Peter Tremayne - The Devil's seal

‘Take it well?’ Colgú grimaced. ‘He almost attacked me! He said he was going to bring legal action against poor Eadulf, even though Eadulf was the one who was insulted. He also had the temerity to remind me that a king is not above the law.’

‘Well, that is true. A king is expected to obey the law even as the lowliest farmworker is expected to.’

‘I know, I know. But to threaten me. . It was difficult to act with restraint when the old man was yelling about the gáu flathemon .’

‘The king’s injustice and its consequences?’ Fidelma sounded worried.

‘The old fool started to threaten me with the troscud ; said that he would sit before my door and ritually fast until I agree to withdraw and accept him in office.’

‘What?’ Fidelma was surprised, for the troscud or hunger strike was not a weapon easily used. ‘Has he given you proper legal notice of that?’

‘No, it was just a threat. Why?’

‘There is a ritual to it. He must give proper legal form to it if he is serious.’

‘Well, I hope it doesn’t come to it, any more than his threat to take legal action against Eadulf.’

‘I was going to ask, what charge does he level at Eadulf?’ She was curious. ‘It can’t be an accusation of being behind the killing of Brother Cerdic, surely?’

‘He said that he would demand compensation for the dishonour that Eadulf had put upon him.’

‘ Deirmitiu ?’ Fidelma supplied the legal term.

‘That’s it. He demanded that Eadulf should pay the fine of enech rucce , the compensation for his being dishonoured.’

Fidelma mentally worked it out. ‘That would mean a compensation of eight cumals .’ That was the value of twenty-four milch cows. It was half the honour price of a Chief Brehon as laid down by law. ‘He wasn’t serious, surely?’

‘As serious as an angry man can be. But I dissuaded him.’

‘How?’

‘Merely by saying that I would stand as a witness for Eadulf and against him. That’s when he threatened the ritual fast against me. He has turned into a bitter old man. I hope the Council of Brehons will act soon.’ Colgú sighed and then dismissed the subject with a cutting motion of his hand. ‘Anyway, if it helps you, Aillín was invited, as he is still a guest here and I have to obey the laws of hospitality. It seems he prefers his own company this evening.’

He turned away. Fidelma suddenly felt sorry for him as he had left her having returned to a more morose state than the one in which he had greeted her. She wished she had not brought up the subject of Brehon Aillín. She went to where Eadulf was sitting with Abbot Ségdae and Brother Madagan. The abbot looked up with a wan smile as she joined them.

‘Brother Eadulf has been telling us that there has been little progress in your investigation.’

‘Alas, that it were otherwise,’ she confirmed.

‘He was also telling us something about this Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete,’ added Brother Madagan. ‘It seems curious that such a person should be coming here in the company of the brother of the Bishop of Rome.’

‘Believe me, we are just as intrigued as you are,’ Eadulf asserted.

‘Well, we won’t be in suspense much longer,’ Fidelma said. ‘By tomorrow you should know the purpose of their coming. It does no good to speculate without knowledge.’

She caught Eadulf trying to hide a smile as she added her favourite saying.

‘The saying is a true one,’ he said swiftly in amelioration.

‘Indeed, the old truths are none the less the truth, despite their age,’ she told him.

The musicians had begun playing, a quick enthusiastic piece which silenced all conversation, for against its boisterous tones no one could speak. It was designed for that purpose, to draw attention to the musicians and it was usually called corm-cheól , or ale music. They employed drums, bells, pipes and stringed instruments. Then, using the quietness that had descended on their audience, the musicians moved into a softer melody, with the youngest boy among them coming forward to sing, accompanying himself on a small eight-stringed harp.

The entertainment continued on until Abbess Líoch placed a hand in front of her mouth and feigned a yawn. It was simply a diplomatic means to herald her standing up and expressing her sorrow that tiredness had overcome her. Colgú with a smile indicated that she could withdraw and the abbess, followed by her young steward, left the hall. Fidelma glanced meaningfully at Eadulf and he knew that after the next piece of music, she would repeat this method to retire and so was ready when she, too, made the same gesture.

In fact, when they rose to depart, Colgú also ordered the musicians to be dismissed, remarking that the following day would be a long one and they all needed rest.

Fidelma and Eadulf left the feasting hall and began to walk unhurriedly back to their own apartments.

‘I keep wondering about this Venerable Victricius,’ Fidelma remarked. She had told Eadulf what Gormán had noticed about the lacerations on the back of the corpse. ‘I don’t suppose you ever heard his name in Rome?’

‘Victricius may not be common but it is certainly not unknown,’ offered Eadulf. ‘There was a bishop of that name in a town called Rotomagus in Gaul. He had served in the legions until he was converted.’

‘How do you know about him?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Do you remember when we were in Menevia? Abbot Tryffin told me about him.’

‘Our shipwreck on the shores of Dyfed is not one of my more pleasant memories,’ Fidelma said stiffly. ‘But why would Abbot Tryffin tell you about a former Roman soldier? I thought the Britons disliked them?’

‘It seems that this Victricius endeared himself to the Britons and they invited him to settle a dispute between their bishops. Of course, that was many, many years before my people began to settle on the island of Britain. In fact, Abbot Tryffin showed me a book that this Victricius wrote — De Laude Sanctorum .’

‘In Praise of Saints,’ translated Fidelma.

‘So,’ concluded Eadulf, ‘there are probably many people with that name — Victricius.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment and then said: ‘Gormán thought that Victricius might be one of those ascetics who ritually flagellate themselves. Yet the scars of the flogging showed that they had been made sometime in the past.’

They had been passing along a short passageway which ran between the King’s quarters and the building which housed their own apartments. The passage was lit with two brand torches — one at either end — which threw shadows here and there on to the greystone walls.

It was Fidelma’s sharp sense of hearing that saved them. A scraping noise came from somewhere above them. When a movement flickered on the gloomy walls that seemed out of place amid the shadows of the night, she did not hesitate but abruptly pushed Eadulf forward and leaped after him. They both tumbled in a heap on the cold stone flags just as a heavy piece of marble smashed into the ground behind them, splintering as it did so and sending fragments flying in all directions.

Fidelma was back on her feet in a second, peering cautiously upwards.

Eadulf stared at the remains of what had been a statue — one of several that stood on the roof of the King’s apartments.

Figures came rushing out of the dark, alerted by the thunderous sound. Enda, holding a lantern, was leading them.

‘What happened?’ he demanded, and then he saw the fragmented statue and was shocked. ‘Are you hurt?’

Fidelma shook her head while Eadulf, rubbing his forearm, muttered, ‘A few scratches from the splintered marble.’

Fidelma stood gazing at the remains for a moment or two. There was something familiar about it. It was a statue of some grotesque Otherworld creature with wings. She shook herself, almost like a dog shakes itself after an immersion, and then seemed to spring into action.