Muadnat half turned to leave when Crón stayed him.
‘There is still the matter of the fine for insulting a dálaigh which you did at the beginning of this hearing.’
She turned to Fidelma and looked questioningly.
Fidelma’s face was expressionless as she replied to Crón’s. unarticulated question. ‘In token of that insult, which in full would be my honour-price, I will allow Muadnat to donate the value of one milch cow to the local church for its upkeep or the equivalent value in labour in repairing the fabric of the building of the church. Whichever he chooses.’
Muadnat almost exploded in wrath.
‘Do you think I am blind to your self-interest, tanist?’ he shouted. ‘Tanist, indeed! Tanist by bribery and corruption. You are no true …’
Father Gormán rose suddenly and came forward.
‘Muadnat! You forget yourself!’ he admonished.
The priest laid a hand on the angry farmer’s arm and Agdae assisted in propelling Muadnat out of the hall of assembly. They could hear him shouting even from outside the hall. Cranat waited only a few moments more and then rose, in almost indecent haste, and left the hall.
Crón looked across to where Archú and Scoth were embracing each other and grinning wildly.
‘You are dismissed Archú but let me give you some advice …’
Archú turned expectantly, trying to reform his features into a more respectful countenance.
‘You have an unforgiving enemy in Muadnat. Be wary.’
Archú bobbed his head in acknowledgment of his tanist’s advice and then grinned broadly towards Fidelma. He and Scoth joined hands and hurried from the hall.
Crón sat back with a deep sigh and turned to regard Fidelma with some admiration.
‘You make the maze of the law texts seem a straightforward path, Fidelma. I wish I had your knowledge and gift.’
Fidelma was indifferent to the compliment.
‘That is what I am trained to do.’
‘My warning to Archú equally applies to you. Muadnat is unforgiving. He was a distant cousin and friend of my father. Perhaps I should not have been so harsh with him. My mother disapproved of me today.’
‘Your mother clearly regards Muadnat as a close friend.’
‘A chieftain cannot have close friends. I cannot make judgments based on friendship.’
‘You can only do as the law instructs,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Asmust I. A Brehon or a chieftain must be above friendships in the interpretation of the law.’
‘I know what you say is right. But Muadnat has been a power in Araglin. He also remains a good friend of Father Gormán. They are often together.’
Fidelma was thoughtful.
‘You mentioned that Muadnat was a relative and friend of your father, Eber?’
‘Yes. They grew up as young men and went off to fight the Ui Fidgente together.’
Fidelma considered the matter a moment. Then she gave a mental shrug. At least Muadnat could not be concerned in her inquiry into Eber’s death for he had been in her court in Lios Mhór at the time of his murder. She stood up and glanced to where Dubán had been standing stiffly.
‘Perhaps there is now time to go in search of this hermit, Gadra?’
Crón rose. For the first time since Fidelma had arrived at the rath she was effusive with goodwill. In spite of what she had said, she seemed to have enjoyed defeating Muadnat and she was flushed with excitement.
‘Fidelma, I have seen your diligence with the law. I realise, perhaps belatedly, that you will be equally diligent in discovering the truth behind my father’s death. I just wish …’ It was the nearest that she came to an apology for her behaviour. She hesitated and then continued: ‘I would like you to know that I will do all I can to help in your inquiry.’
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.
‘Is there something more that you think I should know now?’
For a moment, she thought she saw a look of anxiety cross the pale eyes of the tanist of Araglin.
‘Something more? I do not think so. I speak merely because I acted too proudly when you came here. Courtesy should be freely given for it costs nothing.’
‘If you bear that in mind, then you will become a just chieftain of your people in Araglin,’ Fidelma replied gravely. ‘And that is more important than a cloak of office.’
Crón looked self-conscious and fingered the golden brooch which fastened her cloak to her shoulder.
‘It is the custom, here in Araglin, that all the chieftains and their ladies wear the parti-coloured cloak and gloves as their badge of office.’ She smiled briefly.
‘It is a great responsibility to be elevated into such a position,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Sometimes it takes time to adjust to a change in life.’
‘It is still no excuse for arrogance. This mention of Gadra reminds me of one teaching he gave when he was staying in the rath when I was a little girl. I was small but I remember his words well. He said that the proud place themselves at a distance from others and observing others across that distance they believe that they are little and insignificant. Yet the same distance makes them also appear equally small and insignificant to others.’
Fidelma smiled appreciatively.
‘Then Gadra is a man of wisdom. Truly, if you do not raise your eyes you will always believe that you stand on the highest point. Come, Dubán, let us go in search of this sage.’
‘If he still lives,’ added Dubán pessimistically.
Chapter Eleven
Dubán and Fidelma led the way along the narrow track that wound through the great oaks of the forest which spilled through the mountain passes. Brother Eadulf rode behind them. His eyes were watchful. With all this talk of raiding brigands, it occurred to him that whole warbands could hide in such gloomy places and not be noticed by wayfarers who might pass their concealment within yards and not even notice them, so dense and impenetrable were the rich woodlands that spread across the mountains which surrounded Araglin. So close together did the trees grow that they shut out all sight of the blue canopy of the sky and the warm spring sunshine. The air felt chill and Eadulf observed that few spring flowers were blooming but there were plenty of dark evergreens and plants that liked the cold dark musty atmosphere of the woodlands.
Eadulf rode with watchful eyes but his body was at ease, letting his mount match the leisurely walking pace of the lead horses.
The quiet was almost oppressive. Now and then something rustled through the underbrush and Eadulf had noticed that few bird songs trilled through the woodland.
‘A bleak, black place to dwell,’ Eadulf called, breaking the silence in which they had ridden since first entering this part of the woodlands.
Dubán half turned with a brief smile.
‘It is the nature of hermits to dwell in places that others are not attracted to, Saxon,’ he replied.
‘I have known healthier places,’ Eadulf responded. ‘What is the point of dwelling as a hermit if it costs you your health?’
‘A good argument, Saxon,’ the warrior chuckled. ‘Yet they say that Gadra has lived over four score years. And, if he continues to live, I shall be surprised.’
‘So you keep telling us,’ intervened Fidelma wearily. ‘Tell us some more of your knowledge of Gadra. We know he is a hermit and we know that he appears to be a man of wisdom. What else do you know of him?’
‘Little to tell. Gadra is Gadra. He has always been the same age to me.’
‘Is anything known of his origin?’ pressed Fidelma.
Dubán shrugged.
‘They say that he was a religious of the pagan times.’
‘A Druid?’ demanded Fidelma. It was true that here and there among the five kingdoms were still to be found followers of the old gods. Fidelma herself had encountered such members of the recluse; those who still clung to the old ways, the old beliefs. Even Fidelma found herself admiring many of their philosophies. The new Faith of Christ had not been long enough established in the land for the old ways to be anachronistic.