‘I was in the service of the High King.’
‘I think I need a little more information than that, Cian.’
‘I was commanding a troop of the High King’s bodyguard. We fought a battle there and I received an arrow in my upper arm.’
Fidelma heaved a deep breath, indicating her frustration.
‘I do not want to fight for every detail.’
Cian’s mouth tightened.
‘What exactly is it that this Toca Nia accuses me of?’
‘He is claiming that you are the “Butcher of Rath Bile”. That it was on your orders that some one hundred and forty men, women and children were slaughtered and the village and fortress put to the torch. Is there truth in that?’
‘Did Toca Nia tell you how many warriors of the High King were slain there?’ Cian countered in anger.
‘That is no defence. If those warriors were attacking the village and fortress, then it was their choice to put themselves in harm’s way. The death of women and children is no compensation for their deaths. There is no just cause that exonerates mass slaughter.’
‘How can you say that?’ challenged Cian. ‘Just cause enough if the High King wills it!’
‘That is a precious morality, Cian. It is no justification at all. I would urge you to tell me what happened, otherwise it might be argued that Toca Nia’s charges must be true and that you are answerable for them.’
‘Not true! Not at all true!’ cried Cian in frustrated anger.
‘Then tell me your version of events. There was some border dispute between the High King and the King of Laigin, wasn’t there?’
Cian reluctantly agreed.
‘The High King believed that the Ui Cheithig who dwelt around Cloncurry should pay tribute directly to him. The King of Laigin argued that he was lord over them. The High King said that their tribute stood in place of the boramha.’ Cian used an old word meaning cattle-computation.
‘I do not understand this,’ Fidelma told him.
‘It goes back to the time when the High King Tuathal the Legitimate sat in judgement at Tara. Tuathal had two daughters. The story goes that the King of Laigin was then called Eochaidh Mac Eachach and that he married the first daughter of Tuathal but found he did not like her as much as he liked the second daughter. So he returned to the court of Tuathal and pretended that his first wife had died and thus he was able to marry the second daughter.’
Cian paused and grinned despite the seriousness of his position. ‘He was a sly old goat, that King Eochaidh.’
Fidelma made no comment. There was no humour in the deception.
‘Well, naturally,’ continued Cian, ‘the two daughters eventually discovered the truth. The second daughter learned that she was married illegitimately, for her sister was still alive. When they found out that they had a husband in common, it is said that they died of shame.’ He interrupted his narrative and smirked. ‘What stupidity! Anyway, the story came to the ears of their father, the High King, and as revenge he marched his army into Laigin and met Eochaidh in battle. He slew him and ravaged the kingdom.
‘The men of Laigin came forward and sued for peace and agreed to pay an annual tribute — predominantly in cattle. From that time onwards the Ui Neill successors of Tuathal demanded this boramhaor cattle tribute, but often they had to use force to obtain it. That was why Blathmac ordered us to go south and raze Rath Bile as a demonstration to show he was determined to extract the tribute from the Laigin King.’
‘But hadn’t a treaty already been agreed?’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Didn’t you go south after both kings agreed the treaty?’
Cian replied with a gesture of impatience.
‘It is not for a warrior to question his orders, Fidelma. I was ordered to go south. South I went.’
‘You admit that you were in command?’
‘Of course I was. I do not deny it! But I was acting under the legitimate orders of the High King. I went to extract the tribute.’
‘Even the High King himself is not above the law, Cian. What do you say happened?’
‘We sailed in four ships, four fifties of warriors of the High King’s Fianna. We were the best warriors of the elite bodyguard itself. We landed at the port of the Ui Enechglais and marched west across the River Sleine until we came on Rath Bile. The brother of Laigin’s King refused to surrender the fort and village.’
‘So you attacked it?’
‘We attacked it,’ confirmed Cian. ‘It was the High King’s orders that we did so.’
‘Do you admit that you and your warriors slaughtered women and children?’
‘When our men went in, we could not stop to enquire who was our enemy and who not. People were fighting us, shooting arrows at us, whether they were warriors or old men, or indeed women or children. Our job was to fulfil our objective and obey our lawful orders.’
Fidelma considered his story for a few moments. The situation on The Barnacle Goose was getting more than complicated. The mystery of Sister Muirgel’s murder had been bad enough, and then Brother Guss’s claim that Sister Canair had also been murdered before the ship even sailed. Now she was faced with the added complication of Toca Nia’s accusation against Cian.
‘This matter, Cian, is serious. It needs to be brought before the Chief Brehon and the High King’s court. I know little of the law on warfare. A more competent judge is needed to see what must be done. I know there are circumstances in which the killing of people is justified and entails no penalties. It is not against the law to kill in battle — or, indeed, to kill a thief caught in the act of stealing … But the decision is up to a court.’
Cian’s face mirrored his resentment.
‘Are you telling me that you believe the word of Toca Nia against mine?’ he demanded.
‘It is not my place to judge who is telling the truth. Toca Nia makes an accusation and you must answer it. It is an accusation of gravity. It is for your own good, Cian, for Toca Nia knows well that a violator of the law can be killed by anyone and with impunity. He could kill you and claim immunity.’
‘The law does not reach outside of the Five Kingdoms,’ protested Cian.
‘It does not matter. You are on an Irish ship and come under the laws of the Fenechus here just as much as if you stood on the soil of Eireann. You must return to Laigin to make your plea.’
Cian stared at her in disbelief.
‘You cannot do this to me, Fidelma.’
She met his gaze; her eyes were hard.
‘I can,’ she said softly. ‘Dura lex sed lex. The law is hard, but it is the law.’
‘And if I were not on this ship, it would not be the law?’
Fidelma answered him with a shrug and turned to leave. She paused at the cabin door.
‘It is up to Murchad as captain to fulfil his obligations under the law. I am afraid that he must judge what is to be done with both Toca Nia and you, whether to let you go or return you both to Eireann for trial. My recommendation will be that he must return you to a Brehon in Laigin.’
‘I was acting on the High King’s orders,’ Cian protested again.
Fidelma stood at the cabin door.
‘That may not be an exoneration. You have a moral responsibility.’
Later, when she explained matters to Murchad, the sturdy captain pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
‘You mean that I must take Cian and Toca Nia back to Eireann?’
‘Or hand them over to another ship to take them back,’ she pointed out.
‘Then let’s hope there is such a ship at Ushant,’ muttered Murchad.
‘In the meantime, Captain, I would suggest that you confine both Cian and Toca Nia to their cabins. We don’t want any more bloodshed on this ship.’
‘That I will do, lady,’ agreed the captain. ‘Let us pray that Father Pol, at Ushant, will have some means of helping me in this matter.’
The Barnacle Goose rounded the headland of Ponte de Pern, standing well out to sea, for the rocks and islets were dangerous there. Murchad hardly needed to indicate the dangers for the headland showed the black, jagged pieces of granite poking from the sea like bad teeth, surrounded by yellowing foamy waters. Under Murchad’s guidance they drifted slowly into the long U-shaped bay of Porspaul and headed towards the sheltered anchorage at the far end.