‘I am sorry. I forgot this custom of your people that is what you call the law of primogeniture. Personally, I think it is a bad custom.’
In her own land the eldest son did not inherit as an automatic right. The derbhfine, the electoral college of the family, would meet to elect whoever was to be chief or provincial king or even the High King himself. Sons did not necessarily succeed fathers. Brothers, cousins and even daughters or sisters could fulfil office.
She hesitated for a moment and then asked: ‘Does your mother ever indulge in trade with merchants?’
Guntram showed his amusement at the idea.
‘I doubt it. She would consider it beneath her dignity as a noble.’
‘And apart from her niece, Radegund, she does not have much to do with the Domus Femini?’
‘To be truthful, I think she hates the abbess and would rather Radegund held the office.’
Outside in the courtyard, waiting for the reappearance of Brother Budnouen, Eadulf seemed resigned.
‘It appears that we are still left with the same choice again. It keeps coming back to it. Who do we believe is guilty of Dabhóc’s murder–Cadfan or Ordgar? The murder of the abbot must be coincidental to these other matters about the missing women. We are asked to discover his murderer and no more.’ Eadulf suddenly realised that Fidelma was not listening to him but looking around with a close scrutiny. ‘What are you seeking?’
‘I was just checking to see what sort of household Guntram runs here. It is true that I see only a few warriors about the place.’
‘You doubted him when he said he employed no more than a dozen?’ asked Eadulf, puzzled.
‘In such cases I tend to doubt most people until I see proof,’ she replied easily.
‘Well, I also checked this out before we saw Guntram,’ he confided.
‘You did what?’ she asked in surprise.
‘That was why I made the excuse that I needed to go to the latrina. I took the opportunity to look around the stables. It is true that there are only a dozen horses in his stables and I have seen fewer than that number of warriors. So far as I could see, Guntram appears to be what he says he is. No great military chieftain but a young man indulging himself.’
The rumble of a wagon came to their ears and around the corner of the building appeared Brother Budnouen, guiding the team of mules.
‘Have you finished here?’ he greeted them as he halted the wagon.
‘We may leave as soon as you wish,’ Fidelma assured him, leaping nimbly into the back of the wagon while Eadulf climbed beside the loquacious Gaul.
‘That is good,’ replied Brother Budnouen. ‘We’ll be back in Autun while it is daylight. Even if we halt briefly to hear the news at Clodomar’s forge.’
Fidelma saw that the back of the wagon was fairly empty. Brother Budnouen caught her examination.
‘The fortress of Guntram produces little in trade goods.’ He tapped a bag at his side that clinked with metal. ‘I trade here in coinage for my goods.’
‘A profitable trade?’
‘At least my family eat. In these times, that is all one can ask for. Thanks be to God.’ He flicked the reins and the wagon moved off towards the gates. A warrior came forward to swing them open and acknowledge their departure with a wave.
They moved out of the fortress and along the track through the grasslands towards the woods.
‘Was your business with Lord Guntram also successful?’ asked Brother Budnouen, breaking in on their silence after a while.
Fidelma glanced up from where she had been deep in thought.
‘Let’s just say it was fruitful,’ she admitted.
Brother Budnouen seemed sensitive to the fact that she did not want to talk and so he fell silent as they entered the darkness of the forest. He kept the team at a steady pace and the earth of the track was fairly hard so that the journey was easy for the team of four mules.
It was the sound of the birds that first drew Fidelma out of her thoughts. Eadulf also had raised his head as he heard the cacophony of alarm cries and the rustle of undergrowth. A wild boar and its litter stampeded through the long grasses and across the track ahead of them. Even Brother Budnouen glanced uneasily around him at the previously quiet forest’s sudden eruption into sound.
They were startled by a shout from near by and out of the undergrowth emerged the dishevelled figure of a youth. He could not even have been twenty years old. He held a sword in his hand but did not appear to have an aggressive intent towards them. With the other hand he was frantically waving as if to attract their attention. In spite of his torn and mud-splattered clothing, and a cut above the eye that was bleeding, the man was, or had been, well dressed. He wore a gold chain of office around his neck.
