‘It is true that nothing travels faster than scandal,’ Fidelma agreed, ‘but one has to separate mere rumour and mischief-making.’
‘Often there is truth in rumour,’ the abbot replied. ‘Tales told from different sources may be treated with less suspicion than a tale told by a single source. There were several religious arriving at Durrow and each told a similar tale.’
Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘For Virgil I give you Horace — say nothing in case what you say hurt another or bring down on us an unfavourable act of the gods.’
The abbot smiled broadly. ‘You cannot believe that,’ he rebuked humorously. ‘Otherwise, where would you be? You could not function if people obeyed the favete linguis that Horace suggested we obey. Without gossip, without speculation, without people talking to you, your investigations would hardly lead anywhere.’
Fidelma thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘I agree that there is truth in that, Laisran. I suppose the secret is knowing where to look for the nuggets of truth among the silt of hearsay, calumny and defamation.’
‘I am afraid that is your task in life, Fidelma. You chose your profession.’
‘So,’ Fidelma returned to a more practical issue, ‘these rumours that religious wanderers from Connacht brought to you at Durrow had a consistency? They spoke of Muirchertach as a libertine, profligate in his behaviour to women?’
‘They did.’
‘Even in his behaviour to Searc, the sister of his wife Aíbnat?’
‘It is so.’
‘Even if this were just scandal without substantiation, something is strange,’ she said with a shake of her head. Then she rose to her feet. Abbot Laisran looked up with a questioning expression.
‘Have I been of help?’
‘I think so,’ she replied, after a moment’s thought. ‘At least you have prompted an interesting question in my mind. Unfortunately, there are many pieces that seem to form patterns but I am not sure whether they are the right patterns. I don’t think, as yet, that I have all the pieces.’
‘With both Ultán and Muirchertach dead, is there any reason to seek any more pieces?’ queried Abbot Laisran. ‘After all,’ he waved a hand, an odd little gesture as though unsure of himself, ‘it does make a resolution to the matter, doesn’t it? Ultán killed and no great loss to anyone. Muirchertach was blamed and now Muirchertach dead, perhaps in revenge.’
‘But who killed Muirchertach?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Does it serve anyone to find out?’
‘It serves justice and that is what we are about or we are about nothing at all in life.’
‘I have heard that one learned brehon would prefer not to implicate anyone from Laigin,’ he said softly. Fidelma gazed sharply at him. ‘It is just a thought that I heard expressed.’
‘I think I know where that thought came from. Sometimes I forget that the abbey of Durrow lies across the border in the kingdom of Laigin.’
‘You have a sharp mind, Fidelma,’ sighed Abbot Laisran. ‘I always thought that you were a great lawyer.’
‘When you see Brehon Ninnid of Laigin you might say that you heard that I was as determined to track down whoever killed Muirchertach as I was to clear Muirchertach Nár’s name of the murder of Abbot Ultán by discovering who really killed him.’
‘I shall tell Brehon Ninnid. Perhaps, if I were looking for Muirchertach’s killer, I would be thinking of the type of man that Muirchertach Nár was. If the rumours that he was a libertine are true, who might be the one to suffer from his behaviour?’
‘Aíbnat?’ Fidelma grimaced dismissively. ‘I should not think that she would care one way or another.’
‘Yet with her own sister?’
Fidelma thought a moment and then inclined her head, turning for the door. ‘I will bear in mind what you say, Laisran.’
Fidelma had just finished telling Eadulf the gist of her conversation with Laisran when there was a knocking on their chamber door. Muirgen the nurse hurried across the chamber to open the door, making a disapproving noise as she did so, glancing in young Alchú’s crib as she passed by to ensure that he had not been disturbed. It was Caol, the commander of the guard, on the threshold, looking agitated. He glanced past Muirgen and caught site of Fidelma.
‘Lady, a thousand apologies, but it is Fergus Fanat. .’ he called.
Fidelma rose and hastened to the door to join him, dismissing Muirgen with a motion of her head.
‘What about Fergus Fanat?’ she asked softly.
‘He has been attacked.’
Eadulf now joined them.
‘Is he dead?’ he asked.
Caol shook his head. ‘But he is barely alive.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He has been taken down to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.’
‘Where did the attack take place?’ asked Fidelma, reaching for a cloak, for the hour was nearly midnight and the night was chilly.
‘Outside the guest chambers given over to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, and his attendants.’
‘Who was responsible?’ demanded Eadulf, as, by common consent, they left Muirgen looking after the still sleeping baby, and followed Caol into the corridor.
‘No one knows.’
‘Were there no witnesses?’
Caol shook his head. ‘None so far as is known.’
‘Tell us what you do know, Caol,’ said Fidelma.
‘The servant of Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, came to find me a short time ago. He told me that Fergus Fanat, the king’s cousin, had been found badly injured.’
‘Stabbed?’ asked Eadulf quickly.
‘I don’t think so. Brother Conchobhar will know the extent of his injuries, for, having ascertained the man still lived, I had him removed to the care of the good apothecary.’
‘Let us go and see Blathmac immediately, while the events are still fresh in his mind,’ Fidelma suggested.
They found the ruler of Ulaidh in his chamber, looking a little careworn, seated with a flagon of corma at his side. His two personal attendants were standing in the room, wearing their short swords, while outside his chamber were two more warriors of Caol’s guard. Blathmac greeted Fidelma with a wry smile.
‘Until I know whether there is a design to kill me, I am taking no chances,’ he explained, indicating his men. ‘It seems that kings’ and abbots’ lives are not over-valued in Cashel.’
Fidelma did not seem to take offence.
‘I think you may be assured that Fergus Fanat was not attacked in place of yourself, Blathmac,’ she said, seating herself as was her right, while Eadulf stood behind her chair, as custom dictated.
Blathmac grimaced. ‘A king has already been killed. One of my abbots also. How can I be sure that the design is not against me?’
‘There is no surety in this world except that we all die at some time,’ she returned. ‘However, I would not lose sleep over fear that you were the intended victim. Can you tell me what happened?’
Blathmac shrugged indifferently. ‘There is little enough to tell, lady. I was taking supper when I heard a noise outside my chamber door.’
‘A noise?’
‘I suppose you might call it a scuffle. Unsteady footsteps. A cry of pain abruptly cut off and the sound of what, in retrospect, would have been a body falling. Fergus’s body. I grabbed my sword and went to the door and found Fergus lying there in front of the threshold. His head was covered in blood.’
‘Who else was in the corridor?’
‘No one.’
‘No one? Had you heard the sound of any doors along the corridor being shut?’
Blathmac shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘Because it is a long corridor. How long was it from when you heard the sound of the body falling until you opened the door?’
‘Only moments.’
‘In those moments, the attacker had time to vanish. They would have had to go into another chamber.’ Fidelma paused, suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Unless. .’
Blathmac looked at her expectantly. Abruptly, she changed the subject.