Dancing With Demons

‘And who were these … what did you call them — Fir Bolg? Who were they who divided this land into five kingdoms? I have heard only that your people were descended from the children of Milesius and are called Gaels.’

The girl raised her chin a little. Eadulf heard a note of pride again. ‘The children of Milesius were the last people to arrive in this land. The Fir Bolg had conquered this island back in the mists of time, many generations before the coming of the children of the Gael. The five kings met at Uisnech, the sacred centre of the land, and it was from there that they divided it so that each one would rule a fifth.’

Uisnech again. Fidelma had explained its significance to him after the old woman had mentioned it at the bridge. Even the coming of Christianity had not displaced it as a great sacred ceremonial site, for it was thought to be the ‘omphalos’ or navel of the five kingdoms of Éireann, the point where the five kingdoms met. It was the spot where the goddess Eire, whose name had been given to the entire island, was venerated in ancient times. And it was the place where the Druids of the Old Faith gathered to light the ritual fires at the time of Beltane, the fires of Bél, marking the end of the dark half of the year.

‘So you are proud of your name?’ he observed.

Once again the girl’s eyes flickered to his and this time he saw some tiny sparks of emotion.

‘My name is all I have,’ she said simply. ‘I am a servant in this place. And, if you will forgive me, I will now go to Báine and see if she needs my help.’

She left as Caol and Gormán entered. Eadulf motioned to the jugs of drinks and suggested they help themselves.

Caol sprawled on a chair and stared moodily at his drink while Gormán leaned against the wall.

‘You two do not look happy,’ observed Eadulf.

Gormán shrugged indifferently. ‘I can’t say that I am happy to be here,’ he acknowledged.

Caol smiled thinly. ‘I think he is worried by the old woman at the ford.’

Gormán did not seem offended. ‘You have to admit it was an unusual welcome to Tara. We have received better ones. I was raised on the old legends of the goddess of death and battles waiting at a ford and warning people of their death.’

Eadulf was not going to confess that he, too, had felt an apprehension about the old woman. He merely said: ‘Well, she did not foretell our deaths. She merely told us to return to Cashel, which I am sure we will do as soon as possible. After all, this affair cannot keep us here long. Sechnussach is dead, we know who killed him and we know that the assassin took his own life. There is little enough to investigate.’

‘Then why did the Great Assembly send for the lady Fidelma?’ demanded Gormán.

‘Merely to have someone unconnected with the events pronounce the findings,’ replied Eadulf calmly. ‘It seems a logical enough request.’

‘There is a feeling of gloom in the place,’ Gormán sighed, not assuaged.

‘Why wouldn’t there be? Is it often that a High King is murdered?’ countered Eadulf.

‘True. Neither is it so often that religious are slain in an attack for no good reason.’

‘You are thinking of the deaths on the Plain of Nuada?’ mused Eadulf. ‘There does seem some atmosphere of restlessness in this kingdom of Midhe.’

Caol drained his beaker with a decisive motion. ‘Well, there are robbers and outlaws in every kingdom. Even in Muman. Mind you, things have become very quiet now since the Uí Fidgente have decided to pay their respects to Cashel.’ He grinned wryly and added, ‘In fact, I quite miss the conflict.’

Eadulf shot him a look of disapproval. ‘You miss conflict? That is not a good thing to-’ he began, but Caol held up a hand, stopping him.

‘I should be specific in that I miss the excitement that is attendant on the conflict. Of course it is not right to be addicted to death and battle. So, when will you and the lady Fidelma start to consider this matter?’

‘Probably not until tomorrow. My guess is that we will be here a few days at the most. We shall know better after we have seen the heir to the High Kingship, Cenn Faelad, this evening.’

At that moment, Báine returned and announced that the water had now been heated for Eadulf’s bath. He rose with an inward groan. The one thing he had never grown used to among the people of Éireann was this custom of having an evening bath before the main meal. He would never grow used to it, not if he lived to be a hundred. Then he summoned a smile for the girl and adopted an enthusiastic tone. ‘Lead the way.’

CHAPTER FIVE

There was no mistaking Cenn Faelad as anyone other than the brother of Sechnussach, the late High King. He was only a year or so younger but they might have been twins. He was of the same height — tall, above six feet — with hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes as grey as the restless seas of winter. He was handsome and his features would cause many a maiden to simper and swoon at his smile. But beyond that superficial exterior, so Fidelma had heard, he spoke several languages, excelled in many arts, and knew the law.

When Abbot Colmán showed Fidelma and Eadulf into chambers that Cenn Faelad was using, later that evening, the High King elect actually rose from his chair and came forward to greet them both with outstretched hands. His face, albeit composed, showed the marks of grief. There was one other person in the chamber and that was the Chief Brehon of the five kingdoms, Barrán. Fidelma and Eadulf knew him of old. He also greeted them without ceremony. He was a tall man, still handsome in spite of his age and greying hair, exuding an air of quiet authority. There were no servants in Abbot Colmán’s house; indeed, they had all been dismissed to their quarters for the evening, and Cenn Faelad offered the visitors drinks from his own hands as he gestured to chairs already set out for them to be seated.

‘I thought that we should gather in private at first,’ the young heir to the kingship explained. ‘Abbot Colmán has provided us with a meal in the next room but first let us speak of why you are here. We can conduct ourselves without ceremony and without protocol.’

Fidelma inclined her head in approval of the idea while Eadulf remained silent, his expression grave.

When Cenn Faelad had seated himself and they had all taken the first dutiful sip of their drinks, the tánaiste glanced at his Chief Brehon.

‘Perhaps you should explain, Barrán.’

The elderly man cleared his throat before addressing them in his crisp, legal voice: ‘The situation is simple and I believe it was outlined by the messenger whom we sent to Cashel. The High King Sechnussach, being alone in his chamber, was murdered in his bed by the chief of the Cinél Cairpre, a distant relative and descendant of Niall of the Nine Hostages, and therefore a member of the Uí Néill, Sechnussach’s own family. You follow?’

The last question was directed more to Eadulf than to Fidelma. Eadulf indicated that he did.

‘I am also of this same family,’ Barrán admitted. ‘This being so, and because of the implications which might arise, the Airlechas, the Great Assembly, decided that it would be inappropriate for me to investigate this matter, nor would it be appropriate for any of the Ui Néill to be involved. Justice must not only be done but must also be seen to be done … ’

‘Fiat justitia, mat caelum,’ muttered Eadulf. Let justice be done even though the heavens fall.

Cenn Faelad smiled thinly. ‘Even so,’ he agreed. ‘Abbot Colmán reminded the Great Assembly of the services that Fidelma has rendered to Tara in the past. He suggested that they send for her, an Eóghanacht, someone who is not involved in the internal politics of the Uí Néill. So, Fidelma of Cashel, it falls to you to resolve the mystery of why Dubh Duin killed my poor brother and whether anyone else was involved. Only when all is known can we mourn his passing and prepare for my succession.’

Fidelma looked thoughtfully at him. ’I am to have a free hand?’

‘Of course.’

‘And there is no restriction on Eadulf assisting me?’