Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  As they sat down, Eadulf whispered, ‘I have never known your brother to drink more than was good for him.’

  ‘I fear this curse upon the family and Cashel has touched something in him,’ she replied quietly. ‘He always believed in ancient prophesies when he was younger. I wonder …’

  In a corner, near the King’s chair, stood a fear-stuic, a trumpeter, who suddenly raised his instrument to his lips and gave three short blasts.

  The curtain behind the King’s chair was drawn aside and Gormán entered. As commander of the King’s bodyguard, his role that night was to stand in as steward to the King. But for the running of the palace, Colgú relied on the plump female ainbertach or housekeeper, Dar Luga. Fidelma was still unused to the fact that her brother had declined to appoint a new rechtaire or steward of the palace who, with a staff of office, would usually preside over the protocol of the feast. Instead of the traditional banging of the staff on the floor, Gormán simply called for silence.

  Colgú then entered and, on his arm, was the attractive young Princess of Éile, Gelgéis, who immediately smiled at Fidelma and Eadulf and mouthed a silent greeting towards them. However, her face showed she was strained and unhappy.

  Gelgéis was of average height, slim, with corn-coloured hair drawn tightly back and fastened behind her head. Her skin was delicate and fair and she had azure-blue eyes and a quality of innocence. Yet she ruled her little border kingdom with a rod of iron, paying allegiance to Cashel but not allowing her kingdom to be overwhelmed by either Muman to the west nor Laighin to the east. In spite of her sweet appearance, there was a steely determination in the girl. That quality had attracted Fidelma. She hoped that Gelgéis and her brother might marry one day because she knew that Colgú needed a steady companion with the princess’ strong attributes.

  Gormán stood dithering, unused to the service he was performing, and then bent to whisper in Colgú’s ear: ‘Lord, should I make some sort of announcement? Protocol, you understand.’

  Colgú gave a roar of laughter and playfully pushed the warrior aside. Fidelma and Eadulf silently acknowledged that Dego was right; it was clear that Colgú had already been imbibing.

  Colgú called out: ‘Friends, tonight is without formality. Wasn’t it old tradition that tonight, the end of the summer and the first of our new year, always started in chaos? So let chaos reign during this feast. There is no protocol here tonight. We are here to cast off the old and pay homage to the new … whatever it has in store for us. Whether we will welcome in the creatures from the dark plains of the Otherworld or the wraiths of those we have done wrong to … or whether we pass this night in drunken revelry, we welcome all to our ancient feast of Samhain.’

  He slid into his chair, more with the help of Gormán and Gelgéis on either side.

  The guests, having recovered from their surprise at the strange lack of protocol, immediately settled ready for the meal as the side doors opened and attendants came hurrying in. Dar Luga, Colgu’s housekeeper, had done her work well. Firstly came the deoghbhaire, the cupbearers, who strove to keep the guests supplied with their choice of beverages. Then came dáilemain, carvers, who brought in freshly cooked dishes of roasted boar, venison and even mutton. While they helped guests to their choice of cuts, other attendants carried dishes ranging from goose eggs and sausages to various cabbages spiced with wild garlic, to leeks and onions cooked in butter.

  Fidelma leaned towards her brother as the cupbearer poured his wine. ‘You have surely drunk enough already, brother,’ she whispered primly. ‘Remember you have a special guest with you.’ She indicated the Princess of Éile.

  Colgú turned to her, his eyes a little unfocused. ‘Enough mothering, little sister. If you were concerned about me, you would have solved the ritual killing that has plagued us, and stopped the curses of the spirit of death. Now the Samhain feast is upon us and we will be lucky to survive the night.’

  Fidelma was disconcerted by her brother’s petulant tone. She had never seen him drunk either in private or in public. What was going on?

  Princess Gelgéis leaned across to Fidelma in order to speak.

  ‘I can cope, lady,’ she assured her in a discreet murmur. ‘The governance of Éile is not always an easy task, for our menfolk are no abstemious and pious religious. On nights like these it is not unusual for them to do away with constraints. Responsibility is sometimes in need of irresponsibility.’

  ‘Within limitations,’ Fidelma corrected firmly.

