‘What of Brehon Aillín, brother?’ Fidelma asked, still feeling guilty about the departure of the disgraced elderly judge.
Colgú sat back with a look of resolution at Fidelma. ‘I shall need a new legal adviser.’
‘Aillín is still your Chief Brehon,’ she demurred.
‘The man is a liability. He has never liked you nor accepted Eadulf. Now he has gone beyond reasonable behaviour. He has dishonoured me in front of the Prince of the Déisi and his Brehon.’
‘It will be up to the Council of Brehon to see if he has erred in any way and whether he needs to be replaced,’ Fidelma reminded him. ‘You cannot take his title from him before that happens.’
‘I wish I could,’ her brother sighed. ‘However, I can appoint whoever I like to advise me, so long as they are qualified. We have two unexplained deaths on our hands. You have already been charged with investigating one, Fidelma. Now you must take on the investigation of the other. Also. .’ he paused for a moment. ‘You and Eadulf will have to hold yourselves ready to advise me when this deputation arrives.’
Eadulf cleared his throat awkwardly.
‘You have a problem with this, friend Eadulf?’ the King wanted to know.
‘Brehon Aillín should be at your side during the visit by this deputation. Won’t it look strange if your Chief Brehon is absent?’
Colgú made a dismissive gesture. ‘I want someone I can trust, someone without prejudice. Moreover, someone forward-looking rather than the pedant and conservative that Aillín is.’
‘He will not take kindly to being dismissed,’ Fidelma warned.
‘I do not like doing it,’ confessed her brother. ‘But it is one of the responsibilities of kingship.’
‘It is up to you who you appoint to advise you, but it is the Council of Brehons who must appoint their Chief Brehon,’ repeated Fidelma.
‘The Council appointed Áedo as Chief Brehon,’ replied Colgú. ‘When Áedo was killed a few months ago while trying to save me from that murderous assassin, Aillín took over the office because the Council had made him deputy out of respect for his age and service. They did it as an honour for his age, not expecting him to accede to the office. Now it is time they convened and a new Chief Brehon was appointed.’
Abbot Ségdae smiled meditatively at Fidelma. ‘You stood against Áedo for the position last time.’
Fidelma replied, without amusement, ‘That is true. But it taught me that being Chief Brehon was not the position I thought it would be. I need to be involved in administering the law. A Chief Brehon spends most of their time administering the work of judges and lawyers throughout the kingdom and dealing with complaints and appeals. They become removed from the people — and it is with the people that my strength lies. I am content to remain an advocate.’
Eadulf disguised the relief that he felt at her words. For a while he had wondered if Fidelma would seize the opportunity to apply again for election before the Council of the senior Brehons of the kingdom. If truth were told, he had been delighted when she was rejected in favour of Áedo.
‘Well, we must ask the Brehons to convene their Council soon,’ Colgú decided. ‘I will send a messenger to let the leading Brehons know of my request.’
‘What of Brehon Aillín? How is he to be told?’ Fidelma asked, still concerned.
‘I will have a private talk with him,’ Colgú assured her. ‘He is a widower but his daughter and her husband have a farmstead south of Rath na Drinne. He will be well looked after.’
‘He might not accept this without protest,’ Fidelma said anxiously.
‘But accept it he must,’ Colgú replied, his voice firm. ‘Now we all have much work to do. Keep me informed of the events of your investigation.’
He rose, indicating their meeting was over.
Outside the King’s chamber, Fidelma seemed dispirited. ‘I wish there was some more pleasant way to end Aillín’s career. After all, he was not always an aging curmudgeon. Many young lawyers learned from him.’
‘It is out of our hands now,’ Eadulf responded philosophically.
Fidelma did not reply for a moment. Then she said: ‘Let us go in search of Gormán and see if has come up with anything. With luck, someone saw something around the storehouse.’
‘First I must find Egric and get him to identify the body, if he can,’ Eadulf reminded her.
As they entered the courtyard they found old Brother Conchobhar hurrying towards them.
‘I was coming to find you,’ he murmured, casting an almost conspiratorial look around him. ‘There is something that you must see.’
He turned and led them to his apothecary. They asked no questions, for the physician seemed in a state of some agitation. They followed him to a small room at the back of his workshop — a place where he usually examined and prepared bodies ready for burial. The corpse of Rudgal was stretched out on the table, ready to be washed for the burial. A racholl or winding sheet loosely covered him.
‘I was undressing the body,’ explained Brother Conchobhar, ‘when I found this object tied around the waist.’ He turned, and from beneath a bundle of clothes on a nearby chair he picked up a piece of material and handed it to Fidelma.
It was a narrow band of woven lambswool, once white in colour, but stained and dirty now. It was a curious shape — a band some three fingers thick, made as if to loop through itself. Embroidered on it were six black crosses.
‘In the old days,’ Brother Conchobhar recalled, ‘something like this was a ritual vestment worn by all bishops of the New Faith. Although this seems to be of a slightly different design.’
‘But why would Rudgal be hiding it around his waist?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Was this what he thought was significant?’
‘Do you think that Rudgal stole it from Victricius?’ Eadulf wondered. ‘Maybe Victricius was a bishop and this was his vestment?’ He took the lambswool from her and examined it carefully.
‘If so, he must have known something more about it,’ Fidelma said sensibly.
‘But what would someone like Rudgal know about the vestments of the ecclesiastics?’ Eadulf was frowning. ‘According to Brehon Furudán, Rudgal claimed that someone at Láirge’s harbour had paid him and his thugs to attack and kill the Venerable Victricius and my brother. I suppose that person may have told him something about it.’
‘That doesn’t sound likely.’ Fidelma was dubious. ‘If they were just hired thugs, Rudgal and his gang of cut-throats would not be let into any secret which gave them additional power, surely.’
‘Then if they weren’t told, why did he take it and hide it on his person? Why did he come here confident we would make a bargain with him? And why was he killed?’
Fidelma returned his gaze thoughtfully. ‘You are asking too many good questions, Eadulf. Anyway, I think we can be sure that he kept it as a means of bargaining for his freedom. But now I think we have another question to pursue.’
‘Which is?’ prompted Eadulf.
‘We know that this used to be a symbol that was worn by bishops years ago. Perhaps that symbolism has changed?’
Brother Conchobhar intervened. ‘I can make some discreet enquiries. Our Keeper of the Books is a man of great knowledge, and an enquiry from me would not give rise to any undue attention.’
‘But don’t show him this,’ Fidelma warned, folding the band. ‘Just describe it to him as if it was something you had once seen. In the meantime, I suggest you hide it somewhere safe.’
They emerged from Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary more perplexed than they had entered it. They found Gormán looking for them.
‘I just wanted to tell you that I have spoken to all the members of the bodyguard who were around the Laochtech while the prisoner was held there.’ He sounded frustrated. ‘None of them saw anything. Enda was in charge, since he and Luan secured the prisoner in the storehouse, as Eadulf will have told you. The Déisi warriors never left the brandubh game. Everyone else had their guard duties to perform and have been accounted for.’