‘Why would anyone carve such a thing on a shepherd’s buttocks and then kill him?’ Eadulf asked, horrified.
Brother Conchobhar came back at him with: ‘Why would anyone seize a shepherd, mutilate him, disguise him as a religieux and then kill him with the pagan ritual of the threefold death?’
‘There is always a reason why people do things,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Our task is to find that reason. You said that this mutilation of the flesh was done when he was alive?’
‘I believe so. However, he lived only a short while afterwards. Also, there were two blows on the back of the head. One would have stunned him. I think that was struck first to incapacitate him in order to tie him up. After that he was tortured, because the carving of the symbol must have been agony to endure. Was it sadism or used as a means to extract information? Then came the harder blow on the back of the head which smashed the skull: he would have perished instantly. He was probably untied, turned over on his back before his throat was cut and then he was stabbed through the heart.’
‘A horrible end for anyone.’ Eadulf took a deep breath as he contemplated the full magnitude of what the shepherd must have suffered. It was not something to inflict even on a bully and a drunkard.
‘Death is always horrible, in no matter what form it comes,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar.
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ asked Fidelma.
This time Brother Conchobhar did allow himself a wry grin. ‘What more do you want, lady?’
‘I don’t suppose you can supply us with the name of the culprit?’
The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Had the symbolism been different … had it not pointed to some aberration of the New Faith, I might have supplied a suspect rather than an answer.’
‘What do you mean?’ Eadulf didn’t understand.
‘I am told there is a mysterious woman in the township who curses Cashel and the Eóghanacht.’
‘Ah, that we know,’ he said. ‘She says her name is Brancheó and gives her home as Tech Duin. We saw her on the Hill of the Bullock.’
‘She claims to be a raven-caller,’ mused the old man.
‘We thought her harmless enough,’ Fidelma commented. ‘Something of a fanatic for the old beliefs, but I would not have deemed her capable of this man’s murder. Besides, she talks of seeking vengeance on his behalf. Why do that if she was involved in his killing?’
‘Fanatics, whatever their fanaticism, are never harmless. I would keep a watch on this raven-caller.’
‘Why are you so concerned about her, other than her belief in the old religion?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I spoke to one or two people from the town,’ Brother Conchobhar said. ‘They reported what this woman was shouting.’
‘Well, we know she was free in giving us the benefit of her curse – a curse against those who killed Spelán and, for good measure, against all the Eóghanacht who embraced the New Faith. Surely, no one will take her words seriously.’
‘It needs only one person to take it seriously, lady, one person to gossip and start a major panic in the township,’ pointed out the old man. ‘Don’t forget, people still believe in Samhain.’
‘She reminded us that on the night of the Samhain feast, the gods and goddesses would return to this world to exact vengeance on those who had wronged them; vengeance on the Eóghanacht who had defiled the ancient sacred Rock and allowed those of the New Faith to desecrate it. If she knew Spelán, I can understand why she would want her gods to take their revenge on those who had killed him, but why on the Eóghanacht? I think the woman is just confused.’
‘I understand what you say,’ replied the old apothecary, looking worried, ‘but it is the wider threat that gives the townsfolk cause for concern.’
Fidelma was smiling. ‘There is nothing in those words I have not heard before.’ A memory had come back to her of what the woman, Brancheó, had said to her on the Hill of the Bullock. She spoke it aloud. ‘What was this about Cashel being a portal to the Otherworld?’
Brother Conchobhar was surprised. ‘So you have heard this story? I thought it had long been neglected since the coming of the New Faith,’ he said.
‘I have never heard that Cashel was a portal to the Otherworld, so why fear it?’
But the old man did not appear to share Fidelma’s amusement. His expression grew more serious.
‘You do not know the story?’ he asked softly.
‘I do not, so please enlighten us.’
