Dancing With Demons

‘All except the slaughter of the innocents,’ replied Bishop Luachan.

‘How can this shallow superstition have survived to this day?’

The old bishop was serious. ‘Consider what has happened in these lands in recent generations, my friend. Countless centuries of belief have been overturned by the New Faith. All in all, it has been a peaceful process, for our true ancient beliefs were not so far from the concepts that werebrought to us from the East. This was not so elsewhere, for I have heard that great wars have been fought and many slaughtered as other peoples refused to accept the truth of Christ. Even in the empire of Rome itself, wars were fought between the rival emperors, Constantine and Licinius, as to whether the new or the old gods should dominate.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That it is to be wondered at how peaceful the change was among the peoples of the five kingdoms. However, there are many areas where some have clung to the old beliefs. We have done our best to change those beliefs or subvert them to the New Faith … ’

‘It was so in my own land,’ Eadulf nodded. ‘When Gregory of Rome sent Abbot Mellitus to convert the Angles and the Saxons, he told him that it would be easier to convert the people if they were allowed to retain the outward form of their religious traditions, while claiming them in the name of the Christian God.’

‘It was so here,’ agreed Luachan. ‘Holy wells became baptisteries, temples became the new churches and the old festivals were renamed in honour of the Christ. It seemed to work well. Soon people were worshipping Christ and His saints at the holy wells and springs or in certain forest glades without any remembrance of the ancient gods and goddesses. Then, in recent times, there seemed to arise a resistance to the spread of the Faith.’

‘How so?’

‘It happened a generation or two ago when Gregory, the servant of the servants of God, asserted that the papal offices in Rome were the primacy of all the Christian Faith. In the five kingdoms, we cannot yet agree which of our great centres is the primacy of the island, let alone agree that we must obey Rome in all things. Many saw it as the rise of the old empire of Rome in new form, an infringement of our liberties.’

Eadulf pulled a face. He had been at the Council of Witebia when Oswy had decided to follow the rule of Rome. Even recently at Cashel there had been much debate about the claims of Ard Macha as the centre of the Faith in the five kingdoms, at which claims and counter claims were made.

‘Are you saying that those adhering to the Old Religion saw dissension within those holding to the Faith and have used that as a means of overturning it?’

‘Perhaps not that, but they have seen the movement of many of theFaith to uphold the ways of Rome, as you obviously do, judging from your tonsure, my friend. They see Roman-inspired laws, the Penitentials, being used to subvert our ancient law system, and the Brehons set at naught, just as the Druids had been banished into obscurity. They see that the Christianity they had accepted is now being changed yet again into something entirely alien to their beliefs.’

Eadulf smiled thinly in the gloom. ‘I presume from what you say that you do not follow the path of Rome?’

‘I wear the tonsure of the Blessed John, not the corona spina that I observe you wear, my friend. That should say enough.’

‘So, this pagan faith is but a backlash to the growing influence of Rome here?’

‘I cannot make it clearer.

‘But why so extreme? Why not merely support those in the five kingdoms who reject the Penitentials and other matters? Or why not go back to the faith of the Druids? Why would they choose such an aberration as this idol you call Crom?’

‘In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force,’ averred the old bishop. ‘Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by other means. Those who would convert the people back to the old ways need fear, need something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.’

‘Well,’ Eadulf remarked bitterly, ‘I do not intend to become a martyr just yet. We will find a way out of this prison.’

Fidelma had been meditating, practising the old form of the dercad. She did not believe in unnecessary action when it was bound to be futile. She was tightly bound and the farmer and his son were continually present with watchful eyes. As it had grown dark, oil lamps were lit by the old man who then took a lantern outside. She presumed it was to check on Caol and Gormán and hoped they had not been hurt. They must be shackled in the barn outside. The old man came back after a while, and as he refused to answer her questions about her companions, so she returned to her meditation.

After a passage of time, the sound of horses’ hooves aroused her from her trance. There were a fair-sized number of riders — perhaps twenty or more — clattering into the farmyard.

The farmer sprang up. ‘The chief!’ he said in a thankful tone to his son.

A moment later, a muscular young man burst into the room, closely followed by the farmer’s younger son and a couple of other men who carried swords in their hands.

‘Your son reported that you might have raiders,’ began the young man, as his eyes fell on Fidelma. He had a shock of black hair, thick with curls, a full beard and not unpleasant features.

‘She and two warriors came to the farmstead,’ the farmer said respectfully. ‘You told me to beware of strange warriors, so I had them trussed up in the barn and kept the woman here.’

The young warrior turned to Fidelma. ‘You appear to be a Christian?’ he said wonderingly, as his eyes fell on the cross she wore around her neck.

Fidelma regarded him with a thin smile. ‘So far, no one has bothered to ask me who I am. Perhaps there is no courtesy left in this part of the country?’

The young man looked startled for a moment. ‘There is courtesy for those who are courteous,’ he replied. ‘Very well — who are you?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh entrusted with the investigation of the assassination of the High King Sechnussach, by the Great Assembly.’

The young man’s eyes widened and he glanced at the farmer with an interrogatory look in his eyes.

‘I asked no question of her,’ the man replied defensively. ‘People can be deceitful with their tongues. She was with two strange warriors.’

As the young man turned back to her, Fidelma said, before he could ask the question: ‘My companions are Caol, commander of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of my brother, Colgú of Cashel, and Gormán, one of his men.’

‘Fidelma of Cashel? Can you prove it?’ he asked.

‘Does it need proof?’

‘In this time and in this place, it does.’

‘In my saddlebag you will find the hazel wand of office of the High King, given me by Cenn Faelad to assert my authority.’

The young man turned to the farmer’s son. ‘Find the saddlebag and bring it here.’

It was the work of moments and the ornate hazel wand was produced.

The young man exhaled softly and shook his head.

‘Undo her bonds,’ he instructed the farmer. ‘Accept my apologies, lady. These are troubled times. I am Ardgal, chief of the Cinél Cairpre.’

Muttering that he was not to blame, the farmer released Fidelma from her bonds. Ignoring him, for a moment or two, Fidelma sat rubbing her chafed wrists.

‘I trust my companions will also be released now?’ she asked.

Ardgal addressed the farmer. ‘Make it so!’ he snapped. Then, turning back to her: ‘Believe me, I am sorry. But, lady, this land is beset with raiders, burning churches and destroying the homes of any who support the clergy.’

Fidelma looked grim. ‘Of that I am aware, Ardgal. It is part of the reason that I have ridden from Tara with the intention of meeting with you.’

Ardgal was once more surprised. Then he waved a hand to indicate the room.

‘This is not the ideal place for hospitality but it must suffice for the moment.’ He looked at the farmer’s sons.