  The noise in the great hall had developed into an uproar as the feast got underway. Fidelma realised that, even with Gélgeis and herself on either side of him, her brother seemed isolated, as if his thoughts were somewhere else. Suddenly one of the diners – Eadulf thought it was the Prince of the Muscraige – called to Colgú: ‘Tonight is Samhain. Is it not usual to have musicians to entertain us at the celebration?’

  The remark seemed to register with Colgú. He stirred and then gave forth a drunken chuckle before he banged on the table with the pommel of his knife.

  ‘I stand rebuked. My friends, you shall have entertainment. But not merely music. This night is special, as you know. So I have reserved an equally special entertainment for you. I want you all to hear your fate from a soothsayer.’

  Fidelma froze. ‘If you are about to do what I think you are, then I must protest,’ she hissed. ‘Brancheó is in this fortress as a suspect waiting to be questioned by me. She is not to be made sport of. She has rights.’

  Colgú gave his sister a disapproving look, exaggerated by the fact that the drink was in control of his speech and actions.

  ‘You are in no position to criticise your King, even though you are my sister. Our family and this palace have been threatened by this madwoman. So she will be brought forth so that my good friends and guests will hear all her nonsense about the Samhain curse on the Eóghanacht.’

  Ignoring her protests, he turned to where Gormán was waiting.

  ‘As I have ordered, so let it be done.’

  Gormán glanced uncomfortably towards Fidelma. He was clearly unhappy with the order. When Colgú saw the gesture, he roared at his bodyguard commander: ‘Do you hesitate to obey me? Do I have to ask someone else to carry out your King’s orders?’

  Gormán stiffened, never having been rebuked by Colgú in public before. He hesitated a moment, but seeing the warning glance from Fidelma, he marched off to fulfil his orders. She breathed out a sigh of relief, for a slight to a warrior’s honour, especially in front of such guests as these, could easily lead to disaster.

  It was a while before Gormán returned with the tall, dark woman walking before him. Gormán guided her firmly but gently to the table where Colgú sat. Fidelma was clearly upset, for despite her pleas, her brother now stood in breach of the law. However, there was little she could now do to protect the woman’s rights under the law without directly challenging her brother before his guests.

  ‘So, raven-caller,’ Colgú greeted her in a supercilious tone. ‘I have summoned you to this company so that you can repeat your attempts to curse your King and his family. I wish all our friends to share a knowledge of what you claim is about to visit this palace before this night passes.’

  Brancheó was not cowed but regarded him almost with pity on her face. She looked from him to Fidelma and addressed her.

  ‘I realise that it was not you who has summoned me in this illegal fashion, dálaigh. You would know better. But you should have taught your brother something of your knowledge of law. For he clearly is ignorant of legal protocol.’

  Before Fidelma could answer her there was a call from one of the guests. Brother Giolla Rua had leaned forward and now shouted loudly and indignantly, ‘Rex non potest peccare!’

  Brancheó’s smile broadened into a sneer. ‘So speaks the language of the New Faith. And if, as you say, the King can do no wrong, this scion of the Eóghanacht is guiltless. But doesn’t the ancient law say: who is higher in power, the King or his people?’ She turned back to Fid
elma. ‘Answer me that, dálaigh, and answer it loudly so your brother may hear and learn.’

  Fidelma’s mouth compressed. She knew well the answer.

  ‘I will tell you, if you don’t wish to speak,’ declared Brancheó, breaking the silence. ‘The people are higher in power than a King for it is they who appoint the King. The King does not appoint the people.’

  ‘What double-talk is this?’ demanded Colgú, blinking uncertainly. ‘Silence, woman, or I’ll … I’ll …’

  ‘Let her speak, Colgú,’ Princess Gelgéis advised gently. She had been fairly silent throughout the meal, trying to reason a little with the King. ‘Let’s hear what she has to say. For it is true that this is what the law texts say. It is this woman’s right to speak. This is not a court of the Brehons where there are rights – but here there should also be courtesy.’

  Colgú stared at her for a moment or two and then muttered, ‘I am the King. Let her incriminate herself and then we shall judge her,’ and he reached for his wine.

  ‘You know there is nothing that you can threaten me with, Colgú son of Failbe Flann,’ Brancheó declared. ‘You, who boast of your ancestors who ruled here in the New Faith. The New Faith – but what is that? Some foreign mysticism that arose from the east and which those who claim to represent it can barely understand.’

