Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

Chalice of Blood (35 page)

Lady Eithne’s face was white.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered.

‘Oh, your
lucht-tighe
, your personal guard, those of your own clan, put up a brief resistance. But when you pay men to fight
your battles, when it comes to fighting to the death, they will often choose life, for they cannot spend money when they are dead.’

Brehon Aillín looked grave. ‘You should remember the words of the
Audacht Moraind
on nobility, lady. The noble who takes power with the help of foreign warriors can expect a weak and fleeting lordship – as soon as the warriors leave or surrender then that noble’s dignity and the terror it inspires will decline. So has it in this case.’

There was a silence.

‘You do not respond?’ the King asked drily. ‘I suggest, lady, you order your companions to put down their swords. I do not want to sully this abbey and this court with any more blood.’

With a gesture from Colgú, Caol and his men moved forward, weapons ready to meet any aggression. But without waiting for any order from Lady Eithne, her companions dropped their swords and raised their hands.

‘Excellent,’ approved Colgú. ‘Caol,’ he called to his commander of the Nasc Niadh, ‘escort the Lady Eithne and her companions to a safe place until Brehon Aillín decides how best to resolve this matter.’

Fidelma watched as Lady Eithne, her head raised in arrogant fashion, left with her escort, looking neither to right nor left.

‘I will never understand how a mother can kill her son even if she is insane,’ she commented softly as Eadulf rose and laid a hand on her arm.

‘I am sorry I could not help you more,’ he said. ‘That was one of the most complicated presentations you have ever had to give.’

‘And the most difficult I have ever had to understand,’ said Fidelma. ‘But we might not have been allowed to proceed had you not found that legal maxim from the
Uraicecht Becc
. For
that alone your help was indispensable.’

Eadulf shrugged with mock indifference. ‘I suppose I have my uses after all.’

EPILOGUE

F
idelma and Eadulf were resting on the bank of a stream on the road to Cashel. Gormán had ridden on ahead to the next tavern where they were due to meet him. They were taking a more leisurely ride back and decided to rest awhile and water their horses. Eadulf was chewing thoughtfully on a stem of quaking-grass, watching the eddies and little whirlpools as the water splashed and gushed its way over the shallow stony bed. He had been thinking a lot since they left the abbey of Lios Mór and crossed the mountains on the way north.

‘I have never been so depressed by events in an investigation before.’

Fidelma gave him a searching glance. His expression was dark and moody.

‘Do you mean because a mother killed her own son? Indeed, it is a terrible thing.’

Eadulf stirred uncomfortably. ‘There is that, of course,’ he conceded. ‘But I was thinking, what if the story related in Donnchad’s document is true? What if he was right?’

‘Maybe he was wrong,’ Fidelma said lightly.

‘Donnchad believed it to be true,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘And his mother was so fearful of it being true that she killed him rather than let him pronounce his views. Had she been confident in
her Faith, she would have had no need to defend it by silencing criticism in that way.’

‘A good point. Eadulf. Yet, again, fear of it being true does not make it true. In the end it comes down to what you believe.’

‘And there are countless who believe in the Faith, they cannot all be wrong.’

‘But in that case, what makes the countless others who believe in the other faiths across the world wrong? That’s the conundrum.’

‘If Donnchad had not gone to the Holy Land on the pilgrimage, he might not have encountered the stories that caused him to doubt his Faith. He might have continued to be a great scholar of the Faith.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’ She smiled. ‘We can conjure many things with that magical word “if”.’

‘There is one other thing that bothers me.’

‘Only one?’

‘Brother Donnchad’s own text was remarkable. But we never found out what the other works were that he brought back from the Holy Land, those works he kept protected in his cell, which his own mother killed him for, and which were destroyed by her. What did they contain that would have shattered the Faith of a scholar such as Brother Donnchad?’

Fidelma hesitated for a few moments before she turned to him, her expression serious. ‘I am certainly no theologian, Eadulf. My expertise lies in the law, as I have often said. That is why I have determined to leave the constrictions of the religious to others and apply myself only to the law.’ She paused and added quietly, ‘Even if I do not become Chief Brehon of Muman.’

Eadulf’s expression did not change, he remained gazing firmly at a dragonfly hovering above the water of the stream before him. Then he sighed deeply.

‘I wonder what will happen to Brother Lugna.’

‘I understand that he will return home to Connachta, taking young Gúasach with him. He could not remain at the abbey, especially not now his true views have been revealed.’

‘You do not call him heretic?’

‘I told you, I am no theologian. It is not up to me to pronounce on heresy. All I know is that I do not like anything he stands for. Maybe he will fulfil his ambitions and create some great abbey in Connachta one day. For the time being, Abbot Iarnla does not have to walk in fear of the malign influence of Lady Eithne. He can govern his community with a stronger hand.’

‘And Lady Eithne, she has been judged insane. I am not familiar with how that judgement is carried out. It seems to be exile.’

‘Not exactly. She has certainly been judged a
dásachtach
, the worst condition of madness, one which might lead her to inflict harm on others. She will be sent to a place that we call Gleann-na-nGeilt, the glen of lunatics, in the west of the kingdom. There she will be looked after. The law not only protects society from the
dásachtach
, it also protects the
dásachtach
from harm from uncaring members of society. Eithne’s rank and position mean that one-third of her land will be used to provide for her during her lifetime.’

‘Do you think that the abbey of Lios Mór will ever rise as Eithne and Lugna envisaged it would?’

‘I would hope it will rise but not as some stone shrine to commemorate mythology, rather as a living shrine to a belief in the ultimate goodness of its people, to their intellectual pursuits and the attainment of knowledge.’

‘The rebuilding will surely end now, will it not?’

‘My brother has confiscated one-third of Lady Eithne’s lands in fines and this land has now been turned over to the
abbey with all its wealth. I suspect that Abbot Iarnla will use that wealth to complete the work with a new master builder and workforce.’

Eadulf sighed deeply. ‘I feel sorry for Brother Donnán. I think he was caught up in Lady Eithne’s web of murder and intrigue without realising where it was leading.’

‘Brother Donnán has agreed to make reparation and spend it rebuilding the destroyed library at Fhear Maighe. However, when a book that has no copies is destroyed, it is like the destruction of a human life. The book is no more and will never be again. It is just like murder. But the real person to feel sorry for is Brother Gáeth. He has lost most in this terrible affair. He lost his only friend, Donnchad.’

‘But he is no longer condemned to be a
daer-fudir
, for Uallachán made his views known and Abbot Iarnla no longer has to obey the constrictions of Lady Eithne.’

‘You are right. He is a freeman in law. But Fate has been harsh to him. He will continue his life as a field hand, working at the abbey. He is not prepared for anything else in life. At least he will have nothing to fear there but had things been otherwise …’

‘What will happen to Donnchad’s account of why he lost his Faith that he asked Brother Gáeth to keep?’

‘Brehon Aillín has seen it and accepted it as proof of Donnchad’s state of mind. But it can neither be destroyed nor proclaimed. For the time being, it will remain undisturbed in the Mound of the Dead.’

Eadulf rose to his feet and threw his piece of quaking grass into the stream, watching it swirl away in the eddies for a moment. Then he shook his head and looked up at the sky. There were some feathery-looking clouds high in the sky, the wisps almost blending together to form high ripples.

‘A mackerel sky,’ he remarked. ‘There might be some
changeable weather ahead. It has been warm for so long. We might have rain soon.’

Fidelma rose to join him. ‘Let us hope that there will be no storms before we reach Cashel.’

‘And when we reach Cashel?’

She regarded him sadly. ‘I have made my decision, Eadulf. You must now make your choice.’