Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

Eadulf understood what Cenn Faelad was about. He was giving the opportunity for the boy to escape and seek sanctuary from his slave master.

‘Assíd, I hope you understand what has been said here,’ Cenn Faelad stated, looking with a smile directly at Verbas as if he were addressing him. ‘Assure your master, Verbas, that he will get a fair price. And if you escape, you will be treated fairly too.’

The boy translated the necessary part of the sentence to the man, whoraised a hand again to his forehead and bowed — but his features bore a sullen look.

Cenn Faelad turned to Irél. ‘Let your man stay here and keep an eye on Verbas just in case he intends to remove himself back to his ship before I am ready.’

‘It shall be done,’ Irél said.

To Assid, Cenn Faelad said: ‘Explain to Verbas that I am leaving a warrior here for his own protection to make sure that others do not try to get his goods unfairly. Now,’ the young man grinned at Eadulf, ‘enough of these intrigues. I shall return to the royal enclosure.’

‘In that case, with your indulgence,’ Eadulf said, ‘I’ll look round the market for a while before I return.’

‘As you will,’ Cenn Faelad replied, turning away with Irél at his side.

Eadulf stood a moment, gazing after him. One thing worried him about Cenn Faelad. The heir apparent had shown himself capable of some duplicitous dealings and Eadulf was unsure whether to approve of his intentions or be suspicious of what this behaviour said about his character.

For a while Eadulf wandered through the noisy market, looking at the bright stalls and boisterous side-shows. All of a sudden, he came upon a smithy’s forge. It was situated at the end of the market stalls but was clearly not a temporary affair. A burly man was beating metal on an anvil; with tongs in one hand and his hammer in the other, he was striking at it with ringing tones. Eadulf was about to pass on when he noticed some of the smith’s work hanging up for passers-by to admire and purchase.

Among the items was a collection of keys.

An idea suddenly occurred to Eadulf.

‘Are you the only blacksmith in Tara?’ he asked the man.

The smith paused and put down his hammer.

‘I am not, Brother Saxon,’ he replied, showing his recognition of Eadulf’s clothes and accent. ‘But this is my forge. Why do you ask?’

‘How many smiths would there be here?’

The man laughed uproariously. ‘In the royal enclosure alone there may be half a dozen serving not only the nobles but the Fianna as well. Outside,’ he waved his arm around, ‘well, my friend, Tara is a large settlement.’

Eadulf nodded, slightly disappointed. Then: ‘But you are nearest the main gates of the royal enclosure,’ he observed.

‘I’ll not deny it and that, I grant, does help with my business. I get agood trade. Now, why are you asking such questions? You don’t want to set up as a smith, surely?’

Eadulf grinned and shook his head. ‘If I wanted a key made, would I come to you?’

‘A key, is it? I do make keys, but not often. Only the nobles want them. What sort of key do you want made?’

‘I do not want a key made myself, but within the last few weeks someone from the royal enclosure did — and probably they did not want anyone to know.’

The smith looked surprised and then he frowned in recollection. After a moment’s thought he asked: ‘Would the man have been a member of the Fianna?’

A thrill of excitement went through Eadulf. ‘You know of such a person?’

‘A matter of fact, not so many weeks ago, a warrior from the Fianna did ask me to copy a key for him. He said it was a key to a lady’s chamber — a lady who was jealously guarded by a husband …’ He smiled and winked. ‘You know how these things go, my friend, for you look like a man of the world.’

‘Tell me, did the key have a nick on it, as if it had been struck by something sharp — and did the warrior ask you to copy even that mark?’

The smith suddenly looked apprehensive. ‘You are not the husband, surely? I have done nothing wrong … ’

‘You have done nothing wrong,’ Eadulf immediately reassured the man, ‘and if you give me a description of the warrior, there is a screpal in it for you.’ He produced the coin and held it up.

The smith scratched his head for a moment and said: ‘He had dark hair, bony features and close-set eyes. Oh, and he had a scar over the right eye. I gave him the key and the copy of it and he paid and went away happy enough.’

Eadulf smiled broadly and handed the man the coin. He returned to the royal enclosure with a light step.

Fidelma had met Gormflaith only once before and that was less than a year ago when the latter had accompanied her husband Sechnussach, the High King, to the festivities of Fidelma’s own wedding at Cashel. She was a handsome woman and no more than thirty-two or three. She must have married young, only a year or so after the age of choice, Fidelmathought, for her daughter, Muirgel, being sixteen, must have been born soon after. Gormflaith bore a striking resemblance to her daughter so that they could have been sisters. She had black hair, dark eyes and a pale skin, and the same arrogance about her features. She carried herself with that regal bearing that suited the meaning of her name — ‘illustrious sovereignty’. At the same time, she wore an air of extreme melancholia. It was as if tears were glistening on her eyes which, Fidelma reasoned, was to be expected of someone whose husband or lover had met their death.

Unlike her daughter, Gormflaith rose and welcomed Fidelma as an equal, recognising her position as sister of the King of Muman, and acknowledging her with courtesy. She ordered refreshing drinks to be brought and bade her be seated.

‘It is a sad business that brings you hither, Fidelma.’

‘Sad indeed, lady. I presume that you know why I am here?’

‘Cenn Faelad …’ She paused. ‘Cenn Faelad has told me that the Great Assembly had sent for you. A logical decision and one with which I agree. While I have great respect and friendship for Barrán, it is best if the people see that someone outside of the Uí Néill has investigated this matter. Have you made progress?’

‘We can say that we are making steady progress,’ replied Fidelma in a neutral way.

‘That is good. How may I help you?’

Fidelma leaned forward confidentially. ‘I hope you will bear with me, lady, when I ask you under which law you were married to Sechnussach?’

Gormflaith stared in surprise for a moment.

‘Which law? Why, our marriage was under the lánamnas comthinchuir — the marriage of equals, of course.’

There were three main types of marriage in the five kingdoms: a marriage of equals, those of equal social and financial position; then there was the marriage where the man was of higher social and financial position, and the marriage where the woman was of higher social and financial position. Each type of marriage had particular rights and responsibilities.

Fidelma smiled gently. ‘So you stood in equal position before the law?’

‘I married Sechnussach before he was High King and when he was merely a noble of the Sil nÁedo of Brega. His being High King did not change our status under law.’

‘Exactly so, lady,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘And, forgive me not knowing, what was your lineage?’

Gormflaith smiled thinly. ‘I am a banchormba. My father was Airmetach Cáech, chieftain of Clan Cholmáin.’

‘Clan Cholmáin, who dwell around the sacred Hill of Uisnech and by the shores of Loch Ainninne?’

‘For someone from Muman, you are well-informed of the geography of Midhe, lady.’

‘For eight years I studied at the college of Brehon Morann of Tara, not more than a short walk away from where we now sit,’ pointed out Fidelma.