Master of Souls sf-16

by Peter Tremayne

  Slebene, chief of the Corco Duibhne, was a large man with a loud voice who used a great bellow of laughter as a means of punctuation. He was

  He came forward to greet his visitors with a bear hug to each one, even Fidelma, leaving them all breathless in his overwhelming presence.

  ‘Welcome, you are welcome!’ he thundered. ‘Let me offer you corma — or there is mead if you prefer it?’ He waved to an attendant and would hear no refusal on their part.

  He bade them all be seated before the fire that crackled in a circular hearth in the middle of his great hall.

  ‘I am honoured to give hospitality to the daughter of Failbe Flann. There is something in your manner, Fidelma of Cashel, that reminds me of him,’ he told her with a toss of his silver-grey mane.

  Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

  ‘You knew my father?’

  ‘Did I know Failbe Flann?’ There came the great bellow of laughter.

  ‘Did I not fight at his right hand at the battle of Ath Goan when we overthrew the king of Laigin’s men? I fought with him at Carn Feradaig when we put to flight that pretentious whelp Guaire Aidne and his Ui Fidgente allies and sent them with their tails between their legs scampering back to their mothers in Connacht. Those were the days when the Eoghanacht were in danger from the pretensions of their neighbours. Indeed, those were great days when we exerted our authority with swords and axes.’

  Fidelma glanced anxiously at Conri but the Ui Fidgente’s face was impassive.

  ‘Carn Feradaig was fought forty years ago,’ she pointed out, examining Slebene curiously and wondering how old he could be.

  ‘I was a young man then,’ smiled the chief. ‘Young and ready for battle. But age and chieftainship create wisdom and the hardest thing in age is that you have to send the keen young innocents off into battle on your behalf. It is a strange thing, life. Youth will not believe that age will come, or age believe that death will come. I believe I shall live for ever.’

  Eadulf smiled thinly.

  ‘Grave senectus est hominibus pondus,’ he proclaimed.

  To his surprise Slebene slapped his thigh in good humour, understanding the Latin aphorism.

  ‘Age, indeed, is a heavy load, Brother Saxon. But the groans of the aged are often heavier than the load.’

  ‘I would like to speak more of my father, but an another occasion,’ Fidelma said, ‘but we have little time to spare at present

  …’

  ‘Ah, patience was not a virtue of Failbe Flann either. Never mind. We shall speak more of him at the feasting this night. Look, the day is growing dark already. Such is the curse of a winter’s day. Whatever business you have with me will not interfere with the meal, for you will stay overnight at least.’

  Thanking him for the hospitality, Fidelma told him about the encounter with the warship on their journey.

  The chief listened to the story of the attack with an incredulous expression, and when she had finished Slebene threw back his great mane of hair and let forth a resounding hoot of laughter.

  ‘A pirate, no less, and in my domain! Well, we’ve dealt with them before, by the fires of Bel! Soon there will be one less pirate to trouble the merchants.’

  Eadulf winced a little at the pagan oath, glancing at Fidelma. She was not perturbed. She knew that the territory of the Corco Duibhne was still not entirely converted to the New Faith in spite of the prominent churches in the settlement outside the fortress.

  ‘We are concerned, Slebene,’ Fidelma leant forward earnestly, ‘for the members of the hermit community of Seanach’s Island. Your man Duinn, when we told him, did not share that concern. He said that only you were able to make the decision as to whether a ship should be sent to find out whether the religious on the island are safe.’

  Slebene stroked his beard, still smiling at her.

  ‘Duinn is a cautious man. But have no fear. No one would ever harm a hermit group, especially those of the Faith. Duinn is a good man, when acting under orders. He has little imagination himself.‘He glanced at Conri. ‘Fidelma says this warship flew the war banner of Eoganan of the Ui Fidgente.’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘And you, warlord of the Ui Fidgente, reject all knowledge of Ui Fidgente warships in my territory?’

  ‘We are at peace now,’ replied Conri. ‘If this is a ship manned by Ui Fidgente, then they are rebels and outcasts.’

  The chief chuckled and shook his head.

