‘It shall be so, lady. You also have the word of the lord of Luachra. And with your permission, I shall send some men to take my father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra.’
She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement and he left the barn. Conrí had gone to consult with some of his remaining warriors. Not everyone had chased after the fleeing Gláed. Fidelma stood for a long while, shoulders hunched, staring down at the body of Fidaig. Eadulf saw the guilt on her features.
‘It is not your fault,’ he said finally.
‘We have an old saying, Eadulf. “A sharp hound knows its own faults”. Alas, I knew my fault and I ignored it. It is my error that is responsible for Fidaig’s death.’
‘My people also had a saying before the arrival of the New Faith,’ Eadulf replied. ‘“Only the gods are without fault”.’
Fidelma said nothing but she seemed to rally a little before striding back to Marban’s mill. Eadulf followed a moment later. Gormán was waiting for them.
‘So, Fidaig paid for his folly?’ he said without sympathy and did not seem to notice Eadulf’s warning look.
Ignoring him, Fidelma asked Marban if there was any of his corma left.
‘Do you think Gláed will be caught, lady?’ asked the miller, pouring the drinks as they seated themselves once again in his mill.
She did not reply, but made a gesture as if to say, ‘Who knows?’
Conrí entered abruptly, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for the moment, lady.’
Fidelma took a sip of the corma and then looked up at the warlord.
‘We can’t delay long. We need to press on to the Abbey of Mungairit. I was hoping to gather all the necessary witnesses. That also means you, Marban,’ she addressed the miller.
Conrí looked astonished. ‘Is it necessary?’
‘I deem it so,’ she said distantly. ‘A Brehon, presenting evidence, must have the backing of witnesses. This territory is in danger and that danger has spread to Cashel. The mystery now has to be resolved. We must ride on to Mungairit before this conspiracy brings down Prince Donennach as well as Cashel.’
‘I will defend Prince Donennach so long as I live, lady,’ declared Conrí.
‘Then live a long time, Conrí,’ she replied dryly. ‘What men do you have left here?’
‘About ten. Socht ordered them to remain in case of …’ He hesitated and ended with a shrug before adding, ‘The rest are chasing after Gláed with warriors of the Luachra.’
‘Artgal has ordered some of his men to carry his father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra. There will be no trouble from the Luachra. Choose five of your men, Conrí — the most trusted men you have. They are to ride towards Tara and intercept Prince Donennach and his party who should be returning from their meeting with the High King along the Slíge Dalla, the main road from Tara to Cashel. It is vital that they intercept them before they enter the territory of my brother’s kingdom, for that is where I believe there will be an ambush. Once Prince Donennach crosses the border into Muman, I am certain the assassins will strike. Make sure they take Brehon Uallach prisoner. He has a hand in this conspiracy, I am sure.’
Conrí looked astounded. ‘I don’t understand, lady.’
‘This is part of a carefully laid plan to assassinate Prince Donennach and those loyal to him. It is intended to appear that my brother or the Eóghanacht are responsible. Anyway, Donennach is not supposed to return alive to the land of the Uí Fidgente. It will be claimed that he was killed by the Eóghanacht in retaliation for the assassination or attempted assassination of my brother. Cashel will be blamed, and in the turmoil a Prince of the Uí Fidgente blood is to come forward to raise the Cathach Fiachu, the sacred standard of the Uí Fidgente. The Cathach, therefore, must remain hidden until we uncover the identity of the leader of this plot.’
Conrí stared at her in horror. ‘But which Uí Fidgente Prince? As warlord, I am now the most senior among the Princes. Am I to be accused?’
‘The answer will be revealed when we get to Mungairit.’
‘Why Mungairit?’
‘Because I now know who attempted to assassinate my brother and why. I also know who it was who persuaded him to carry out that attack. At Mungairit, we will find the person who has unleashed this conspiracy of death.’
A sudden shouting and clamour could be heard outside. They jostled each other to get through the door of the mill and see the return of the horsemen. One man was on foot. His hands were tied before him and a rope formed a halter around his neck. One end of the rope was held in the hands of a grinning warrior of Luachra. The prisoner had clearly been pulled along behind the horse for some distance, running to keep up. His neck was raw and bloody where the rope cut into it. It was Gláed.
The rider halted before Artgal and dismounted.
‘We caught him when his horse stumbled, lord,’ the man said. ‘We were sorely tempted to hoist him from one of the trees and hang him there and then — but we thought you might like to choose the place of hanging.’
Artgal, the new lord of the Luachra, stared with anger at his breathless and bloodied younger brother.
‘Our father is dead by your hand,’ he hissed.
Gláed stared back with hatred. ‘He would have taken me back to Barr an Bheithe and hanged me there. He did me no service.’
‘He tried to deliver you from the Uí Fidgente,’ snapped Artgal.
‘He never did anything for me unless he expected me to pay for it. You were always his favourite, Artgal. That’s why he chose you as his heir apparent. Well, you are in the ascendant now. Hang me — go on! I will curse you from the next world. You can watch for me at the Feast of Samhain when this world and the Otherworld meet and the dead return to wreak their vengeance!’
A silence had fallen over the warriors of the Luachra. They shifted nervously. Artgal’s face was a mask of fury. He took a step forward as if he would strike down his brother there and then.
‘Artgal!’ Fidelma moved forward. ‘Remember your promise. Have Gláed cleaned up and secured on a horse. You and two of your warriors may accompany us to Mungairit. Afterwards, you may take him back to Sliabh Luachra.’
Gláed’s anger was turned on her.
‘I will say nothing! Don’t think I have any gratitude to you for stopping my brother from killing me.’
‘I do not expect any,’ she replied, turning away from him in disgust. Then she looked up at the sky. ‘The sooner we set out for Mungairit, the sooner we shall arrive.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For Eadulf, the ride back to Mungairit seemed to take a curiously short span of time compared with the outward trip. Artgal and two warriors of the Luachra took charge of Gláed. Accompanied by Marban, they had halted at Dún Eochair Mháigh to rest their horses. When they moved on, Conrí ensured that the principal fortress of the Uí Fidgente was secure in the hands of some of his trusted warriors. They spent the night at the Ford of the Oaks where Conrí increased his escort of warriors, once again ensuring that the fortress was left well-defended.
Early that morning, they moved northwards along the banks of the turbulent River Mháigh. They had one more stop to make before the final part of their journey back to the abbey. Fidelma insisted that they halt at Temnén’s farmstead and request the former warrior-turned-farmer to accompany them as a further witness. Temnén reluctantly did so, on the condition that he could bring his hound, Failinis, and that he would not be long away from his farmstead.
‘If I cannot demonstrate my case within an hour of reaching Mungairit, then I will have failed anyway,’ Fidelma assured him.
They arrived at the gates of the abbey as darkness was falling. Lanterns and brand torches were already in evidence, lighting the courtyards and buildings. Unlike their previous visit, the arrival of some sixty horsemen caused excitement among the brethren, many of whom came crowding into the courtyard in a state of curiosity. The steward, Brother Cuineáin, came hurrying out with an expression of anger on his features as the company came to a halt.