The bórama was the cattle tribute that had first been imposed on Eochaid, King of Laigin, when he had married the High King’s daughter, Fithir, at the same time as he had raped her sister, Dáirine. This had led to the death of both girls. In revenge, the High King, Tuathal Techtmar, had defeated Eochaid’s army, killing the Laigin King, and imposed the bórama as an annual fine on his successors.

  ‘A pity there is no peace between Laigin and Osraige,’ Cera sighed as she considered the situation. ‘It has been a tense time for our people in Durlus Éile in case this marriage created an excuse for Laigin to form another alliance with Tuaim Snámha to attack Cashel.’

  Enda grimaced. ‘It is incredible to think that Fianamail of Laigin or Tuaim Snámha of Osraige would consider this an appropriate time to provoke Cashel. There is nothing for them to gain by defying the High King and his Chief Brehon over the bórama.’

  ‘Perhaps Fianamail considers that the new High King, Cenn Fáelad, will have less resolve than his late brother, Sechnussach. Fianamail’s ambition has always been to get the High King, and the Council of Brehons, to abolish the threat of the bórama.’

  Enda took another sip of his cider and sighed. ‘Princess Gelgéis’s cousin is not to be trusted any more than Fianamail of Laigin. We have to keep a sharp watch on them both.’ He hesitated. ‘One matter I find confusing …’

  ‘Only one?’ The young girl smiled.

  ‘Seriously. You are of the Daughters of the Storm, a warrior élite that is sworn to defend Osraige, so how could you refuse to raise your sword in defence of Osraige, if that was your choice?’

  Cera pulled a disapproving face. ‘We are sworn to defend the Princess of Durlus Éile,’ she corrected. ‘Our warrior band has its roots in Durlus Éile, which is part of Osraige, and our loyalty is to Durlus Éile first and foremost. Moreover, Tuaim Snámha currently pays tribute to Cashel and it would be madness for him to enter alliances with Laigin to attack our princess.’

  Enda rubbed the back of his neck reflectively. ‘Politics! I have little understanding of it. Well, if you could produce one battalion as formidable as the Daughters of the Storm, I do not think we should be concerned with any threats from Tuaim Snámha, or from Fianamail.’

  Cera chuckled appreciatively. ‘I wish you were right. But it is many a generation since we have fought in a large-scale battle. I suppose that you are old enough to have fought in Cnoc Áine six years ago?’

  ‘A sad event,’ Enda acknowledged. ‘For a long time the Uí Fidgente had been stirring enmity against the Eóganacht of Cashel and it resulted in that battle. And now … well, now the Prince Donennach of the Uí Fidgente has become the best of friends to Colgú of Cashel.’

  ‘I heard that the alliance was all to do with Colgú’s sister, Fidelma?’

  ‘Indeed. I was lucky to be at her side, as her bodyguard, during the time she performed her diplomacy … with, of course, her Saxon husband.’ Enda grimaced. ‘He doesn’t call himself a Saxon but an Angle, as he comes from a kingdom called the East Angles. It sounds a strange place.’

  ‘I wish I had been able to fight at Cnoc Áine.’ There was a wistful tone in Cera’s voice.

  ‘Better not to have to fight anywhere,’ Enda replied thoughtfully.

  ‘And you say that as a warrior?’ Cera responded, slightly surprised by the admonition.

  ‘Even the great imperial Romans, with their mighty armies, wrote that war is the horror of mothers. I agree. There is much horror in war.’

  ‘Then why are you a warrior?’

  ‘I suppose that I have a simple attitude,’ Enda admitted. ‘As a warrior, I believe in the honour code expected of warriors: to defend the weak, the vulnerable, from those who want to impose their will by force and not in accordance with moral and legal codes.’

  ‘So when a hosting is called, the warriors who go to serve should always do so only for moral and legal reasons?’

  Enda smiled his agreement. ‘This is why we must have warrior élites, trained not only in the use of arms but imbued with the code of their profession, which, as I say, is both moral and legal law. Morality must come first. If a hosting is necessary, such as that in the confrontation at Cnoc Áine, then it falls to the warrior élite to oversee the conduct of those volunteering to take arms and to make sure no accusation of immoral code can be made against the hosting. Thankfully, such conflicts are rare.’

