Dagobert was a young man who had been brought from the land of the Franks when he was a child. It was claimed that he was heir to the Frankish empire but his father had been deposed and the young prince had been taken into exile in Ireland until the time came when he could return. He was tall, dark, rather attractive and spoke Irish almost as fluently as a native prince. Laisran had warned Sister Fidelma that the young man was well connected and betrothed to a princess of the kings of Cashel. There would be repercussions if Dagobert was not accorded the full letter of the Brehon Law.
“You know why you are here?” began Sister Fidelma.
“That I do,” the young man smiled. The Saxon pig, Wulfstan, has been slain. Outside the band of Saxons who followed the young whelp, there is a smile on the face of every student in Dur-row. Does that surprise you, Sister Fidelma?”
“Perhaps not. I am told that you were known to have had an argument with him?”
Dagobert nodded.
“What about?”
“He was an arrogant pig. He insulted my ancestry and so I punched him on the nose.”
“Wasn’t that difficult to do, with his bodyguard? I am also told that Raedwald was never far away and he is a muscular young man.”
Dagobert chuckled.
“Raedwald knew when to defend his prince and when not. He diplomatically left the room when the argument started. A man with a sense of honor is Raedwald of the South Saxons. Wulfstan treated him like dirt beneath his feet even though he was a thane and blood cousin.”
Sister Fidelma reached into her robes and drew out the blood-stained embroidered linen kerchief and laid it on the table.
“Do you recognize this?”
Dagobert frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a puzzled expression.
“It is certainly mine. There is my motto. But the bloodstains …?”
“It was found by the side of Wulfstan’s body. I found it. It was obviously used to wipe the blood off the weapon that killed him.”
Dagobert’s face whitened.
“I did not kill Wulfstan. He was a pig but he was simply needed a sound thrashing to teach him manners.”
“Then how came this kerchief to be by his side in his chamber?”
“I… I loaned it to someone.”
“Who?”
Dagobert bit his lip, shrugging.
“Unless you wish to be blamed for this crime, Dagobert, you must tell me,” insisted Fidelma.
“Two days ago I loaned the kerchief to Talorgen, the prince of Rheged.”
Finan inclined his head to Sister Fidelma.
“Your reputation as an advocate of the Brehon Court precedes you, Sister,” the dark, lean man greeted her. “Already it is whispered from Tara how you solved a plot to overthrow the High King.”
Fidelma gestured Finan to be seated.
“People sometimes exaggerate another’s prowess, for they love to create heroes and heroines to worship. You are professor of law here?”
“That is so. I am qualified to the level of
The
“And you taught Wulfstan?”
“Each of us has a cross to bear, as did Christ. Mine was the teaching of the Saxon thanes.”
“Not all the Saxons?”
Finan shook his head.
“No. Only the three thanes, as they refused to sit at lessons with churls, and only the express order of the Abbot Laisran made them attend class with the other students. They were not humble before the altar of Christ. In fact, I formed the opinion that they secretly mocked Christ and clung to the worship of their outlandish god Woden.”
“You disliked the Saxons?”
“I hated them!”
The vehemence in the man’s voice made Sister Fidelma raise her eyebrows.
“Isn’t hate an emotion unknown to a Brother of the order, especially one qualified as a
“My sister and brother took up the robes of the religious and decided to accept a mission to preach the word of Christ in the lands of the East Saxons. A few years ago I encountered one of the missionaries who had gone in that band. They had arrived in the land of the East Saxons and sought to preach the word of Christ. The heathen Saxons stoned them to death, only two of the band escaping. Among those who met a martyr’s fate were my own sister and brother. I have hated all Saxons ever since.”
Sister Fidelma gazed into the dark eyes of Finan.
“Did you kill Wulfstan?”
Finan returned her scrutiny squarely.
“I could have done so at another time, in another place, I have the hatred in me. But no, Sister Fidelma, I did not kill him. Neither do I have the means to enter a barred room and leave it as though no one had entered.”
Fidelma nodded slowly.
“You may go, Finan.”
The professor of law rose reluctantly. He paused and said reflectively, “Wulfstan and Eadred were not liked by any in this monastery. Many young men with hot tempers have challenged them in combat since they have been here. Dagobert the Frank, for one. Only the fact that such challenges are forbidden on sacred soil has prevented bloodshed thus far.’’
Fidelma nodded absently.
“Is it true that the Saxons are leaving tomorrow?” Finan demanded.
She raised her head to look at him.
“They are returning with the body of Wulfstan to their own land,” she affirmed.
A contented smile crossed Finan’s face.
“I cannot pretend that I regret that, even if it cost one of their lives to prompt the move. I had hoped that they would have left Durrow yesterday.”
She glanced up at the law professor, interested.
“Why would they leave?”
“Some Saxon messenger arrived at the monastery yesterday afternoon seeking Wulfstan and Eadred. I half-hoped that it was a summons to return to their country. However, praise be that they are departing now.”
Fidelma frowned in annoyance.
“Let me remind you, Finan, that unless we find the culprit, not only this center of learning, but all the five kingdoms of Éireann will be at risk, for the Saxons will surely want to take compensation for the death of their prince.”
Talorgen of Rheged was a youth of average stature, fresh-faced and sandy of hair. He already wore a wispy moustache, but his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven.
“Yes. It is no secret that I challenged Wulfstan and Eadred to combat.”
His Irish, though accented, was fluent and he seemed at ease as he sat in the chair Sister Fidelma had indicated.
“Why?”
