‘That is so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It is a matter of some urgency.’
The man’s face remained grave. ‘I am sure that it can be arranged. Perhaps you and …’ his eyes flickered to where Dego, Aidan and Enda stood, ‘and your escort would like to wash and relax while I make the arrangements?’
‘I would prefer the audience to be immediate,’ Fidelma replied, causing the steward to blink rapidly, which indicated his surprise. ‘We have rested on our journey and that journey was necessitated by a matter of exigency, of life and death. I do not use the words without precision.’
The man hesitated. ‘It is unusual …’ he began.
‘The matter is unusual,’ interrupted Fidelma firmly.
‘You are sister to the King of Muman, lady. Also you are a religieuse, and your reputation as a dálaigh is not unknown in Fearna. May I venture to ask in which of these capacities you come hither? The King is always ready to welcome visitors from neighbouring lands, especially the sister of Colgú of Cashel …’
Fidelma cut him short with a swift cutting gesture of her hand. She did not require flattery to camouflage his question.
‘It is not as the sister of the King of Muman that I am here but as a dálaigh of the courts, bearing the rank of anruth.’ Fidelma’s voice was cold and assertive.
The steward raised his arm in an odd gesture which seemed to imply acquiescence.
‘Then, if you will be so good as to wait, I will attend to see the King’s pleasure.’
Fidelma was kept waiting twenty minutes before the steward returned. The captain of the guard, who had been detailed to wait with them, became increasingly embarrassed and stood shuffling his feet as time passed. Fidelma, although annoyed, felt sorry for him. When, after a while, the man cleared his throat and began to apologise, she smiled and told him it was not his fault.
When the steward finally reappeared he, too, looked awkward at the time it had taken to relay the request to the King and return with his answer.
‘Fianamail has expressed himself willing to see you,’ the old man said, dropping his gaze before her impatient glare. ‘Will you follow me?’ He hesitated and looked towards Dego. ‘Your companions must await you here, of course.’
‘Of course,’ snapped Fidelma. She caught Dego’s eye: she did not have to say anything. The young warrior inclined his head at her unspoken instruction.
‘We will await your safe return, lady,’ he called softly. He allowed the slightest inflection to linger on the word ‘safe’.
Fidelma followed the elderly steward across the flagged courtyard and into the main fortress buildings. The palace seemed curiously empty compared with the crowds who usually thronged the castle of her brother. Isolated guards stood here and there. A few men and women, obviously servants, scurried to and fro on their appointed tasks, but there was no chatter, no laughter nor children playing. Of course, Fianamail was young and not yet married, but it was strange to see such a palace lacking in vitality and the warmth of family life and activity.
Fianamail was awaiting her in a small reception room, seated before a blazing log fire. He was not yet twenty years of age; a youth with foxy hair and with an attitude to match it. His eyes were close-set, giving him a cunning, almost furtive expression. He had succeeded his cousin, Faelán, as King of Laigin, when Faelán had died from the Yellow Plague just over a year ago. He was fiery, ambitious and, as Fidelma had judged him at their one and only meeting, nearly a year ago, easily misled by his advisers due to his own arrogance. Foolishly, Fianamail had condoned a plot to wrest control of the sub-kingdom of Osraige from Cashel and annex it to Laigin. Fidelma had revealed this plot during a hearing before the High King himself at the abbey of Ros Ailithir. The result was that the High King’s Chief Brehon, Barrán, judged that the sub-kingdom, on the borderlands between the Muman kingdom and Laigin, would forever be subject to Cashel. The judgment had enraged Fianamail at the time. Now he let bands of Laigin warriors raid and pillage the borderlands while denying responsibility or knowledge. Fianamail was young and ambitious and determined to make a reputation for himself.
He did not rise when Fidelma entered the room, as courtesy would have dictated, but merely gestured with a limp hand to a seat on the opposite side of the large hearth.
