The Devil's Seal (19 page)

‘Not to my mind, for he was elderly. Nor was he well-endowed with good looks. Also . . .’ Gormán hesitated. ‘I think he was one of those strange ascetics that one hears of. There are some who think that mortification of the flesh brings them closer to God; those who deny themselves and who inflict punishment on their bodies to show what a godly person they are. Personally, I think they have a disorder of the brain.’

At once Fidelma was interested. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I saw that his back had once been lacerated by a lash or scourge. The wounds had healed over, so they had been inflicted some time ago. But I have heard that some of the brothers flagellate themselves because, so it is said, they claim it shows God how willing they are to stand pain to assert His cause. Why such a thing as pain should be pleasing to God, I don’t understand. Are we not told that He stands for peace and love?’

Fidelma smiled and patted the warrior on the arm.

‘You are shrewd, Gormán. Don’t say anything about this, though. You have been a great help.’

She turned to find Colgú approaching. He seemed relaxed for the first time that evening. ‘A good meal and good wine,’ he greeted her. ‘At least we did not have to put up with Beccan banging his staff every few minutes and officiously announcing this and that.’

‘Better someone who is punctilious when there is serious court work to be done, brother.’ Fidelma knew how irritated Colgú became with his steward but she was practical. ‘You remind me – where is Beccan? He disappeared the moment we sat down to the meal. He is not usually absent from these gatherings.’

Colgú said casually, ‘Oh, he had something to do in the township and begged me to excuse him. I heard that Eadulf is rather annoyed that Egric has left to go hunting when they had only just been reunited. What do you make of that? Aren’t they close?’

‘They have not seen each other for ten years. I think the reunification was awkward. Egric has gone off for a few days to hunt and fish with Dego.’

‘I know. Lucky fellow,’ Colgú sighed. ‘I said so earlier to Eadulf. I wish I could join them but now is hardly the time. I suppose that we will have to wait until the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald arrive before we know their purpose.’

‘Which will probably be tomorrow, if the reports of their progress are correct.’

‘I wish we had more time. I suppose that you have made no progress about the death of Brother Cerdic? No? Two deaths to be resolved and I am without a Chief Brehon that I can rely on.’

‘Speaking of whom,’ Fidelma glanced around the feasting hall, ‘I do not see Brehon Aillín here tonight, brother. Wouldn’t protocol dictate that he should attend?’ And when Colgú looked indifferent: ‘Did you speak with him again? You said that you were going to.’

‘I did. It was right I should do so before Beccan finally sent out the messages to the members of the Council of Brehons suggesting they appoint a new chief among them.’

‘I presume that he did not take your decision well and that is why he is not in attendance.’

‘Take it well?’ Colgú grimaced. ‘He almost attacked me! He said he was going to bring legal action against poor Eadulf, even though Eadulf was the one who was insulted. He also had the temerity to remind me that a king is not above the law.’

‘Well, that is true. A king is expected to obey the law even as the lowliest farmworker is expected to.’

‘I know, I know. But to threaten me . . . It was difficult to act with restraint when the old man was yelling about the
gáu flathemon
.’

‘The king’s injustice and its consequences?’ Fidelma sounded worried.

‘The old fool started to threaten me with the
troscud
; said that he would sit before my door and ritually fast until I agree to withdraw and accept him in office.’

‘What?’ Fidelma was surprised, for the
troscud
or hunger strike was not a weapon easily used. ‘Has he given you proper legal notice of that?’

‘No, it was just a threat. Why?’

‘There is a ritual to it. He must give proper legal form to it if he is serious.’

‘Well, I hope it doesn’t come to it, any more than his threat to take legal action against Eadulf.’

‘I was going to ask, what charge does he level at Eadulf?’ She was curious. ‘It can’t be an accusation of being behind the killing of Brother Cerdic, surely?’

‘He said that he would demand compensation for the dishonour that Eadulf had put upon him.’

‘
Deirmitiu
?’ Fidelma supplied the legal term.

‘That’s it. He demanded that Eadulf should pay the fine of
enech rucce
, the compensation for his being dishonoured.’

