‘Then I shall send him to Mungairit.’
‘I am sure that you will be as interested in the news he brings back as I will be,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Now let us go and see what new strife Abbot Nannid wants to stir up.’
The atmosphere in Prince Donennach’s hall was tense. The prince himself was presiding from his official seat on the dais with Brehon Faolchair just below and in front of him. Even Donennach’s sister, Airmid, was present, seated to his right. Conri had taken his place behind them. At the long table below them sat Abbot Nannid together with his steward, Brother Cuanain, sitting beside him. Opposite them sat Prior Cuan with his steward, Brother Tuaman. Fidelma and Eadulf took their seats.
Without waiting for permission, Abbot Nannid rose and launched forth, his voice high and accusing.
‘We now see what delays and prevarications have produced,’ he screeched. ‘We start with a simple murder. The identity of the culprit was obvious – but his punishment was delayed because our Brehon wrongly advised our prince that the King of Cashel must be informed before punishment was meted out. This Eoghanacht King must be allowed, it is said, to send legal representation to defend the murderer. So a week passes and the murderer’s friends arrive – the notorious young advocate, Fidelma of Cashel, with her Saxon …’ He paused as if searching for the right word. ‘Her Saxon companion. Her honey tongue convinces our Brehon and our prince that the law has not been properly obeyed, even though the murderer has been found guilty. So we have another delay.
‘And what does that delay result in? It results in the murder of an innocent serving girl of the prince’s household. Then the murder of another religieux from Imleach, who just happens to be the nephew of the doorkeeper of the abbey of this township. It is time for us to search out the guilty ones and punish them as I have advocated all along. If we continue to delay, who knows how many more are to die?’
Throughout his harangue, for there could be no other description for his speech, there was a silence. The silence continued for a while after the abbot resumed his seat and sat back with folded arms.
Brehon Faolchair then slowly rose. His face, albeit expressionless, seemed drained of blood.
‘I have no need to defend my actions. It is true, I did make some errors in fulfilling the legal obligations. Abbot Nannid, however, would have been quite happy for me not to acknowledge them as errors. It was our duty to send to Cashel in this matter, in accordance with the peace that has been agreed between the Ui Fidgente and Cashel.’ He sat down suddenly and glanced to Fidelma as if inviting her to speak.
Fidelma came to her feet with her features set in a grim smile.
‘We must forgive Abbot Nannid for his grammatical slip which has turned my reputation as an advocate into the pejorative form – notorious.’ There were several guffaws of suppressed laughter as the meaning of what she had said sank in. The word airdirc meant well-known, famous, celebrated or renowned but, with a slight inflection, could be taken to mean notorious. Her inference that the abbot was ignorant of the grammatical difference seemed to appeal to the humour of many.
Abbot Nannid glared at her across the table, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
Fidelma continued with a growing confidence of tone. ‘I also have to say that I am sad to see the abbot’s memory fading. Eadulf and I were guests at his Abbey of Mungairit only months ago, and I must remind him that Eadulf is not a Saxon but from the Kingdom of the East Angles. Further, he is not my “companion” but my husband. Obviously, the abbot appears under some strain or he would not overlook the fact that such terminology could be taken wrongly. Even an abbot would be liable to compensate the husband of a princess for the affront to his honour.’
Prince Donennach had started to smile but then, taking note of the increasingly ferocious expression on Abbot Nannid’s features, he intervened. ‘I am sure that this was merely a slip of wording, as you suggest, Fidelma. Was that not so, Abbot Nannid?’
The abbot hesitated and then, accepting that his sarcasm had not produced the effect he had wanted, he muttered: ‘A slip of grammar and of memory.’
‘Then I am sure Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham will accept the apology offered by Abbot Nannid?’ Fidelma looked at Eadulf who rose, bowed to the abbot and said coldly: ‘In the circumstances, the apology is accepted.’
It was clear to everyone that Fidelma had won her points. It was not in her nature to refer to the matter again.
‘I am sure we all share the abbot’s concern about the subsequent murders, and we all want to see the conspirator and his co-conspirators found and judged according to the law of this land.’ She used a slight but challenging emphasis on ‘the law of this land’. ‘At this time, we do not have anything but suspicion by which to judge if the murders of Ciarnat and Brother Mael Anfaid are connected with that of Abbot Segdae. So speculation there will lead us nowhere.’
‘You use the word conspirator and not murderer,’ snapped Brother Cuineain.
‘That it is because I choose my words more carefully than others,’ she replied, barely glancing at Abbot Nannid.
‘Surely, the culprit who killed Abbot Segdae is obvious?’ went on Abbot Nannid’s steward, who had clearly been fretting at his abbot’s retreat in the verbal battle.
‘Nothing is obvious unless one is in possession of information that we currently do not have,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Do you have such information?’
‘The girl Ciarnat, for example,’ blustered the steward, ‘she was involved …’
‘Ah yes,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Ciarnat, who Abbot Nannid just described as “an innocent serving girl of Prince Donennach’s household”. When did you come to this view, Abbot Nannid?’
Startled, Abbot Nannid glanced up and said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘As I recall, last night you were all for locking Ciarnat in some cell and submitting her to vigorous interrogation. You were sure that she had helped Gorman and Aibell to escape from this fortress. You expressed your suspicion of her guilt quite belligerently, suggesting that if Gorman was a murderer, then if he could not be executed, you would contemplate Ciarnat being similarly punished. Or am I mistaken?’
Abbot Nannid thrust out his jaw. ‘Her murder has absolved her from any connection with the matter.’
Fidelma’s eyes flashed with an inner fire. ‘On the contrary, we could argue that her murder means she had some information that she was neglecting to share with us and which her assailant wanted to ensure continued to be kept a secret. Innocence and guilt are but relative terms.’
She paused before turning to speak to Prince Donennach directly.
‘I think we can safely say that we have proceeded under the law, and by that I mean the law of this land, in its right and proper course. If we had followed any other course, it would still not have prevented the deaths of Ciarnat or Mael Anfaid … or perhaps those that are yet to come. It is perverse to suggest otherwise. We follow the course of the law as handed down to us from the time beyond time when the High King, Ollamh Fodhla, ordered those laws to be obeyed in every corner of the land. We shall pursue the guilty through these laws for they are the laws of this land.’
Abbot Nannid rose again. For a moment it seemed as though he would challenge Fidelma. Then, surprisingly, he appeared to change his mind and addressed Prince Donennach instead.
‘I spoke here to show my concern at the continuing deaths. That the death of another member of the Abbey of Imleach has taken place and remains unpunished does not fill me with confidence about proceeding under the laws that date from a period when our people walked in barbarism and the world of Christ had not yet penetrated beyond our shores. But having expressed my concerns, I will rest the matter until I return to this fortress.’