Eadulf recalled that Donn was the dark Lord of Death, who collected souls and took them to the House of Donn, said to be an island to the south-west. There the souls were judged before they were allowed to proceed to the Otherworld.
Fidelma sat back, trying to control the surge of emotion that went through her. She suddenly felt weak.
‘Is it true?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, true enough, lady,’ Fidaig assured her. ‘Your brother has survived his wound and is recovering.’
‘Thanks be to God,’ Eadulf muttered automatically.
Fidaig glanced at him and chuckled. ‘Thanks be to the unskilled hand of the man who struck the blow, my friend.’
‘And what of the messenger from Cashel?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Have no fear. Having told us his news, we allowed him to ride on and inform Congal, who I think was already calling himself King of Iarmuman, west Muman. He’s a man to watch, is Congal, for didn’t his grandfather once claim the kingship at Cashel? As I recall, he lasted no more than a few months, having killed your father’s own father. You talk of the Uí Fidgente plots, lady, but I would seek out the whisperers among your own family.’
Fidelma was uncomfortable because Fidaig had pricked the weakest spot of her family. She was suddenly thinking about what Cúana had implied about rivalry in her family. It was true the Eóganacht of Cashel were the senior line descended from Eóghan Mór but, at times, other branches of the family, from Locha Léin to Raithlin, from Áine to Chliach and Glendamnach, had made successful claims for the kingship. Wasn’t her brother’s own heir apparent, Finguine, of the Eóghanacht Áine branch? She shook her head to drive the thoughts away and saw Fidaig smiling at her as if he knew what was passing through her mind.
‘The Kings of Cashel can only succeed through law, Fidaig,’ she snapped, bringing herself back to the present. ‘No one who has tried to seize power has prospered. Not even Aed Brennán of Locha Léin, the King that you referred to just now. As you say, he lasted barely a few months before the rightful choice of the derbfine overthrew him.’
Fidaig was not put out. Instead he asked, ‘What has Menma’s death to do with the attack on your brother?’
‘Perhaps nothing; perhaps much,’ replied Fidelma promptly.
‘Then I have no understanding of this.’
Fidelma decided to change the direction of her questions. ‘I am told that some years ago you made a transaction with a man called Escmug.’
A frown crossed Fidaig’s features. ‘I can’t recall the name.’
‘Perhaps the name Aibell will prompt your memory.’
Artgal, who had remained standing behind his father’s chair, bent forward.
‘Aibell, Father. She is the éludach.’
Eadulf took a moment to identify the word, which meant a servant who had absconded. He was feeling uneasy that Fidelma had suddenly raised the subject.
The lord of the Luachra had cast a glance of disapproval at his son for admitting that Aibell was known to him. Then he shrugged. ‘The girl absconded from my fortress over a week ago. As an éludach, she can be offered no legal protection, not even by someone of high rank such as yourself. Where is she?’
‘She is safe enough, Fidaig. And will remain so.’
‘She was legally exchanged under the law of the Gúbretha Caratniad,’ protested Fidaig.
‘Her father sold her to you illegally,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The Gúbretha mentions that some parents have been known to sell their children into bondage, mostly to foreigners, and actually condemns the practice. It is as evil for those who buy as it is evil for those who sell. In this case, it is criminal, for the girl was of the age of choice. She was fourteen years old when she was sold to you, and therefore a free woman, not bound to her father nor bound to you. You kept her in bondage for four years without legal cause.’
‘And you can prove it?’ There was a slight sneer in Fidaig’s voice.
‘Do you doubt it?’ replied Fidelma coolly.
Fidaig stared at her for a moment and then forced a smile. ‘We should not be quarrelling over a bondservant.’
‘I am not quarrelling,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘Certainly I am not quarrelling over a bondservant but a freeborn girl whom you kept in your household against her will. There are legal consequences.’
‘By the old gods!’ Fidaig exploded in temper. ‘I doubt whether the Morrigú possessed such an uncompromising attitude as you, Fidelma of Cashel.’
‘How much did you give Escmug for the girl?’ Fidelma demanded, ignoring his anger.
Fidaig struggled visibly with his temper, but then he seemed to relax. ‘It is some time ago. I believe I gave him four screpalls, the honour price of the girl after he tried to claim a higher price.’
‘Ah!’ Fidelma could not help an ejaculation of triumph. ‘You have just proved that you knew she had reached her legal maturity. You have already quoted the Gúbretha Caratniad at me, so you must know the law. Had she been a minor, you would have had to offer far more than that, for as you know, until the age of fourteen years her honour price would be half that of her father. Escmug must have told you her proper age and held out for her full honour price.’
Fidaig had lost his smile. ‘You are a clever woman, Fidelma of Cashel. You are also a woman of courage to come into my camp and accuse me …’
‘I am an advocate of the law, Fidaig. That is all. And you invited me into your camp and offered my companions and myself hospitality. You know the consequence if, having done so, something untoward happens to us. You would find the Eóghanacht might exact compensation that you would not be happy to pay.’
Fidaig stared at her with open mouth. Eadulf held his breath, certain that Fidelma had gone too far in confronting the lord of Luachra. Moments of silence passed and then Fidaig exhaled slowly. There was a reluctant admiration in his voice as he told her, ‘Your wit is as sharp as your tongue, lady.’
Fidelma seemed unperturbed. ‘You have held a girl in bondage from the age of maturity until she was eighteen years. I would judge that compensation to be four screpalls per year. Sixteen screpalls … Ten screpalls to the séd.’
‘Ridiculous!’
‘Your own honour worth is seven cumal, twenty-one milch cows. Since you have now been dishonoured by knowingly and flagrantly breaking the law, then your fine will be those seven cumals that I have indicated. We will round up the fine, compensation to the value of twenty-three milch cows.’
Fidaig sat staring at her in disbelief. Behind him Artgal was fingering his sword nervously, awaiting his father’s next order.
‘Tell me, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Fidaig’s voice was cold. ‘Tell me, do you not fear that you are in the territory of the Luachra and that Cashel is far away?’
‘Cashel is indeed a few days’ ride from here,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But we are not speaking of Cashel. We are speaking of the Law of the Fenéchus whose writ runs everywhere in the Five Kingdoms and is respected from the High King down to the lowest daer-fuidir, or unfree servant. While I am an advocate of that law and offer just judgements, then what have I to fear — any more than you would fear the pronouncement of the glam dicín, the solemn curse which is the appropriate action that a Brehon or other member of the law courts would bring against the person who disobeys the law? Once pronounced, then it would be the duty of all, even the High King himself, to punish the wrongdoer.’
There was a strange silence as two wills clashed on some invisible plane. Speculative dark eyes challenged fiery green ones and, in the end, Fidaig blinked. He blinked for a second and then his face dissolved into a mask of mirth and he was guffawing with laughter. He banged his fist on the arm of his chair as he laughed and then motioned the attendant to refill the glasses.