  There were gasps of outrage from Brother Mac Raith and his companions. But she ignored them.

  ‘The years that have passed since Óengus mac Nad Froich rejected the ways of his ancestors and embraced this eastern Faith have been but the blink of an eye compared to the generations of your ancestors who stood firm in the Old Religion. Some fifteen Kings of the Eòghanacht have presided over the Rock of Cashel since Óengus. What is that, compared to fifty-nine generations of great kings who ruled this kingdom since the time of Eibhear Fionn, son of Golamh, who brought the children of the Gael to this land? Fifty-nine great kings, all who ruled wisely and well in the Old Faith from the time beyond time.’

  ‘I am afraid, lady, times change and we must change with them,’ Fidelma intervened softly, feeling she should say something to dilute the tension.

  Brancheó turned to regard her, still with her expression of pity.

  ‘Little change in us, lady. We are bound up on the great wheel of life that, turn it as swiftly as you dare, will always return to the same point.’

  ‘You speak a pagan treason,’ Brother Sionnach cried out.

  ‘You talk of treason?’ Brancheó did not even turn towards him but stood continuing to face the King. ‘I know you, Sionnach of Corcach Mór. You will bring no light to destroy the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin for it is already marked for destruction.’

  ‘Have a care, woman,’ Brother Sionnach called back. ‘You do not know of what you speak.’

  For the first time, Brancheó turned to face him. She said coldly, ‘I speak of what I know: that you have come here to seek what will never be yours. You cannot steal an idea and bury it in earth or encase it in stone. It will escape into the air no matter how you hide it. Even the greatest of your Brehons will tell you – truth is great and it will prevail.’

  Brother Sionnach had paled slightly. ‘I don’t understand you, lady,’ he said, but his voice lacked his previous confidence.

  ‘You have made a long journey across land and sea, my friend. But even you will find that your light will be eliminated. A man has been murdered and an attempt made to disguise the murder by a false ritual. That will not work, for as I said, the truth will prevail and there is nowhere people can hide, to protect themselves from the truth. Truth is the one thing that never dies. It can be hidden for a while – but it will always re-emerge to claim its own.’

  ‘Stop speaking in riddles,’ Colgú slurred, trying to understand the exchanges. ‘If you can’t speak plainly, perhaps we have finished with our entertainment.’

  ‘You should never have started such so-called entertainment,’ Fidelma admonished quietly. She was about to suggest to Gormán that he remove the prisoner, but Brancheó was not to be silenced.

  ‘Scion of the Eóghanacht,’ she called loudly. ‘I have spoken plainly to those who have the ears to understand the words they hear. Eibhear Fion and his brother Eremon came to this island with their new truth and thought to fight the Eternal Ones. But the Eternal Ones were strong and it was Eibhear Fionn and Eremon who had to accept them and promise them allegiance until Time itself had ceased. Your ancestors, Eóghanacht, promised they would keep faith with the Eternal Ones and, in token, continue to accept the names of the three goddesses of sovereignty as the names for this island. Do their names not still resound in our ears in spite of our rejection of them? Éire, Banba and Fodhla – the names of our goddesses are still ours to call upon. But be warned, scion of the Eóghanacht, they grow impatient that we do not call upon them for protection of the Five Kingdoms from a foreign deity.’

  ‘Are you warning me?’ Colgú was frowning, befuddled, unable to follow what she was saying.

  ‘I am warning all who thought they could reject the True Faith, the Faith of the time beyond time,’ replied Brancheó, unperturbed by the drunken anger in his face. ‘I am warning those who think they can kill to prevent the truth being heard. A man has gone to his death in order that his tongue may be stilled – and in such a way that I may be blamed for it. But I say again: the truth will emerge.

  ‘It has been revealed to me that there is restlessness in the Otherworld. The gods and goddesses are stirred in anger towards those who would deny them. Tonight is the Samhain festival, the time when the vengeful souls of the Otherworld come to seek their revenge on those who have wronged them. Tonight, the gods themselves will come to seek retribution on those who have desecrated this very spot which was once a passage to the Otherworld. Remember – a passage can lead both ways and they will come … they will come. That is all I have to say. I make no threat. I demand nothing in return, but I simply say the Donn waits to transport souls to the House of Death.’

