. After the conspiracy that you uncovered, the abbey council decided that they could not place their trust in Nannid or his steward.’
Fidelma felt a growing relief. ‘I had begun to suspect as much since Nannid has spent so many months here trying to create a new community in the township. But this does not help us in the current matter. Nannid is an astute debater. He will doubtless argue that he is now Abbot of Nechta and can still claim entitlement to demand punishment under these Penitentials. Don’t let your rider relay this news to anyone else, not even Prince Donennach or Brehon Faolchair. I will know when the time is right.’
Conrí said in surprise, ‘Don’t you think it might help at all? You realise that Gormán’s death is inevitable at noon tomorrow?’
‘Even if Nannid can only call himself Abbot of Nechta, he still has enough influence among the Uí Fidgente to stir them up against Prince Donennach. I think that has been his intention all along.’
‘But surely this might make some difference?’
‘No, not of itself. You mentioned that your messenger encountered someone on his return – someone from the Hill of Truth?’
The warlord nodded grimly. ‘It was the religieux, Brother Feradach. He confirms that he had gone there on behalf of Mungairit to meet with Nannid. However, he saw the encampment of the men from Sliabh Luachra and fled.’
Fidelma said thoughtfully, ‘That just supports Nannid’s version of why he went to the Hill of Truth. Again, it does not help the situation with Gormán.’
‘I know, I know.’ Conrí hunched his shoulders in a despairing gesture. ‘There must be some way to help him!’
‘I wish there was.’
‘Perhaps there is. I mean …’ Conrí spoke awkwardly. ‘Well, when Gormán escaped from here, I had my duty to fulfil, my allegiance to Prince Donennach to try to recapture him. When Gormán continued to evade us, I began to realise that it was probably the best solution to this problem.’
‘But it was not a permanent solution. The dilemma would still face Prince Donennach.’
‘I mean, what I am trying to say is that if Gormán could escape again and go back to Cashel, it would be better than being killed here. I do not think Prince Donennach would insist that his warriors should pursue him too diligently.’
‘It would still be a problem.’
The warlord looked anxious. ‘This evening I have been speaking with Prince Donennach. If Gormán does hang tomorrow, I don’t want there to be another war between us.’
‘That prospect is one that must be avoided,’ she agreed.
‘Yet I am warlord of the Uí Fidgente and must make preparations for that very prospect. I do not want to send out my riders bearing the fiery cross to summon the clans to the service of Donennach. But once the news of Gormán’s death spreads to Cashel, your brother will have no option but to gather his fighting men. Then he will march on our borders.’
‘My brother is no hothead, Conrí,’ Fidelma replied. ‘He would be open to reasonable negotiation – but he would want restitution under the law, and I mean the laws of the Five Kingdoms. I think we both know well that someone is trying to provoke a war here, and it is not the Eóghanacht. However, I have understood what you have said.’
‘Very well, lady. I shall say no more about the news from Mungairit until you tell me that I may do so.’
‘For that, I am grateful. But I fear things will not end until we have resolved this matter under law and discovered the causes behind it.’
Conrí raised a hand to his forehead in farewell as she continued on her way to the great hall. There, she rejoined Aibell.
The only other people in the hall were Prior Cuán and Brother Mac Raith; while in one corner sat Airmed, the physician, with Brother Tuamán, the steward of Imleach. Between them was a fidchell board, the popular game of wooden wisdom, which needed a sharp eye and plenty of concentration. They were sipping at drinks as they played. Fidelma crossed to examine the arrangement of pieces on their board; she was particularly adept at the game.
‘Have a care, Brother Tuamán,’ she warned, seeing the alignment of the pieces. ‘You will be in danger soon from Airmid’s defence.’
They looked up and acknowledged Fidelma. Then, with a frown, Brother Tuamán peered closely at his opponent’s pieces and spotted the danger that Fidelma had observed. ‘Airmid was always good at defensive play even when she a student,’ he beamed.