Fidelma mentally worked it out. ‘That would mean a compensation of eight
cumals
.’ That was the value of twenty-four milch cows. It was half the honour price of a Chief Brehon as laid down by law. ‘He wasn’t serious, surely?’

‘As serious as an angry man can be. But I dissuaded him.’

‘How?’

‘Merely by saying that I would stand as a witness for Eadulf and against him. That’s when he threatened the ritual fast against me. He has turned into a bitter old man. I hope the Council of Brehons will act soon.’ Colgú sighed and then dismissed the subject with a cutting motion of his hand. ‘Anyway, if it helps you, Aillín was invited, as he is still a guest here and I have to obey the laws of hospitality. It seems he prefers his own company this evening.’

He turned away. Fidelma suddenly felt sorry for him as he had left her having returned to a more morose state than the one in which he had greeted her. She wished she had not brought up the subject of Brehon Aillín. She went to where Eadulf was sitting with Abbot Ségdae and Brother Madagan. The abbot looked up with a wan smile as she joined them.

‘Brother Eadulf has been telling us that there has been little progress in your investigation.’

‘Alas, that it were otherwise,’ she confirmed.

‘He was also telling us something about this Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete,’ added Brother Madagan. ‘It seems curious that such a person should be coming here in the company of the brother of the Bishop of Rome.’

‘Believe me, we are just as intrigued as you are,’ Eadulf asserted.

‘Well, we won’t be in suspense much longer,’ Fidelma said. ‘By tomorrow you should know the purpose of their coming. It does no good to speculate without knowledge.’

She caught Eadulf trying to hide a smile as she added her favourite saying.

‘The saying is a true one,’ he said swiftly in amelioration.

‘Indeed, the old truths are none the less the truth, despite their age,’ she told him.

The musicians had begun playing, a quick enthusiastic piece which silenced all conversation, for against its boisterous tones no one could speak. It was designed for that purpose, to draw attention to the musicians and it was usually called
corm-cheól
, or ale music. They employed drums, bells, pipes and stringed instruments. Then, using the quietness that had descended on their audience, the musicians moved into a softer melody, with the youngest boy among them coming forward to sing, accompanying himself on a small eight-stringed harp.

The entertainment continued on until Abbess Líoch placed a hand in front of her mouth and feigned a yawn. It was simply a diplomatic means to herald her standing up and expressing her sorrow that tiredness had overcome her. Colgú with a smile indicated that she could withdraw and the abbess, followed by her young steward, left the hall. Fidelma glanced meaningfully at Eadulf and he knew that after the next piece of music, she would repeat this method to retire and so was ready when she, too, made the same gesture.

In fact, when they rose to depart, Colgú also ordered the musicians to be dismissed, remarking that the following day would be a long one and they all needed rest.

Fidelma and Eadulf left the feasting hall and began to walk unhurriedly back to their own apartments.

‘I keep wondering about this Venerable Victricius,’ Fidelma remarked. She had told Eadulf what Gormán had noticed about the lacerations on the back of the corpse. ‘I don’t suppose you ever heard his name in Rome?’

‘Victricius may not be common but it is certainly not unknown,’ offered Eadulf. ‘There was a bishop of that name in a town called Rotomagus in Gaul. He had served in the legions until he was converted.’

‘How do you know about him?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Do you remember when we were in Menevia? Abbot Tryffin told me about him.’

‘Our shipwreck on the shores of Dyfed is not one of my more pleasant memories,’ Fidelma said stiffly. ‘But why would Abbot Tryffin tell you about a former Roman soldier? I thought the Britons disliked them?’

‘It seems that this Victricius endeared himself to the Britons and they invited him to settle a dispute between their bishops. Of course, that was many, many years before my people began to settle on the island of Britain. In fact, Abbot Tryffin showed me a book that this Victricius wrote –
De Laude Sanctorum
.’

‘In Praise of Saints,’ translated Fidelma.

‘So,’ concluded Eadulf, ‘there are probably many people with that name – Victricius.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment and then said: ‘Gormán thought that Victricius might be one of those ascetics who ritually flagellate themselves. Yet the scars of the flogging showed that they had been made sometime in the past.’