  Eadulf spoke up then. ‘For someone who claims not to be issuing warnings, that does sound remarkably like a threat.’

  ‘No threat. This palace of Cashel was once called “the ridge of the Otherworld people” – Sidh-druimm. Why was it called that?’

  Fidelma felt she should intervene. ‘Do you claim to be teaching the Eóghanacht their history?’ She forced a smile.

  ‘I am only reminding them of what has apparently been forgotten,’ the woman replied with equanimity. ‘What brought the Eóghanacht here in the first place; what made them establish their capital here?’

  ‘That’s easy enough. Conall son of Lugaidh, when he was King, decided to set up his capital here.’

  ‘Not so easy. For you should remember that he was only the son of a Prince of Muscraige. The gods sent him a vision through his swineherd who drew him to this spot and promised, if he set up his capital here, he would become King and be supported by the gods and goddesses at this, their portal between the two worlds.’

  ‘The story of the finding of Cashel is well known.’ Fidelma spoke coldly. ‘Cuiríran, the swineherd, and his friend, Duirdriu, were herding their pigs here. The legend goes that the gods caused a great tiredness to fall on them. They were supposed to have slept for three days and nights and dreamed that Conall would be hailed as the true descendant of Eibhear Fionn and King of Muman if he set up his capital here. It is all a legend.’

  ‘No! The story is true. The pact was made with the gods and thus Conall came and put his foot on the sacred inauguration stone while his chief bard sang the ancient forsundud, the praise poem about the ancestors of the Eóghanacht from the time they first came from across the seas to take this island.’

  ‘We have had enough entertainment for tonight,’ Colgú suddenly announced. ‘I grow tired of these tales. Tales to scare young children, not … not … Go!’

  ‘I will go, Colgú, son of Failbhe Flann. Have no fear of my going but have a fear of what is coming.’

  ‘That is definitely a
threat,’ Fidelma snapped.

  ‘Seeing what the future portends is no threat, Fidelma of Cashel. You would be wise to remember the ancestor whose name you bear.’

  ‘My name?’ Fidelma asked uncertainly.

  ‘Are you sure that you do not know who Conall mac Luagaidh’s foster-mother was?’

  If Fidelma had known, her memory was now lacking and she said so.

  ‘Why does the name Fidelma appear among all the generations of the Eóghanacht?’ asked Brancheó. ‘I will tell you – Conall’s foster-mother was a great Druidess who bore that very name – Fidelma. She was his protector when the evil Mongfind tried to destroy him, to prevent him from becoming King. How was he given the name “Corc” – for it is as Conall Corc he is known. That is because Mongfind tried to burn him to death, but Fidelma deflected the fire so that only his ear was singed. Fidelma consigned the evil one to the utmost reaches of the Otherworld. That was on the eve of Samhain, which you celebrate this very night. That you bear a name so respected among those who have now rejected the Old Faith is something that you should not treat lightly. I see, even now, you try to fulfil the role of Fidelma the Druidess by seeking to protect your King.’

  ‘Enough!’ Colgú almost groaned. ‘Gormán, remove this woman from our presence. I grow tired of her prattling. Tell her to be gone. This is not the entertainment I want. Send for more wine and the musicians.’

  Gormán touched Brancheó lightly on the arm and indicated the door of the great hall with a slight nod of his head.

  ‘It would be wise to go voluntarily,’ was all he said in a quiet tone.

  She cast a disdainful look around the assembly. ‘Enjoy this last night, Eóghanachtaí,’ she said, using the plural form.

  Fidelma turned to her brother in disgust as they left. ‘What purpose did that serve?’ she accused him. ‘She did nothing but repeat the old legends and it got her so worked up that I will be unable to question her about the death of the shepherd until tomorrow.’

  Colgú turned a bleary-eyed gaze on his sister. ‘You should have resolved that matter before this night came upon us. Don’t you chide me, little sister. I have had more than enough of ghosts and portents and other warnings. The Samhain festival is a time to celebrate the coming year, not for dwelling on the darkness and the Otherworld.’