Peter Tremayne - Our Lady of Darkness

He looked blankly at the young man, trying to recognise him.

‘It is I, Aidan, a warrior of the bodyguard of King Colgú of Cashel.’

Eadulf blinked in confusion as he found the young warrior cutting his bonds. He could not speak for the soreness of his throat.

He was aware of several mounted warriors, richly dressed and armed, and a great blue silken banner being carried by one of them. Fianamail and his companions had frozen in shocked surprise at their appearance.

Among the newly arrived horsemen, seated on a powerful roan mare, was a man of indiscernible age clad in robes that denoted some high rank or office. He had a prominent nose, and his eyes were bright, unblinking; and he bore a stern, thin-lipped expression.

Fianamail began shaking with rage. His face was red as blood coursed through his cheeks.

‘Outrageous!’ His voice came almost as a gurgle. ‘This is outrageous. You shall pay for this! Do you know who I am? I am the King. You shall die for this insolence!’

‘Fianamail!’ cried the brittle voice of the man on horseback as he edged forward to where the King sat. ‘Look upon me!’ His tone was not loud but it demanded attention.

The King blinked at him, trying to control his passion.

‘Look upon me and know me. I am Barrán, Chief Brehon of all the five kingdoms of Éireann. These are the Fianna of the High King. And here is my authority which you must now obey.’

He thrust out an ornate wand of office, beautifully bejewelled and scrolled in gold and silver.

Fianamail’s face went from red to white. After some hesitation he muttered in a more controlled voice, ‘What does this mean, Barrán? you have interrupted a legitimate execution. That man is a Saxon who was found guilty of raping and murdering a young novitiate. He is a dangerous man. He has had a fair trail and a fair appeal was heard by my Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, and myself. The execution of this sentence is legal and …’

Barrán raised a hand and Fianamail fell silent.

‘If it is as you say, then you will receive an apology from no less a person than the Chief Brehon. But many things trouble me as they have troubled the High King. It is better to examine matters and rectify the mistakes while the man is alive than attempt to rectify them after he is dead.’

‘There is no mistake.’

‘We will discuss this matter further when we reach your fortress, Fianamail,’ Barrán’s voice was soft yet its quiet tones commanded obedience even from kings and Fianamail was still young and immature. ‘The High King also finds it a matter of great concern that word comes to his court at Tara that our native law system is no longer considered worthy in this kingdom. It is said that you have proclaimed the Penitentials as legitimate law above the Law of the Fénechus proclaimed by the brehons. Can this be true?’

He glanced to where Abbot Noé was standing.

‘Is it also true that you have advised this young King on this matter, Noé?’

Barrán had already clashed with the abbot at Ros Alithir. They were not friends.

‘There are good arguments for adopting the Penitentials, Barrán,’ Abbot Noé replied stiffly.

‘Doubtless we shall hear them,’ replied Barrán dryly. ‘It is strange, however, that the Brehon of Laigin, the spiritual adviser to the King, even the King himself, had not thought to come to Tara and discuss this matter with the other brehons and bishops of the five kingdoms. For the moment, it is the Law of the Fénechus that runs through this land and that is the only law to which its people are answerable. I know of no other law. It would pain the High King and his court if further violations of our laws have been made without our knowledge.’

Eadulf was still standing rubbing his wrists in bewilderment; his throat was paining him from the rope burn.

‘What is happening?’ he whispered to Aidan.

‘The lady Fidelma sent me to Tara to bring the Chief Brehon here with all speed. I thought we would arrive too late. We almost did.’

‘But how did you know where I was? She does not.’

‘We didn’t know, either. We haven’t seen Sister Fidelma yet. We have ridden through the night and an hour ago we were crossing the mountain road below as a short cut to Fearna. The road led past Fianamail’s hunting lodge and we saw some activity there. Barrán had one of his men enquire if Fianamail was present. We were told that he and Abbot Noé had ridden for this place to hang a Saxon outlaw. I thought that it could only be you. We came up with all speed.’

Eadulf felt weak as he began to gather his wits.

‘You mean that it was purely luck that I did not …?’ He shuddered violently at the realisation.

‘We arrived just as the big fellow there,’ he pointed to Brother Cett, ‘kicked the stool out from under you. It was providential that my sword was sharp.’

‘You cut the rope even as I fell?’ asked Eadulf incredulously.

‘I cut the rope and not a split second too late, thanks be to God.’

The Chief Brehon had turned his horse, approaching the spot where Eadulf stood.

‘Are you the one who is called Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?’

Eadulf gazed up into the bright eyes of Barrán. He felt the personality and inner strength of this man who was probably more powerful than even the High King for he stood at the head of the law system in all the five kingdoms of Éireann.

‘I am he,’ he acknowledged quietly.

‘I have heard of you, Saxon.’ Barrán’s smile was gentle. ‘I have heard of you as the friend of Fidelma of Cashel. She has sent for me to be judge over you.’

‘I am grateful, my lord. I stand before you innocent of all that I am accused of.’

‘That we shall see in due course. Are you well enough to travel directly to Fearna?’

‘I am.’

Here the young warrior, Aidan, intervened.

‘It might be better to allow a moment’s rest so that we can attend to the burn mark on Brother Eadulf’s neck. He had a narrow escape.’

Barrán peered forward at the mark on Eadulf’s neck and then inclined his head in silent agreement.

Brother Martan had come hurrying forward with a jug of mead.

‘I have some knowledge of these things, Lord Brehon. Mead for the stomach and a salve for the burn.’

The stool which would have been an instrument of his death a moment before was now placed upright so that Eadulf could sit on it. Brother Martan bent over him, tutting and making sympathetic noises. He took out a small jar of ointment from the leather satchel at his waist and began to gently massage some of the salve onto the mark made by the rough rope. It stung so much at first that Eadulf winced.

‘It is a salve made of sage and comfrey, Brother,’ explained the old monk. ‘It will sting at first but later you will feel comforted.’

‘Thank you, Brother,’ Eadulf tried to smile through the stinging sensation. ‘I am sorry that I have brought such problems to your peaceful little community.’

Brother Martan’s expression was one of amusement.

‘The church is the harbour for problems, a place where exchanges should be made — problems for peace.’

Eadulf began to feel in better spirits for the first time in days.

‘What I would not mind is an exchange of my problems for an apple. This hanging has made me feel hungry and while your mead is good it does not make my hunger less.’

Brother Martan turned and made the request to one of his brethren.

Fianamail was still in a controlled rage and his temper got the better of him when he saw mead and an apple being given to Eadulf.

‘Is this murderer to be pampered while we stand about in the cold waiting for him?’ he demanded of Barrán. ‘What is the point of puttingsalve on his injury when I shall doubtless hang him later?’