Brother Budnouen exclaimed and began to check the forward momentum of the wagon.
‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop!’ cried the young man in Frankish, clambering on the back of the still-moving wagon with the agility of a young athlete. ‘For God’s sake, whip up your team!’
Chapter Eighteen
The dishevelled figure of the young man had leaped onto the back of the wagon, rolled over and lay gasping at the sky for a moment or two to recover his breath. He was quite handsome in a saturnine way, with his dark eyes, black hair and the dark-blue hint on his clean-shaved jowl. For a moment he regarded Fidelma, for she was seated in the back of the wagon, before rising and moving towards the driver’s seat where Brother Budnouen, with Eadulf seated beside him, held the reins. Already the Gaul was urging the four mules into a fast trot.
The newcomer spoke rapidly to Brother Budnouen in the language of the Franks and then turned and said something to Fidelma. When he saw her frowning, he switched to Latin.
‘Forgive me startling you, Sister, but I am pursued. Robbers. They shot down my servant–an arrow in the heart, poor devil. I turned to flee and they brought down my horse–confound their impudence! But they are close on my heels.’
He glanced back into the forest before addressing Brother Budnouen. ‘Can you get more speed from your team, Brother?’
‘I’ll try my best, Sire,’ replied Brother Budnouen, obviously recognising this young man.
‘Sire?’ Fidelma queried the style of address.
‘I am Clotaire, ruler of this realm,’ explained the young man.
Fidelma and Eadulf had no time to react to this news as Brother Budnouen had whipped up the mules and they had to hang on to the swaying wagon for balance as it surged forward. Fidelma could not believe the usually plodding animals could move so fast.
‘There is a fork coming up on the track ahead,’ yelled the young man. ‘Take the right-hand path. God willing, we should soon meet some of my guards.’
Brother Budnouen, bending over the reins, merely grunted.
The wagon careered round onto the right-hand fork almost on two wheels. For a moment Eadulf thought it must overturn. They all clung on fiercely but, with a thump, it pitched back on its four wheels again and they were speeding down a dark avenue of trees. Eadulf later admitted that he had never seen a mule team moving so fast. But mules are not as fast as horses. The warning came from Clotaire.
‘They’re gaining!’ he roared, glancing over his shoulder.
Some way behind them, half a dozen horsemen had emerged from the cover of the trees and were racing after them, heads down close to the arching necks of their steeds. To Fidelma’s expert eye, she could see that the pursuers were trained horsemen.
‘Let’s hope your guards are not too far ahead,’ cried Eadulf apprehensively.
‘Your prayers in that direction would be appreciated, Brother,’ Clotaire responded grimly.
Then he unslung a hunting horn from his side and blew several long blasts on it. A moment later, he turned to Fidelma. ‘Sister, I would advise you to get down in the wagon and find better cover. They have bowmen with them and at the moment you present a good target.’
Fidelma did not need any further explanation. She lowered herself j
ust below the driver’s box where Clotaire also sheltered. She was about to suggest that Eadulf follow her example when it happened.
There was a whistling sound and Brother Budnouen gave a startled cry. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Brother Budnouen was still sitting on the driver’s box in absolute stillness, like a statue. Then blood began trickling from his mouth and down his chin and, as Fidelma’s gaze followed the stream of blood, she saw that an arrow head and part of a shaft were sticking out from where Budnouen’s Adam’s apple would have been, while the remainder of the arrow protruded from the back of his neck.
Then, with the reins dropping from his nerveless hands, Brother Budnouen slipped slowly sideways and pitched from the bouncing wagon.
The way Eadulf seized the reins and recovered the momentum, moving into the seat that the unfortunate Brother Budnouen had occupied only a split second before, startled even Fidelma. He had moved so quickly that he had grasped the reins even before the Gaul had fallen from the wagon.
‘Keep down!’ cried Clotaire. ‘Damn them to hell! Someone will pay for this outrage!’
