‘I would also point out once more that I am an Angle, not a Saxon,’ Eadulf hissed. ‘I am an hereditary gerefa of the Land of the South Folk in the Kingdom of the East Angles.’
At this point, Abbot Nannid gave his steward a slight but meaningful nudge and the man reluctantly stood up.
‘Forgive me for my poor use of words, Conri of the Ford of the Oaks,’ he said, trying to sound sincere but only succeeding in sounding sycophantic. ‘I meant no offence to you. But is it not well known that you have often helped the dalaigh from Cashel? Did she not win your friendship when she solved the murder of your brother, Dea, and the murders at Rath Raithlen many years ago? Did you not help her when the Venerable Cinaed was murdered in the Abbey of Ard Fhearta? And were you not on hand when she came here in pursuit of a would-be assassin of her brother, the King-’
‘Whose assassin came from the Abbey of Mungairit,’ Eadulf interrupted, angered further by being omitted from the apology.
‘… when she discovered a conspiracy against Prince Donennach,’ Conri continued. ‘A conspiracy that came out of Mungairit and involved Glaed.’
Abbot Nannid’s eyes narrowed at the implication but he allowed his steward to respond.
‘The point I was making in my own clumsy fashion,’ he blustered, ‘is that you may be considered biased under law.’
‘Under whose law?’ Conri asked pleasantly. ‘The law of the Five Kingdoms – or that of Abbot Nannid?’
Abbot Nannid turned to Prince Donennach with a smirk on his face that Eadulf would have liked to remove with his fist.
‘I am sure that this company will accept that my steward spoke without thought,’ he said in oily fashion, ‘not realising his words could be misinterpreted.’
Prince Donennach waved an impatient hand. ‘Nevertheless, Abbot Nannid, it does not answer the fact that Conri was a witness. Do you deny that you met Glaed, leader of the brigands of Sliabh Luachra, and from him secured the prisoner to bring him back to Dun Eochair Mhaigh with the help of his men?’
‘I do not deny it,’ replied the abbot, unperturbed.
Fidelma felt Eadulf look at her. It was obvious that the abbot had some excuse ready but she could not see what, and this put her at a disadvantage.
Brehon Faolchair was clearly troubled. ‘As you do not deny this, perhaps you will explain.’
‘Of course,’ the abbot said coolly. ‘That has been my intention all along until we were sidetracked on a matter of ego.’
‘Proceed,’ Brehon Faolchair instructed quickly, aware that Conri had clapped a hand to his sword hilt.
‘When I left this fortress, after the murderer of Abbot Segdae demonstrated his guilt by absconding from his cell and fleeing with the woman, Aibell, my only intention was to go to Cnoc Firinne, the Hill of Truth, on a church errand to meet with a Brother Feradach. He has a chapel on the slope of the hill.’
‘What urgent need did this Brother Feradach have that you had to leave here with your steward?’ Fidelma asked.
Abbot Nannid hesitated but Brehon Faolchair said: ‘It is relevant information to your story.’
‘Brother Feradach served me at the Abbey of Mungairit. You may know that I have remained here, at the Abbey of Nechta, for a while. I have presided over its transformation from a loose group of believers in the New Faith to an enclosed community which will one day become influential and will bring prestige and wealth to this place. However, I am still aware of my duties as Abbot of Mungairit. Therefore, I have been collecting the dues owed to my abbey and took a small amount of gold and silver to Brother Feradach, who was going to carry it on safely to Mungairit. This was to save me making the arduous journey myself.’
It was Fidelma’s turn to sound amused. ‘Are you trying to tell us that you went to this Brother Feradach’s chapel on the Hill of Truth bearing gold and silver for him to take on to Mungairit? That, purely by chance, you fell in with Glaed, whom you already knew from the conspiracy at Mungairit? Glaed with forty or fifty marauders from Sliabh Luachra whom you just happened to meet? Did they greet you as an old friend and give you charge of their prisoner with warriors to guard him because they believed in the law?’
‘It does not sound plausible,’ Prince Donennach sighed.
‘Put in such a way as the honey-tongued advocate from Cashel likes to paint the story – and, of course, she does it for effect – it is not plausible,’ Abbot Nannid agreed carelessly. ‘Nevertheless, truth is often implausible. But it is a simple story. While I was at the Hill of Truth, Glaed and his warriors did arrive by chance. They had a prisoner, Gorman of Cashel, whom they were determined to kill. I intervened, explaining the circumstances as to why I sought him, and asked that the prisoner be released into my custody.’
At this Conri gave a low chuckle. ‘And did Glaed say – “Of course you may have my prisoner, Lord Abbot. I have always obeyed the Church and the law.” Then you bade each other farewell and went your respective ways?’
Abbot Nannid was unruffled. ‘You have obviously learned the art of tabhachtach …’ He paused to savour the word which Eadulf knew meant the art of sarcasm. ‘No doubt you picked it up from your friend, the dalaigh. The truth is that we had a long negotiation and we were able to make a bargain. I bought the prisoner and the services of four guards for a period of three days.’
‘You use the word “bought”. You have proof of this exchange?’ enquired Brehon Faolchair.
‘My steward here was witness to it.’
‘He would be,’ muttered Fidelma in a low voice but one which everyone heard.
‘As good a witness in truth as your own,’ Brother Cuineain replied angrily.
‘May we ask what sum did Glaed settle for, in exchange for handing Gorman over to you and for hiring out the services of his killers?’ Fidelma wanted to know.
But no insult or question seemed to unsettle the smug abbot. ‘I have nothing to hide on that account,’ he said airily. ‘I offered him five gold pieces and some silver, to the value of five seds.’
‘Not thirty pieces of silver?’ Eadulf asked mildly.
Abbot Nannid flushed but still managed to keep his temper.
‘Five pieces of gold and some silver,’ he repeated heavily. ‘I would also reject the term “killers” for the men I have employed. I would call them hired warriors.’
The word Abbot Nannid used to correct Fidelma was amhus which Eadulf recognised as a respected term for a mercenary.
‘How is it that you had such a large sum on you?’
‘As I said, we were on our way to meet with Brother Feradach, taking with us the dues that the Abbey of Nechta owes to Mungairit.’
Conri whistled disbelievingly. ‘You had the sum with you and travelled without protection. And Glaed knew you had such valuables with you to purchase his prisoner? Then, by the gods, knowing Glaed, why did he not slit your throats, take your gold anyway and-’
‘As you see from my presence,’ Abbot Nannid boomed, ‘he did not. The bargain was made – and it was made with the protection of the one God. Am I to believe that you, warlord of the Ui Fidgente, reject the Faith when you refer to “the gods”?’
It was a clever way of trying to turn the tables on the warrior, side-stepping the point, and Conri fell into the trap.
‘It is a common phrase,’ he replied tightly. ‘You cannot wipe out a thousand years of ancient sayings in two centuries.’
For the first time Airmid, Prince Donennach’s sister, leaned forward and whispered something in her brother’s ear. He nodded and raised his hand to still the muttering.
‘This meeting does not seem to be getting us anywhere but is merely continuing to sow the seeds of discord among us.’
‘Yet these matters need to be answered,’ insisted Fidelma.