‘Before this great rock was named the “fortress of the kings” it was called Sidh-druimm, “the ridge of the Otherworld people”. It was the old gods and goddesses who led Conall mac Lugaidh, son of the Prince of Muscraige, to this very spot in ancient times and told him to make it his capital. They prophesied that, if he did so, he would found a dynasty, the Eóghanacht, who would rule the kingdom of Muman for a thousand years. It was many generations after that when his descendant, Óengus, converted to the New Faith and drove out the priests of the Old Faith from this rock.’
There was a silence in the small apothecary for a moment or two. Then Fidelma gave a tight smile.
‘That was two centuries ago,’ she reminded them. ‘If the prophecy was that the Eóghanacht would rule here for a thousand years, then we, and the people, have nothing to fear.’
‘I am not sure that I understand you, lady,’ Brother Conchobhar frowned.
‘Easy enough. If the ancient deities prophesied that the Eóghanacht dynasty will last a thousand years here, then they are hardly likely to destroy their own prophesy.’
‘Except that was when your ancestors followed the Old Faith and not the New Faith,’ Eadulf could not help pointing out.
‘If the old gods could not see the rise of the New Faith and the conversion of Óengus to it, then they could not have been good prophets,’ Fidelma said dismissively. ‘Anyway, we have followed the New Faith for two centuries without coming to any harm from the old gods.’
As they left the apothecary, Aidan came hurrying across the courtyard to intercept them.
‘Lady, your brother is receiving the Princess Gelgéis of Éile and left orders not to be disturbed.’
Fidelma was hoping that her brother would one day take a wife and, of all the women she had seen him with, she had found Gelgéis of Éile the most suitable. They had become friends ever since they had repelled an invasion of the kingdom, launched through Éile, during the previous year. Fidelma looked forward to seeing the girl and was also happy to learn that Gelgéis had arrived to spend the Samhain feast with Colgú.
‘Is there a problem? Are you worried about disturbing him?’ she asked Aidan.
‘Indeed, lady. Since we arrived back, I have had to take command of the guard. A man has arrived at the gate – alone and without escort – claiming to be of the Uí Briúin Seóla of Connacht. He requests hospitality and behaves as if he is a person of rank. I am not sure what to do.’
‘His name?’
‘Febal, lady.’
‘Aren’t the Uí Briúin Seóla connected with the ruling house of Connacht?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Not directly, but they are very close to the ruling family,’ Fidelma conceded after a thought. ‘But I see the point Aidan’s making. If this Febal is of the Uí Briúin Seóla then he might well be a prince. In that case tradition would say he should be received and offered hospitality in the King’s quarters and not placed in the ordinary guest-house.’
Aidan cleared his throat and said, ‘It is not just that, lady; he also asked if I knew a certain religieux who had come here and who might be looking for the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin.’
‘He mentioned Ráth Cuáin?’ Fidelma was surprised but hid it. ‘What name did he ask for, Aidan?’
‘Sorry, lady, the name escapes me.’
‘Where is this noble now?’
‘I made the excuse that the King was not to be disturbed but that he would be received and attended to as courtesy demanded as soon as possible. In the meantime I w
ould find someone to welcome him. I have left him resting in the Hall of Warriors.’
‘Then we will go to greet this traveller,’ Fidelma decided. ‘I will inform my brother afterwards. I am intrigued by the fact that today of all days, someone is asking after this remote Abbey of Ráth Cuáin when I did not really know of its existence before. I am not a great believer in coincidence.’
When they entered the Hall of Heroes, the name given to the quarters of the warriors of the Golden Collar in the fortress, a sturdy man, dressed in good quality clothing, rose to greet them. It was clear that he had refreshed himself after his journey. He was young and fit and looked like a warrior. Fidelma noticed that he wore no simple tunic but rather an elaborate one trimmed with badger’s fur, and she could see that his shirt was of silk and his trousers, like his tunic, were made of soft deerskin. He had a silver chain around his neck and his cloak was fastened with a brooch of highly polished metal inlaid with coloured enamel, depicting what appeared to be the outline of a boat. He had a full head of sandy-brown, curly hair. His features were sharp boned, with a freckled countenance. On the whole, he was quite handsome. And yet … she could not quite place it, but there seemed something calculating, even cruel about his features; perhaps it was the line of his mouth.