Fidelma pushed down into the wagon to try to make herself as small a target for the bowman as possible.
‘Let us hope we survive to see it,’ she muttered.
Clotaire gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Well said, Sister.’
He glanced up at Eadulf, who had slid down in the driver’s seat so that he had the backboard as a protection, nodded his approval and said grimly, ‘Damned thieves. They will pay.’
Two more arrows whistled in the air and thudded in the board of the driver’s seat just above them.
Once more, Clotaire blew several urgent blasts on his hunting horn.
Fidelma could not help but say: ‘Thieves they might be, but that bowman is exceptional. To deliver those shots from a galloping horse is not a skill you will find in most robber bands.’
Clotaire stared at her, a thoughtful look coming over his features.
‘You know something of these things, Sister?’
‘I know a little,’ confessed Fidelma.
The horsemen were getting close now, and within a few more seconds would overtake the straining mule team.
Then Eadulf gave a sudden shout. ‘Riders in front of us!’ he cried.
Fidelma saw the leading pursuers suddenly hauling their horses to a standstill and trying to turn back. There were a few moments of confusion before they were galloping away.
Clotaire stood up in the wagon as nearly fifty riders streamed around.
‘Brother,’ he shouted to Eadulf. ‘You can halt now.’ Then he turned to the leader of the newcomers, shouting instructions in his own language.
The leader raised a hand and waved to his followers, after which they set off in pursuit of the robbers, leaving a group of twenty warriors behind as guards.
The young man next addressed three warriors that he had picked out. As they moved off in turn, Clotaire turned to Fidelma and Eadulf, a sombre look on his face.
‘I have sent them along the path to find your companion. I’ve told them to see what can be done for him. If nothing, to bring his body back here and with all reverence. He gave his life in saving mine. Now, I thank you for your timely assistance. I am sorry that it has caused the loss of your companion, Sister…? You are a Sister of the Faith, are you not?’ He continued to speak in a fluent Latin.
Fidelma bowed her head with gravity.
‘I am Sister Fidelma of Hibernia. This is Brother Eadulf. The man who was slain, for I have little hope that he lives from such a wound, was a Gaul named Brother Budnouen.’
The names had a surprising effect on the young king. A look of incredulity formed on his face.
‘Fidelma of Hibernia? Fidelma of Cashel? Eadulf her companion? Are you Fidelma the famous lawyer and sister to the King of Mew-in?’ It was a good attempt to try to pronounce the name of Muman.
Fidelma exchanged a surprised glance with Eadulf.
‘I am of Cashel, which is the capital of my brother, Colgú, the king. And I am a dálaigh, that is an advocate of the law of my country,’ she replied.
The young man seemed pleased. ‘Then your reputation precedes you at my court, where many of your countrymen have come as teachers and advisers to my people. They speak highly of your deeds.’
Fidelma was almost lost for words. ‘They flatter me. But it is providential that we happened to be passing through this forest.’
‘Were you on your way to Autun?’
‘We were returning there from Guntram’s fortress.’
The young King sighed. ‘We have been hunting in the south and were on our way to pay an unexpected call on Lord Guntram. Then I must make an appearance at this council in Autun. Are you also attending the council? I didn’t think that old Bishop Leodegar approved of women expressing their views.’ He grinned broadly at her.
‘You have not been told that the council has not yet begun its deliberations?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Or of the murders there?’
Clotaire frowned. ‘I have learned that a foreign abbot was killed–but that was a week ago. Is there still danger there?’
‘I would certainly advise caution,’ confirmed Fidelma.
The three warriors now returned with the body of Brother Budnouen. As Fidelma had surmised, with such a wound he had probably been dead before his body hit the ground.
Clotaire stared down compassionately at the man.
‘If there is anything I can do,’ he said, ‘anyone to notify…?’
‘We barely knew him,’ Fidelma confessed. ‘He transported us from Nebirnum on our journey to Autun. And then from Autun to see Lord Guntram. I think we will have to leave this matter in the hands of Bishop Leodegar who will probably have information on Budnouen and his family.’
