‘But why so extreme? Why not merely support those in the five kingdoms who reject the Penitentials and other matters? Or why not go back to the faith of the Druids? Why would they choose such an aberration as this idol you call Crom?’
‘In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force,’ averred the old bishop. ‘Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by other means. Those who would convert the people back to the old ways need fear, need something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.’
‘Well,’ Eadulf remarked bitterly, ‘I do not intend to become a martyr just yet. We will find a way out of this prison.’
Fidelma had been meditating, practising the old form of the dercad. She did not believe in unnecessary action when it was bound to be futile. She was tightly bound and the farmer and his son were continually present with watchful eyes. As it had grown dark, oil lamps were lit by the old man who then took a lantern outside. She presumed it was to check on Caol and Gormán and hoped they had not been hurt. They must be shackled in the barn outside. The old man came back after a while, and as he refused to answer her questions about her companions, so she returned to her meditation.
After a passage of time, the sound of horses’ hooves aroused her from her trance. There were a fair-sized number of riders — perhaps twenty or more — clattering into the farmyard.
The farmer sprang up. ‘The chief!’ he said in a thankful tone to his son.
A moment later, a muscular young man burst into the room, closely followed by the farmer’s younger son and a couple of other men who carried swords in their hands.
‘Your son reported that you might have raiders,’ began the young man, as his eyes fell on Fidelma. He had a shock of black hair, thick with curls, a full beard and not unpleasant features.
‘She and two warriors came to the farmstead,’ the farmer said respectfully. ‘You told me to beware of strange warriors, so I had them trussed up in the barn and kept the woman here.’
The young warrior turned to Fidelma. ‘You appear to be a Christian?’ he said wonderingly, as his eyes fell on the cross she wore around her neck.
Fidelma regarded him with a thin smile. ‘So far, no one has bothered to ask me who I am. Perhaps there is no courtesy left in this part of the country?’
The young man looked startled for a moment. ‘There is courtesy for those who are courteous,’ he replied. ‘Very well — who are you?’
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh entrusted with the investigation of the assassination of the High King Sechnussach, by the Great Assembly.’
The young man’s eyes widened and he glanced at the farmer with an interrogatory look in his eyes.
‘I asked no question of her,’ the man replied defensively. ‘People can be deceitful with their tongues. She was with two strange warriors.’
As the young man turned back to her, Fidelma said, before he could ask the question: ‘My companions are Caol, commander of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of my brother, Colgú of Cashel, and Gormán, one of his men.’
‘Fidelma of Cashel? Can you prove it?’ he asked.
‘Does it need proof?’
‘In this time and in this place, it does.’
‘In my saddlebag you will find the hazel wand of office of the High King, given me by Cenn Faelad to assert my authority.’
The young man turned to the farmer’s son. ‘Find the saddlebag and bring it here.’
It was the work of moments and the ornate hazel wand was produced.
The young man exhaled softly and shook his head.
‘Undo her bonds,’ he instructed the farmer. ‘Accept my apologies, lady. These are troubled times. I am Ardgal, chief of the Cinél Cairpre.’
Muttering that he was not to blame, the farmer released Fidelma from her bonds. Ignoring him, for a moment or two, Fidelma sat rubbing her chafed wrists.
‘I trust my companions will also be released now?’ she asked.
Ardgal addressed the farmer. ‘Make it so!’ he snapped. Then, turning back to her: ‘Believe me, I am sorry. But, lady, this land is beset with raiders, burning churches and destroying the homes of any who support the clergy.’
Fidelma looked grim. ‘Of that I am aware, Ardgal. It is part of the reason that I have ridden from Tara with the intention of meeting with you.’
Ardgal was once more surprised. Then he waved a hand to indicate the room.
‘This is not the ideal place for hospitality but it must suffice for the moment.’ He looked at the farmer’s sons. ‘See what you can offer the lady to make amends for this treatment.’
Their faces flushed with embarrassment, the young men went to fulfil the task.
Ardgal drew up a stool and sat down to face Fidelma with a concerned look.
‘Why are you seeking me?’ he asked.
‘That will surely be no surprise when it was your chief who assassinated Sechnussach,’ she said.
Ardgal inclined his head contritely. ‘We are not all the same, lady. Dubh Duin was my cousin and my chief, it is true. A few years ago, we perceived some strange madness possessing him. He had always spoken of the old ways. We are a liberal people, believing in each to his own. We did not mind that he stood firm for the Old Faith and forsook the path of Christ. But when he became an advocate against the New Faith, then his beliefs began splitting the loyalties of our clan. He became a fanatic. In fact, while Dubh Duin was at Tara this last time, attending the Great Assembly, the derbhfine of our clan met and it was decided that he should be ousted under process of the law, and that I be installed as chief in his place.’
‘Why was this?’ demanded Fidelma, accepting a mug of cider from the farmer’s son, and sipping it gently for her throat was very dry.
The farmer had returned, still muttering justifications, with Caol and Gormán. Ardgal took charge, ordering that a meal be prepared for the visitors while his men encamped in the barns outside. Then he turned backto her and repeated, ‘Why? Because of the behaviour that resulted in the deed he carried out.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘It is a tale that can be short in the telling but long in the recitation of its consequences.’
‘Tell it as you see fit.’
Ardgal shrugged. ‘As I said, he had always preferred the Old Faith to the new. No harm in that, for there are many in this land who prefer to offer their prayers to the gods and goddesses who have served our people for thousands of years, rather than to what some consider as a strange god from the East. But Dubh Duin began to change from tolerance to fanaticism. He became obsessed with trying to force the Old Religion on everyone.’
‘And you?’
Ardgal smiled briefly. ‘I am of the New Faith, lady. So are most of my people. But there were others in the clan who supported Dubh Duin. Most of them have now fled to the hills and forests since the assassination of the High King. When Irél came demanding hostages, we were able to provide him with some of Dubh Duin’s followers, and these are now incarcerated at Tara as surety for the clan’s good behaviour. That way, the innocent will not suffer.’
‘But there are these raiders, the dibergach, who have been active,’ Fidelma pointed out.
Ardgal’s expression was serious. ‘Dubh Duin was not their leader. There are others more powerful and influential than he. And what they adhere to is a perverted form of the Old Religion. Our old gods and goddesses were not out for bloodlust. The Tuatha Dé Danaan were deities of light and goodness who defeated the sinister forces of evil before they ruled in this land. Of course, they had their human vices. They experienced all human passion but they loved life. These misguided fools have set up the Crom Cróich, an aberration.’
‘And yet,’ Fidelma put in, ‘this aberration seems to be attracting the allegiance of many.’
Ardgal laughed shortly. ‘Allegiance? It is attracting the fear of many. Only fear sustains this new movement.’