‘Responsibilities?’ countered Guntram. ‘What if I do not want those responsibilities?’
‘You can hand over your office to someone else.’ Fidelma was thinking of the customs of her own land when she said it.
Guntram was shaking his head. ‘I am the eldest son. To whom should I hand over that right? I have a young brother who is a sanctimonious religious somewhere and not interested in temporal affairs. My mother even used to call him “Benignus” as a pet name. Not only does it signify well born but good and gentle. That, indeed, was his pious nature. I have not seen him in twenty years.’
‘I am sorry. I forgot this custom of your people that is what you call the law of primogeniture. Personally, I think it is a bad custom.’
In her own land the eldest son did not inherit as an automatic right. The derbhfine, the electoral college of the family, would meet to elect whoever was to be chief or provincial king or even the High King himself. Sons did not necessarily succeed fathers. Brothers, cousins and even daughters or sisters could fulfil office.
She hesitated for a moment and then asked: ‘Does your mother ever indulge in trade with merchants?’
Guntram showed his amusement at the idea.
‘I doubt it. She would consider it beneath her dignity as a noble.’
‘And apart from her niece, Radegund, she does not have much to do with the Domus Femini?’
‘To be truthful, I think she hates the abbess and would rather Radegund held the office.’
Outside in the courtyard, waiting for the reappearance of Brother Budnouen, Eadulf seemed resigned.
‘It appears that we are still left with the same choice again. It keeps coming back to it. Who do we believe is guilty of Dabhóc’s murder-Cadfan or Ordgar? The murder of the abbot must be coincidental to these other matters about the missing women. We are asked to discover his murderer and no more.’ Eadulf suddenly realised that Fidelma was not listening to him but looking around with a close scrutiny. ‘What are you seeking?’
‘I was just checking to see what sort of household Guntram runs here. It is true that I see only a few warriors about the place.’
‘You doubted him when he said he employed no more than a dozen?’ asked Eadulf, puzzled.
‘In such cases I tend to doubt most people until I see proof,’ she replied easily.
‘Well, I also checked this out before we saw Guntram,’ he confided.
‘You did what?’ she asked in surprise.
‘That was why I made the excuse that I needed to go to the latrina. I took the opportunity to look around the stables. It is true that there are only a dozen horses in his stables and I have seen fewer than that number of warriors. So far as I could see, Guntram appears to be what he says he is. No great military chieftain but a young man indulging himself.’
The rumble of a wagon came to their ears and around the corner of the building appeared Brother Budnouen, guiding the team of mules.
‘Have you finished here?’ he greeted them as he halted the wagon.
‘We may leave as soon as you wish,’ Fidelma assured him, leaping nimbly into the back of the wagon while Eadulf climbed beside the loquacious Gaul.
‘That is good,’ replied Brother Budnouen. ‘We’ll be back in Autun while it is daylight. Even if we halt briefly to hear the news at Clodomar’s forge.’
Fidelma saw that the back of the wagon was fairly empty. Brother Budnouen caught her examination.
‘The fortress of Guntram produces little in trade goods.’ He tapped a bag at his side that clinked with metal. ‘I trade here in coinage for my goods.’
‘A profitable trade?’
‘At least my family eat. In these times, that is all one can ask for. Thanks be to God.’ He flicked the reins and the wagon moved off towards the gates. A warrior came forward to swing them open and acknowledge their departure with a wave.
They moved out of the fortress and along the track through the grasslands towards the woods.
‘Was your business with Lord Guntram also successful?’ asked Brother Budnouen, breaking in on their silence after a while.
Fidelma glanced up from where she had been deep in thought.
‘Let’s just say it was fruitful,’ she admitted.
Brother Budnouen seemed sensitive to the fact that she did not want to talk and so he fell silent as they entered the darkness of the forest. He kept the team at a steady pace and the earth of the track was fairly hard so that the journey was easy for the team of four mules.
It was the sound of the birds that first drew Fidelma out of her thoughts. Eadulf also had raised his head as he heard the cacophony of alarm cries and the rustle of undergrowth. A wild boar and its litter stampeded through the long grasses and across the track ahead of them. Even Brother Budnouen glanced uneasily around him at the previously quiet forest’s sudden eruption into sound.
They were startled by a shout from near by and out of the undergrowth emerged the dishevelled figure of a youth. He could not even have been twenty years old. He held a sword in his hand but did not appear to have an aggressive intent towards them. With the other hand he was frantically waving as if to attract their attention. In spite of his torn and mud-splattered clothing, and a cut above the eye that was bleeding, the man was, or had been, well dressed. He wore a gold chain of office around his neck.
Brother Budnouen exclaimed and began to check the forward momentum of the wagon.
‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop!’ cried the young man in Frankish, clambering on the back of the still-moving wagon with the agility of a young athlete. ‘For God’s sake, whip up your team!’
Chapter Eighteen
The dishevelled figure of the young man had leaped onto the back of the wagon, rolled over and lay gasping at the sky for a moment or two to recover his breath. He was quite handsome in a saturnine way, with his dark eyes, black hair and the dark-blue hint on his clean-shaved jowl. For a moment he regarded Fidelma, for she was seated in the back of the wagon, before rising and moving towards the driver’s seat where Brother Budnouen, with Eadulf seated beside him, held the reins. Already the Gaul was urging the four mules into a fast trot.
The newcomer spoke rapidly to Brother Budnouen in the language of the Franks and then turned and said something to Fidelma. When he saw her frowning, he switched to Latin.
‘Forgive me startling you, Sister, but I am pursued. Robbers. They shot down my servant-an arrow in the heart, poor devil. I turned to flee and they brought down my horse-confound their impudence! But they are close on my heels.’
He glanced back into the forest before addressing Brother Budnouen. ‘Can you get more speed from your team, Brother?’
‘I’ll try my best, Sire,’ replied Brother Budnouen, obviously recognising this young man.
‘Sire?’ Fidelma queried the style of address.
‘I am Clotaire, ruler of this realm,’ explained the young man.
Fidelma and Eadulf had no time to react to this news as Brother Budnouen had whipped up the mules and they had to hang on to the swaying wagon for balance as it surged forward. Fidelma could not believe the usually plodding animals could move so fast.
‘There is a fork coming up on the track ahead,’ yelled the young man. ‘Take the right-hand path. God willing, we should soon meet some of my guards.’
Brother Budnouen, bending over the reins, merely grunted.
The wagon careered round onto the right-hand fork almost on two wheels. For a moment Eadulf thought it must overturn. They all clung on fiercely but, with a thump, it pitched back on its four wheels again and they were speeding down a dark avenue of trees. Eadulf later admitted that he had never seen a mule team moving so fast. But mules are not as fast as horses. The warning came from Clotaire.
‘They’re gaining!’ he roared, glancing over his shoulder.