The young man glanced from one to another of them obviously waiting for them to introduce themselves. Fidelma decided not to stand on ceremony and wait for Aidan to perform the introductions as custom dictated.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she announced.
The only reaction on the newcomer’s face was that his smile increased. It was as if he already knew who she was – and that fact made her uneasy.
‘I am a stranger in this kingdom. So forgive my lack of protocol, lady. My respects and greetings to you. And who is your … companion?’
There was a hesitation before he uttered the word ‘companion’.
‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the country of the South Folk,’ began Eadulf.
‘And you too are a stranger by the sound of your accent. Let me guess … a Saxon?’ interrupted the young man.
‘An Angle,’ Eadulf responded irritably.
The young man was still smiling. ‘Close enough, eh? There are plenty of Saxon religious studying in the Five Kingdoms these days.’
‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is my husband,’ Fidelma announced coldly.
The visitor gave a courteous half-bow, almost a mockery of a greeting.
‘Forgive me for neglecting to announce myself, lady. My name is Febal. I am from the Meadow of Peace, Cluain Fois, the college community of the Blessed Iarlaithe mac Loga.’ He added patronisingly: ‘It is in the land of the Uí Briúin Seóla in the kingdom of Connacht.’
‘Then you are a long way from home, Febal of Cluain Fois,’ Fidelma observed. ‘You wear clothing that I would say is unusual for one who comes from Cluain Fois, for even I have heard of the college of the Blessed Iarlaithe. I thought that the college he set up was limited to those of the religious.’
Febal did not seem annoyed by the implied question. ‘Your knowledge is as great as your keen eye on my poor garments, lady.’
‘And no religieux would use fragrance to chase odours from his clothes,’ Eadulf noted in disapproval, catching a waft of aroma.
‘It is the fashion with many now,’ replied the young man. ‘This is but a pleasant odour that keeps me content in my travels. I am no religieux, as you observe. I instruct in the art of poetry there. I am an éces.’
Eadulf had not heard the term before. ‘An éces? You mean that you are a bard?’
A fleeting expression of irritation passed over the young man’s face but was gone almost immediately. Fidelma intervened quickly. ‘Under the law, a bard is one without lawful learning but his own intellect. He is considered a mere rhymer, making verses of inferior poetry,’ she explained. ‘An éces, like a file, is understood to mean one who is much more – a poet and a philosopher, for example.’
Febal’s smile returned and he nodded in agreement. ‘I once had fifteen pupils and was entitled to go on cuairt; that is the visitation through the country to chieftains and kings who are expected to provide hospitality in return for our entertaining them with our poems.’
Fidelma was examining the young man curiously.
‘Yet I am told that you arrived here alone. You travel without any pupils or followers and far from the college in which you say you were an éces. Furthermore, I hear you are asking about the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin.’
‘That is so, lady. However, it is not the abbey that my question is concerned with but a religieux who I think might be trying to find Ráth Cuáin. Or, perhaps, has recently joined it.’
‘Forgive my curiosity, Febal. Can you tell me more?’
‘It is a story long in the telling but I will make it short.’ The young man hesitated, but then seeing the determined looks on all their faces he continued: ‘As a matter of fact, I am looking for a religieux who I am sure has a connection with Ráth Cuáin. To be honest, I only know of him.’
‘Why don’t you inquire at the abbey itself?’
‘I would, but Samhain intervenes and there was gossip in the town that you have a religious council meeting here to discuss Ráth Cuáin. I thought this person I seek might even be part of that council. This is why I have come here.’
‘You heard about the council of scholars from gossip in the town?’ Fidelma was surprised and perhaps her disbelief showed.
