Peter Tremayne - The Devil's seal

‘We should also have a few ballads after the meal,’ Abbot Ségdae suggested. ‘That will prevent the conversation from becoming too introspective. I heard your bard — what’s his name? — playing his cruit the other day and singing the praises of your victory at Cnoc Áine over the Uí Fidgente.’

The cruit was a small eight-stringed harp on which poets would accompany themselves as they sang their poems and ballads.

Colgú met Gormán’s eye. ‘See to it, but suggest a subject less controversial than the Uí Fidgente plot. What of the one about the Blessed Ailbhe? There is a ballad about him being saved by a she-wolf when he was abandoned as a baby by his father. That will surely appeal to our distinguished religious guests.’

‘It is certainly a good ballad to distract our guests with,’ Abbot Ségdae said approvingly.

Abbess Líoch was still looking unhappy, as were both Sister Dianaimh and Brother Madagan. It was the abbess who brought them back to the main subject.

‘It’s all very well to divert these people with entertainment — but what do they want ? They have not even indicated why they have come here. And why here, out of all the Five Kingdoms? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘Líoch does have a point,’ Fidelma told her brother. ‘Since we have heard of their coming, we have witnessed many inexplicable happenings. Are those events connected with the purpose of their visit?’

‘I cannot extract information if the strangers are not willing to give it,’ Colgú replied defensively. ‘Tell me a means of doing so, and I will do it.’

‘The means will present itself tonight,’ Abbot Ségdae said in a positive voice. There was a sceptical silence and so he continued: ‘I will be the spear-point in the coming conflict. As comarb , the successor to the Blessed Ailbhe, therefore abbot and senior bishop in this kingdom, I shall demand answers!’

‘And if the answers are not supplied?’ There was a slight note of derision in Abbess Líoch’s voice.

The abbot made an eloquent gesture with his hand. ‘Then we have recourse to the law.’

Even Fidelma was confused at this remark. ‘I think you had best explain that.’

‘There is a movement among some clerics, especially those influenced by Rome, to reject our system of law and replace it with what they call the “Penitentials”. A few of our abbeys are introducing them. They are a foreign abomination and I am against them.’

‘We can agree in that, but what are you saying?’ asked Fidelma.

‘In our society, an abbot or bishop has no more rights under our law than a secular lord. He is constrained by the law. If he misbehaves, his tuath , the people, can impeach him. He must be heard before a gathering of the derbhfhine of the abbey, who are considered his family. If found guilty of misconduct under the law, they can dismiss him and elect a new abbot or bishop.’ He addressed Abbess Líoch: ‘And of course, the same law applies to the abbesses and their houses.’

He paused again for a moment, in order to gather up his arguments. ‘All clerics of high rank have equal rights to provincial kings and are treated equally. I am an Eóghanacht and my honour price under law is fourteen cumals .’

Fidelma was shaking her head. ‘I still do not understand. How does this mean that we might be able to force the strangers to tell us why they are here? What recourse to law are you suggesting?’

‘There is a text in the Bretha Nemed toísech pointing out that a cleric is called upon to give dagfolad or consideration to society. If he refuses consideration, then he must face the consequences.’

Fidelma’s eyes suddenly lit up as she began to see the point he was developing.

‘The Córus Béscnai speaks of the consequences of the wrongdoing of clerics, even abbots and bishops. They can be treated like any other wrongdoer,’ she said slowly.

Abbot Ségdae was smiling triumphantly. ‘Do not the ancient annals tell us that even high-ranking churchmen can be taken as hostages and have their rights stripped from them, be confined to the territory and made to work for the good of the community?’

Colgú leaned forward nervously in his chair.

‘Now wait. Are you suggesting that we have Gormán and his warriors here take Verax and Arwald as prisoners? Surely that would produce outrage in their own lands, and the next thing would be that foreign armies would land on our shores and we would have to contend with them. That is something I do not want to see!’

Fidelma was chuckling reassuringly. ‘With God’s help, neither shall you, brother. What Abbot Ségdae is talking about is only the threat that this could be done — while not making the threat a reality. It is a bluff that, should there be further prevarication, we can use by simply pointing out our system of law. Why,’ she warmed to the idea, ‘a few years ago, the Council of Brehons even passed an amendment to the laws, speaking of the punishment which should be imposed on a bishop who stumbles in the performance of his duties and obligations to the community.’

‘Very well, how do we confront people like the Venerable Verax and Bishop Arwald?’ Colgú wanted to know. ‘How do you wrap up in diplomatic language the threat that either they tell us what they are doing here or we will simply reduce them to what they call slaves in their own country?’

‘I would suggest that the Venerable Verax would be the one to approach in the matter,’ advised Fidelma. ‘What he decrees, Bishop Arwald, in spite of his arrogance, will obey. So with that in mind, let us wait and see what this evening will bring. Meanwhile, Eadulf and I will retire, for we have much to talk about.’

They were walking back to their chambers across the courtyard when Fidelma stopped abruptly in mid-stride. Eadulf immediately glanced nervously up at the surrounding walls, even though they were some way from the nearest one, in case there was a threat. However, Fidelma had halted because a thought, not a missile, had struck her.

‘It just occurred to me that there is an easier way than confrontation to find out what this deputation is really about.’

Eadulf turned to her. ‘I thought your original suggestion was the best. The Venerable Verax is the man with authority and he would be the best person to respond to reason.’

‘But there might be another way. If you get a chance, have words with the young scribe who accompanies them. . what’s his name?’

‘Brother Bosa?’

‘Brother Bosa,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘He has been keeping very quiet so far. As scribe to Bishop Arwald, he should be able to tell us what is going on.’

Eadulf was doubtful. ‘He will obey his masters. If they have told him to say nothing, then doubtless he will say nothing. Anyway, I don’t like him.’

‘Why not?’ Fidelma asked.

‘There is something furtive about him.’

To his surprise, Fidelma laughed. ‘I swear, husband, you are getting suspicious of religious; first your brother and now this scribe. Religious are not born. They enter the life from all manner of previous lives — even from the role of warrior. Anyway, his response will no doubt depend on the way he is questioned. I feel that he might provide the breach in the wall put up by Verax and Arwald. After all, you are a fellow countryman of his. You still wear the Roman tonsure, for you have not yet completely accepted the rites of our church.’

Eadulf was intrigued in spite of his reservations. ‘It might well be a path,’ he admitted. ‘Do you remember how Arwald thought he recognised me as being at Canterbury a short time ago?’