“You know that I would not be capable of killing my own son. While you have that doubt you will do all you can to argue my case and clear me of this crime.”
“You are right,” Fidelma admitted. “I know that you could not have killed your son.”
Fidelma heard a movement outside the cell but did not take her eyes from Liadin’s triumphant gaze.
“Come in, Conn,” she called quietly and without turning her head. “Tell me why you had to kill Liadin’s little son.”
The fair haired young Tanist entered the cell with his sword drawn.
“For the same reason that I must now kill you,” he replied coldly. “The plot was more or less as you have described it. There was a slight difference. I was the leading spirit. Liadin and I were lovers.”
Liadin had begun crying softly, realizing the truth was finally out.
“I wanted my freedom from Scoriath to go with Conn. I knew Scoriath would not divorce me, for he was a man of principles. So there was no alternative. I had to make you believe that he was having an affair with Irnan….”
Fidelma raised an eyebrow in cynicism.
“Are you telling me that you did not know that Scoriath and Irnan were really lovers?”
Liadin’s look of startled surprise told Fidelma that she did not.
“Then you did not know that Scoriath would have divorced you had you simply asked him? Or that he remained with you only because of what he considered was his duty to you and his son?”
Liadin stood frozen in horror. Then she stammered: “But Conn… Conn said… Oh God! If only I had known… then all this could have been avoided. Conn and I could have been together without guilt.”
“That would not be so, would it, Conn, Tanist of the Uí Dróna?”
The young man’s expression was sullenly defiant.
“You see,” Fidelma went on, speaking to Liadin, “Conn was using you, Liadin. He persuaded you to work out the plan to implicate Irnan because if I followed your false trail and could demonstrate that Irnan was implicated, or at least was a suspect in Scoriath’s death, then she would have had to relinquish the chieftaincy of the Uí Dróna. A chieftain must be without blemish or suspicion. Who would benefit from that but the Tanist-the elected heir?”
Liadin had turned to Conn in disbelief.
“Deny it!” she cried. “Say it is not so!”
Conn shrugged arrogantly.
“Why gamble just for love when one can take power as well? We laid out the plot as you have deduced it, Fidelma of Kildare. Except for one thing: I also slew Scoriath. And when the child stumbled into the room and saw me, I had to kill him as I must now kill you….”
Conn raised his sword.
Fidelma flinched, closing her eyes. She heard Liadin scream. The blow was not delivered. She opened her eyes to find that Liadin was clinging to Conn’s sword arm while Rathend and two warriors crowded the cell to disarm and drag the struggling young man away.
Liadin collapsed into a sobbing heap on the cot.
Rathend was standing gazing at Fidelma with a look of admiration in his eyes.
“So you were right, Fidelma of Kildare. How could you have been so sure?”
“I was not sure. Only my instinct was sure. I was certain that Liadin could not have killed her son but that weighed against my certainty that it was Liadin who set the elaborate series of false clues for me to follow, knowing how they would appeal to my vanity for solving mysteries. I was faced with two conflicting certainties. That meant Liadin had an accomplice, and in that accomplice one could look for motive. I began to suspect Conn when he willingly provided me with the next link about Irnan and the Jewess connection.
“Poor Liadin, even when she knew that Conn had slain her child, she continued to go through with this plot for love of him. A strong thing, this blindness of love.”
She glanced compassionately at her friend.
“Only when I realized the width of the palm print on the book satchel was that of a male hand did things make sense. Conn, in setting the murder scene, had to make sure that Liadin had left the clue in its proper place and, in doing so, he left his own clue there. The plan needed my participation to follow the false clues. I was late in arriving here and found that Conn was looking for my coming. At the time I wondered why he was relieved when I arrived.”
Rathend sighed softly.
“So Conn persuaded his lover to participate in the crime, making her believe it was all for love while all the time he merely sought power?”
“liadin is guilty, but not so guilty as Conn, for he played on her emotions as a fiddler plays upon his instrument. Ah, Liadin, Lia-din!” Fldelma shook her head. “No matter how well one thinks one knows someone, there is always some dark recess of the mind that even the closest of friends may never reach.”
“She saved your life, though. That will stand in mitigation when she is judged.”
“If only Scoriath had been honest with her,” Fldelma sighed. “If Scoriath had confessed his affair with Irnan and told Liadin that he wanted a divorce, she would not have been led into this fearful plot.”
“It seems that Scoriath brought his own fate upon himself,” ventured Rathend.
“He was probably a coward to emotion,” agreed Fldelma as they turned from the cell, leaving the sobbing Liadin alone. “Men often are.
“God wills all things,” echoed Rathend hollowly.
A CANDLE FOR NULFSTAN
Abbot Laisran smiled broadly. He was a short, rotund, red-faced man. His face proclaimed a permanent state of jollity, for he had been born with that rare gift of humor and a sense that the world was there to provide enjoyment to those who inhabited it. When he smiled, it was no fainthearted parting of the lips but an expression that welled from the depths of his being, bright and all-encompassing. And when he laughed it was as though the whole earth trembled in accompaniment.
“It is so good to see you again, Sister Fidelma,” Laisran boomed, and his voice implied it was no mere formula but a genuine expression of his joy in the meeting.
Sister Fidelma answered his smile with an almost urchin grin, quite at odds with her habit and calling. Indeed, those who examined the young woman closely, observing the rebellious strands of red hair thrusting from beneath her head-dress, seeing the bubbling laughter in her green eyes, and the natural expression of merriment on her fresh, attractive face, would wonder why such an alluring young woman had taken up the life of a religieuse. Her tall, yet well-proportioned figure seemed to express a desire for a more active and joyous role in life than that in the cloistered confines of a religious community.
“And it is good to see you again, Laisran. It is always a pleasure to come to Durrow.”
Abbot Laisran reached out both his hands to take Fidelma’s extended one, for they were old friends. Laisran had known Fi-delma since she had reached “the age of choice,” and he it was who had persuaded her to take up the study of law under the Brehon Morann of Tara. Further, he had persuaded her to continue her studies until she had reached the qualification of
“Shall you be long among us?” inquired Laisran.
Fidelma shook her head.
“I am on a journey to the shrine of the Blessed Patrick at Ard Macha.”
“Well, you must stay and dine with us this night. It is a long time since I have had a stimulating talk.”