They had been passing along a short passageway which ran between the King’s quarters and the building which housed their own apartments. The passage was lit with two brand torches – one at either end – which threw shadows here and there on to the greystone walls.

It was Fidelma’s sharp sense of hearing that saved them. A scraping noise came from somewhere above them. When a movement flickered on the gloomy walls that seemed out of place amid the shadows of the night, she did not hesitate but abruptly pushed Eadulf forward and leaped after him. They both tumbled in a heap on the cold stone flags just as a heavy piece of marble smashed into the ground behind them, splintering as it did so and sending fragments flying in all directions.

Fidelma was back on her feet in a second, peering cautiously upwards.

Eadulf stared at the remains of what had been a statue – one of several that stood on the roof of the King’s apartments.

Figures came rushing out of the dark, alerted by the thunderous sound. Enda, holding a lantern, was leading them.

‘What happened?’ he demanded, and then he saw the fragmented statue and was shocked. ‘Are you hurt?’

Fidelma shook her head while Eadulf, rubbing his forearm, muttered, ‘A few scratches from the splintered marble.’

Fidelma stood gazing at the remains for a moment or two. There was something familiar about it. It was a statue of some grotesque Otherworld creature with wings. She shook herself, almost like a dog shakes itself after an immersion, and then seemed to spring into action.

‘Enda, you and your men will follow me,’ she commanded.

Eadulf was still in shock while the others were already moving, following Fidelma in through a side door in the building.

‘What is it?’ he demanded breathlessly, catching up with her.

‘A statue the size of a small child does not fall of its own accord,’ she flung back at him over her shoulder.

Eadulf almost halted as the implication struck him. But the warriors, with Enda and his lantern, were pushing by after Fidelma as she hurried towards the stairway which led up to the flat roof of the building. Then he was rushing after them. As they raced upwards, Enda’s companions took two of the lighted lanterns from the walls.

They burst onto the roof with lanterns held high. It seemed deserted. On either side of the roof ran a broad parapet. There had been six statutes placed on these parapets – three along each side – except one was now missing on the side that had overlooked the narrow passage.

‘Make a search,’ Fidelma rapped out. ‘Enda – bring your lantern over here.’ She moved to the empty space where the statue had stood on the parapet and examined it.

Eadulf looked over her shoulder. He could see white scuff-marks on the stonework; pieces of stone seemed chipped, as if someone had been trying to dig something out. Fidelma sighed.

‘What is it?’ asked Enda.

‘It is as I expected. You’ll see where the statue was placed, like the others still are, in the middle of this broad parapet. It is not possible for it to fall of its own accord. So someone had to push it to the edge. They had to use a metal bar to do so. Hence the dents dug into the stone – there and there.’ She pointed. ‘See the scuff-marks as the statue moved? It was pushed to the edge, then whoever did this waited until they saw us enter the passage. They must have leaned over, looking down. As soon as they saw us, they made the final push. I heard the scraping sound. Had I not . . .’ She shuddered.

Enda’s men had rejoined them.

‘No sign of anyone, lady. But we found this by the other door.’

It was an iron bar just over a metre in length, with both ends hammered flat.

‘Well, that’s what was used as a lever to push the statue over,’ Fidelma said. ‘What of the other door that gives access to this roof?’

‘It is bolted on the other side.’

‘If the assassin left by that means, then he must have thrown the bolt,’ Enda offered.

‘It is the only means by which he left,’ Fidelma said grimly. ‘No one passed us as we came up the other stairway, did they? So whoever did this has escaped.’

‘Where does the other stairway lead?’ asked Eadulf. The building was the King’s apartments, and he was unfamiliar with parts of them.

‘It gives access to the King’s guest quarters,’ explained Enda. ‘From there, stairs lead to the quarters for the King’s personal attendants, the King’s quarters and the council chamber and feasting hall.’

‘So the culprit would have easy means of leaving the building? That is a pity.’

‘That is not so,’ Fidelma interrupted quietly. ‘At night, members of my brother’s bodyguard are posted at all the entrances. The Nasc Niadh have become especially vigilant since the attempt to assassinate him.’

Enda was nodding in agreement. ‘Moreover, we are also vigilant since the High King, Sechnussach, was assassinated in his own bedchamber at Tara.’