Airmid stood up abruptly. ‘Enough of the game,’ she said, glancing to the door. ‘Where is Brother Eadulf?’
‘He has retired early to our chamber. Something he ate earlier disagreed with him,’ responded Fidelma.
‘Do you want me to attend him?’ Airmid asked at once.
‘I think Eadulf has enough healing knowledge to deal with his condition,’ Fidelma said to deflect Airmid’s concern. ‘He always says that water is a great purge but sleep is a greater healer.’
‘The girl also seems unwell,’ Airmid said, casting a glance to where Aibell fidgeted restlessly at one side of the hall. Fidelma was concerned. It was a matter of Gormán’s life or death. If his young wife remained in the hall, she would certainly draw more attention to herself.
‘No doubt she is feeling the strain of her husband’s fate,’ Fidelma said carefully. Then, going over to Aibell, she said in a carrying voice, ‘You look tired, Aibell. We don’t want you going down with an illness like Eadulf. I suggest you withdraw to our chamber and try to rest. You can do no good here.’
The girl muttered something inaudible and stumbled off towards the stairway to the guests’ rooms.
Fidelma was aware of Airmid standing at her side. ‘She is young,’ Fidelma said, ‘and these despondent days will gradually fade. It is often said that the passing of time is a great help.’
‘Such advice is difficult to accept when your husband is about to be executed.’ The dry comment was made by Brother Mac Raith, who had moved to warm himself by the fire.
‘I agree,’ Airmid said. ‘It is sad that such things have come to pass.’
‘Your brother could intervene,’ observed Prior Cuán a little sourly, entering the conversation. He had been sitting before the fire, absorbed in watching the dancing flames.
‘I will not argue with you on that,’ agreed Prince Donennach’s sister. ‘If it is worth anything, I did advise him to take a stronger stand on the matter. He seems fearful of another effusion of blood, given that too much of ours has been shed over the years of the conflict with the Eóghanacht.’
Fidelma flushed slightly. ‘Such conflict has never been of the Eóghanacht making,’ she replied defensively.
Airmid put out a hand to lay it on Fidelma’s arm for a moment.
‘My dear, I meant no rebuke to you. But it is the truth that I am telling. The wars that we have been engaged in have achieved nothing but more bloodshed. Many, like my brother, want to avoid war among our own people at any cost. Others believe that my brother’s policy of conciliation with Cashel is wrong.’
‘You appear to place yourself as a neutral in this matter, lady,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Yet you are the heir apparent to your brother. You must have a say on his council.’
Airmid threw back her head and laughed. ‘My brother tolerates my presence since there is no other heir to his bloodline. The council always look to a man to lead them.’
A look of annoyance crossed Fidelma’s face. ‘The law is clear on that: women can fulfil any role.’
‘But not usually fulfil the role of kingship.’
‘On the contrary, as you wander the kingdoms and princedoms of this island you will find several women leaders among them, and not only leaders of their people but commanders of war. Did not Macha of the Red Tresse
s rule all the Five Kingdoms from Tara in ancient times?’
Airmid smiled thinly. ‘I do not possess your passion or your knowledge, lady,’ she replied. ‘I simply know that I, like my brother, would prefer peace.’
‘Is your brother not joining us this evening?’ queried Fidelma.
Airmid shook her head. ‘There is much on his mind this evening,’ she replied.
‘Much on everyone’s mind,’ Prior Cuán said bluntly. ‘There’ll be no peace if we abandon the laws that have been with us since the time before time, and just accept these alien concepts coming from Nannid.’
‘For my own part,’ Airmid sighed, ‘I want nothing more than to be allowed to carry on as a practitioner of the arts of healing. But I suppose Nannid could argue that there is a difference between abandoning our old laws and abandoning our old religion?’
Prior Cuán frowned. ‘I am unsure what you mean, lady.’
