‘As I understand it,’ intervened Fidelma, ‘the purpose is to agree a means whereby the abbot-bishop of Imleach is empowered to build a church of the Faith here in Gleann Geis as well as a school. Am I correct?’
Laisre seemed disconcerted for the moment at her swift summary.
‘You are correct,’ he agreed.
‘And, in return, what is it that you expect from Imleach?’ asked Fidelma.
‘What makes you think that we expect anything of Imleach?’ Murgal intervened in a suspicious tone.
Fidelma smiled at him with an expression which showed little humour.
‘The very word we are using to describe what we are about to do — negotiation — makes me think so. Negotiation implies a bargain. A bargain means to make some form of agreement involving a compromise. Or am I mistaken?’
‘You are not mistaken, Fidelma,’ Laisre replied. ‘The bargain is simple — in return for permission to build a church and to teach children here in Gleann Geis we would want assurances that there will be no interference in the religious life of Gleann Geis, in our pursuing the faith of our forefathers, in following the path of our ancient beliefs.’
‘I see.’ Fidelma frowned slightly as she considered the matter. ‘But why should we build a church and a school if we are not allowed to proselytise the people? Why have a church or a school at all if no one is allowed to go to them?’
Laisre exchanged a glance with Murgal and then seemed to weigh his words carefully.
‘The fact is, Fidelma of Cashel, we do have a Christian community here in Gleann Geis.’
Fidelma was surprised but tried not to show it.
‘I do not understand. I have always been told that Gleann Geis was a bastion of the old faith, the old ways. Is this not so?’
‘So it is,’ interrupted Murgal, his voice brittle. ‘And so it should remain.’
‘This is a wrong attitude,’ Laisre rebuked him. ‘The times have changed and we must move with them or perish.’
Fidelma turned to examine him with interest. She wondered if she had underestimated the chieftain. It was clear that some among his people disapproved of his contact with the bishop of Imleach but now he was displaying the quality of a firm leader of his people.
Murgal gave a loud hiss of annoyance.
There was an uncomfortable silence before Laisre proceeded.
‘Over the years our men and women have intermarried with surrounding clans and through this means we have maintained our strength as a people. We have obeyed the ancient laws against incest and so we have survived strong and healthy. But the wives and husbands who have been brought into our midst have often been of the new religion. They have come to Gleann Geis bringing the new Faith and many have raised their children in it. This community is so sizable now that they demand a church and a priest of the Faith to see to their spiritual needs; they demand a school where they may learn about their Faith.’
Colla muttered something indiscernible.
Laisre ignored him. He turned directly to Fidelma.
‘There are some among us who recognise the inevitability of the triumph of your Faith. In these last two centuries the five kingdoms have been transformed whether some of us like it or not.’
‘A fundamental tenet of our law is that no one dictates what gods or goddesses we follow,’ Murgal intervened. ‘Since the time when those of the new Faith subverted our kings, we have been told which gods we can pray to. We are told that we can only pray to three …’
‘There is only one God!’ exploded Eadulf, unable to keep aloof from the argument.
‘One?’ Murgal sneered. ‘Do you not know your own Faith? There are three, those you call the Holy Trinity. And do you not also pray to a goddess, the mother of your Christ?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘That is not how we, of the Faith, view these matters, Murgal,’ she remonstrated softly. Then to Laisre she said, ‘But surely this is no place to discuss theology, nor was it for that purpose that I came to Gleann Geis.’
The chieftain lowered his head for a moment in thought and then he indicated his agreement.
‘We may discuss the freedom of the individual and the freedom of religion at some other time,’ Fidelma added.
‘Then remember,’ Murgal said, ‘when you speak of freedom, our religion is wedded to the soil of this place; it is the religion of our ancestors for countless generations going back into the mists of time itself. Know then, that it is a hard thing to eradicate entirely from the soil in which it has grown, in which it has been nurtured and borne fruit. Remember that freedom from the bondage of soil is no freedom for the tree.’
Fidelma began to realise that Murgal was no mere unquestioning spokesman of a dying faith. He was a spiritual man of deep thought. In him, Fidelma realised that she had found an adversary not to be underrated.
‘I shall remember what you say, Murgal,’ she acknowledged. ‘But our immediate task is to make an agreement, that is, if you wish to have a church and school in this valley. I had been given the impression that the council had already agreed to this for I did not come here merely to debate theology.’
Laisre coloured a little.
‘I called you here, Fidelma, because it is my wish that my people have these things so that all their beliefs are satisfied. While some of my council inevitably disagree to changes, the greater good of the greater number of my people must remain my guide.’
‘Then I am ready to discuss these practical matters.’
Laisre stood up abruptly.
‘I have decreed that the opening session of our negotiations will begin tomorrow morning at the sounding of the horn. We shall meet here in the council chamber and discuss such matters as may be pertinent. But as for this evening, I have provided a feasting and an entertainment to welcome you into our valley. The horn will summon you to the chamber for the feast.’
Chapter Six
Fidelma had been surprised that she had not been permitted a private meeting with Laisre to discuss the chieftain’s own attitudes. There were a few hours before the evening feast was due to start which Fidelma felt could have been profitably spent in some preliminary discussions on attitude. It appeared that there was some schism among the leaders of the clan over the matter. She had been politely told that neither Laisre nor Colla could make themselves available. Therefore, she and Eadulf found themselves left to their own devices; ignored, though politely so, for everyone in the ráth, including Brother Solin and his young scribe, seemed to have disappeared.
It was Fidelma who suggested that they might usefully examine the fortress and its grounds. It was inevitable that they decided to take a turn around the battlements of the ráth, the wooden walkway which circled the interior of the granite walls. Should the fortress ever be attacked, warriors could take their place in defensive positions, covering the approaches with their bows.
‘It is the only place that I have noticed, at the moment, where we might not be overheard,’ Fidelma commented as she looked around her. ‘It is a place to be remembered when we need to be discreet.’
They paused at an open stretch of the wall, well away from a sentinel who stood above the gateway.
‘Is there something disturbing you then that you should seek privacy?’ Eadulf queried.
‘A few matters still disturb me,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Do not forget there is the riddle of the thirty-three bodies to be resolved.’
‘So you do not trust Colla to come up with any real evidence for the slaughter?’
‘That should be obvious,’ she replied waspishly. ‘Perhaps Laisre does have a valid reason to keep us here but I have the feeling that he does not want us investigating that matter further. I have a feeling we are being manipulated. Why are we dismissed to our own resources when we could have conducted much of the businessthat brings us hither within these precious hours, which we are now wasting?’