  Cera thought for a moment. ‘But what if a king or the noble who commands the hosting has immoral purposes? How can the warrior élite, who take oath to the King, take a stand against him and prevent his entire army from descending into immorality when they follow his immoral purpose?’

  ‘I presume you are again thinking of Fianamail of Laigin?’

  ‘I was thinking in general terms,’ Cera admitted. ‘But Fianamail is a good example. He is supported in his ambitions by Bishop Molling Luach of Fearna. Fianamail even uses the bishop as his emissary to the High King.’

  ‘Many churchmen, sadly, follow their own ambitious politics. Molling is one of them but there are many such in all five kingdoms.’

  ‘I have met Bishop Molling, and Fianamail,’ Cera observed, surprising Enda.

  ‘You met the King of Laigin?’ he asked, almost impressed.

  ‘Our troop attended the triennial fair at Loch Garman. We had to demonstrate our prowess in martial arts at the fair. We also had to listen to Fianamail’s denouncements, in which he claimed all the kingdoms were conspiring against him. I think he had an inflated sense of his own position. I felt he was demanding attention and admiration from everyone, and when that wasn’t given he became unreasonable.’

  ‘But you saw him in person? What sort of person was he?’

  ‘When he came round presenting the awards for the best contestants in archery, riding and javelin casting,’ Cera replied, ‘I felt uncomfortable in his presence. There appeared no depth or warmth to him. His eyes were hard and he glanced at people without meeting their eyes, as if he was uncertain of himself. It was a remote look; that of someone not to be trusted.’

  Enda gave a sniff of derision. ‘Then he does not appear to have changed since I first encountered him.’

  It was Cera’s turn to be impressed.

  ‘He had just succeeded Faelan, son of Colmán, as King of Laigin. My impression of him was of a sulky youth. I and my comrades Dego and Aidan were chosen to accompany the lady Fidelma on a mission to Fearna itself. It was discovered that Eadulf, who was not Fidelma’s husband then, had been taken captive by the fanatical Abbess Fainder. She was determined to put Eadulf to death according to some new Christian law introduced into her abbey from Rome. We had a meeting in the great hall of Fearna. Fianamail was made to sit in judgment about whether Fainder and her acolytes had broken the laws of the five kingdoms.’

  ‘Who made sure Fianamail didn’t misinterpret our laws?’

  ‘Thankfully, the High King sent his Chief Brehon, Barren. At the end of the hearing, young Fianamail was summoned to Tara to be admonished by the High King. I must tell you the entire story when we have more time …’

  He added this because he had seen a tall woman, clad in similar warrior’s garb to Cera, enter the tavern. Her uncovered head showed a veritable mane of raven-black hair. Her eyes were dark and deep set, and her lips made a thin disapproving line in features whose bone structure was perhaps too angular to be called attractive. She seemed young but with a well-developed figure, which was obviously kept in a good muscular shape. She was approaching them with a scowl of disapproval. Enda recognised her as Crédh, the commander of the Daughters of the Storm.

  ‘I was looking for you, Cera,’ she announced as she halted before the table.

  ‘I have just finished my sword practice with Enda for the fair,’ returned the girl, immediately defensive. ‘We were discussing some of the points of the engagement.’

  The tall commander expelled her breath in a clear manner of disapproval.

  ‘It is a contest that you are engaged in, not a joint enterprise.’ Her tone was even more disapproving than her expression. ‘Anyway, Princess Gelgéis is looking for you.’

  ‘For me?’ Cera appeared confused.

  ‘I think that I have made myself clear,’ Crédh sniffed. ‘Remember, as the youngest among us, you also have the role of inaillt to the princess.’

  The term did not exactly mean a handmaiden, but an attendant, one who waited upon a lady of rank when required.

  ‘I shall attend this instant,’ the girl flushed. Standing up, she offered a brief embarrassed glance of apology to Enda before she hurried from the tavern.