‘Simple enough. We were once firm in the Old Faith. We worshipped the gods and goddesses as, indeed, our people had done since the time when Féinius Farsaid led us out of the primeval mists. We remained constant to our gods and goddesses, who shaped our lives for century after century. Then some of our people heard stories of a new God, a single God worshipped among a people in the east. This God, they were told, had sent His Son to bring them to the Faith. Some of our people believed in the New Faith – Ailbe, Ciarán, Declan and others and then, eventually, the leader of this Faith in Rome sent a former hostage of the Uí Néill to convert us.
‘It was two centuries ago that the High King, Laoghaire, son of Néill of the Nine Hostages, decided to leave the Old Faith, abandon the gods and goddesses that we had worshipped for millennia, and accept this strange New Faith from the east. So, having abandoned our own Faith, a New Faith has shaped and sustained us. We abandoned our old Faith, so what would be wrong with abandoning our old laws? What is the difference?’
There was a silence after Airmid had spoken.
‘Put in that form, lady,’ Fidelma said eventually, ‘it is an interesting comparison in support of what Nannid argues now. Are you in favour of his Penitentials?’
Airmid gave a quiet laugh. ‘If it were left to me, I would be content with both the old religion and the old law. What has worked for centuries seems hardly worthwhile amending, much less spilling blood over. But I thank the powers that it is not my responsibility. All I do is point out that times change and often we have to change with them. But left to myself, I am certainly no reformer.’
Brother Tuamán looked up from where he still sat at the fidchell board.
‘I am sure that Abbot Nannid would agree that the road to what is right and proper is a righteous one to tread, and it is worth sacrifices to attain an end to it. It is right and proper that we have cast away our superstition for the light of knowledge of the True Faith. We have attained much but we must seek more and come nearer to the Great Truth. That is why I entered into the life of the religious.’ He paused and glanced round, realising they were staring at what, for him, was an outburst. Then he gave a shrug. ‘Indeed, that is why I entered the great Abbey of Imleach and was proud to serve Abbot Ségdae as I will now be proud to serve his successor.’ He dropped his gaze back to the fidchell board.
Airmid looked at Brother Tuamán in amusement for a few moments before saying to Fidelma, ‘So what will you do now, lady?’
‘Now?’
‘Now all is lost here, I mean. I suppose you will head back to Cashel tomorrow. Will you attempt to persuade King Colgú that my brother had no choice but to act as he did? I mean, by not interfering in the execution of his warrior.’
Fidelma pursed her lips in a thoughtful expression before speaking. ‘I suppose I would start by saying that perhaps, all is not lost until it is lost. But certainly I will report to my brother, Colgú, and his Chief Brehon, what I have seen here.’
Prior Cuán leaned forward slightly, his brow creased in perplexity. ‘We must do all in our power to prevent any thoughts of vengeful bloodshed, lady. If we must face the consequences of tomorrow, let us hope we can persuade Colgú not to seek reparation on the field of battle.’
Fidelma suddenly felt mischievous. ‘Alas, is there not an old proverb which says that there was never a more just judge than the field of battle?’ she said dryly.
Prior Cuán looked at her in disapproval. ‘It must be a very old saying – from barbaric days. I, for my part, will be riding straight for Cashel tomorrow to admit that my poor scholastic knowledge was unable to move Nannid, who is equally firm in his beliefs. But Fidelma, I will be telling your brother, the King, that he must remember that vengeance is to be left in the hands of God.’
‘Waiting for divine vengeance is a tedious process,’ Airmid said tartly. ‘I recall that in the past, the Eóghanacht have shown us the efficacy of acting more swiftly in such matters.’
Fidelma knew it was a provocation and a reflection on the long history of rivalry between their two families for the Kingship of Muman.
‘We believe it is the King and his council who will make a response once all the facts are known,’ she said quietly.
Airmid seemed surprised. ‘Are they not already known? Do you still insist there should be yet another hearing after the warrior admitted his guilt by fleeing from here before you had time to offer a defence for him?’
‘It would seem that not all the facts have been allowed to come to light,’ Fidelma replied, but she did not elaborate.
Prior Cuán rose from his chair and reached for his stick. ‘It is time I retired,’ he announced.
