‘Eadulf is absolutely right,’ she said firmly. ‘A note appears out of nowhere with demands; demands that might eventually lead to endangering the kingdom, for these particular Uí Fidgente chieftains are bitter and remorseless enemies who were kin to their leader Eoganán who tried to overthrown my brother from the kingship and died in that attempt. We need proof that they hold Alchú.’
Finguine’s jaw was thrust out pugnaciously.
‘And just how do we get in touch with the anonymous writer of this demand, cousin?’ he asked with a tone of sarcasm. ‘There is neither name nor location on it. There is no way that we can send a return note.’
Fidelma regarded him with equal sarcasm.
‘What you say is true, cousin,’ she replied. ‘But a little imagination will work wonders. I suspect that the writer of this note will have good communications in or around Cashel and will soon pick up our response.’
Colgú pursed his lips thoughtfully.
‘We can make an announcement in the square of the town demanding that some proof must be furnished before we contemplate releasing the three chieftains.’
Fidelma nodded agreement.
‘I would also suggest that a herald be sent to place a similar message in every inn between here and the border of the Uí Fidgente country,’ added Finguine. ‘And that the message be sent to the current chieftain of the Uí Fidgente. In that way, the word will certainly get back to the writer of this demand.’
‘But what proof could be furnished?’ Capa frowned. ‘What proof short of producing the baby himself?’
‘No difficulty in that,’ Eadulf replied immediately. ‘Perhaps some item of clothing could be shown, something Alchú was wearing when he was taken. I am sure that Fidelma and I would recognise any such thing.’
He glanced towards Fidelma who nodded quickly. ‘Let it be done at once.’
‘Who shall I order to ride to the country of the Uí Fidgente?’ demanded Capa uneasily.
‘Perhaps you will volunteer?’ smiled Finguine. There was a quiet sarcasm in his voice and Fidelma had a feeling that there was no love lost between the two men.
The handsome commander seemed affronted. ‘I am commander of the guard here and not a techtaire — a herald. Moreover, I command the Nasc Niadh, the élite guard of the Cashel kings.’
Finguine smiled broadly. ‘I admit, it may be too dangerous for you to go among the Uí Fidgente.’
Colgú was shaking his head in disapproval at both men.
‘You both know well enough that the safety of a herald is sacred and inviolable — even the most bitter enemies treat a techtaire with the utmost respect. It is not merely the law but a matter of honour that any herald has a guarantee of safe passage even through enemy territory. Capa, it is because you are my guard commander that I send you on this task. I will ask Cerball the scribe to write several copies of our demand that you may take with you. Make sure one is posted on the door of the inn here and thence all inns between here and the country of the Uí Fidgente.’ He looked towards his sister, who indicated her approval of his action.
Capa was clearly not happy at the order. He appeared to think that the role of a techtaire was beneath him. But he said nothing further, bowing his head in reluctant obedience towards the king.
‘I am sure that by this means we will find whoever wrote this ransom demand,’ Fidelma said in satisfaction. ‘And we will soon know whether it is a genuine demand or a means of tricking us into releasing our enemies.’
‘I’ll find Cerball and tell him to come here,’ Finguine offered.
Colgú agreed, adding: ‘While we wait for Cerball to draw up the notices requesting proof, Capa, you’d better fetch my standard, which you will carry as a techtaire. You will find it in the chamber at the end of the corridor where my sister’s chambers are situated.’
Fidelma and Eadulf stayed with Colgú awhile to bring him up to date with the results of their trip to Imleach and Cnoc Loinge before returning to their own chambers. As they were passing along a cloistered walkway by an open courtyard, Eadulf suddenly paused by an arch and looked across the stone quadrangle. Frowning, Fidelma paused also, glancing across Eadulf’s shoulder.
‘We weren’t told that he was back in Cashel,’ Eadulf said softly.
The object of his scrutiny was the tall, gaunt figure of a religieux, standing talking with an elderly member of the cloth.
‘Bishop Petrán,’ Fidelma observed. ‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’
Eadulf admitted as much. ‘I remember what your brother suggested about enemies within. Do you think that Petrán or any of his followers are capable of kidnapping?’
‘He is a human being, and once fanaticism takes over as our faith we are capable of anything, Eadulf,’ she pointed out. ‘But I doubt whether Petrán would have conspired to release the Uí Fidgente chieftains. He has always been loyal to the Eóghanacht and not to the Dál gCais. But I thought my brother said that Petrán had been sent on a tour of the western islands about a week ago? He could not have completed such a task already. So what has brought him back to Cashel?’
As if he had heard her whispered question, Bishop Petrán had turned and spotted them. He said something to his companion, then walked across the quadrangle towards them. He halted in front of the archway under which they stood.
‘God be with you, Fidelma, and with you, Brother Eadulf.’ The elderly bishop greeted them in a manner that sounded more suited to intoning the last rites. It was a hollow voice of mourning.
Eadulf’s eyes narrowed in dislike but Fidelma replied in formal manner.
‘God and Mary be your guide, Bishop Petrán. What brings you back to Cashel so soon? I was told that you had only recently departed to the western islands.’
The bishop sniffed dismissively.
‘An unexpected matter arose and I proceeded no further than the abbey of Coimán on the coast. I did not even set foot on shipboard.’
‘Nothing serious, I trust?’
The bishop shook his head. Obviously he did not feel the necessity to speak further on the subject. He cleared his throat hesitantly.
‘I have just heard of your loss. My … er, my condolences. I will say a mass for the repose of the soul of Sárait, who was an obedient daughter of the Faith…’ he hesitated again, ‘and I will pray for the safe return of the child.’
Eadulf grimaced sourly.
‘You will pray for our son, Alchú?’ he asked with emphasis. ‘My wife is most appreciative of such a gesture.’
Bishop Petrán blinked at the quiet belligerence in his voice.
‘It is not a gesture but my duty as a servant of the Faith.’
‘But I thought you disapproved of our son? Indeed, you do not even approve of our marital union,’ Eadulf continued, without disguising the sneer in his voice. Fidelma tried to give him a warning glance but he was not looking.
Bishop Petrán’s pale cheeks had reddened a little.
‘I have my beliefs, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ he replied irritably. ‘It does not prevent me from being concerned with the fate of the son of the sister of my temporal king.’
‘Or my son?’ snapped Eadulf. ‘You surprise me. I thought you condemned all marital unions between the members of the religious as inspired by evil, especially those unions wrought between women of your land and the men of my country?’
Fidelma stirred uncomfortably at his side. She had been shocked into silence by Eadulf’s verbal attack on the elderly bishop. Once again, she was dumbfounded at seeing this new, angry side to Eadulf’s nature. It both astonished and concerned her.