Fidelma’s eyes travelled back to the table where the strip of birch bark lay. She put down the baby shoe and picked up the note. There were only a few words on it. She noticed that it was written in the same ill-formed hand as the first note had been.
Your proof, it said simply. Now follow our previous instructions.
Fidelma turned back to Gorman with a look of interrogation.
‘Where exactly did you find this?’
‘I was passing the inn in the township this morning when the innkeeper hailed me. He found the shoe hung in a little leather bag on his door — the same place where the first note was apparently found, lady,’ the big warrior replied. ‘The note was with it.’
Her eyes went to the small leather bag. She picked it up. It had no distinguishing marks on it, a small bag of worn kidskin that fastened, sack-like, with a leather thong round its top. It was barely big enough to cover a man’s fist if pushed inside. Fidelma turned the bag inside out and peered into the creases caused by the seams. Seeds and bits of dried vegetable matter clung along them.
She made no comment but returned the bag to its original shape. Then she picked up the shoe again. It was clean. There was no sign of dirt on it at all.
‘There is no question now, cousin,’ Finguine was saying.
She turned her attention sharply to him with a frown.
‘No question? Of what?’
Finguine raised his hands in an encompassing gesture.
That this is some Uí Fidgente plot. They hold your son in return for the release of the three Uí Fidgente chieftains.’
Colgú was nodding in agreement.
‘There is nothing for it, Fidelma. We will have to release the three chieftains. We have no other way of tracking down those who hold the baby.’
Finguine looked almost apologetically at her.
‘Your brother is right. However, it is my task to point out that no guarantees have yet been offered about the return of Alchú. It seems that we now have to take the word of the Uí Fidgente that they will do so once the chieftains cross the border.’
‘We have to trust them,’ Colgú echoed in resignation.
‘Once they have crossed into the territory of the Dál gCais,’ Finguine reminded her, ‘the first note said the baby would be returned.’
‘Has Capa returned from the Uí Fidgente country yet?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.
Finguine shook his head.
‘From the swiftness of the response, we may presume that whoever holds the baby is hiding within proximity to Cashel,’ said Colgú.
Fidelma inclined her head thoughtfully.
‘It is a logical deduction,’ she admitted.
‘Well, we can follow the chieftains once they are released,’ Finguine suggested. ‘Follow them and see who contacts them and then we will know who holds the baby.’
‘That would be pointless,’ Fidelma replied. They regarded her in surprise.
‘Pointless?’ Colgú made the word into a question.
‘The chieftains, on their release, will start presumably for the country of the Dál gCais. Those who hold the child will be watching them. Doubtless watching them from the very moment of their release. What do you think they would do if they saw anyone following them?’
Colgú immediately realised the implication.
‘They would continue to hold the child. So, are you saying that we have to let the chieftains go without following them?’
Gorman had been looking thoughtful for some time. ‘Forgive me, lady, but where is Brother Eadulf? Surely he should be here with us to make this decision?’
‘Were you not in the palace yesterday?’ she asked.
‘No, lady.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, I stayed with a friend last night before returning this morning.’
Finguine looked a little embarrassed.
‘Eadulf left the palace yesterday. He left a note saying that he had found something that might resolve the mystery.’
‘Where has he gone?’
‘He rode off to the abbey of Coimán.’
Gorman appeared surprised. ‘Ridden off … without escort? That is across Uí Fidgente territory.’
Fidelma smiled tightly. ‘I think Eadulf can find his way about without an escort.’
Gorman made a whistling sound between his teeth.
‘Even so, he would have done better in these troubled times to take a warrior with him.’
Fidelma pursued her lips in annoyance.
‘I have no worries. Eadulf is capable of finding his own way.’
‘There is something else that Gorman should know,’ added Finguine quietly. ‘Bishop Petrán was found dead yesterday. Brehon Dathal thinks Eadulf poisoned him.’
Gorman burst out laughing. They looked at him in surprise.
‘It is such a ridiculous idea,’ he explained, controlling his mirth. ‘I do not know Brother Eadulf well, but I know men. Poison is not how he would deal with anyone who irritated him in a discussion on theology.’
Fidelma appraised him quickly.
‘You knew there was some antagonism between Eadulf and the bishop on matters of theology?’
‘Several people heard of the argument he had with Petrán when we returned to the palace the other evening.’
Fidelma hesitated for a moment and then turned to Finguine.
‘Has Brother Conchobar returned to Cashel as yet?’
Finguine shook his head
‘Do we know what it was that sent Brother Eadulf riding west?’ pressed Gorman, returning to the subject. ‘Any information should be shared.’
‘I was not informed,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I did not see him before he left. He wrote me a note. All I know is that he was going to the abbey of Coimán.’
Gorman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Beyond Cnoc Loinge it is not wise that he travel alone.’
Colgú was impatient. ‘Well, let us return to the matter in hand. Are we all agreed to release the chieftains?’
‘Reluctantly,’ affirmed Finguine. ‘But shouldn’t the council meet and approve such a decision? Bishop Ségdae, Brehon Dathal… perhaps we should wait for Capa’s return?’
Colgú shook his head. ‘The response urges prompt action. If the deed is to be done, let us do it now. Capa might not return for several days. Bishop Ségdae has ridden to Imleach. Brehon Dathal is involved in the matter of Petrán and I am not sure that his advice…’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Let the rest of the council be told of our decision when they are available and they can question it when we all meet later.’
Fidelma said: ‘But I want a word with the chieftains before they are released.’
‘You want to speak with these Uí Fidgente?’ Her brother raised his eyebrows in surprise.
‘Do you have an objection?’
‘Very well, Fidelma,’ he replied. ‘So be it. I shall send for the giall-chométaide to escort you. Unless you want me to come with you?’ The giall-chométaide was the jailer in charge of the hostages. Fidelma replied in the negative, and Colgú turned to Gorman.
‘I will want you to escort the chieftains to the northern road as soon as Fidelma has finished with them.’
The big warrior was looking thoughtfully at Fidelma. He suddenly frowned and turned to Colgú.
‘To the northern road?’
‘At least you can point them in the direction of their home,’ the king explained patiently. ‘We will not then have long to wait for a response.’
It was a while before the giall-chométaide, a wiry little man, with ferret features and a ready smile that Fidelma did not exactly trust, entered the room to receive his instructions from Colgú. When he was told that the three chieftains were to be released, he showed no sign of surprise but impassively acknowledged the order.
At the back of the palace complex was an area that was separated from the rest of the buildings by a high wall through which only someone with permission from the king or his tanist could enter. It was known by the ancient name Duma na nGiall — the mound of hostages. The old word duma once applied to a tumulus and then to a man-made mound often named Duma Dala for a place of assembly. Now, whether a mound of assembly or one of encampment, it was used in the context of a place where prisoners were held. On passing through the gates, preceded by the jailer, Fidelma found herself in a series of austere but well-appointed apartments.