‘And Fianamail’s excuse for massing them on the border in the first place?’ asked Gelgéis with a cynical smile.
‘It was the excuse that we expected. Fianamail has assured the High King that he only assembled his warriors and marched them to the border as a means of protecting his kingdom when he heard reports that Muman was erupting into civil war.’ Colgú pulled a face. ‘Fianamail adds that he is delighted that this has turned out to be false information.’
This was greeted with a hoot of laughter from Tormeid.
‘So I don’t suppose the Chief Brehon is proposing to punish Fianamail for his role in this conspiracy?’ Fidelma asked dryly.
‘As there is no proof that any warrior of Laigin entered Osraige with hostile intent, or any other part of the Kingdom of Muman, the Chief Brehon felt there are no grounds to impose the bórama. Laigin does not have to pay the tribute to Tara for breaking the peace,’ confirmed Colgú.
There was muttered disapproval from Tormeid but Colgú did not seem upset.
‘You might say that there was punishment enough for Fianamail.’
‘How so, brother?’ Fidelma was surprised at Colgú’s easy attitude to the decision.
‘The recent entreaties from Laigin and her eloquent ambassador Moling, the Bishop of Ferna, for the bórama to be withdrawn have been totally rejected. The tribute will remain in force and will become payable for the foreseeable future. Laigin’s territorial ambitions will continue to be held in check.’
There were some sounds of approval at Colgú’s news, but everyone seemed clear that they would have preferred Fianamail to have received a harsher punishment for his territorial ambitions.
‘So we can declare that Laigin’s threat to Muman is no more … Well, at least for the time being?’ Fidelma conjectured.
‘With Cronán dead, his fortress is also to be destroyed, levelled to mere ashes by order of the Prince of Osraige.’
‘But can we trust Osraige?’ Tormeid demanded. ‘Tuaim Snámha must accept some responsibility for allowing Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail the freedom to build his fortress and construct those roads …’
Colgú raised a shoulder and let it fall in silent eloquence.
‘Tuaim Snámha and I have exchanged envoys and he has agreed that, as ruler of Osraige, he must accept some culpability as to what has happened. He has agreed to pay compensation to the Uí Duach for what they have suffered from Cronán of Gleann an Ghuail. He will also allow the religious to rebuild Liath Mór as the community originally intended, if they wish to return there. I shall also have to consider what compensation is due to the communities and settlements that Étain destroyed. But peace has returned.’
When Tormeid had finished thanking the King on behalf of the Uí Duach, Fidelma asked him: ‘Will you return to the territory of the Uí Duach now, Tormeid?’
The warrior shook his head.
‘I cannot ignore the fact that, had I not escaped from Liath Mór that first time, my comrades and cousins might still be alive. I cannot face my clan … yet.’
‘You cannot be blamed for that,’ Colgú assured him. ‘But if you will not return to the land of the Uí Duach, what then?’
Tormeid glanced towards Gelgéis. ‘I shall remain here in Durlus,’ he said, adding softly, ‘that is, if I am allowed?’
Gelgéis’s happy smile needed no interpretation.
‘Then,’ commented Fidelma approvingly, ‘we shall look forward to returning to Durlus soon … as guests at your wedding feast.’
It was on the following day that Colgú was riding at the head of a column of horsemen proceeding southwards along the highway to Cashel. Behind him rode Fidelma and Eadulf, and behind them came Caol, Gormán and Enda. Fidelma, with a whispered word of explanation to Eadulf, galloped forward so that she was riding alongside her brother, out of earshot of the entourage. For the first time in her life Fidelma felt nervous about raising a subject with him.
‘So, Dúnliath decided to leave for Gabrán to bury her father?’ She did not ask why Colgú had not gone with her.
‘She was determined to bury her father in the tomb of his ancestors,’ Colgú said gruffly. ‘I gave her my permission.’
‘What then for you and her, brother?’ Fidelma asked hesitantly.
There was a tightening of the muscles of the King’s jaw. ‘What now?’ He repeated the question but knew well what she meant.
‘I do not wish to intrude but it is a matter which concerns not merely the kingdom but also our family,’ Fidelma said gently.
Colgú’s smile seemed more of a painful grimace. ‘I did not think it merely a prurient enquiry.’ He paused for a few moments and then sighed deeply. ‘She will remain at Gabrán. There will be no wedding at Cashel, if that is what you mean.’
Fidelma regarded her brother sadly. His shoulders were slightly hunched as if a great weight had descended on him.
‘Is it because her mother was Lady Étain that you felt you could not go through with the marriage?’ she asked. ‘The madness that she was possessed of is not necessarily something that would be inherited.’
Her brother regarded her for a moment as if trying to peer into her innermost thoughts. Then he said, ‘It is not her relationship with Étain of An Dún that was the problem.’
‘Not that? Then what? From what we have discovered, it seems that she was not in the conspiracy with Ailill.’
‘We shall never know for certain,’ Colgú replied. ‘However, it was in your mind, wasn’t it? When Eadulf told us Étain’s last words – “my daughter” – she was expressing her fear for her daughter and not of her daughter … I think you knew.’
‘But I said it meant Étain feared for her daughter’s safety if Ailill’s ambition was fulfilled.’
‘That was said to spare my feelings,’ Colgú said. ‘I am not as stupid as you think, Fidelma. Étain was afraid because she knew Dúnliath was in love with Ailill.’
Fidelma had suspected this; however, she had hoped, for the sake of her brother’s happiness, that Colgú was unaware of it. Fidelma had wanted to spare him more hurt and bitterness.
‘We shall never know,’ she said now. ‘You are rejecting her merely on the basis of suspicion.’
‘A suspicion I could live with. But I would not be able to ignore the fact that she is bearing Ailill’s child.’ The words were spoken flatly.
For the first time in her life Fidelma felt a sense of utter shock. She swallowed hard. ‘I had no idea,’ she whispered.
‘Now you do surprise me,’ Colgú commented, trying to regain a sense of grim humour but sounding only more bitter. ‘My astute, sagacious sister, I thought you knew everything. I thought that you were infallible. How could you, so shrewd, have missed that point? Remember this, sister, that the child she gives birth to will also be an Eóghanacht. Ailill’s father was Mánach, King of Cashel, after our father died. One day, who knows, we may have to watch Gabrán for gathering stormclouds if ambition stirs in the child.’
Fidelma felt a wave of sadness for her brother and did not rise to the taunts he made. He was like a small child, striking out from his hurt emotions.
‘Were you that much in love with her?’ she asked softly. When her brother did not answer, she said: ‘I thought so. Then out of that love, could nothing be repaired?’
‘And the child?’ His voice was harsh.
‘Fosterage is the tradition of our people,’ she pointed out. ‘A child’s love and affiliation is nurtured.’
Colgú answered her with a bark of angry laughter. ‘Truly, sister, you are known for finding a saying to match every occasion. I’ll give you one. Don’t our hunters say – what do you expect from a pregnant wolf but its cub?’
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23- The Seventh Trumpet Page 33
