Colgú came forward and embraced him.
‘My friend, husband of my sister, you must forgive us. Brehon Dathal leapt to conclusions with an impatience he should not have indulged. You should never have been put through such an experience, coming so soon after your own travails. At least our family is once again united.’
Eadulf felt awkward. He was embarrassed at the warmth exhibited by Fidelma’s brother and, in truth, a little unsure of the affection that Fidelma was displaying towards him.
Then he found Finguine holding out his hand and grinning. ‘Am I forgiven as well?’
Eadulf’s glance encompassed them all.
‘Well,’ he said, unable to banish all the sarcasm from his tone, ‘it is difficult to keep an equilibrium when first having one’s life threatened, then being incarcerated and finally being welcomed into a family again…’
Fidelma squeezed his arm hard. ‘We have much to apologise to you for, Eadulf. We will try to compensate you for the way you have been treated.’
Eadulf shrugged expressively. ‘You cannot say fairer than that,’ he sighed.
Colgú clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then we shall feast tonight, and-’
Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘Eadulf and I have a lot of work to do. There is still a mystery to be resolved and the killer of Sárait to be brought to justice. And you, my brother, have to deal with Brehon Dathal. When all this is done, then there shall be feasting.’
Some time later, the Chief Brehon of Muman was ushered into the king’s chamber.
Colgú motioned the old man to be seated. He had known Dathal since he was a boy. Indeed, Brehon Dathal had been a young judge at the court of his father, Failbe Flann, nearly thirty years ago now. Brehon Dathal looked grave. He had already been informed of Eadulf’s release on Brother Conchobar’s evidence. Colgú wondered how he should approach the delicate matter at hand.
‘Dathal, you have served this kingdom as Chief Brehon for a long time,’ he began gently.
Brehon Dathal, with a quick frown, picked up on the nuance.
‘Do you imply that it is too long?’ he retorted sharply.
‘Everyone reaches a point where they are not as youthful, not as active, as they were. My day will also come. I hope that I may have the good sense to acknowledge it when it does so that I can abdicate into a comfortable restfulness.’
‘Restfulness is a quality that cows have, my prince. It is not for people.’
Colgú smiled. ‘Didn’t Horace write that one should dismiss an old horse in good time lest it falter in the harness and become an object of pity or scorn to spectators?’
Brehon Dathal sniffed in irritation.
‘I made a mistake, that is all. Is not a judge entitled to a mistake? There is no harm done and the Saxon is free.’
‘The Saxon is my sister’s husband, Brehon Dathal,’ Colgú pointed out. ‘And compensation must be paid to him.’
‘I know the laws of compensation.’
‘I do not doubt you do,’ Colgú returned. ‘Remember that Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham might be a stranger, but he had status in his own land. He was a hereditary gerefa, a sort of judge among his people.’
‘Hereditary!’ sneered Brehon Dathal. ‘How can one inherit the competence of a judge without learning?’
‘The ways of the Saxons are not our ways,’ murmured the young king. ‘However, the point I am making is that Eadulf is deserving of respect if not for his own sake, then for my sake and that of my sister.’
Brehon Dathal said nothing.
‘Brehon Dathal, we have known each other a long time. Consider your position carefully now. You have made more than one error in recent times.’
Brehon Dathal’s chin came up aggressively.
‘Are you suggesting that I am no longer capable?’
‘I am suggesting that it is now time to rest and watch others work. Stay in Cashel, if you will. Be an adviser to me. But now is the time to cease the arduous task of holding courts.’
‘Who will you promote in my place … your sister?’ The words were spoken challengingly.
Colgú shook his head quickly. ‘Fidelma is not qualified for the position, nor would she want the task. She has studied only to the level of anruth, as well you know. To become a Brehon of standing she would need two — even four — more years of study to become a rosai or an ollamh.’ These were the highest qualifications anyone could aspire to. ‘You are a man of great experience and wisdom. In this appointment, friend Dathal, I would appreciate your advice. Who would you choose as my new Chief Brehon?’
Brehon Dathal began to look slightly mollified. Colgú waited patiently while the old man sat hesitating. Then it seemed that the old judge became reconciled to the inevitability of the decision that had to be made.
‘Well, there is a rosai named Baithen whom I would think well qualified.’
Colgú smiled in satisfaction. He spared the old man’s feelings by neglecting to say that he had already sent for Brehon Baithen, who had been conducting hearings at Lios Mhór. It had been Baithen who had thrice heard appeals against Dathal’s judgements and overturned them.
‘I have heard of this Brehon. It is a good choice.’
‘He has a growing reputation,’ Brehon Dathal agreed reluctantly. ‘He is talented.’
‘Then he will be asked here to judge of the matter of Sárait’s death and apportion blame and compensation.’
Brehon Dathal frowned slightly at this news.
‘So your sister believes that the Uí Fidgente are innocent of Sárait’s death and the abduction of the baby, does she?’
‘I believe that she has learnt new facts and prepared fresh arguments. Eadulf has brought us interesting evidence. But the case will be argued before Baithen.’
The old man’s shoulders sagged slightly.
‘You sister does not take kindly to me over this matter of Bishop Petrán.’
‘I am sure that she will agree that you acted according to your conscience, my old friend. You were simply not in possession of the facts. That is all.’
He knew he was bending the truth of Brother Conchobar’s evidence to save the old man’s dignity.
There was another silence, and Colgú felt somewhat relieved when the old man rose slowly from his seat.
‘With your permission, my king, I shall retire to my chamber and rest.’
Colgú gestured with his hand in agreement.
The old judge, head bent to his shoulders, left the chamber, shutting the door behind him.
For some time Colgú sat looking at the closed door and then he sighed sadly. It was no more than two years since he had been confirmed in the kingship and for several years before that he had been heir apparent to his cousin Cathal, who had died of the Yellow Fever. This was the first time that he had been forced to dismiss one of his closest advisers, one who had served his father and his cousin, and now … Colgú turned to a side table and poured himself a drink of corma. It was the duty of a king to realise that time had to move on. People had to move on. It was inevitable. With the office of a ruler came the duty. If a king did not act he would not be regarded; if he was too hard, he would be broken; if he was too feeble, he would be crushed. Above all, he had to move with wisdom and subtlety, for if he showed himself more wise than others too much would be expected of him, and if more foolish he would find people deceiving him. There was always a middle way. That was the nature of kingship.
Chapter Eighteen
Eadulf lay on the bed, hands folded over a well-filled stomach, and gave a deep sigh.
‘There were times, Fidelma, during the last few days when I did not expect to be in this bed or this chamber again.’
Fidelma was pouring some mulled wine into a goblet as she knelt by the fire in the hearth. She rose and went across to the cot where Alchú lay peacefully asleep.