‘Nothing has been interfered with,’ Feradach said stiffly.

  ‘Then I suggest that you bring my saddlebag here.’

  Feradach looked quickly towards the still silent and almost immobile Abbot. But it was Brother Failge who made a motion with his hand to indicate that he should do as she asked.

  A silence fell as the warrior hurried out, closing the door behind him. Fidelma sat with her eyes on the stout Abbot but he did not raise his head or let his eyes meet her own. So she turned to the steward, who stood motionless at the Abbot’s side.

  ‘I suspect that you have already searched the contents of the bags. So is this to check if I know what those contents are? I trust that you will be capable of recognising what it is that you are about to be shown,’ she said with a malicious smile. ‘Or is your knowledge also limited?’

  The steward flushed. ‘I studied for five years and my degree is Sai,’ he said tightly. The degree was only one below the qualification that Fidelma held, although her degree had been taken in a secular bardic college and not in an abbey school.

  ‘And where did you study?’ She did not sound impressed.

  ‘Across the river here and up to the Bhearú lies the Abbey of Fiacc—’

  ‘I know it,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘It is at a place called Sléibhte.’

  The young man hid what could have been surprise or disappointment that she knew the place.

  At that moment, Feradach returned bearing her saddlebag. Fidelma took it from him and laid it on the table before her. From it she removed the golden chain, a symbol of the Nasc Niadh. She laid this to one side and then drew forth a small wand of white rowan, on which was fixed a figurine in gold. It was the image of an antlered stag, the symbol of the Eóganacht princes. The hazel wand emblem was the symbol by which Fidelma derived authority from her brother, Colgú, King of Muman, and with this wand she was able to command respect and speak as if she spoke with his voice. It was six years ago that her brother had handed that symbol to her when she went as his ambassador to Gleann Geis to negotiate on his behalf with a prince who had not recognised the New Faith. Six years ago since Colgú had made her a member of the élite order of the Niadh Nasc.

  She held it out to Brother Failge, who took it carefully from her hand and put it before the Abbot.

  ‘You do recognise these objects, don’t you?’ Fidelma asked cuttingly. ‘This is the symbol which shows that I speak in the King’s name and the emblem of my service to my brother, the King.’

  There was a wheezy sigh and it took Fidelma a moment to realise that it was the first sound she had heard from the Abbot. A curious shudder shook the man’s frame and he raised his head and looked at her with dark, impenetrable eyes. Then he began to speak. His words came out in a grating sound, as if something blocked his throat and prevented him from breathing properly.

  ‘Your credentials are impeccable. Why is the sister of Colgú here in the Abbey of Cainnech and making enquiries about a particular wagon?’

  ‘I am here in my capacity of a dálaigh, investigating two murders.’

  The rotund face of the Abbot did not show any emotion.

  ‘Murders? I was told you wished to find out about a particular wagon that may or may not have passed through this township.’

  ‘Since you have accepted my credentials, there is something I must ask before I discuss my business further, Abbot Saran. I suggest that my two companions are now released from their imprisonment. I am sure that you have also examined their saddlebags and found the golden torcs, the symbol of the Nasc Niadh, my brother’s bodyguards.’

  The Abbot turned towards Feradach and made a tiny motion with his pudgy hand. The warrior went to the door, opened it and whispered instructions to the warrior outside. Then he closed the door and returned to his former position.

  ‘It is being done as we speak,’ he said, but whether he was addressing Fidelma, Failge or the Abbot, Fidelma was not sure.

  ‘Now, you may tell us why you are here,’ the Abbot said slowly.

  ‘Tell me why I was imprisoned when I informed this warrior who I was,’ she asked next.

  It was the steward, Failge, who answered. ‘Fidelma of Cashel has a reputation – but as Sister Fidelma. You do not appear in the robes of a religieuse, nor do you introduce yourself as Sister Fidelma.’

  ‘That is because I have left the religious,’ she replied.

  This finally brought a response from the Abbot.