‘I remember you well, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he greeted her. There was no smile or warmth on his thin, calculating features.
‘And I you,’ replied Fidelma with equal coldness.
‘May I offer you refreshment?’ The young man made a languid gesture to a nearby table on which wine and mead were placed.
Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘The matter I wish to discuss is pressing.’
‘Pressing?’ Fianamail raised his eyebrows interrogatively. ‘What matter would that be?’
‘The matter of Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Have you not received messages from my brother expressing the concerns of Cashel and asking—’
Fianamail sat up abruptly. His brows came together.
‘Eadulf? The Saxon? I had a message but did not understand it. Why is Cashel interested in the Saxon?’
‘Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is an emissary between my brother and Theodore of Canterbury,’ she confirmed. ‘I have come here to defend him against that of which he has been accused.’
Fianamail’s lips parted slightly; it seemed a gleeful expression.
‘I delayed the trial as long as I could in regard for your brother, the King. Time passed, alas.’
Fidelma felt a growing chill. ‘We heard a rumour on the road that he had already been tried. Surely, after my brother’s intervention, the trial could have been delayed until I arrived?’
‘Even a King cannot delay a trial indefinitely. The rumour you heard is true: he has already been tried and found guilty. It is all over now. He has no need of your defence.’
Chapter Three
Fidelma’s face was white, mirroring the terrible anguish which she felt. It was almost as if the blood had suddenly drained from her body.
‘All over? Do you mean that …?’ She swallowed, hardly able to articulate the question that was uppermost in her mind.
‘The Saxon will be executed at noon tomorrow,’ Fianamail said indifferently.
A feeling of relief surged over Fidelma. ‘Then he is not dead yet?’ The words came out as a shuddering sigh. She closed her eyes with momentary solace.
The young King seemed oblivious to her emotions and kicked at a log which had fallen from the fire.
‘He is as good as dead. The matter is now closed. You have had a long journey for nothing.’
Fidelma bent forward from her seat and stared towards Fianamail.
‘I do not consider that the matter is closed as yet. I heard a story on the journey here. It was a story that I would not countenance about a King of Laigin. I was told that you had rejected the native law and decreed that the punishment laid down in the new Penitentials from Rome should be enacted. Is it true that you have declared this thing?’
Fianamail was still smiling, though without warmth.
‘Execution is the punishment decreed, Fidelma of Cashel. That much has been decided. In this I have been guided by both my spiritual adviser and by my Brehon. Laigin will lead the way in shaking off our old pagan ways. Let Christian punishments fit the crimes of this land. I am determined to show how Christian my kingdom of Laigin has become. Death it shall be.’
‘I think you forget the law, Fianamail of Laigin. Even the Penitentials recognise the matter of appeal.’
‘Appeal?’ Fianamail looked astonished. ‘But the sentence has been passed by my Brehon. I have confirmed it. There is no appeal to be made.’
‘There is a judge higher than your Brehon,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘The Chief Brehon of Éireann can be summoned. I think he will have much to say over this matter of the Penitentials.’
‘On what grounds could you make such an appeal to the Chief Brehon of the five kingdoms?’ sneered Fianamail. ‘You have no knowled
ge of the case nor of the evidence. Besides, the execution is tomorrow and we cannot wait a week for the Chief Brehon to arrive here.’
His self-confident smile provoked anger in Fidelma and she fought to control it.
‘Until I have investigated this matter, I would appeal to you for a stay of the implementation of the sentence on the grounds that Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham might not have been correctly defended; that his rights might not have been fully considered by the court that tried him.’
Fianamail leaned back in his chair with an expression of open derision.
‘That sounds like the appeal of a desperate person, Fidelma of Cashel. You are clutching at straws. Well, you have no audience to appeal to now. Not like the audience you swayed at Ros Ailithir against me and Bishop Forbassach. I am the sole authority here.’
Fidelma knew she would not successfully appeal to Fianamail’s sense of morality. The young man wanted vengeance on her. She decided to change her tactic and raised her voice sharply.