  ‘Rebels? A difficult word to define. Who is a rebel and who is not? They vary from day to day. Yesterday, Eoganan was a legitimate ruler. Today, those who supported him are rebels. Well, without wishing to cast insult, peace means nothing. For years I have had Eoganan’s whelp, Uaman, controlling the passes on my eastern borders. He even dared to call himself Lord of the Passes. Every time I took my warriors against him, he would either shut himself up in that impregnable fortress on that island of his or disappear up into the mountains where it was impossible to find him and come to blows.’

  ‘Uaman is dead,’ Eadulf pointed out, trying to bring the conversation to the immediate point. ‘The task is to find out who these raiders are.’

  Slebene glanced at him with interest.

  ‘How do you know that Uaman is dead, my Saxon friend?’

  ‘Because I saw him die. I was a prisoner in his fortress but escaped and watched him perish in the quicksand and the tides that separated his island from the mainland.’

  The chieftain regarded him in some astonishment.

  ‘I had heard rumours that he died screaming. I did not know there was a witness to his end. But you claim to be that witness, Saxon?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Are you sure he died?’

  Eadulf coloured a little.

  ‘Do you doubt my word?’ he said testily.

  ‘If you say that you saw him die then I accept it. However…’ Slebene paused. ‘I have reports from the eastern border of my lands that say he is still seen among the mountain passes, still raiding and demanding tribute from my people.’

  ‘That cannot be. He was caught in the quicksand.’

  Eadulf grew impatient.

  ‘It is not Uaman that concerns us but-’

  The chief held up a giant paw of a hand to still him.

  ‘I am sure that there is no need for you to worry. We’ve always had raiders in these waters. Pirates in search of a cargo. Seanach’s community has never been harmed before, why would they be now?’

  Fidelma was piqued.

  ‘Are you saying that you will not send a vessel and men to investigate?’

  Slebene shrugged.

  ‘I see no great need for it…’ He paused, catching the dangerous glint in her eye. Then he chuckled. ‘But if you feel that I should… then of course I’ll send a vessel. And if they encounter these pirates,’ he chuckled again, ‘then we will see how they fight when they have real champions to contend with.’

  Conri pushed out his lower lip. He was angry at the implied insult to him and his warriors.

  ‘There is an old saying, Slebene,’ his voice was dangerous, ‘that any man may laugh on a hillside.’

  The chief’s eyes narrowed and for the first time there was a look of hostility in his eyes. The meaning of the saying was that it was all very well to ridicule one’s foes from a safe position. He was about to reply when Fidelma intervened.

  ‘At least we had good Ui Fidgente warriors with us who managed to halt their attack, whoever the raiders were,’ she said quietly.

  The big man blinked, hesitated and then roared with laughter again, clapping his hand to his knee.

  ‘A dog knows his own faults, Fidelma,’ he replied with a smile and using another old saying to counter Conri’s. ‘I am sure the warlord of the Ui Fidgente will understand that no slight against him or his men was intended.’

  ‘Therefore no slight is taken,’ confirmed Conri. tightly.

  ‘That is well said,’ Fidelma added smoothly. ‘Yet let me point out that the
re is a contradiction when you assume that the religious hermits on the island stand in no danger.’

  ‘A contradiction?’ demanded Slebene with interest. ‘What contradiction?’

  ‘The very thing that has brought us here. The slaughter of the Abbess Faife and the disappearance of her religieuse who were on their way to Breanainn’s mountain.’

  The chief became serious.

  ‘Ah, Abbess Faife. I grieved when I heard the news. She had passed through Daingean many times with pilgrims on the road to the mountain. A sadness has been on me since I heard of her death. But it happened in the eastern passes where we have reports of these marauders. When Uaman the Leper used to control-’

  ‘Did you send warriors to investigate?’

  Slebene shook his head, unabashed at her tone.

  ‘There was no need. Travellers told me that the body of the abbess was recovered and taken back to Ard Fhearta. Is it about this matter that you have come here, Fidelma of Cashel?’

