here would see a swift destruction of it. Look at the position of this Faith throughout the five kingdoms. Two centuries ago Laoghaire of Tara took such a view that there was always room for another religion in the land and that suppressing it would merely make it breed faster. He allowed the followers of the Briton, Patrick, to have freedom to worship their God. Two centuries later there are only a few tiny outposts in the five kingdoms where we still follow the gods of our ancestors. The new religion dominates everywhere. Give it breathing space and it will choke the rest of us.’
There was a banging of feet and applause as Orla resumed her seat.
To Fidelma’s irritation, Brother Solin had risen to his feet.
‘Since Fidelma of Cashel will not debate with you, I, as representative of the Comarb of Patrick, who sits in Armagh, feel that I should take up the challenge she discards so lightly. I ask your indulgence to address this council.’
Fidelma’s face had taken on a stony look and she was staring straight ahead. Her mind was working rapidly. This was not the negotiation that she had been expecting. No one had given her any indication that this was to be a debate on theology in which her task was to seek proselytes. She felt that she was being manoeuvred into a debate as a distraction. But why?
Laisre asked Brother Solin to stand forward and invited him to speak.
Brother Solin shot a glance of triumph at Fidelma.
‘What is it that you fear about the religion of Christ?’ he demanded looking at Murgal.
‘Simply, that it destroys the old.’
‘And is that a bad thing?’
Murgal smiled threateningly.
‘We worship the ancient gods and goddesses who are the Ever Lasting Ones. Your Christ was executed and died. Was he therefore a powerful warrior? Did he have thousands defending him? No, he was a lowly carpenter who, irony of ironies, died on a tree!’
Murgal looked around him with a self-satisfied grin and added: ‘You see, I have studied some of this religion of Christ.’
Brother Solin had reddened at the gibe.
‘It was so ordained that the Christ, who was the Son of God, should die to bring peace to the world. God so loves this world, we are told, that he gave his only son to die for it.’
‘Such a god,’ sneered Murgal. ‘He had to kill his own son to show love! Was he jealous of his son? Your God’s son is as poor as his father!’
Brother Solin began to choke angrily.
‘How dare you …?’
‘Loss of temper is no argument.’ Clearly, Murgal was enjoying himself. ‘Tell us what your God taught? We would like to hear. Was he a strong god? Did he teach resistance to those who would enslave people? Did he teach self-reliance or the practice of what is good and just? Did he teach resistance to those who do wrong? No, for I have heard it with my own ears. He taught poverty of spirit. It is written in your sacred texts — “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”. Your God’s heaven is not the Otherworld where justice, morality and manly self-reliance are rewarded in the hall of the heroes who sit with the Ever Living Ones.
‘Indeed, your God taught that if someone struck a man on one cheek, that person should offer the other cheek to be struck, thus courting further injury and oppression and inviting wrong doing. Surely the Brehons teach that those who court oppression share the crime? When men are poor in spirit then the proud and haughty in spirit oppress them. When men are true in spirit and determined to prevent wrong then the people benefit. Do you not agree with that, Brother Solin?’
Brother Solin was furious. His anger made him look pitiful and inarticulate in front of the assembly. Fidelma had already assessed that it needed a finer intellect than Brother Solin to do battle with glib-tongued Murgal. She shook her head slightly and whispered across to Eadulf: ‘The triads of Éireann say three laughing stocksof the world — a jealous man, a parsimonious man and an angry man. Brother Solin has walked directly into the trap that Murgal has prepared.’
Brother Solin was continuing on, unaware of the impression he was giving.
‘The Christ said — “Blessed are you that weep now, for you shall laugh. Blessed are you that mourn, for you shall be comforted and Blessed be you poor for yours is the kingdom of heaven.”’
‘Nice promises but only to be fulfilled in the Otherworld,’ sneered Murgal. ‘But it is poor teaching for this world. Poverty of person leads on from poverty of spirit. This religion was obviously conceived by a tyrant who wanted to see the poor continue in their poverty while he grew rich and fat on their misery.’
‘Not so, not so …’ cried Brother Solin losing all attempt at composure.
Fidelma stood up abruptly.
She said not a word but the very fact of her rising and her silence caused every voice to fade so that silence gradually permeated the room. She waited until it was so encompassing that even the smallest whisper could be heard.
‘I was misinformed,’ she began softly. ‘I was told that this was to be a negotiation on practical matters. Not a theological debate. Should you have required representatives to discuss theology then you should have told the bishop of Imleach who would have sent you scholars who would match your scholars. I am but a simple servant of the law of this land. I shall commence my journey home to Cashel this afternoon and I shall take back the message that the chieftain of Gleann Geis has been unable to make a decision on this matter. Cashel will not send anyone to Gleann Geis again until it is assured that a decision has been made.’
As she turned, Eadulf rose unsteadily, groaning inwardly at the very idea of commencing such a journey in his condition.
‘An admission of defeat?’ cried Murgal. ‘Do you admit that Christians cannot argue logic with a Druid?’
Fidelma halted and looked in his direction.
‘You are acquainted, I suppose, with the triads of Eireann?’
‘A poor Brehon I would be if I was not,’ replied Murgal complacently.
‘Three candles that illuminate every darkness: truth, nature and knowledge,’ she quoted and then turned away towards the door.
This time she did not even stop when she heard Laisre’s voice call out to her to do so.
The warrior, Rudgal, looking uncomfortable, barred the doorwayas she reached it, resting his hand lightly on his sword hilt. He looked apologetic.
‘My chieftain calls on you to stay, Sister,’ he muttered. ‘He has to be obeyed.’
He was taken aback by the green fire that danced in Fidelma’s eyes.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, princess of the Eóghanacht. I stay for no one!’
How she did it not even Eadulf knew but her sheer presence caused Rudgal to fall back a pace and she had swept through the door and out into the courtyard. She did not pause to see if Eadulf was following but walked quickly across the courtyard of the ráth to the guests’ hostel. Inside she made straight for a pitcher of water and poured herself a drink.
Eadulf hastened in after her and closed the door. He looked at her nervously but found that her face was creased with laughter. He shook his head in bewilderment.
‘I do not understand.’
Fidelma was good humoured.
‘Whether this was Laisre’s design or not, this council was a charade. It was set up either to waste time or to distract us from the business we were sent here to conduct. What I have to decide is why and who is responsible. And, further, was that idiot Brother Solin part of this deception?’
‘I still do not understand.’
‘Instead of getting down to the business we were meant to arrange, Murgal deliberately tried to lead us into the time-wasting morass of arguing our differing philosophies. If I had accepted that as the starting point, we would have been arguing here for weeks. Why? What purpose would that serve? The only thing to do was to take the stand I did and to call their bluff.’
‘Will their bluff be called?’ demanded Eadulf.
There came the sound of voices growing nearer.
Eadulf glanced out of the window.
