‘Indeed he did.’
‘No other words were exchanged?’
‘He mentioned that he knew that a friend of his was at Canterbury who knew something of the laws of both our peoples. He was going to send for that friend to come to the abbey.’
Eadulf’s shoulders slumped. ‘That was myself. I received the message from him asking me to be at the abbey before that time and on that day. Sister Fidelma and I arrived — but Botulf had already been slain.’
‘Did Botulf provide you with any other facts concerning Gélgeis’s death?’ Fidelma asked.
Brother Laisre shook his head.
‘What worries me,’ Eadulf intervened reflectively, ‘and I say this with all sincerity, is the lack of basis in law for any accusation to be made against Cild. Suspicion does not make for fact.’
Garb turned angrily on Eadulf.
‘Do you seek to defend Cild?’
‘Remember, I was the friend for whom Botulf sent. I seek what we should all be seeking. That is the truth. So far as I can see, we have only suspicion. We suspect that the lady Gélgeis met her death by foul means. We suspect that it was her husband, Cild, who encompassed that death. But so far, I have not been offered proof, only hearsay. The gerefa in me cries out for evidence.’
Brother Laisre stared at Eadulf aghast.
‘Cild’s reputation goes before him. He is evil. He is responsible for many deaths …’
‘A reputation does not make a man guilty. Nor does the fact that he is known to have killed others in the name of his religion make him guilty of the murder of Gélgeis.’
Fidelma, seeing the anger on their faces, intervened quickly.
‘Hurtful as it may sound to you, who believe that Cild is guilty, my comrade has a point. A belief is not evidence in law.’
‘Cild’s reputation is black. Doesn’t the old saying go that every colour will take black but black will take no colour?’
‘In other words, the cow with the longest horns will always be accused of butting,’ pointed out Eadulf with cynicism.
‘Truly,’ Fidelma sighed, ‘you are embarked on a bitter course of vengeance.’
‘Sometimes, dálaigh,’ replied Garb, ‘there is little between justice and injustice but much between justice and law.’
‘Is it not better to get more facts about what happened to your sister before this course is undertaken?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Just as we must also find out what happened to Botulf?’
‘We know the hand that struck down both Gélgeis and Botulf,’ Garb said firmly.
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and shook her head warningly. It was useless to pursue the matter of evidence among people intent on vengeance.
‘Brother Botulf was a kindly and generous man,’ Brother Laisre was saying. ‘We would have had a good ally in him. I had already gathered that Botulf was at the abbey because of a punishment decreed by King Ealdwulf and that there was little love lost between him and Cild. I trusted Botulf. I fear his involvement with us was the cause of his death.’
‘The abbot must have found him out and slaughtered him as he had slaughtered others,’ Garb added. ‘Evil walks with him and in him and he must pay for it.’
‘Well spoken, my son,’ came a new voice, quiet and firm. ‘But it shall be done within the law.’
They turned towards the door.
An elderly man stood there. His features showed a resemblance to the younger man, Garb. He was tall, firm-jawed in spite of his advancing years. On his shock of white hair sat a silver circletshowing his rank. His eyes were deep blue, almost violet. His mouth was thin but firm. The graven lines on his face spoke of grief and suffering. He was dressed with the finery that bespoke his chieftainship.
There was little need to have him identified as Gadra, chief of Maigh Eo.
They stood respectfully as the man walked forward and sat down at the table.
‘There are strangers among us, Brother Laisre. Perhaps you will be good enough to introduce your guests to me?’
Brother Laisre inclined his head.
‘This is Brother Eadulf, emissary of the Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury, who travels with Fidelma of Cashel.’
The old chieftain’s eyes showed that he recognised the name.
‘Fidelma, sister of King Colgú of Cashel? Your fame as a dálaigh and dispenser of justice precedes you, Fidelma. My heart rejoices to see you here, for you may guide me in matters of law. I am about to undertake a course that may lead to serious consequences.’
‘Father,’ Garb cleared his throat nervously. ‘Sister Fidelma has already been acquainted with the facts of the action you are about to undertake.’
The old man inclined his head.
‘That is good. I do not wish to die in a foreign land with my name unrecorded and my fate unknown, and yet I fear it may be so. Yes, I do fear it.’
Eadulf shook his head slowly. He thought that most of the time he knew and understood these people. But it was at times like these that he came face to face with the fact that they were of an entirely different culture. This matter of the troscud, of ritual fasting to death to obtain one’s rights, to obtain justice, was alien to him. In his culture, if a person wanted to obtain rights they did not harm themselves; they took their sword and forced their antagonist to give them what they wanted. To ritually starve to death just to shame their enemy was a bizarre concept. He would never understand it.
‘Are you truly set upon this path, Gadra?’ Fidelma asked softly. ‘Is there no other way of seeking the truth than by the troscud?’
Gadra smiled with humour. ‘The ritual began when my intention was announced. The words have left my son’s mouth and cannot be returned to it.’
Garb nodded slowly. ‘If my father dies during the troscud and Abbot Cild has not come to arbitration and confessed his guilt, then the shame is his and he is cursed in this life and the next. Any man may slay him with impunity. I shall be that man, and if I am not, then my clansmen will see that retribution is taken.’
‘The people of this country will not see the justice in that,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘But the people in my country will,’ replied Garb with equanimity.
‘I would still want to find the truth by some other means than this,’ Eadulf said stubbornly.
The old chieftain turned to him, his eyes sparkling.
‘There is nothing stopping you. You may proceed in your way but do not seek to prevent me proceeding in mine.’
Fidelma nodded solemnly. ‘No one will do that, Gadra.’ She glanced warningly at Eadulf and continued. ‘But as for seeking the truth by any other means, the problem is that all the witnesses as to what exactly happened to Gélgeis are dead.’
‘Save for the very man who killed her. May her shade haunt him to his grave,’ snapped Garb.
Eadulf jerked his head up. His eyes widened.
‘Haunt?’ he exclaimed. ‘What makes you say that?’
Garb laughed outright.
‘Do not tell me that your people are afraid of spirits from the Otherworld? If so, may the abbot share that fear for then I will rejoice if the shadows cause him to look twice to each corner of the room, or down each dark corridor that he traverses.’
Eadulf saw Fidelma shake her head so slightly that no one else noticed the gesture. She stood up and stretched uncomfortably.
‘I am afraid that I must beg your forgiveness.’ She smiled around the assembled company. ‘I would like to find a bed to rest for this night. It is not that the hour grows late but I am still weak from the days of illness that caused my confinement in the abbey.’
Brother Laisre moved forward with concern on his features.
‘Of course, Sister. But have you forgotten what night this is? At midnight we celebrate the birth of the Christ child.’
Fidelma looked embarrassed. She had forgotten that it was the eve of Christ’s Mass.
‘If I may lie down until it is time to celebrate …?’