animal instinct?’
‘What else?’
‘It requires a cunning animal to take a knife, kill the woman who has been looking after him all his life and find his way to Eber’s apartments and similarly kill him.’
‘Who said animals were not cunning?’ Crón riposted.
Cranat grimaced sourly in agreement.
‘It seems to me, young woman, that you are trying to find some way to exonerate Móen. Why is this?’
Fidelma suddenly stood up.
‘I am merely seeking the truth. I am not responsible for how you see things, Cranat of Araglin. I have a job to do, according to my oath as an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms. That task is not merely to establish who is guilty of breaking the law but why the law was broken, in order that the assessment of culpability and compensation are adequately made. And now, I have finished for the time being.’
Eadulf noted the expressions of outrage on the faces of mother and daughter. If looks could have killed, then Fidelma would have been dead before she rose and stepped off the dais. Obliviously, she preceded Eadulf, who had also risen, to the doors of the assembly hall.
Once outside the doors, Fidelma paused. They stood in silence for a while.
‘You do not appear to have much liking for Cranat and her daughter,’ observed Eadulf dryly.
Fidelma’s eyes flashed as she turned to him but then she gave him a mischievous grin.
‘I have a grievous fault, Eadulf. Of that I freely admit. I am intolerant of certain attitudes. Haughtiness is one thing that prejudices me against people. I respond in kind. I am afraid I cannot obey the teaching of “turning the other cheek”. I find that such a teaching is merely an invitation to further injury.’
‘Well, at least you recognise your fault,’ replied Eadulf. ‘The greatest of faults is to be conscious of none.’
Fidelma chuckled softly.
‘You are becoming a philosopher, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. But one important factor we have learnt from this clash of temperaments. Cranat is not to be trusted.’
‘Why not?’
‘She was too upset to pay her last respects to the body of her husband, to even see the body, but strong enough and devoted to duty to send a messenger to Cashel because she did not trust her inexperienced daughter’s knowledge of the law. I find that strange.’
She glanced towards the chapel. Eadulf followed her gaze. The door of the chapel stood open.
‘I wonder if the redoubtable Father Gormán has returned?’ she mused. Then making up her mind she moved towards it calling over her shoulder: ‘Come, let us see.’
Eadulf groaned a little under his breath as he hurried after her for he knew, by the picture he had already built up, the priest was someone who would be a dog to Fidelma’s cat.
There were candles lit in the dusk shrouded chapel. The fragrance of incense struck them immediately, permeating throughout the polished deal panelled building. The perfume of it was exceedingly strong. Fidelma glanced quickly around at the opulence of the interior. There were gold-framed icons on the walls and an exquisite silver bejewelled cross stood upon the altar with a plain silver chalice before it. There were no seats within the church as it was the custom for congregations to stand throughout the services. Lighted candles impregnated with perfumes and spices caused the aroma which made them catch at their breath. Certainly Father Gormán boasted an opulent church and congregation.
A man was kneeling at his devotions. Fidelma paused at the back of the chapel, Eadulf at her shoulder. The man seemed to sense their presence for he glanced over his shoulder, turned back to end his prayers and genuflected to the altar. Then he rose to his feet and came to greet them.
Father Gormán was tall, with a slight almost feminine figure but with a dark, swarthy complexion, a fleshy face, thick red lips and receding greying hair that had once matched the blackness of his flashing eyes. There were traces of the handsome youth although Fidelma now had the impression of a dissolute middle-age which seemed at odds with the positive impression she had gathered of a fiery Roman priest. He greeted them in a deep, thunderous voice which still held the promise of hellfire and damnation in it. She noted, though not with surprise, that he worethe
His eyes seemed to soften as he caught sight of Eadulf’s own Roman tonsure.
‘Greetings, brother,’ he boomed. ‘So we have one among us who follows the path of real wisdom?’
Eadulf was embarrassed at the welcome.
‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. I would never have expected to find so rich a chapel here among these mountains.’
Father Gormán laughed warmly.
‘The earth provides, my brother. The earth provides for those with true faith.’
‘Father Gormán?’ Fidelma interposed before the conversation continued on the course the priest had sent it. ‘I am Fidelma of Kildare.’
The dark eyes flashed to her appraisingly.
‘Ah yes. I have been hearing from Dubán about you, sister. You are welcome in my little chapel. Cill Uird, I call it, the church of the ritual, for it is by ritual we live the true Christian life. God bless your coming, sanctify your staying and give peace to your departure.’
Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgment of the greeting.
‘We would appreciate a few minutes of your time, father. You have doubtless learnt the purpose of our visit here?’
‘I have so,’ agreed the priest. He gestured for them to follow him and led them across the chapel to a small side room which appeared to be the sacristy where there was a bench on which was draped a parti-coloured cloak. In front of it was a chair. Wordlessly, he removed the cloak and indicated that they should be seated on the bench while he himself took the chair, removing his gloves as he did so.
‘You will forgive me?’ he said, catching her inquisitiveexpression. ‘I have only just returned to the
‘A priest with a horse to ride is unusual,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Father Gormán chuckled.
‘I have rich supporters who have donated a horse for my convenience for it would take many days to administer to my flock if I had to do it all on foot. And now, no more talk of me. I saw you both at Hilda’s abbey during the council there.’
‘Were you at Witebia?’ Eadulf was astounded.
Father Gormán nodded affirmatively.
‘Indeed. I saw you both there but you will not remember me. I was finishing a missionary tour with Colmán when I came to Streoneshalh. I was there not as a delegate but merely to listen to my betters arguing the merits of the churches of Colmcille and Rome.’
Eadulf did not disguise his feeling of smugness.
‘So you were there when we solved the murder of the Abbess Etain and …’
‘I was there,’ interrupted Father Gormán heavily, ‘when Oswy, in his wisdom, decided that Rome was the true church and that those who followed Colmcille were in error.’
‘It is already obvious that you follow the dictates of Rome,’ Fidelma conceded dryly.
‘And who could argue against Oswy’s decision once the arguments were made?’ replied the priest. ‘I returned to this, my parish, and have tried to guide my people, the people of Araglin, along the true path ever since.’
‘Surely there are many paths which lead to God?’ interrupted Fidelma.
‘Not so!’ snapped Father Gormán. ‘Only those who follow the one path can hope to find God.’
‘You have no doubt of that?’
‘I have no doubt for I am firm in my belief.’
‘Then you are to be envied, Father Gormán. To believe withsuch certainty you must surely have