Fidelma crossed to his side. ‘I need some exercise before I retire,’ she told him. ‘A walk across the courtyard of the fortress will be sufficient. I will accompany you as far as your quarters, if I may, Prior Cuán?’
As they moved towards the door of the hallway, Fidelma glanced at his stick. She frowned, trying to remember something about walking sticks. ‘You seem to have changed your stout blackthorn. Have you lost it?’
Prior Cuán chuckled. ‘I indulge myself by carrying two different sticks when I travel, lady. This one is good for use when I am within the abbey buildings or places such as this. It’s made of chestnut wood. But sometimes I use the other one. To be honest, it often depends which I have left nearer the door of my chamber when I leave it.’
As they left the hall, Prior Cuán glanced back in disapproval at Brother Tuamán, who was indulging in a goblet of some strong liquor as he gazed down at his fidchell pieces. Airmid re-seated herself opposite him, toying with her own drink. Outside, the prior paused and said: ‘I do not think that drinking intoxicating liquids figures in the austerity plans of those who subscribe to the Penitential rules.’
‘Abbot Ségdae never approved of the Penitentials being adopted at Imleach,’ Fidelma commented. ‘It is difficult to believe Brother Tuamán when he said that our friend was considering making concessions on their use.’
‘Abbot Ségdae was a wise man … I do not believe in the adoption of the Penitentials.’
‘Nannid argues that they should replace the Law of the Brehons.’
‘It was the very reason why Abbot Ségdae agreed to lead this delegation to meet with Nannid. Indeed, it was why Ségdae chose me to accompany him as adviser, for I have studied these Penitentials.’
‘I presume that you have heard how Nannid enforced his rules on the community here?’
Prior Cuán grimaced. ‘Nannid is fond of rank and authority. He is a vainglorious man and I am sure he would do anything for power. If he was sent into the wilderness for forty days and nights, within the first few minutes he would accept a deal with Lucifer and settle not even for all the kingdoms of the world but for a small part of a bogland.’
Fidelma answered him with a wan smile as she bade him good night. Then, ensuring that he had entered the guest-hostel where the delegation from Imleach was staying, she moved on towards her real objective. A bell was sounding from the Abbey of Nechta. It was time to play her part in the pl
an to rescue Gormán. She hoped that she would succeed. The guards were gathered at the main gates standing under the brand torches. There were sounds of music from the laochtech, the warriors’ quarters, where they were noisily entertaining themselves.
She passed the stone building in which Gormán had been incarcerated. It was entirely in darkness now that there were no other prisoners housed there. Fidelma paused and took a careful look around her, listening as well as examining the shadows with her sharp eyes. Satisfied, she moved swiftly to the tall wooden gates through which Gormán and Aibell had fled some days before. Now it was not to supply a means of exit that Fidelma had come there but the reverse – to ensure a means of entrance. The iron key was hanging on the wall to one side of the gate and Fidelma took this and eased it into the lock and turned it. Then she found the two bolts and drew them. To her relief, frequent use had made them draw easily and without a sound. She stood up and leaned against the wall for a few moments, breathing a little quickly after her exertions. She took the iron ring handle and pulled it towards her. The gate swung open a little. Then she pushed it back.
She had done her part now. All she could do was pray that no one came by and noticed that the bolts were not thrust home and that the gate was unlocked. She paused to replace the key on its hook before hurrying back across the courtyard towards the main buildings.
What she did not see, after she had left, were the two shadows emerging from the stables and coming to stand before the gate.
‘Interesting,’ Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, remarked softly to his companion Ceit, the commander of the guard.
‘Interesting, indeed,’ nodded his comrade. ‘I presume that the lady has accepted the hint you gave her?’
‘I hope she has.’ Conrí was thoughtful. ‘I can’t imagine how she will achieve it, but we’ll keep a watch on this gate tonight. I imagine that come dawn tomorrow we will be faced with more than a little excitement.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The soft tolling of a bell came clearly through the night air. It sounded distinctly three times.
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 29
