The Devil's Seal (46 page)

‘A silly dream,’ added Abbot Ségdae in a bitter tone.

‘Not so silly,’ she replied. ‘Brother Madagan was preparing you for the stage when he had the
pallium
and seal in his hands. He doubtless planned to bury them in Ailbhe’s tomb and then, acting on his dream, have them dug up and a miracle proclaimed.’

There was no need to confront Brother Madagan to verify whether this was the truth or not.

‘But this man was only my steward,’ objected Abbot Ségdae. ‘What profit would the elevation of the abbey be to him?’

‘He would become steward in a powerful abbey,’ replied Eadulf. ‘So he, too, would be reflected in its power. He might even have thought that he would eventually replace you as abbot.’

‘Why?’ demanded Abbot Ségdae, shaking his head sadly as he stared at his steward. ‘
Why
?’

Brother Madagan merely smiled with an air of disdain. ‘It is better to be the object of envy than of one of pity.’

Some days had passed when Fidelma and Eadulf sat before the fire in their chambers, warming themselves for the day was cold and there had been a light dusting of snow earlier that morning.

‘It seems so peaceful now that the Venerable Verax and his companions have set off east again,’ Fidelma sighed.

‘I think my compatriots were all astonished that Brother Madagan was not immediately put to death,’ Eadulf remarked. ‘Sometimes I do find it hard to accept the different concepts of law and punishment between our people.’

‘What does it benefit society to kill someone in vengeance? Instead, they should be made to compensate those whom they have wronged and through that work, rehabilitate themselves.’

‘So what will happen to Brother Madagan?’

‘Because his crimes were heinous, I am told that he is being escorted by Prince Finguine to one of the islands off the lands of the Corco Loígde. There are hundreds of islands and islets there. One will be chosen; then he will be left there with a few tools and his own devices. In a year or so, the island will be revisited to see if he had been able to survive. In that way, we will leave it to God to judge his fate.’

‘Yet he still has a life,’ Eadulf objected. ‘He did not personally kill Egric and, of course, my brother was a thief but . . . Ah, maybe
I
was in the wrong? Maybe I should have kept a closer watch on Egric when he was growing up. I did leave him to pursue my own ambition.’

‘You cannot be blamed for the path Egric chose,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘And who knows what other influences he encountered along the way.’ There was a brief silence between them. Then she said: ‘I hear that Dego has arrived back in Cashel this morning. I must visit him.’

‘I saw Gormán a short while ago,’ Eadulf told her. ‘He tells me that Dego appeared in good spirits. His arm is healing nicely and he can already ride a horse. He rode all the way back from Eatharlach, albeit with some help from Brother Berrihert.’

Fidelma smiled, for Eadulf was not the best of horsemen. ‘You don’t need two hands to ride a horse. A good warrior can ride into battle with his sword in one hand and buckler in the other, guiding the animal by the squeeze of his thighs.’

‘I wish Dego well. I did try to put cheer into him by telling him about the one-armed warrior of the Fomorii.’

Fidelma was not impressed. ‘The Fomorii? Better that you should have reminded him of Nuada of the Silver Arm.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘I haven’t heard of him.’

‘He was an ancient king, so it is said, and much associated with my own family, the Eóghanacht. Eóghan Mór, the progenitor of our house, was often called Mug Nuadat, the servant of Nuada. Nuada lost his arm in battle.’

‘So what happened after he lost his arm? I thought that having a physical impairment excluded a person from kingship?’

‘The story goes that the physician to the gods, Dian Cécht, made him a hand and arm of silver. That is how he became known as Nuada of the Silver Arm. But as time went on, Miach, the son of Dian Cécht, proved himself an even greater physician than his father. He made Nuada a hand and arm of flesh and blood again.’

Eadulf grimaced sceptically. ‘Ah, the tales of gods and heroes of yesteryear. Well, no god or physician will appear to create a hand and arm of flesh and blood for poor Dego. Such stories must be confined to the fantasies of the mind.’

‘But it is from the fantasies of our minds that the will to achieve is born. I am sure Dego will not be content to retire to a corner of an alehouse and simply bemoan his lot. I have no worries about his future . . .’

‘But . . .?’ prompted Eadulf, hearing the unfinished thought in her speech.

‘There is one matter I
am
very worried about.’

‘Only one?’ Eadulf teased.

‘An important one,’ she confirmed seriously.

‘Ah, you mean Aibell,’ he said.

‘Have you already noticed?’

‘How could I not notice?’

‘I have been wondering whether to advise Deogaire that he should set out for Sliabh Luachra immediately. Have you seen the way Gormán is glowering at him the whole time?’

‘He has a right to glower,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Aibell has been constantly in Deogaire’s company ever since he was released. Knowing the way Gormán feels about the young girl, I would not be surprised if there was some bloodshed before long.’

‘Isn’t that precisely what I was trying to tell you?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘That is why Deogaire should be told to leave here. I suppose I must be the one to tell him.’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘For someone who is supposed to be replete in wisdom, now and then you show an appalling lapse in understanding human behaviour.’

Fidelma bridled. ‘Why so?’ she demanded.

‘Because if he is sent away, the girl will instantly know why. She will immediately blame Gormán – and therefore there will be no hope of redeveloping his relationship with her in the future. Secondly, she may well follow Deogaire, and the same result will ensue.’

‘Then what is to be done?’

‘As the Venerable Verax might say –
res in cardine est
– the matter is on a door-hinge. At the moment, things might swing in either direction. But I believe this crisis will eventually resolve itself. If we interfere now, then it will go badly for the result I think we want. Torn flesh may be mended, Fidelma, but not torn hearts.’