  ‘You have abandoned the New Faith?’ The simple question seemed to imply a deeper question hidden within it.

  Fidelma remembered the answer she gave to Abbot Ségdae, her brother’s religious adviser.

  ‘I said that I have left the religious, not that I have left the religion. I am a dálaigh by training, profession and inclination. I have accepted the position as legal representative of my brother, the King. I have not lived in a religious community since I left the Abbey of Cill Dara many years ago.’

  There was another wheezy sigh and the Abbot slumped back in his chair.

  ‘We were concerned that you might not have been who you said you were,’ Brother Failge told her, as if that explained everything. ‘And you were asking questions about that wagon and its occupants.’

  ‘I have already said that it is a dálaigh’s place to ask questions.’

  ‘True enough, but we were suspicious, especially when you said that the wagon was expected in Cashel.’

  ‘Why should you be suspicious?’ she asked, baffled.

  ‘Firstly, why are you interested in this wagon?’

  Fidelma made an impatient gesture. ‘The wagon of which we speak arrived in Cashel with two dead bodies. A young male religious and a young girl. Both had been murdered.’

  She was completely unprepared for the impact her words caused.

  There was a sharp exhalation of breath from Feradach at one side, and Brother Failge’s mouth opened as if to say something and remained agape. The Abbot, who had been toying with Fidelma’s willow wand of office, jerked back in his chair as if someone had jabbed him with a sharp instrument. His small eyes widened and his mouth formed an almost perfect ‘o’.

  ‘They are both dead? Are you sure?’ the steward asked urgently.

  Fidelma studied them all with interest. ‘So you know about this wagon and its occupants?’

  The Abbot regained his composure first. ‘Let us assure one another that we are speaking about the same wagon. Describe it, if you please.’

  ‘It is a foreign wagon. I have only seen them abroad and never in this country for they are built by no wainwright of the Five Kingdoms. The name the Romans give it is a rheda. I was told that it is a Gaulish word and that the Romans borrowed the design from the Gauls. It is large enough for six people to travel in comfort, is entered through a door and has windows, which in this case had a canvas covering over them. It is roofed as well, and the roof is curved so that any rain simply falls off. It has four wheels, iron-rimmed, and this one was drawn by a team of two oxen.’

  She nearly mentioned the brand-mark but held back, for she felt she should not volunteer all the information at her disposal.

  The Abbot leaned forward anxiously. ‘And the occupants of the wagon?’ he asked. ‘You say that you are sure they are both dead? How did they die?’

  ‘Both by poison. The male died before the girl. She also died of poison, but a few days after the male. She had joined the wagon train of a group of performers travelling to the Great Fair in Cashel. It seems likely that they passed through this township…’

  ‘We have had quite a few performers through here,’ intervened Feradach.

  ‘Baodain’s Performers.’

  The Abbot sighed impatiently. ‘Yes, they passed through the township not so many days ago. But the foreign wagon, with its occupants, had vanished some days before.’

  ‘What do you mean, it had vanished?’

  Abbot Saran glanced nervously at his steward. Again, Brother Failge replied for him.

  ‘The wagon that you spoke of, with the man and girl, left our township at least two or three days before Baodain and his performers passed through here.’

  ‘Two or three days?’ Fidelma stopped to think. ‘It was about that time afterwards that the girl drove out of the marshes and came upon Baodain’s wagons. She asked if she could follow them to Cashel. However, it was not long before she was overcome and died. The wagon and bodies were brought to Cashel and hence became the concern of my brother, the King, and myself as a dálaigh.’

  There was a lengthy silence while everyone digested the information. Finally, Fidelma spoke. ‘You obviously are acquainted with the wagon and its occupants, so I would request that you now share that knowledge with me. Also, perhaps you will explain why my asking about it caused the imprisonment of my companions and myself.’

  There was a pause. Then Abbot Saran, with a dramatic gesture, loosened the robes at his neck with a nervous tugging gesture, as if they had become too tight.