‘You are a King, Fianamail, and whatever your antagonism to me and to Cashel, you will behave like a King for, if you do not, the very stones you walk on will cry out and denounce you as unjust and evil.’
Fianamail stirred uneasily at her vehemence.
‘I speak as a King, Fidelma of Cashel. I am told that the Saxon was given every opportunity to defend himself,’ he said grudgingly.
Fidelma seized upon the point. ‘To defend himself? Was he not provided with a dálaigh to plead for him – to plead the law on his behalf?’
‘That is a privilege granted to few foreigners. However, it is true that as he spoke our language and apparently knew something of law, he was allowed to offer a defence. He received no less a treatment than we extend to any wandering religious.’
‘Then Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham did not tell you of the rank he held?’ Fidelma demanded, beginning to see a faint ray of hope.
Fianamail stared at her, not understanding what she was driving at.
‘The man is a religieux, a peregrinatio pro Christo. What other rank would he have?’
‘He is a techtaire, not merely a travelling religieux. As a techtaire, one should observe the advice of the Bretha Nemed, for Eadulf travelled under the protection of King Colgú as a member of his household.’
The young King was slightly bewildered. He was no dálaigh or Brehon. He did not know the law to which Fidelma referred.
‘Why would the Saxon be under the protection of your brother’s house?’
Fidelma sensed a hesitation in his youthful arrogance.
‘That’s easy to understand. Theodore of Canterbury, archbishop and adviser to all the Saxon kingdoms, sent Eadulf as his personal emissary to my brother. Therefore, he comes with the honour price of eight cumals, half the honour price which you yourself hold as King of Laigin. He has the rights and protection of an embassy. And he is entitled to half the honour price of the man he serves. In returning to Theodore of Canterbury, and bearing messages from my brother, Eadulf continues to bear the same honour price and is therefore in my brother’s service. The law is clear about the protection it affords to members of an embassy.’
‘But he committed a murder,’ protested Fianamail.
‘So your courts have claimed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But the circumstances have to be examined, for doesn’t the Bretha Nemed claim that the officers of a King may carry out acts of violence in self-defence during the course of their duties without liability? Is it known what reasons lay behind his offence? It may well be that he carried immunity from prosecution. Was this considered?’
Fianamail was clearly confused by her technical knowledge. He was unable to argue and admitted it.
‘I have not your proficiency in law, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he confessed. ‘I must seek advice on this matter.’
‘Then send for your Brehon now; let him stand here before me and argue precedents.’
Fianamail rose, shaking his head, and went to pour himself a glass of wine at the table.
‘He is not here at this time. I do not expect him to return until tomorrow.’
‘Then you must make your judgment without him, Fianamail. I do not lie to you about the law. On my honour as a dálaigh with or without the advice of your Brehon, if this kingdom has given a false or a mistaken judgment, then you may find that you are deemed to be no true King and you will answer to a greater court which will judge you. No King is higher in authority than the law.’
Fianamail was struggling to see how best he should proceed. He raised his hands in a hopeless gesture and let them fall to his side.
‘What is it you seek?’ he asked, after he had hesitated for a moment or so. ‘Are you telling me that you claim immunity for the Saxon? That I will and shall not accept. His crime was too odious. What do you want?’
‘Ultimately, I would plead with you to return to the laws of our country,’ Fidelma replied. ‘The foreign Penitentials have no place in our thoughts. Killing for the sake of vengeance is not our law …’
Fianamail held up a hand to stay her eloquence.
‘I have given my word to Abbot Noé, my spiritual adviser, and to Bishop Forbassach, my Brehon, that the punishments decreed by the Faith will be carried out – a life for a life. Address your argument for an appeal in this matter of the Saxon but do not attempt to change my edict on the law.’
Fidelma felt a quickening of her pulse as she sensed a breach in his determination.
