Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

A nervous silence fell.

She glanced towards Gormán. ‘The emblem this warrior wears proclaims him to be of the Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the King of Muman. Know you further,’ went on Fidelma, speaking in a deliberate tone, ‘that I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister of your King, Colgú mac Failbe Flann. Someone has been killed here and I declare that you are all legal witnesses. You will remain here until this matter has been resolved or face the fine for contempt of the authority of the Law of the Fénechus.’

Saor regarded her, surprise and bewilderment crossing his features.

‘You can’t do that,’ he said but there was uncertainty in his voice.

‘But I can. Under the terms of the texts of the Berrad Airechta , I formally name you all as fiadu , witnesses. You are all called as witnesses and your drach , the legal term of your security to appear when called, will be your honour price. If any of you fail to appear when I call you, you will forfeit your honour price.’

Saor was shaking his head. ‘You can’t do that,’ he repeated but he had no conviction in his voice.

‘Try me,’ Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘Glassán handed a list of your names to the steward of the abbey, as the law requires, so do not think you are not known. If you do not report on the day I fix for the hearing of this matter, you will be hunted down by the King’s warriors and forcibly brought before a Brehon who will strip you of your honour price.’

The men stood in silence and then one of them spoke up.

‘We will stay, then.’

‘That is good,’ returned Fidelma with ill-concealed irony. ‘Do not think that I wish you to remain against your will as a mere whim. The law can be hard but it is the law.’ She paused, to let her words settle, then went on, ‘I understand the physician ispreparing the body of your master builder for burial at midnight. I presume some of you will be going to the aire .’

There was a shuffling among the men and no one replied.

Fidelma hesitated and said, ‘That is your choice. Some might say that workers who do not respect their master builder in death could not have had any respect for him in life.’

She turned with Eadulf and they began to make their way back to the abbey. Gormán waited a moment or two, hand still on his sword hilt, before he followed.

‘A miserable lot,’ he said pleasantly as he caught up with them. ‘They don’t seem too keen on their employer.’

‘Perhaps they have their reasons,’ replied Fidelma drily. ‘Someone certainly had reason enough to kill him.’

‘I just can’t see the connection between Glassán and Donnchad because the two murders must be linked,’ Eadulf commented.

‘Maybe we are looking for a connection in the wrong place,’ she replied. ‘And speaking of looking, let us return to our search in Glassán’s cubiculum . There is no need for you to come, Gormán, but stay close, we may have need of you.’

They did not meet anyone on their way to the tech-oíged . Not even the hosteller, Brother Máel Eoin. They knew Glassán had occupied a cubiculum at the far end of the oblong building which they also shared. The hostel was quite deserted as they entered.

Glassán’s room was almost featureless; the furnishings were sparse. If Glassán had occupied the place for nearly three years then he had not believed in many personal touches.

A crucifix alone decorated one wall of greying wattle and daub plaster. A bed, a table, a chair, and a trunk comprised the furnishing. The blanket on the bed was folded untidily. A few changes of clothes were hung in a corner, and two pairs of sturdy leather shoes of the type a builder would wear wereon the floor in a corner. A couple of amphorae stood by the wall and the smell of stale wine came from them but they were both empty. A lantern, some candles and stubs, and a tinderbox were on top of the trunk. On the table were rolls of papyrus filled with lists, columns of figures and plans.

‘The designs for the new buildings,’ Eadulf announced after glancing at them.

‘Check them through, Eadulf, just in case there is anything there of interest,’ Fidelma replied, turning her attention to the trunk and beginning to remove the candles and items on top of it. Then she tried to open it. It was locked.

‘Did you see if Glassán had a key on his body?’ she asked.

Eadulf looked up from the papers and shook his head. ‘He had nothing in which to carry a key or anything like that.’

Fidelma glanced round the room. She went to the head of the small bed and lifted the pillow. Then she bent and pulled back the straw mattress. Two keys lay there and a purse. ‘Predictable,’ she muttered. She returned to the trunk. It was clear that one of the keys was intended for it.

At first she thought there were just a few clothes in it and more building plans. Then she saw several leather bags at the bottom of the trunk. They were filled with gold and silver coins. Eadulf came to stand at her shoulder and gazed down with a soft whistle.

‘Is it his own money, do you think, or money to pay his workers?’ he asked.

‘Brother Lugna paid the workers, not Glassán. This is his own money and he acquired a tidy sum.’

She counted three leather bags and, while each could be balanced in the palm of a hand, they were heavy. Then she took out a small scroll, tied with a coloured ribbon. She untied it and smoothed it out. Eadulf could see it was written in the language of the Five Kingdoms and headed Cendaite Glassán .

‘Glassán’s will?’ he hazarded. The words were mostly unfamiliar, but he knew that there were three ancient words for a will.

Fidelma nodded and began to read.

‘In the presence of the Brehon Lurg of the Uí Briuin Sinna, I, Glassán, originally of the Uí Dego of Ferna, declare myself a sinner before Christ. Being a sinner and exile, I am an outcast without kith or ken, with neither wife nor children to sustain me. Should I die with only a few items to redeem me, I declare that my farm in the country of the Uí Briuin Sinna will return to the chief of that people who gave me succour in exile. I rely on him to dispose of the claims of my clients and tenants as he sees fit. I have one boy in fosterage and if I die before he reaches the age of maturity and becomes qualified, the full fees of this fosterage shall be returned to his father, as is the law. Further, I deem that he be given, out of the funds I have acquired, his father’s honour price so that he may be placed in another fosterer’s care to achieve the qualifications necessary to become a master builder. I will die truly repenting all the ills that I have done in my life, the sins that I have committed by thoughtlessness and neglect. Ego contra erravi, ignosco mihi, quaeso! ’

Peering over her shoulder, Eadulf grunted with derision.

‘I suspect that bit of bad Latin expressing his guilt and asking for forgiveness was put in by the Brehon who drew up the will. I don’t think Glassán knew much Latin.’

‘Even so, Glassán was admitting his responsibility for his past and at least he was thoughtful enough to make provision for young Gúasach. He was not entirely a bad man.’

‘I suppose not,’ Eadulf admitted reluctantly. ‘What happens now? I mean to the young boy.’

‘The will and the boy, with these bags of money and Glassán’s belongings, will be returned to Brehon Lurg in Connachta.’

‘What are you doing here?’ The voice of Brother Lugna cutsuddenly into the chamber. They had not noticed him standing in the doorway.

Fidelma was unperturbed as she glanced up to look at him.

‘Glassán died in suspicious circumstances,’ she replied, rising to her feet. ‘It is my right to investigate anything that might cast a light on the circumstances of his death.’