  ‘Come and stand by me, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said in his grating tone. ‘I need to show you something.’

  Fidelma was puzzled but she rose from her chair and walked round the circular table to where the Abbot was seated. The steward stepped back to allow her to move closer.

  ‘You have heard from my voice that I find it uncomfortable to speak. Now regard my neck.’

  The Abbot opened his robe to reveal the bare flesh of his neck. A strange red wound was running around it. Not the kind of wound that implied an attempt to cut through his throat. It was more like a scorch-mark of a rough hempen rope having been pulled tight against the flesh.

  ‘That is a grievous wound,’ she observed quietly.

  ‘Grievous indeed, for I nearly died. I still feel that there is something swollen and dislodged in my throat,’ grunted the Abbot, pulling his robe back into place.

  ‘My condolences at your having sustained such an injury, but I am at a loss to understand why you are showing this to me.’

  ‘It is straightforward enough. The young man whose wagon you are enquiring about, tried to murder me by strangling me with a rope.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brother Finnsnechta was staring at Ríonach in bewilderment. He looked from her to Eadulf and then back again as though he hadn’t understood.

  ‘You did what?’ he asked finally. His tone was one of shock.

  ‘Perhaps I had better explain,’ Eadulf volunteered, ‘for I have some knowledge of your laws and I do not think Ríonach is her best advocate.’

  The elderly hermit sat back and made a movement with his hand as if to invite Eadulf to speak.

  Eadulf felt that it was best if he was sparing with the details. He confined himself to saying that he had been lost in the marshes, had come across Rechtabra’s farm and was suddenly imprisoned by the farmer. Ríonach had freed him during her husband’s absence. Eadulf emphasised that it was obvious that the farmer ill-treated his wife and that she was in great fear of him. Rechtabra had come back suddenly, lunged at him with a knife with the intention of killing him, and verbally threatened Ríonach, saying that he would deal with her afterwards. Fearful of her life, Ríonach had seized a scillead and hit him on the head in self-defence. Rechtabra had fallen to the floor and was dead. Eadulf added that he had immediately suggested they go to find a Brehon to report the matter, but the girl had been desperately fearful that she would not be believed, since her husband seemed to have many friends locally. She had suggested that they come to find Brother Finnsnechta and seek his advice first.

  Eadulf also decided to add that, while they had been discussing matters, two armed and aggressive friends of Rechtabra had called and he had been forced to trick them into becoming prisoners while he and the girl had escaped. It was a very sparse account of the reality, but Eadulf felt that it was enough for the time being.

  Brother Finnsnechta’s first question was about the welfare of the two prisoners.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eadulf told him. ‘I was also concerned with the livestock on the farm, and not far from the farmstead we found a shepherd. I told him about the livestock and the death of Rechtabra. He promised to go there with his sons and will have doubtless released the men by now.’

  Brother Finnsnechta stared long and hard at Eadulf as if he found the story hard to accept.

  ‘So you came looking for a Brehon?’

  ‘As I said, Ríonach wanted to speak with you first. She recalled that you had been a friend of her mother’s when she was alive, and felt you would be able to give her protection and counsel.’

  The religieux looked sadly at Ríonach. ‘I will not disguise the fact that this is a serious matter. What you have done, child, is a grave crime in the eyes of the Faith. For such actions there are undoubtedly consequences.’

  The girl gave a protesting sob. ‘I had no other choice.’

  ‘There are always choices, child, when confronted with right and wrong.’

  Eadulf was surprised at the old man’s immediate condemnation.

  ‘I think we should examine the matter in the light of the law rather than as a matter of religious faith,’ he quietly advised.

  ‘Ah, the law. For someone who bears the tonsure of Rome, you will know that some of the Faith are trying to amend the lewd, pagan laws of this land.’

  ‘You mean those who adopt the Penitentials?’ Eadulf asked in surprise. ‘I am surprised you even speak of them. They only apply to certain religious communities and not to the countryside beyond.’

  Brother Finnsnechta’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you condemning the Penitentials, Brother?’

