Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

‘Your servant is not trained well, Muirgel,’ she snapped.

The girl stared at her in surprise at the unexpected interjection. ‘What?’ The word seemed reluctantly jerked from her.

‘At the door, we told the girl who we were. Are you saying that she did not tell you?’

Muirgel swallowed and tried to regain her composure as she heard the sarcasm in Fidelma’s voice.

‘She told me,’ she snapped back. ‘And one would expect those in the company of Abbot Colmán to know some court etiquette. You are addressing the daughter of the High King … ’

Fidelma made a slight cutting motion of her hand as if to silence her.

‘I know well whom I address. Just as your servant should have given you my name and, knowing it, there should be no excuse not to know who I am and my reason for coming here!’

The girl blinked at the sharpness in her tone. ‘She told me that a Sister Fidelma …’

‘I am here as a dálaigh qualified to the role of anruth . I presume that you are acquainted with this rank?’

‘Of course,’ Muirgel answered through a tight mouth, sitting up on her couch in a straighter position.

‘And then you know well that it is I, Fidelma of Cashel, who comes to question you over the death of your father,’ went on Fidelma with a hard and remorseless tone. ‘So let us have no more acting the mórluachach. ’

It was a word that Eadulf had seldom heard before, but he guessed that it meant someone who pretended to be high and mighty, who put on airs and graces. He knew that one thing Fidelma detested was arrogance in others — and it was only when such false pride was displayed that she reminded people of her own royal birth as one of the princely family of the Eóghanacht of Muman who once contended for the High Kingship itself.

Muirgel had turned pale and Abbot Colmán, in contrast, was red with embarrassment. In the silence Fidelma added an old axiom: ‘Nobility has no pride.’ She glanced around the room and pointed to some chairs. ‘Eadulf, as no one has offered, will you bring chairs that we may sit and discuss our business in comfort.’

Smiling to himself, Eadulf moved quickly to bring the chairs while Muirgel sat in a stunned silence. Her expression became malignant as she fixed her eyes on Fidelma. Unconcerned, Fidelma stretched back in a relaxed attitude and then turned to Abbot Colmán.

‘You are not sitting, Colmán,’ she reproved.

‘I have not the need, lady,’ the abbot muttered, still embarrassed, for it was protocol for him to wait to be invited to sit by Muirgel.

‘No matter,’ Fidelma replied, turning her attention to Muirgel.

The girl had now gathered herself together.

‘I am told the Eóghanacht of Cashel are ill-mannered,’ she hissed.

Fidelma was not put out. ‘It is a sign of nobility to be courteous to guests whatever their rank,’ she admonished.

‘The Uí Néill are to be treated with respect for we are a great house,’ the girl said petulantly.

‘And is it not said that the doorstep of a great house is often slippery?’ replied Fidelma. ‘Respect is something that is earned and not given by right of birth. I knew your father, Sechnussach, and he earned my respect. That is why I have travelled from Cashel to discover the reasons for his death.’

The girl’s chin jutted as if she would argue further but Fidelma moved on quickly.

‘Where were you on the night of your father’s assassination?’

Muirgel did not answer.

‘Remember,’ Fidelma warned her, ‘rank bears no privileges against the interrogation of the dálaigh of the rank of anruth. You are bound by honour to answer my questions or be fined accordingly.’

The girl swallowed, then muttered, ‘You have doubtless been told where I was, so there is no need to ask.’

‘I have been told only that some believed that you were here in Tara.’

‘Then that is where I was.’

Fidelma exhaled irritably. ‘All we know is that you did not attend the abbey Cluain Ioraird with your mother and sisters Mumain and Be Bhail. Why not? I am told that they had gone there to offer prayers on the death of your grandmother.’

‘My grandmother died some time ago and I was not close to her.’

‘It was a matter of respect, lady,’ muttered Abbot Colmán, feeling he should say something.

‘Are you telling me what I should do?’ Muirgel turned flashing angry eyes on him.

Fidelma and Eadulf glanced at one another. Here was certainly an unpleasant and self-willed young girl. At another time, Fidelma would have intervened for her ill manners to the abbot but she wanted information.

‘When and where did the news of your father’s death reach you?’

‘I spent the evening with a … some friends. Then I came here as thegirl,’ she gestured towards the door to indicated her departed servant, ‘as the girl will tell you. In the morning, I had decided to go to my father’s house and break my fast with him. But a servant arrived here as I was making ready and told me the news.’

Fidelma could not sense any emotion in the girl’s matter-of-fact voice.

‘Did you like your father?’ The question was swift and unexpected.

Muirgel blinked. ‘Of course,’ she said, tossing her head.

‘That is good to hear,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It does not always follow that a daughter likes a father. She can love her father but that is not what I asked.’

Muirgel did not respond to this, merely looked at her nails.

‘So what were your feelings when you heard of his death?’ Fidelma tried again.

‘I wanted those involved to pay for this outrage. Naturally.’

‘Those involved? You think there was more than the assassin who struck him down?’

Muirgel pouted again. It seemed a favourite habit. ‘I have no knowledge of such things,’ she said, and yawned. ‘I was using an expression, that is all.’

‘But you did know the assassin,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘When did you first meet Dubh Duin?’

The girl’s eyes widened at her knowledge and she said nothing for a moment, trying to read what lay behind Fidelma’s question.

‘Dubh Duin was a distant relation, a chief of the Cairpre,’ she said finally.

‘We all know who he was,’ Fidelma said. ‘Come on — when did you first get to know him?’

‘I don’t know.’ Muirgel hesitated a moment more. ‘He used to attend my father’s Great Assembly. Perhaps it was then that I met him.’

‘He came often to the Great Assembly?’

Muirgel indicated Abbot Colmán. ‘The abbot here would be better able to answer you for he is adviser and steward to the Assembly.’

‘I suppose what I really want to ask is what relationship you had with Dubh Duin during these last few weeks?’

The girl suddenly turned bright scarlet and half-rose from her couch.

‘Relationship?’ she screeched. ‘What? How dare you! What are you implying?’

‘I was not aware that I was implying anything.’ Fidelma remainedrelaxed. ‘I was merely asking a question that needs an answer. I want to know why you gave authority to the guards to pass Dubh Duin through the gates of the royal enclosure after midnight on more than one occasion in the days leading up to your father’s assassination.’

There was total silence in the room. If a needle had fallen, Eadulf believed he would have been able to hear it in the stillness.

‘Who said …?’ began the girl.

Fidelma made an impatient gesture. ‘Come, Muirgel, you do not think that such a thing could go unrecorded or unnoticed? Isn’t it time that you spoke honestly about this matter?’

For a moment or two the girl relapsed into silence. Then she spoke slowly, as if measuring her words.