  ‘You should not distract those serving me from their duties,’ Crédh said, scowling at him as they were left alone.

  Enda, as commander of the household guard, considered Crédh ranked as his equal and had made that clear to her on previous occasions, for he had already noticed that she seemed to carry herself with an air of superiority.

  ‘I did not consider it a distraction,’ he replied gravely. ‘We were two warriors discussing the finer points of our profession. It is helpful in the days before the martial arts demonstration.’

  ‘We consider it a contest,’ snapped the tall woman. ‘In a challenge there is a winner and loser. The two adversaries do not discuss their options before the tournament. This is supposed to be a contest that imitates a battle of life and death.’

  Enda regarded her gravely.

  ‘Let us hope the warriors on both sides realise the contest is only a simulation and not reality,’ he said softly.

  TWO

  Why would anyone be attempting to beat a tattoo on a goat-skin drum in the middle of the night? That was the first question that occurred to Fidelma as she reluctantly came awake in the warmth of her bed and tried to separate her dream thoughts into reality.

  She lay for a few seconds listening to the tapping sounds before the realisation slowly came that it was an urgent knocking on the door of the bedchamber. She blinked, trying to focus in the darkness. Then, throwing off the warm woollen blanket, she swung out of the bed. Beside her, Eadulf groaned slightly in his disturbed sleep. She glanced anxiously for a moment in the direction of his tossing figure. He had not been sleeping well recently and once or twice his words were almost distinguishable, but, they being in his native language, she could not make them out. The urgent tapping continued and she felt her way towards the door.

  A figure stood outside holding a flickering candle in an unsteady hand.

  It was Muirgen, who acted as nurse to Fidelma and Eadulf’s son, Alchú, as well as helping with the domestic affairs of their household. Fidelma came properly awake rapidly.

  ‘Is it Alchú? Is something wrong with my son?’ she demanded before the woman could speak.

  ‘No, lady,’ the old nurse reassured her in a calm tone. ‘The boy is still asleep and there is no harm to him. It is Enda who says that he must see you urgently.’

  Fidelma knew that Enda, as commander of the household guard, was not one to disturb her in the middle of the night without good reason. She turned to look for her robe and found Eadulf was still groaning as he struggled to awaken.

  ‘What is it?’ he grunted, forcing himself to sit up.

  ‘I am not sure. But Enda wants to see me,’ she replied, tightening the robe around her. ‘It must be something important.’

  She had barely finished the observation before Eadulf was out of bed, hauling on his robe.

  ‘It’s not yet dawn,’ he observed with a note of complaint, glancing towards the window.

  Muirgen led the way with her candle to an adjoining chamber, where Fidelma and Eadulf usually received their guests.

  ‘Call me, if you need me, lady,’ she said, as she stepped aside to allow them to enter.

  By the fireplace, the tall, youthful figure of Enda was waiting with ill-concealed tension. A lantern had already been lit and the log fire, left as smouldering grey ashes a short time before, had been encouraged into a blaze.

  As they entered the room, Enda turned and offered a perfunctory salute, encompassing both Fidelma and Eadulf. Afterwards, they both agreed that they thought he appeared rather pale and disturbed. It was unusual to see such agitation on the face of the usually stoic warrior.

  ‘My apologies for disturbing you, lady, but your brother, the King, requests your presence immediately.’ His voice seemed edged with some emotion she could not interpret.

  ‘Is my brother well?’ Fidelma demanded.

  ‘He is well, lady.’ There was some hesitation in Enda’s assurance before he added, ‘A body has been found in the royal apartments.’

  Fidelma stared at him for a moment in bewildered silence.

  ‘Is Princess Gelgéis well?’ she pressed quickly. It had been only a month before that her brother and Gelgéis had finally married.

  Even as Enda was about to nod his head, Eadulf asked the more pertinent question: ‘Whose body has been found?’

  There was a pause while Fidelma tried not to show her irritation at how slowly she was able to extract information from the young man.

  ‘Your brother and his lady are well, but they are in distress and need your assistance.’ The young warrior’s reply was curiously staccato and he was clearly not revealing what he knew.