  ‘Since coming to this land I have learned much from the laws of the Fénechus,’ Eadulf replied flatly. ‘One thing I did learn was that, when your High King Laoghaire set up his commission to revise the laws of the land, he involved three leaders of the New Faith – Patrick, Benignus and Cairneach. They sat on the commission with the leading Brehons of the day as well as three Kings, including the High King. It is even written in the Senchus Mór that what did not clash with the word of God in the written law and in the Gospels, or with the conscience of Christians, was confirmed as the laws of the Brehons. There should be no difference between the law of the people and the laws of Christianity. So it is the Penitentials who are in error and not the law of the Brehons.’

  Brother Finnsnechta smiled – a smile without any humour in it. ‘Very well, we will talk about the laws of the Fénechus and whether the girl is answerable to them. Remember that if a wife circulates a false story about her husband, if she vilifies him in any way, she has to pay compensation and can be cast out by her husband.’

  Eadulf was annoyed. ‘The husband is dead and I can bear witness to his cruel behaviour.’

  ‘It could be argued,’ the old man said, with a sideways glance at Eadulf, ‘that your role is questionable. You could have been trying to alienate the girl’s affections, and when the husband discovered this, it was the cause of his attack on you.’

  Eadulf tried to control his temper. Brother Finnsnechta chuckled as he saw the expressions crossing the young man’s features.

  ‘I am merely suggesting what a Brehon might argue,’ he added.

  The girl suddenly rose to her feet, turned away from them and ripped off her tunic, exposing her bare back. She said nothing. She did not have to. There was a criss-cross of scars on her back, the result of many beatings.

  ‘Put your tunic back on,’ Eadulf told her gently. ‘You have made your point.’

  The girl did so, still without saying anything, and returned to her seat.

  ‘Now Brother Finnsnechta, I trust you are satisfied?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘Not exactly,’ replied the man, to his surprise. ‘We are dealing with murder here – the killing of a husband. Ríonach, you say your husband ill-used you, and you show us proof that someone has beaten you. Very well. Let us accept that it was Rechtabra. Why did you not leave him and seek a divorce or separation under the law, to which you are entitled? There are seven categories of divorce in which either side may end a marriage, and no penalties or special compensation are incurred. Furthermore, there are also seven other categories where a woman may leave her husband, demanding compensation from him and the return of her dowry.’

  He turned to Eadulf. ‘You may be able to correct me, Brother. But one of those categories states that any woman who has been beaten by her husband, especially having been struck a blow which causes a blemish or mark on her skin, has an immediate right to have her marriage declared void.’

  ‘I have heard this is so,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Nevertheless…’

  ‘Nevertheless, the girl shall answer why she did not report her husband’s behaviour,’ the religieux said sharply. His tone caused the little terrier to come to its feet with a curious whining snarl. The girl calmed it with a gentle word.

  ‘I was too scared,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘Out there in the marshes, who could I run to before Rechtabra would overtake me? I ran away only once; was caught and beaten. Rechtabra told me no one of the New Faith would protect me. Where would I go? Who would believe me? Even you do not believe me – and I thought that as a friend of my mother and as someone who knew me as a child, I could trust you.’

  Brother Finnsnechta thrust out his jaw aggressively.

  ‘Trust does not come into a matter of law! Even Brother Eadulf here will know that. A crime has been committed. You have killed your husband. Even the Fénechus law accepts that the most serious crime is that which deprives a person of his life – and the worst of the crimes of murder is that of fingal – kinslaying.’

  Ríonach looked helplessly at Eadulf and he felt a growing anger at the religieux.

  ‘There is the matter of self-defence,’ he said.

  Brother Finnsnechta sniffed. ‘For one who wears the Roman tonsure, I would refer you to the old scriptures that have been translated for us. Is it not written in Exodus: Sin autem mors eius fuerit subsecuta reddet animam pro anima, oculum pro oculo, dentem pro dente, manum pro manu, pedem pro pede—?’