  ‘I am here to find the missing members of the community of Ard Fhearta as well as to find out who was responsible for the abbess’s death.’

  The chief did not appear particularly concerned.

  ‘Then this evening you will be my guests and we will feast. I will send my steward to fetch you when all is ready. Tomorrow you may travel where you will with my blessing and authority to conduct your inquiries in my territory.’

  His tone clearly dismissed them from his presence. Slebene’s good humour seemed to have evaporated. His mood was sullen. Fidelma rose with the others.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, with dignity. ‘In that case we shall withdraw and bathe before the feasting starts.’

  Slebene of the Corco Duibhne knew how to arrange a good feast, of that there was no doubt. The meal had been organised in the great hall and there were some forty guests. Fidelma, Eadulf and Conri were apparently not the only visitors to Daingean that day. There were some merchants and local chieftains who had come to pay their respects and tributes to Slebene. An officer known as a bollscari was employed to instruct guests where they should be seated at the lines of willow tables. Fidelma and her companions found themselves placed at the top table facing the lines of guests of lesser rank. When all the guests were seated, two seats remained empty at the table at which Fidelma and the others sat. Behind one of these empty chairs a broad, muscular man, with bushy red curly hair and beard, whose attire and accoutrements proclaimed him to be a warrior, had taken his stand with folded arms. Fidelma noticed a tattoo on his right arm, a curious image of a serpent wrapped round a sword. This was against all convention for the young men of Eireann did not usually adorn themselves in such a fashion. But this unusual body decoration was not the cause of Fidelma’s disapproving frown. It was unusual for warriors entering feasting halls to carry weapons. This man was well armed with sword and daggers. She presumed that the man was Slebene’s tren-fher, his personal champion and bodyguard. But it was a sign of bad taste to invite guests for a feast and parade an armed warrior to protect the chief in the feasting hall.

  As soon as all the guests were seated, the fear-stuic, the trumpeter, at a signal from the bollscari, gave a single blast on his instrument. The company rose and then Slebene and a young woman entered. She had a hard-faced beauty and arrogant poise. It was not until after the meal that Fidelma heard that this was the chief’s latest mistress. Whether Slebene was out to impress them or the other guests, Fidelma was not sure. The chief of the Corco Duibhne entered the great hall clad in fine regalia; in satins and silks and wearing a silver circlet on his head in which were embedded clear purple amethysts and bright green emeralds. Fidelma had only seen such ostentation at the ceremonial feasts of the High King himself. Of all the company, only Fidelma remained seated as he entered, not as an insult, but as she was entitled to do by her rank as sister to the king of Muman.

  Another blast of the trumpet and the formalities were almost complete. In came the deoghbhaire, the cupbearers, with wines, ale and mead, to be followed by attendants carrying bowls of steaming beochaill, a broth of meats and herbs, a favourite dish at this time of year for the winter was chill. Attendants came forward to place basins of water by the plate of each diner and a lamhbrat, or handcloth, for them to cleanse and dry their hands after the meal. With the empty bowls of broth removed, there came another trumpet blast and three attendants came to present large dishes of uncarved meat for Slebene’s inspection. One dish was of roasted pig, another, Eadulf could tell, was venison while the third he was not sure of.

  The chief, who seemed to have recovered from his sullen mood, glanced at the dishes and then pointed to the pork with a grin. The other dishes were removed to the side and the chosen meat was placed on the table before Slebene. One of the attendants came forward with sharpened knives. He was known as the dailemain, the attendant responsible for carving the meal and distributing it to the guests. A choice joint was expertly carved from it, placed on a platter and handed to Slebene, who stood up, took it in both hands and held it up at eye level.

  ‘This is the curath-mir,’ he intoned loudly. ‘It is the hero’s portion. To whom does the hero’s portion belong?’

  One of the guests immediately shouted: ‘To you, lord Slebene! You are the greatest champion of them all.’

  Slebene chuckled in appreciation.

  ‘Yet I am not the only hero who dines here tonight.’

  The company continued shouting approval for Slebene. But the chief turned slightly towards Conri and suddenly the guests fell silent.

