‘I understand that,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘But from what I know of your laws of inheritance, I cannot understand how they can claim the kingship, which descends only through the Eoghanacht. I understand this business about the council, or what you call the derbhfine, having to elect the best man out of the extended family to the kingship. I know that there is no such thing as automatic inheritance by the eldest son as is our system in the Saxon lands. But I still cannot see the basis of their claim.’
‘Simple enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘All the branches of the Eoghanacht trace their descent back to Eoghan Mor, the greatest king of Cashel, son of Ailill Olum, son of Mug Nuadat. That is why we are called Eoghanacht. However, the Ui Fidgente, when they sought entry to the council, made the claim that they had a better right to the throne at Cashel than the descendants of Eoghan Mor. The Ui Fidgente claimed that they were descended from the elder brother of Eoghan Mor, who was called Cormac
‘I see. But if all this was agreed generations ago, why is there such conflict between your peoples?’
‘Because the Ui Fidgente have never accepted the judgement that was given against them. Not even those who have made peace with Cashel have accepted that ruling. They mean to topple the Eoghanacht from power. Until now the Ui Fidgente have not submitted to paying tax without threat of force. They have not allowed any representative of the Eoghanacht into their lands. That is why I have tried to convince you that it was so important to come here when Conri actually came to Cashel to ask for our help. This could break through the antagonisms, as we have wanted. It could be the first real step to uniting the kingdom under Cashel.’
Eadulf sighed softly.
‘I think I begin to understand. It is hard for me, however, to appreciate all the nuances of the intrigues that go on here.’
Fidelma looked sympathetically at him.
‘Well,’ she said, as a bell began to toll, ‘that is something that it is not hard to understand. The bell for the etar-suth — the midday meal. Come, we can leave this talk of intrigue until later.’
CHAPTER SIX
The sturdy young brother stood with his arms folded outside the chamber of the Venerable Mac Faosma, his back against the door, barring their progress.
‘He has given instructions that he will not see you, Sister,’ the young man said stubbornly. He had identified himself as Brother Benen, the student and servant of the ageing scholar.
Fidelma began to tap her foot impatiently.
‘I am not here to argue, Brother Benen. Tell the Venerable Mac Faosma that he has no choice under law for I am not here as a religieuse but as a dalaigh investigating the crime of murder. I should not have to remind him that he is compelled to obey the law.’
The young man spread his arms helplessly.
‘I have already taken your message to my master, Sister Fidelma. He is adamant. He will see no woman of the Eoghanacht, especially one who seeks to assert authority in the lands of the Ui Fidgente. Nor one who is accompanied by a foreigner from beyond the seas.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf whose face was beginning to redden in ill-concealed anger.
‘Eadulf,’ she said quietly to him, ‘will you go to Conri and tell him that the Venerable Mac Faosma is refusing to see me and suggest that he report this blatant disregard for law to the abbot?’
Eadulf hesitated, looking from Fidelma to the implacable young religieux, and then inclined his head and hurried away.
When he was gone, Fidelma suddenly sat down cross-legged in front of Brother Benen. The young man frowned down at her.
‘What are you doing, Sister?’ he asked in an embarrassed tone. ‘You cannot sit in this corridor outside the door of these chambers.’
‘You will perceive, Brother Benen,’ she replied evenly, ‘that is precisely what I am doing. I have informed you that I am a dalaigh whose power is bestowed by the laws of the five kingdoms. The Venerable Mac Faosma is compelled by law to see me and answer my questions truthfully.’
‘He will not,’ replied the other. ‘There is no physical force that can compel him to do so.’
Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘Physical force defeats the purpose. I shall not speak of that. However, I am asserting the only force that he has left to me. I am declaring that I shall sit here in troscud until the Venerable Mac Faosma decides to redeem his honour and speak to me as a dalaigh as he is legally and now morally obliged to do.’
The young monk frowned.
‘I do not understand, Sister.’
‘Then take my words to the Venerable Mac Faosma and ask your master to instruct you in law. He has time to make his response before the abbot and my witnesses arrive and my apad, my declaration, becomes known to everyone.’
Brother Benen hesitated and then turned into the chamber and closed the door behind him.
As it shut, Fidelma wondered, with a sinking feeling, if she was being too dramatic. But she was so frustrated by the arrogance of the Venerable Mac Faosma that she felt she had no other choice than to resort to the ancient ritual. The troscud was a means of fasting to assert one’s rights when faced with no other means of obtaining redress. It was made clear in the law tract De Chetharslicht Athgabala that, having given notice, she could sit outside the door of the recalcitrant philosopher. If he did not come to arbitration, if he allowed the protester to die on hunger strike, then the moral judgement went against him. Shame and contempt would be his lot until he made recompense. If he failed in this he was not only damned by society but damned in the next world. He would be held to be without honour and without morality.
It was an ancient Irish law that stretched back into antiquity and not even the coming of the New Faith had eliminated it. Even Patrick himself had used the ritual fast, or hunger strike, to assert his rights and the Blessed Cairmmin of Inis Celtra had declared a troscud when King Guaire Aidne of Connacht infringed his rights. Within the memory of some, the population of the kingdom of Laghin had declared a troscud against Colmcille troscud when their rights were challenged.
She had barely settled herself into her position when the door opened and the young Brother Benen re-emerged. He was red-faced and embarrassed, his eyes not focusing on her.
‘He will see you, Sister. He will see you under protest. But he will not see the Saxon brother. On that he is adamant.’
Fidelma slowly rose to her feet.
‘In that case, you may tell Brother Eadulf to wait here for me.’ She knew when to compromise. It was information that she was after and not dominance over the reluctant old man.
The Venerable Mac Faosma was, indeed, elderly but certainly not frail. He was a robust man with a shock of snow-white hair and a fleshy, red face. Had he been given to smiling, he could have been described as cherubic, but his features were sternly drawn with deep frown lines. The lips, though also fleshy, were petulant, with the lower lip stuck out aggressively. The eyes were a strange pale colour that seemed to change like the sea, one moment green, the next blue, the next no colour at all. His large frame reclined in a carved oak chair to one side of a smouldering turf fire set in a large hearth.
He watched Fidelma from under shaggy white eyebrows as she crossed the room towards him. He made no attempt to rise in deference to her status.
Fidelma did not register her feelings but went to a chair on the opposite side of the hearth and sat down.
A low, long whistling sound escaped from the old man.
‘You forget yourself, Sister.’
The voice was deep, used to commanding or questioning students; a voice that boomed throughout the room, resonating in the corners.
Fidelma was not cowed.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgu, dalaigh qualified to the level of anruth. What have I forgotten?’