Now and again the kings of Laigin would raise a protest before the High Kings, requesting the return of Osraige to them. But six centuries had passed since the days of Conaire Mór when Osraige had passed to Muman. Each protest had been rejected by the Great Assembly of the Brehons of Éireann, who met every three years at the royal palace of Tara. The punishment and compensation were confirmed as being just.
Fidelma brought her gaze back to the worried face of her brother.
‘Surely even Fianamail, as young and inexperienced a king as he is, would not consider attempting to wrest Osraige back by force?’
Her brother gave an affirmative gesture.
‘Not by force alone, Fidelma,’ he agreed. ‘Do you know something of the internal politics of Osraige?’
Fidelma knew little of the kingdom and admitted as much.
‘For reasons too long and complicated to explain now, nearly two hundred years ago the native kings of Osraige were replaced by a family from the Corco Loígde in the south-west of the kingdom. There has been friction in Osraige ever since. The Corco Lofgde are not popular. Now and then, the Osraige have risen up to displace them. Less than a year ago, Illan, the last descendant of the native kings of Osraige with a legal claim to the kingship, was killed by the current king, Scandlán. Needless to say, Scandlán is of the Corco Loígde ruling family.’
Colgú paused a moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding.
‘There is talk of an heir to Illan. Rumour has it that this heir, if he exists, would be happy to court Laigin if Laigin promised to help him dislodge the Corco Loígde as kings.’
‘It would still mean a war between Laigin and Muman with Laigin having to wrest Osraige back by force,’ Fidelma pointed out.
Her brother leant forward with an unhappy expression on his features.
‘But what if some deed occurred, similar to the very deed that caused Osraige to be forfeited from Laigin in the first place?’
Fidelma sat straighter-backed now, her muscles suddenly tensed. Colgú’s expression was grim.
‘You have confirmed that you know how the Venerable Dacan of Laigin was held in the eyes of many people. He was a saintly and revered man. And you have confirmed that you know how his brother, Noé of Fearna, stands in similar regard within the sight of both his king, Fianamail, and the people of the five kingdoms.’
Fidelma caught the use of the past tense but made no reply.She had, indeed, admitted that both men were highly respected throughout the land.
‘Two months ago,’ went on Colgú in a troubled voice, ‘the Venerable Dacán arrived at Cashel and sought the blessing of King Cathal to work within this kingdom. Dacán had heard of the work being done at the Blessed Fachtna’s abbey at Ros Ailithir and wanted to join the community there. Of course, King Cathal welcomed such a learned and esteemed scholar as Dacán to the kingdom.’
‘So Dacán set off to Ros Ailithir?’ intervened Fidelma when Colgú paused.
‘Eight days ago we heard news that the Venerable Dacán had been murdered in his cell at the abbey.’
Fidelma realised that, even when death had become so common-place due to the ravages of the Yellow Plague, the death of the Venerable Dacán would have a resounding impact on all the five kingdoms, and more so especially due to the fact that the death was attributable to violence.
‘Are you telling me that you think the new king of Laigin, Fianamail, will use this death to demand the territory of Osraige be returned to his jurisdiction as a compensation?’
Colgú’s shoulders hunched momentarily.
‘I not only think so, I know it to be so. It was only yesterday that Forbassach of Fearna arrived here as an envoy from Fianamail, the king of Laigin.’
Fearna was the seat of the kings of Laigin as well as the site of Noé’s abbey.
‘How can the news have reached them so quickly?’ demanded Fidelma.
Colgú spread his hands.
‘I suppose that someone rode from Ros Ailithir immediately to tell Dacán’s brother, Noé, at Fearna.’
‘Logical,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And what does the arrogant Forbassach have to say on this matter?’
‘The envoy from Fianamail was quite explicit in his demands.Not only must the éric fine be paid but an honour price which entails the handing of all suzerain rights over Osraige to Laigin. If this is not done then Fianamail of Laigin will claim it by blood. You know the law better than I do, Fidelma, Are they within their rights to make such claims? I think they are, for Forbassach is no fool.’
Fidelma pursued her lips thoughtfully.
‘Our law system grants the right for a killer to atone for his or her crime by payment of compensation. There is a fixed penalty, the éric fine, as you rightly say. This amounts to seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. But, often, when the victim is a man or woman of rank and influence, then the victim’s kinsmen are within their rights to claim an honour price, the lóg n-enech. That was, in fact, the law by which Conaire Mór claimed Osraige for Muman in the first instance. If the culprit is unable to pay this honour price then their kinsmen are expected to pay it. If this is not forthcoming then the victim’s kinsmen are allowed to commence a blood feud, or dígal, to obtain the honour price. But this does not mean that the Laigin king is entitled to do so. There are a couple of questions that need to be resolved.’
‘Advise me, Fidelma,’ invited Colgú, leaning forward eagerly.
‘What right does Fianamail have in this matter? Only kinship allows a person to name and demand an honour price.’
‘Fianamail is cousin to Dacan and speaks as kin. In this, of course, he supported by Noé, the brother of Dacán.’
Fidelma allowed herself a deep sigh.
‘That certainly allows Fianamail to press his claim. But does Abbot Noé actually support him in his demands? Such demands must surely lead to an effusion of blood. Noé is a leading advocate of the Faith and beloved and respected for his conciliatory teachings, for his acts of forgiveness. How can he demand such vengeance?’
Colgú grimaced dispassionately.
‘Dacán was, above all things, Noé’s brother,’ he pointed out.
‘Even so, I find it hard to believe Noé would act in such a manner.’
‘Well, he has. But you implied that there might be other reasons why Laigin could not inflict an honour-price fine on Muman. What more?’
‘The most obvious question devolves on the fact that the fines can only be inflicted on the family of the person who was responsible for Dacán’s death. Who killed Dacan? Only if a member of our family, the Eóganachta, as representing the kingship of Muman, is responsible, can Laigin claim an honour price from Muman.’
Colgú gestured helplessly.
‘We don’t know who killed Dacan, but the abbey of Ros Ailithir is governed by our cousin, Brocc. He is charged, as abbot, as being responsible for Dacán’s death.’
Fidelma blinked to conceal her surprise. She had vague memories of an elder cousin who had been a distant and unfriendly figure to her brother and herself.
‘What makes the king of Laigin charge our cousin with accountability for the death of Dacan? Is it simply because he is responsible for the safety of all who reside at his abbey or is something more sinister implied?’