The young King gave a half-nod and ordered the body to be placed in the back of the wagon. Then he said: ‘My men and I were planning to take advantage of Guntram’s hospitality for this night at least before coming to the city. Do you think that is a wise course?’
She was about to reply when they were interrupted by the sound of more horses. It was the main body of warriors returning. Their leader, an elderly man, rode at their head. He called out something.
Clotaire translated. ‘They have all been killed.’
‘All dead?’ she demanded. ‘No one spared? A pity.’
The elderly leader stared at her for a moment, startled.
‘A pity that robbers are dead?’ he retorted in Latin. ‘You cry pity for those who would kill our King? Do you know in whose company you are, woman?’
‘I say it is a pity, because dead men cannot give us information,’ replied Fidelma coldly.
Clotaire grinned at the irritated man on horseback.
‘She has a good point, Ebroin. By the way, this is Fidelma, sister of King Colgú of Cashel,’ he explained. ‘She is the famous lawyer of Hibernia. Fidelma. this is Ebroin, my adviser and chancellor. Oh, and this is Brother Eadulf, of whom you may also have heard in connection with the deeds of Fidelma of Cashel.’
Ebroin looked slightly less irritated.
‘Your pardon, Lady Fidelma. However, I am at a loss to understand your meaning. Why would highway robbers have anything useful to tell us?’
‘She does not think that they were robbers at all but professional warriors,’ Clotaire said slyly. ‘Am I right?’
Ebroin regarded Fidelma with a frown.
‘I confess that they were well armed and defended themselves with the bearing of trained men, but there is nothing of significance to say they are not robbers. Many former warriors turn to robbery on the highways. My men are searching the bodies now to see if there is anything that might identify them.’
‘Is this something to do with the affair at the abbey?’ Clotaire asked.
‘Perhaps we could rest somewhere more comfortable and then discuss what we must do next, Imperator,’ Fidelma suggested, using the respectful form of address for the King.
‘There is a w
oodsman’s cabin a short way back along the track,’ pointed out Clotaire. ‘Let us go there.’
‘It will be as you say, Majesty,’ Ebroin replied. Turning in his saddle, he instructed some of the warriors to ride forward to secure the woodsman’s cabin and signalled the others to form a circle around them.
‘Come, ride with me, Fidelma,’ cried the young King. He signalled two of his men to dismount, hand their horses to Fidelma and himself, and take charge of the wagon, into which the body of Brother Budnouen was carefully laid. ‘Tell me, Fidelma of Cashel, are the stories that your countrymen tell about you true?’
The barrage of questions from the young man embarrassed Fidelma.
Riding behind them in the wagon, Eadulf felt a growing irritation. Almost from the first he had been ignored, but he remained silent. He accepted that his rank was of little consequence compared to Fidelma, as sister of a king, in the eyes of Clotaire. He noticed that Ebroin, the elderly adviser to the young King of Austrasia, rode behind them in silence but also with a suspicious countenance.
They soon reached the cabin, to be welcomed by a warm fire and subservient hospitality by the woodsman and his wife.
Before the fire, and with mulled ale to help the story along, Fidelma repeated the main details of what had happened in Autun. She left out her suspicions and merely put forward the basic facts.
‘Do you think there is a danger to our King?’ Ebroin leaned forward in his chair, fixing Fidelma with a sharp interrogative gaze. ‘I have never liked Bishop Leodegar. He was very close to Clotaire’s mother when he was at court, which is not to my liking.’
‘I cannot say for certain who is behind these matters,’ confessed Fidelma. ‘However, Leodegar seems to govern the abbey quite firmly and has fixed ideas. I must investigate further before I can point the finger of accusation or fully explain the deaths at Autun.’
Ebroin made a curious spitting gesture.
‘Pah! A few minutes with one of my men and a sharp knife and we would get the truth from any man. I have always been suspicious of Leodegar.’
The Council of the Cursed Page 27
