Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

Eadulf nodded slowly. ‘So you dismiss the motivation of a disagreement of ideas?’

‘Not as such. Dubh Duin might have been consumed by madness. Killing is the ultimate madness, whether done in hot or cold blood.’

They had walked out of the gates and through respectful groups of people, beyond the dwellings that arose around the walls of Tara. Eadulf was aware of great crowds of people, horses, carts, tents pitched wherever there was space. Of course, Tara was the principal city of the five kingdoms of Éireann, its biggest centre, to which all manner of people would be attracted. Having dwelled in Cashel, which was less turbulent, and become used to quieter ways, he had forgotten the hustle and bustle of great towns.

Irél led the way through the maze of people who crowded around the tents and more permanent buildings into a great railed-off enclosure.

‘This is where the foreign merchants are allowed to ply their trade,’ Cenn Faelad explained.

Several stalls had been set up and Eadulf saw all manner of people. There were men in bright colours and styles of dress that he associated with the peoples of southern Gaul or Rome. He could see a few merchants who were unmistakably from the Saxon lands. Then he could hear the rolling accents of the Britons who had for centuries had a constant interchange with their neighbours in Éireann.

‘Where is the new merchant, Irél?’ asked Cenn Faelad.

‘Over here.’ The bodyguard pointed to one corner, where a large tent had been erected.

A tall man was standing at the entrance, clad in fairly rich clothes. He was swarthy but cleanshaven. At his side was a boy about fourteen yearsold. The boy had a metal collar around his neck, fastened at one side with a padlock.

Irél halted before the man and addressed him. ‘Identify yourself, merchant. You are in the presence of the High King elect, lord of all the five kingdoms of this land.’

To Eadulf’s surprise, it was the boy who began to address the tall man in a tongue that he could not identify. It was he who was obviously the merchant’s translator.

The man smiled thinly, raised a hand to his forehead in salutation and bowed low. He uttered a few words.

‘I am Verbas of Peqini, Majesty,’ interpreted the boy in a hesitant but obvious accent of Éireann.

Cenn Faelad looked at the lad with a frown. ‘And who are you?’

The boy grimaced. ‘I am the property of my lord Verbas.’

Eadulf knew that slavery was uncommon among the people of Éireann but his own people had always practised slavery like the Romans. However, Cenn Faelad was disapproving.

‘I was told that you were a merchant from Gaul,’ he said through the boy.

Verbas of Peqini smiled. It was the insincere smile of a merchant.

‘My ship has sailed here from the port of An Naoned in Armorica, Majesty, but I am from a land far to the east, plying my trade throughout the great lands of the world.’

‘And this boy is your interpreter?’

‘He is my voice, Majesty, in these far western lands.’

‘Know then, Verbas of Peqini, that in this land we do not accept that one man may hold another in bondage.’ When the boy seemed scared to translate this, Cenn Faelad sharply ordered him to do so. ‘Only if such a person has stood before the law and forfeited his right to freedom by some crime, or has been taken hostage in war, does he lose the right to conduct his life freely and must work under the jurisdiction of the clan to regain such freedoms.’

Fury was gathering on the merchant’s face and the false smile was rapidly disappearing as his slave translated haltingly.

‘Keep translating, boy,’ instructed Cenn Faelad. ‘Tell your master this, that we will respect his customs as a visitor to our shores. But in turn he must respect our laws. Should you escape him, out of the confines of this foreign merchants’ quarter, or from his ship, and seek sanctuary in our land, then that sanctuary will be granted and you will be free.’

The boy was staring at him, wide-eyed.

‘Tell him,’ insisted Cenn Faelad.

Verbas was also staring as the boy translated and it was a sullen, almost malignant stare. Through his slave, he replied slowly.

‘Majesty, I am an honest merchant and visitor to your land. I do not know your customs. I will try not to cause you anger by keeping to mine. I come to trade and not impose myself. As soon as my business is conducted, I shall return to my ship with my property intact and leave your shores.’

The High King elected nodded absently. He turned to the boy, asking, ‘How do you speak our tongue so well, eh? What is your name?’

‘Assíd, lord.’

‘Assíd? But that is a name of Éireann,’ replied Cenn Faelad in astonishment. ‘Where are you from and how came you in this state?’

‘I do not remember where I am from, lord. I recall being on a boat with those I was later told were probably followers of the god Christ. Then there was fighting. I was taken from the ship and many of those on it were killed. I remember another ship. Then I was taken to a land where I was put in a cage. I think that was when this was placed on me.’ He raised a hand to touch his iron collar. ‘And I was given to this man, Verbas.’

Verbas interrupted sharply and was obviously asking Assíd what he was saying.

‘Tell him,’ Cenn Faelad instructed quickly, ‘that I am asking about the goods you have.’

The boy did so and this seemed to appease the merchant.

‘You remember nothing else before being on the ship?’

The boy shook his head.

‘But was this the language you spoke? Are you of this country?’

‘I seemed to know the language, lord,’ the boy said hesitantly. ‘There was a woman who was in Verbas’s house. She was older than me and spoke it as her native tongue. I learned more from her. She said she had been a pilgrim on her way to the holy land of Christ when her ship was seized and she was sold to Verbas, our master.’

Cenn Faelad sighed deeply. ‘It is a sad tale, Assid. I will consult the Brehons and see what they advise. But it is true that if you are able to get away and seek sanctuary, it will be given you. But this man is becoming suspicious. Now show me the goods.’

Assid muttered something to Verbas and he stood aside from the tent entrance and motioned them in.

Cenn Faelad entered, followed by Eadulf and Irél, and looked round. There were many amphorae in one corner and cloths of various bright colours, shimmering, were hanging up.

‘There is red wine from Gaul,’ Verbas said through Assid.

Cenn Faelad barely glanced at the amphorae.

‘If the wine tastes good, I’ll get Brother Rogallach to select a few of the amphorae for the kitchens,’ he observed. ‘But first, let me look at these garments.’

‘These are the finest of their kind from the East, lord,’ Verbas said through the boy. ‘You have a discerning eye, Majesty.’

Cenn Faelad let his hand slide lightly over the material. ‘It is beautiful, is it not, Eadulf my friend?’

Eadulf joined him and examined the cloth. ‘It is what you call sídna or siriac,’ he said, feeling it.

‘Indeed, it is silk, and good for cloaks or undershirts,’ agreed Cenn Faelad. ‘The other is sróll, satin. It is usually expensive.’ He addressed the boy. ‘I shall want to buy enough for some cloaks and other garments. Later this day, I will send my bollscari to make the purchases — sell them to no other. He will also come to taste some of the wine and purchase several amphorae. Sell that to no other.’

Surprisingly, the merchant did not look happy.

‘I was hoping to make the deal quickly, Majesty, and be on my way back to my ship.’

‘Tell him,’ Cenn Faelad said to the boy Assid, ‘we cannot let you depart so quickly as your journey has brought you such a long way. As soon as my steward has conducted my purchases with you, you may open your stall to others, but not before. Then you must remain and feast with us before returning to your ship.’