‘I am asking you to defer the execution so that the facts of this case may be examined to ensure that the law has been served.’
‘I cannot overturn my Brehon’s judgment; that is not in the King’s power anyway.’
‘Allow me a period to investigate this crime of which you claim Brother Eadulf is guilty and let me examine the facts based on a possible submission that he acted under protection as a fer taistil, an officer of the King’s court under immunity. Give me your authority to carry out such an investigation.’
She used the legal term fer taistil which, while meaning literally a ‘traveller’, meant specifically an emissary between kings.
Fianamail returned to his chair. His brow was furrowed as he considered the matter. It was clear that he was worried by acceding to her demands but was unable to find reasons to counter Fidelma’s arguments.
‘I do not wish to quarrel with your brother again,’ he admitted at last. ‘Nor do I wish to do anything which contradicts the protocols and justice of my kingdom.’ He paused and rubbed his chin ruefully. After a while he gave a long, deep sigh. ‘I will give you time to look into the crime of which this Saxon has been found guilty. If you can see anything in the conduct and judgment of our courts which is not in order, then I will not challenge your right of appeal on those grounds.’
Fidelma suppressed a small sigh of relief. ‘That is all I ask. But I will need your authority.’
‘I will call for quill and vellum and set it down,’ he agreed, reaching forward. He took a small silver hand-bell and rang it.
‘Good.’ Fidelma felt a weight dissolving from her shoulders. ‘How long will you give me to make my examination?’
A servant entered and was instructed to bring the writing materials. The young King’s eyes were cold.
‘How long? Why, you have until noon tomorrow when the sentence on the Saxon is to be carried out.’
Fidelma’s momentary surge of relief was halted as she realised the restriction Fianamail had placed on her.
‘There you are,’ Fianamail smiled. ‘You cannot claim that I am disobeying the customs of our land. I have allowed you time to prepare an appeal. That is what you sought.’
The servant re-entered with the writing materials and the King scribbled swiftly on the vellum. Fidelma took time to recover her voice.
‘Are you giving me no more than twenty-four hours? Is there justice in that?’ She spoke slowly, trying to stop her surging anger from erupting.
‘Whatever justice it is, it is still justice,’ r
eplied Fianamail vindictively. ‘I owe you no more.’
For a moment Fidelma was silent, trying to think of some other appeal she could make to him. Then she realised that there was nothing more she could say. The young man held the power and she had no greater power to overturn his desire for vengeance.
‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘If I find the grounds for an appeal, will you halt the execution pending the arrival of Barrán, the Chief Brehon, to hear the case?’
Fianamail sniffed slightly. ‘If you find grounds for an appeal and they are considered worthy by my own courts of justice, then I shall allow a delay until the Brehon Barrán can be summoned. Those arguments of grounds for such an appeal must be substantial and not merely suspicions.’
‘That goes without saying. Will you also allow me to go without let nor hindrance where I will during these next twenty-four hours in pursuit of my enquiries?’
‘It is covered by this.’ The King held out the vellum to her. She did not take it.
‘Then you must append your seal of authorisation showing that I act with your consent and authority.’
Fianamail hesitated. Fidelma knew a piece of vellum giving consent for her to ask questions was worth nothing without the King’s seal.
The King wavered, once again undecided as to how he should act.
‘The killing of a techtaire is a serious offence before the Chief Brehon and High King,’ observed Fidelma firmly. ‘The death of a King’s messenger, whether by murder or by execution, has to be answered for. It is wise that you should authorise me to investigate the matter.’
Fianamail finally shrugged and took from the writing box a piece of wax, melted it over a candle onto the vellum and pressed his signet ring firmly into it.
‘You now have that consent. It cannot be said that I did not allow every possible avenue to be explored.’
Fidelma was satisfied and took the authorisation.
‘I would like to see Brother Eadulf immediately. Is he being held here in your fortress?’
Our Lady of Darkness Page 3