  ‘There sits the warlord of the Ui Fidgente, Conri son of Conmael. We of the Corco Duibhne have often tasted the steel of his people. Is he not worthy of the hero’s portion? We have met his people in battle several times. Can we not acknowledge the bravery of their warlord?’

  An angry muttering started to ripple through the hall.

  ‘Come, do not be shy. Rise up, Conri son of Conmael, if you would claim the hero’s portion for yourself.’ Slebene gave a bellow of laughter and held out the plate of meat.

  Conri had started to stiffen. Fidelma put a restraining hand on his arm.

  Eadulf looked quickly at the chief, realising that Slebene was deliberately trying to provoke the Ui Fidgente warlord. Behind the chief, his champion stood with a soft smile on his lips. It was clearly an insult, just as it was clear from the eager expressions on the faces of the guests that they realised that Slebene was challenging Conri to fight. Such things happened in ancient times at feastings. Although the New Faith frowned on it, challenges as to who was the better champion still occurred. In the old days, such challenges and their outcome made exciting stories for the bards to relate to their enthralled audiences.

  Conri now shook off Fidelma’s restraining hand and rose slowly in his place.

  ‘I…’ he began.

  ‘I would claim the hero’s portion!’

  Everyone looked round in surprise.

  Fidelma was suddenly on her feet and had issued the challenge quietly but clearly.

  There was an awkward silence. Then someone began to laugh but was quickly hushed by their neighbour.

  Slebene stood stock still in wide-eyed astonishment.

  Conri was frowning in annoyance at her. Eadulf was shocked at this turn of events.

  ‘You cannot-’ Conri began.

  She turned angrily to him, eyes burning him back into his seat.

  ‘I have issued my claim first. Those who deny it must prove themselves against me.’

  ‘But you are a religieuse, one of the Faith…’ protested Conri weakly.

  Fidelma threw back her red hair and thrust out her chin slightly.

  ‘I am Fidelma, daughter of Failbe Flann, king of Muman, sister of Colgu, king of Muman, descendant of generations of kings from the time curath-mir!’

  She stared defiantly into his black narrowing eyes. For a while there was silence. Then Slebene swallowed noisily. He shook back his mane of hair and roared with laughter. This time the laughter conveye
d good humour and not insult.

  ‘Was there any doubt to whom the portion should go?’ He thrust the plate of meat at the attendant. ‘To the daughter of Cashel’s greatest king, Failbe Flann, goes the hero’s portion!’ He turned and clapped his hands to bring the other attendants forward. ‘Come, quickly now, distribute the meat before it grows cold upon the plates.’

  The attendant placed the dish of pork before Fidelma and she slowly sat down. Conri was still staring at her in bewilderment.

  Eadulf, at her other side, was looking relieved.

  ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ he whispered harshly to Fidelma.

  She smiled quickly at him.

  ‘I was counting on the fact that he would not dare accept my challenge because he knows what would happen if Colgu decided that he had to avenge me.’ She bent nearer his ear. ‘For some reason Slebene was trying to provoke Conri into a fight. The only way to stop him was if I stepped in first to claim the hero’s portion. It worked. But Slebene is a wily one. Keep a careful watch on him, Eadulf.’

  The dailemain came forward with a platter offering venison or pork or the other meat that he did not recognise.

  He asked what it was and was told it was ron. He was still none the wiser until Fidelma explained in Latin that it was vitulus marinus.

  ‘Seal!’ Eadulf screwed up his face with a shudder and chose the venison. There was foltchep, or leeks, and mecan, parsnip, to have as side dishes.

  Wheaten cakes and sweet meats, honey kneaded with salmon’s roe into little cakes, provided the last course.

  At the centre of the table, Slebene seemed oblivious of the glances that he had received, and was tucking into his meal with relish. His regular roar of laughter even drowned out the playing of the cruit, a lute-like instrument, which had accompanied the meal from the start.

  It was as the meal came to a close and the braccat — a liquor distilled from malt and mixed with honey and spices — was handed round that Slebene called for his bard to come forward. A handsome young man