  ‘Do you know the identity of the body that was found?’ Fidelma demanded.

  Enda’s facial muscles seemed to tense. ‘Cera,’ he responded tightly.

  Eadulf exchanged glances with Fidelma. They had both seen the young warrior several times in the company of the girl Cera over the days since the wedding celebrations, and not always at the practice sessions for the forthcoming fair.

  After a moment or so, it was Fidelma who pressed forward with the inevitable question.

  ‘You say that her body was found in the royal apartments? In what manner did she die?’

  Again, the reply was slow in coming. It was clear Enda was trying hard to keep his emotions in check. His voice had dropped almost to a mumble.

  ‘Come, Enda, speak clearly,’ Eadulf admonished, sympathising but considering the best way of getting information from an emotional person was to be detached. ‘You have been our companion in many situations and are used to the presence of death.’

  Enda attempted to make a gesture with his shoulder but it did not convey any meaning. It was almost as if he were about to sob.

  ‘We understand you knew this girl, Enda.’ Fidelma tried to be sympathetic. ‘Tell my brother that Eadulf and I will join him as soon as we have attired ourselves in more presentable fashion.’

  Enda inclined his head a fraction in acknowledgement and left the chamber. It was unusual to see him move with his head bent forward as if bearing a heavy burden on his shoulders. It took Fidelma and Eadulf a short time to splash their hands and faces in water brought to them by Muirgen, and then complete their dressing. Fidelma took a moment or two to look in on their son, Alchú. The young boy was sleeping peacefully. Fidelma received an assurance from Muirgen that she would watch him carefully in case there was any likelihood of danger to him. Then Fidelma and Eadulf made their way across the shadowy courtyard to the royal residence, where the entrance was lit by brand torches, which were beginning to flicker in that curious pre-dawn breeze that always heralded the coming of the light.

  There was a guard on duty at the main doors of the residence. It was the one-armed warrior, Dego. The warrior’s life had been saved by Eadulf, but at the cost of his right arm. Dego had displayed a great resilience and, after months of practice, could now use his sword in his left hand with the same dexterity that he had previously shown with his right. His determination at overcoming his disadvantage had so impressed King Colgú that he had kept Dego in the lucht-tighe, the household guard of the royal residence.

  Dego took a step forward, recognised them and saluted with his good hand.

  ‘The King and his lady are awaiting you in his private reception chamber. Enda has just returned there.’

  ‘Where is the body?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘It is untouched and lies where it was discovered, lady. It was found in one of the rooms of the King’s new sanctuary.’

  Fidelma was surprised. The tech-termonn, the ‘sanctuary’, was the name her brother had given to a special set of four sleeping chambers that he had designed with his master builder, Rodaige. It had been built while Fidelma and Eadulf had been on their recent travels, and inspired by her brother’s obsession with security and Rodaige’s descriptions of some of the new constructions that many of the northern nobles were commissioning after hearing reports of such buildings from missionaries returning from Rome and the Holy Land.

  Colgú had wanted to extend the royal quarters so that, after his marriage, he and his bride would not have to share the main palace accommodation with distinguished guests and visiting relatives. The idea that he had put forward had been to have a special isolated apartment built on top of an especially constructed artificial base of rocks rising four metres against the south-west side of the main building. It was accessible only by one narrow flight of steps from within the main building. This led to a single corridor with four doors, two on each side. Through these four doors were the individual rooms. Three were bedrooms, and one was a fothrucadh, or bathing room, with a door connecting it to the main bedroom, which was for Colgú and Gelgéis.

  The other two rooms, on the right-hand side of the passage, were for the use of Colgú’s banmhaor, or stewardess, Dar Luga, and Gelgéis’s attendant.

  ‘Do you say that the body was found in one of the bedchambers?’ Fidelma wanted to be more precise.

  ‘The body was found in the fothrucadh next to the main bedroom,’ Dego replied. ‘That has caused a shock as the sanctuary was built for security. Someone must have gained access despite that, although no one should have been able to get in without encountering the guard at the single entrance.’