language of Éireann, was looking uncomfortable.
‘The child is my property, bought fairly,’ he repeated in Latin. ‘I have a right to punish him for trying to escape me. I now intend to take him back to my ship.’
He moved forward a step but Fidelma snapped: ‘You have no rights on this soil save the rights accorded to you under our laws. And under these laws, children have protection and their honour price is the same as that of a bishop until they are of age, which is seventeen years. It is not our custom to enslave anyone unless they have committed a heinous crime, and even then they are not incarcerated but allowed freedom to work for the restitution of their full right to freedom. Further, it seems that this is one of our own and entitled to our protection. The child comes with us.’
Verbas was staring at her sullenly.
Caol had been watching the two men who had left the inn after Verbas. It was obvious that they were crewmen and they started to move forward as if they would help him. Caol made a gesture with his sword, that they should stay back.
‘This is an outrage, lady! I shall appeal to your king,’ stormed Verbas.
Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘Do so,’ she replied. ‘In the meantime, this child is under our protection and we shall decide his fate under our laws. He has demanded sanctuary. We have granted him that wish. We will consider his entitlement under the law. You may come and argue your case at Tara.’
If looks could kill then Verbas would have slain Fidelma on the spot. He had suddenly sobered up, and his alcohol-dimmed eyes were sharp and vicious.
‘I will return to my ship and find out where I might bring a lawyer of your nation to come and argue my case before your king,’ he said coldly. ‘I did not come to this country to be robbed of my property.’
‘We have different ideas of what constitutes property, my friend,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘But since we speak of why you came to our land, Verbas of Peqini, did you come here to forment rebellion against its king?’
The merchant snarled, ‘You speak in riddles, woman.’
‘I’ll speak more plainly then. You are giving passage, I am told, to rebels who have lately been in arms against the legitimate authority of this land. You are sailing with them to Alba, is that not so?’
The answer was clearly written on the man’s features.
‘There are two ways of proceeding, Verbas of Pequini. The first way is for you to hand over Cuan and his companion, the men you are seekingto transport, so that they may be taken back to Tara for trial. The second way is for my warriors to come on board your ship and take them by force. If the latter, then you will be deemed as guilty as the man Cuan, and your ship may be confiscated in payment of the fines and compensation that will fall due.’
Verbas bit his lip and stood hesitating a moment. Then he shrugged.
‘Whatever trouble the men have put themselves in, it is not my business. They came to me and offered money for a passage. In good faith, I accepted it. But if they are fugitives from your justice, I will … ’
There was a call from along the quayside and they turned to see Gormán struggling with someone. Ardgal ran back to help him. Together, they succeeded in restraining and binding the man’s hands before marching back with him to join the group. Gormán was grinning cheerfully. He was also carrying a saddlebag over his arm.
‘Our friend Cuan,’ he said, gesturing at the subdued and downcast warrior. ‘He must have seen you talking with Verbas on the quayside from the ship and decided not to wait around for the result. So he slipped ashore … right into my waiting arms. However, his companion seems to have escaped. Luckily, Cuan decided to keep hold of
He held out the bag to Fidelma, who immediately looked inside. She was smiling broadly.
‘Excellent. I have some questions to ask you, Cuan. You will accompany us back to Tara to answer them.’
Eadulf was staring at the bracelet of silver coins around Cuan’s left wrist and an idea suddenly occurred to him. He lifted the wrist to examine the bracelet.
‘These appear to be Gaulish coins,’ he observed. ‘Rather an expensive piece of jewellery, isn’t it?’
Cuan scowled at him. ‘They are mine,’ he grunted.
‘Then I will have to ask some questions of my own, Cuan,’ Eadulf said quietly and added no more, even though Fidelma was looking quizzically at him.
Verbas of Peqini coughed irritably. ‘If that is all, I shall return to my ship and seek advice as to this robbery of my property.’
‘You may do so,’ Fidelma said nonchalantly.
‘I shall remember you, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the man added heavily.
‘And I hope I will be able to forget you very quickly, Verbas of Peqini,’ she replied evenly.
They watched as the merchant turned and rejoined his two equally sullen crewmen before moving along the quayside to board their ship.
Fidelma smiled encouragement at the boy, who was staring at them, still unable to believe that the threat had truly been lifted.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.
‘Not much, lady,’ he replied with a faint smile. ‘Nothing that may not heal.’
‘We will have an apothecary examine you as soon as we reach Tara,’ she assured him. ‘But perhaps we can find a blacksmith first to remove that loathsome metal collar from around your neck.’
There was still plenty of daylight left when, fed and rested, the party mounted their horses and moved downriver, along the west bank of the Bóinn to a place which Ardgal identified as the church of the cairn, where a ferry, a large flat-bottomed raft, plied its trade transporting horses, wagons and people across the broad river. From the landing on the east bank it was only a short ride to the great complex of the palace of Tara.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Their welcome back was not as warm as Fidelma and Eadulf had expected. When news of their return had reached the Chief Brehon, Barrán, he lost no time in sending for them and was pacing his chamber when they entered.
‘Well, what news?’ he asked without preamble. ‘Have you solved this riddle?’
Fidelma smiled faintly at his obvious anxiety.
‘The reason why Dubh Duin killed Sechnussach?’ she said as she seated herself without waiting to be asked.
Brehon Barrán looked taken aback. ‘What other riddle is there?’ he demanded.
‘There are many riddles in life, Barrán. There is a boy named Assid who presents a riddle.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said the Chief Brehon.
‘It seems that Assid was captured and held prisoner by sea-raiders some years ago. He was probably travelling with a group of pilgrims to the Holy Land. His name and tongue indicate that his parents might have been from some Connacht religious group. Such things happen. From my own land there is the story of the Blessed Cathal who studied at Lios Mór. He went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land some years ago and on the return voyage, his ship was wrecked in the Gulf of Taranto. Now I hear he is considered as a great miracle-worker in that area and renamed Cataldo … ’
Brehon Barrán made a cutting motion with his hand.
‘I fail to see how this story, interesting though it is, relates to the death of the High King!’
‘Everything in life relates, one thing to another,’ replied Fidelmaphilosophically. ‘This poor mite sought asylum here, the land he came from, from a harsh slave-master who had bought him.’
‘You helped the boy escape?’ The Chief Brehon said irritably. ‘That cannot be. We cannot interfere in the customs of others.’
‘The boy escaped by himself,’ interposed Eadulf. ‘Cenn Faelad had warned his master, Verbas of Pequini, that if the lad escaped and sought sanctuary, he would be granted it.’
‘Cenn Faelad wears his heart on his sleeve,’ Brehon Barrán muttered. ‘I should have been consulted
