‘You are an unspeakable pig. My vows forbid me to do more, Drón, than to smite you and that I do willingly for my mother’s memory and for my father. I did not agree with my father’s concept of vengeance. We have moved on from the old ways, the old gods of Woden and Vali. But I will welcome the ways of the laws of this land and I will pursue you through those paths so that you will answer for the scourging of my mother which led to her death.’
Holding his stinging cheek, Brother Drón recovered his anger.
‘Warrior, strike the foreigner!’ he yelled at Caol. ‘Strike him, I say, for the outrage he has committed!’
Caol glanced helplessly at Fidelma, who shook her head. ‘You will compose yourself, Brother Drón,’ she said.
‘You would stand up for this foreigner?’ snarled the northern cleric. ‘Ah yes, I forget, you would support them.’ He glanced in derision at Eadulf. ‘You prefer to be with them rather than with your own kind?’
Fidelma coloured hotly. ‘You are only compounding your transgressions, Brother Drón,’ she replied quietly. ‘I would take refuge in the teaching of the religion that you claim to represent.’
‘What do you mean?’ snapped the man.
A smile played on Fidelma’s lips for a moment. ‘Having been struck on the right cheek, turn to Brother Berrihert the left.’
Brother Drón took a quick pace back, his face angry. ‘I shall bring your conduct before the Abbot Ségdae, before the High King and his Chief Brehon. You shall answer for this outrage.’
‘We all have to answer for our actions sooner or later, Brother Drón, just as you will eventually answer for what happened at Colmán’s island of Inis Bó Finne. I will make sure that the matter is investigated and the truth is known. Now, tell me where Sister Marga is.’
Brother Drón’s anger increased. ‘If I knew where she was, do you think I would have been chasing her into this cursed glade?’ he demanded. ‘I was told that she had come here to meet her lover.’
‘Did you met Sister Marga and Fergus Fanat last night?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Fergus Fanat? Is that whom she ran off with?’
‘You did not meet Fergus Fanat?’
‘I did not.’
‘Do you claim that you know nothing of the attack on Fergus Fanat?’
Brother Drón began to speak but then gazed at her incredulously. ‘Attack?’
Fidelma sighed shortly. ‘When did you last see Sister Marga?’
‘At the meal last night. Then she and Sister Sétach left for their hostel.’
‘So what brought you here?’
‘Sister Sétach told me that Marga was missing sometime around midnight. For the second time a message had been brought to the fortress telling me that she was meeting a lover in this glade.’
‘So you came here, and found the message was from Ordwulf. Why are you so anxious to pursue and keep control of Marga?’
‘She took an oath to serve at Cill Ria. An oath is not lightly taken and she must maintain it.’
‘Even as Senach did,’ Fidelma observed.
Brother Drón blinked rapidly. Before he could respond she turned to Caol. ‘Take Brother Drón back to Cashel and make sure that he does not leave the fortress again.’
‘What of you, lady?’ demanded Caol.
‘We will follow on shortly. Brother Berrihert will ride the horse Ordwulf came here on.’
Caol acknowledged her instruction with a slight bow of his head and then turned and pointed up the narrow path out of the small glade. Angrily, Brother Drón preceded him, prompted by the way Gaol’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Fidelma looked questioningly at Brother Berrihert. ‘How do you wish to bury your father?’ she asked gently.
‘He was not a Christian,’ Brother Berrihert replied. ‘Therefore, I would like to send him to his hall of heroes in the traditional manner on a funeral pyre. It must be done tonight and it should be in some place apart that will not offend anyone. Would Miach give permission to have it raised on the hills near where we hope to dwell?’
‘I’m sure he would,’ Fidelma said at once. ‘You will want your brothers to attend as well?’
‘It is their right.’
‘Very well. If you take the track from here which leads north-west, within twenty kilometres you will find yourself back in the great valley of Eatharlaí, which you have made your new home. Wait there at Ardane and I will send your brothers to you. To the south you will see the wooded mountains rising above you — Sleibhte na gCoillte, the mountains of the woods. Tell Miach that I have requested this. When you are ready, proceed up into them; you may build your pyre there. It is isolated up there and you will not offend anyone. Miach will tell you the best path. That will be a fitting place for your father. Eadulf and Gormán will bring your brothers to you at Ardane by this evening.’
Brother Berrihert impulsively reached forward and took her hand.
‘Bless you, lady. For your understanding and for your trust.’
Fidelma smiled wryly. ‘I do not think it will be displaced.’
‘Yet I know that my father, indeed, myself and my brothers, could be suspect of killing Abbot Ultán just as my father attempted to kill his lackey Drón.’
‘I do not think that you or your brothers had a hand in it,’ replied Fidelma.
‘You may rest assured, lady, that, having observed the obsequies for our father this night, we shall return to Cashel after dawn tomorrow, there to await your judgements on the matters of Abbot Ultán’s death and my father’s attack on Drón.’
Eadulf helped Brother Berrihert to carry the body of Ordwulf, with his battleaxe, up the path to where they had left their horses. He helped Berrihert secure the body on Ordwulf’s horse and Berrihert mounted behind it. Fidelma pointed to the track he must follow which was easy enough as the great Mountains of the Woods were visible. They rose to the north-west and once round their most easterly end, the mouth of the valley of Eatharlaí opened up and Ardane was near.
They watched him set off along the track and then mounted their own horses. Fidelma was a little saddened.
‘Let us pray that the blessed glade of Patrick’s Well will extend its healing quality to the poor lost soul of Ordwulf.’
Eadulf grimaced sceptically. ‘It seems to me that Brother Drón stands more in need of its healing and calming qualities than did Ordwulf.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘Drón and all his ilk are trouble,’ she said as they turned their horses back towards Cashel. ‘Eadulf, I am sorry to place this extra journey on you and Gormán when we return. While I trust the Saxons, I would prefer it if you both accompanied Berrihert’s brothers to attend this funeral of Ordwulf.’
Eadulf gave her a quick glance. ‘You expect some problem?’
‘Not exactly. I want to ensure that there are no problems. Ninnid is always looking for easy solutions and there is a growing impatience among the guests at Cashel which might substitute expediency for justice.’
‘You mean that some will blame Ordwulf for Ultán’s death now that he has attempted the life of Drón? But then who killed Muirchertach? Dúnchad Muirisci?’
‘As I say,’ Fidelma replied, without answering his question, ‘some at Cashel want quick solutions which will probably not be the right ones.’
They arrived back at Cashel by mid-morning and immediately Fidelma sought out Caol to ensure that he and his prisoner had arrived back safely.
The young warrior was rubbing down his horse in the stables.
‘There were no problems on your journey back?’
Caol grinned crookedly. ‘How did you guess that there would be problems, lady?’
‘I did not think that Brother Drón was the type to be a docile companion and come here under your guidance without creating a problem.’
‘Well, he did once try to elude me. But I would not be fit to be commander of your brother’s bodyguard if I had allowed him to be successful.’
