Fergus Fanat’s expression changed to one of seriousness.
The lady Fidelma is right. You’d best do as she says,’ he advised.
The girl hesitated before agreeing. They moved away across the courtyard just as one of the guards in the gate tower blew a blast on a horn, signifying that the High King and his retinue were returning.
Finguine came hurrying over to join her.
‘The hunt returns, your brother and the High King,’ he announced unnecessarily. ‘The attendants are carrying three boars, so the hunt has been good.’
Eadulf and Gormán were staring in disbelief at Brother Drón as he sat on his horse chuckling to himself at the news of Muirchertach Nár’s death.
‘God’s justice,’ he repeated. ‘God’s punishment for his slaughter of Abbot Ultán.’
‘God had little to do with it,’ Eadulf replied grimly, ‘unless you are claiming to be the hand of God.’
The coldness in his voice caused Brother Drón to pause uncertainly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he demanded.
‘Muirchertach Nár was murdered, killed with his own hunting spear. The killer, according to the tracker who found him, rode off with his horse. We have found you riding with Muirchertach Nár’s horse.’
Brother Drón stared at him for a moment and then swallowed.
‘I did not kill him,’ he said quietly.
‘You want us to believe this story you tell about finding the horse?’ Eadulf replied sarcastically.
‘It is the truth.’
‘You have blamed Muirchertach Nár for the death of Bishop Ultán. You wanted revenge and now here you are — the king dead and you riding with his horse.’ Eadulf smiled grimly. ‘It seems the facts are unequivocal.’
Gormán’s hand was resting gently on the hilt of his sword.
‘It is obvious, Brother Drón,’ he said. ‘We will return to Cashel and put this matter before the brehons.’
‘I swear by the holy. .’
‘Save your protestations for the brehons,’ Gormán replied sternly. ‘There will be time enough to plead your case.’
Brother Drón looked visibly shaken and Eadulf had a moment of unease. The man was either a very good actor or he was telling the truth. Then Eadulf decided that the circumstances could bear no other interpretation.
‘I’ll ride in front,’ he told Gormán. ‘Brother Drón will follow me and you can bring up the rear to ensure that he does not attempt to flee.’
But Brother Drón was hunched in his saddle, looking shocked. From the arrogant, confident person of a few moments ago, the change was marked.
‘He will not flee,’ Gormán assured Eadulf grimly, hand still on the hilt of his sword.
‘How can this have happened?’ Brehon Ninnid demanded, his face flushed.
They had gathered in Colgú’s private chamber — Colgú, Sechnassach, Brehon Barran, Brehon Baithen, Brehon Ninnid and Fidelma. Most people had now returned from the hunt and the body of Muirchertach Nár had been quietly returned to the fortress under cover of blankets so that no one would recognise the body. It had been taken directly to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.
Fidelma regarded the young brehon of Laigin coldly.
‘That is what we have to discover,’ she said.
Brehon Ninnid’s features were formed into a cynical expression. ‘I thought that Brother Eadulf had gone along on the hunt to see that no accident befell Muirchertach Nár?’
Fidelma coloured a little at the jibe. Her eyes Nárrowed slightly.
‘Eadulf went along and was nearly killed when his horse threw him during a wild boar charge. At least he and Gormán were able to apprehend a suspect.’
‘Brother Drón? I do not believe it,’ Brehon Ninnid snapped. ‘A religious of his background could never do such a thing.’
The High King Sechnassach looked worried. ‘If Brother Drón has done this in retaliation for the killing of Ultán for which you were defending Muirchertach Nár, then I foresee dangers ahead.’
The High King’s Chief Brehon, Barrán, explained:
‘First, Ultán was a leading churchman, an emissary of Ard Macha. Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, in whose kingdom Ard Macha lies, was able to assure me that he could control any protest that Ard Macha might make against the killing of their emissary, providing that he could assure Ségéne, the Comarb of Patrick, that the killer had been caught and punishment pronounced. But now that’ — he glanced at Fidelma — ‘the suspect has himself been slaughtered, things have changed. At the moment, we are told that Brother Drón of Cill Ria is the likely killer of the king of Connacht. Connacht may want retribution from Ard Macha. Before we tell Muirchertach’s heir apparent, Dúnchad Muirisci, we need to give him some assurances. Remember that kings are answerable to their people. It is the people who are powerful in these matters because it is the people who ordain the king. The king does not ordain the people.’
Brehon Ninnid thrust out his chest arrogantly. ‘Then the sooner I speak to Brother Drón the faster this matter will be resolved. I cannot believe a religious would contemplate a revenge killing of Muirchertach Nár.’
‘You can see him whenever you wish,’ Fidelma said.
‘Good. We cannot wait for ever for a solution. Perhaps if we had prosecuted Muirchertach Nár immediately there would not have been any revenge killing.’
Brehon Barran glanced at Fidelma. She was shaking her head in annoyance.
‘You disagree?’
‘It is all too easy,’ she muttered.
The High King sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I have great respect for you, Fidelma of Cashel. Indeed, I might not be High King if it were not for your ability to solve conundrums. I remember how you solved the riddle of the sacred sword of office. So I owe you much. I am prepared to give you more time to resolve this matter, but why do you say that the obvious path is too easy? Surely, it is a painful path that admits a king has killed an abbot and that a churchman has killed a king in vengeance?’
‘If that is what happened, Sechnassach,’ replied Fidelma softly.
Brehon Ninnid began to say something, but the High King waved him to silence.
‘You have an alternative view?’ he asked.
‘I have no view at this time. If we have learnt anything during the countless centuries that our brehons have devised and developed our law code, it is that truth is more important than law. Are we not taught that truth is the highest power, the ultimate cause of all being? So, therefore, we must discover the truth in order that justice might prevail.’
Brehon Ninnid smiled in a superior fashion. ‘When is the prosecution of the law contradicted by truth?’
‘When a judge chooses expediency in favour of a slow, deliberate investigation,’ Fidelma replied sharply. ‘Do you not recall the old story of the gold cup of Cormac Mac Art?’
‘Pagan fiddlesticks!’ Brehon Ninnid replied in a tone of dismissal.
‘To those who only see the story and fail to realise its symbolism. The story is that Cormac came to possess a gold cup that fell asunder into three sections if three lies were told and would come together again if three truths were told. The act of truth made the cup whole.’
‘What are you saying, Fidelma?’ demanded the High King.
‘I am reminding you of the words of my mentor; of Morann’s advice to the princes of these kingdoms. Let them magnify truth, it will magnify them. Let them strengthen truth, it will strengthen them. Let them preserve truth, it will preserve them. .’
The Chief Brehon Barrán made an impatient gesture with his hand. ‘His words are well known, Fidelma.’