‘It was from the tavern-keeper,’ the young poet affirmed.
‘Who else?’ Eadulf muttered.
‘Who is this person that you seek?’ Fidelma asked, becoming impatient.
‘He goes by the name Brother Fursaintid.’
‘It is a name unfamiliar to me. And why do you seek him?’ Fidelma added.
‘It is a matter of retribution.’
Eadulf looked shocked. ‘Retribution?’
Fidelma was regarding the man closely. ‘What retribution do you seek?’
Again the man hesitated only a moment before saying: ‘He has offended my family.’
‘In what manner was your family offended?’
‘He forced a lady of my clan to go with him and act as his wife.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘Are you saying that the man you are seeking is a member of the Uí Briúin Seola?’
‘What I said was that he abducted a female of my clan,’ the young man enunciated clearly.
Fidelma realised she was dealing with someone who used language precisely.
‘So he was not from the land of the Uí Briúin Seóla. Where does this Brother Fursaintid come from, and why do you seek him here, in this kingdom?’
‘He was a traveller in our territory when he seduced the woman and dishonoured her and her family.’ The young man’s tone was curiously calm and cold.
‘You say that he abducted this woman. Did he take her against her will or was it a voluntary abduction, which can sometimes happen and is provided for under law?’ Often an elopement was considered as ‘voluntary abduction’.
‘She was taken against her will,’ the young man said with gritted teeth. ‘She died in childbirth with his child and it did not survive long.’
‘Surely the dálaigh, or Brehon of your people, would be better fitted to search for this man in the circumstances you describe?’
‘I am related to the victim, who was my sister Blathin. So I come to claim the right of dígal … of blood vengeance on him who has dishonoured my family.’
‘As an intelligent young man, you surely know the futility of vengeance?’ Eadulf felt moved to rebuke him. ‘Vengeance is merely a confession of pain.’
‘Our law book the Crith Gabhlach says that vengeance can be pursued even across the borders of kingdoms and the territory of clans,’ returned the young man. ‘So I do claim it.’
‘How long ago did this happen?’
‘Some years ago.’
There was a silence and then Fidelma sighe
d. ‘You are clearly a man of rank. You say you are a poet and scholar at a respected college. You tell us that your sister was made pregnant and died in childbirth within your clan territory – but how was that possible? Was not a search made immediately for this man?’
‘For months there was a search but Fursaintid hid himself well. He finally abandoned Blathin on an island in Loch Oirsean, which borders our territory, where he had kept her imprisoned during that time.’
‘An island in a lake should have been no problem to search,’ Eadulf commented. ‘Surely he could have been traced easily?’
The young man cast him a pitying glance. ‘You clearly do not know Loch Oirsean, which has as many islands in it as there are days of the year, and many of them are thick with woods.’
‘So he disappeared from the land of the Uí Briúin Seóla? And this was a few years ago, you say?’
‘It was. Inquiries were made but to no avail. There were rumours, of course. One was that he had gone to Rome. Now we hear that he has returned and that he might be seeking a sanctuary at Ráth Cuáin.’
‘Why there, of all places?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Because it is isolated,’ Febal replied. ‘The churl has doubtless chosen it because he believes no one would find him there.’
Fidelma regarded the young man claiming blood vengeance. He stood upright, a man in absolute control of his emotions.
‘You have waited a long time before deciding to track him down,’ she said slowly. ‘This is within the custom of our people, but Febal, vengeance is not a solution to pain.’
‘I will answer that when I have tasted it,’ declared the young man. ‘Now, am I offered the hospitality of this place – or shall I proceed on my way?’
‘You are offered our hospitality as is law and custom,’ replied Fidelma at once. ‘But you come with such a story that you must indulge our curiosity. Is that not so? I would like to know how you found out about Ráth Cuáin – who told you that this Fursaintid had gone there?’
Night of the Lightbringer Page 11
