‘That does not bode well,’ Fidelma responded with a frown. ‘Have they left word not to be disturbed?’
Gormán shook his head. ‘None that I have been told.’
‘Then I shall enter.’
Gormán moved to the doors, rapped twice before opening it to allow Fidelma to pass through.
Inside the large chamber, where King Colgú usually received only special guests, Fidelma’s brother and his visitor were seated in chairs before a log fire. Colgú glanced up as his sister entered and greeted her with a smile. The elderly figure of Abbot Ségdae was rising to his feet from the other chair but she gestured to him to remain seated.
‘A good day to you, Sister Fidelma,’ the prelate said.
‘And to you, Abbot Ségdae,’ she replied, slipping into a vacant chair. Then she added softly, ‘Although you may recall that I have now formally left the religious so I am no longer “Sister” but once more plain Fidelma of Cashel.’
The abbot regarded her protest with humour.
‘You will always be Sister Fidelma to us,’ he told her. ‘Your reputation is already fixed throughout the Five Kingdoms so that no one can speak of Fidelma without the prefix of Sister.’
‘I am hoping that people might come to know another prefix,’ she replied undeterred.
‘Ah yes,’ sighed the abbot. ‘My regrets that the Council of Brehons of Muman did not see fit to approve your application, but the role of Chief Brehon of this kingdom is one requiring many years of application.’
Fidelma’s eyes sparkled dangerously for a moment, wondering if there was some hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then she relented.
‘I concede that Brehon Áedo does have much more experience than I do.’ Her tone was without enthusiasm. ‘Doubtless the council chose wisely in appointing him as Chief Brehon to my brother.’
Colgú stirred uneasily. He knew well that Fidelma had set her ambition to be appointed to the position of Chief Brehon of Muman. When Brehon Baithen had died, Fidelma had declared her intention to leave the religious and seek the position. However, the choice of the appointment of Chief Brehon was in the hands of the Council of Brehons, and they had chosen the elderly and more conservatively minded Brehon Áedo.
‘So what now, Fidelma? What does the future hold for you?’ queried the abbot.
‘The future? I shall carry on as before. I see no change in my life.’
‘But having left our religion …?’
‘I have not left the religion, only the religious,’ replied Fidelma crisply. ‘And since I left the Abbey of Brigit at Cill Dara, several years ago, I have acted independently of any Rule or religious authority. To be honest, and I am sure you will admit it, my recent leaving was a formality only. So that is why I see no alteration in my life in the future. There are plenty of matters that require the ability of a dálaigh, an advocate of the law, and I can still sit in judgement in minor cases.’
‘That is true,’ Colgú said reflectively. ‘But perhaps this is also an opportunity. You hold the degree of anruth, which is the second highest degree in the land. Why not take the opportunity to return to your studies and become an ollamh, the highest degree? That would surely improve your future chances when you go before the Council of the Brehons?’
Fidelma did not reply but her expression showed that her brother’s suggestion found little favour with her.
‘And what does Brother Eadulf think?’ the abbot pressed. His question made no attempt to disguise the fact that he knew of the tensions that had existed between Fidelma and the father of her son, little Alchú. Indeed, when she had announced her decision earlier in the year, Brother Eadulf had left to seek solitude in the community of the Blessed Rúan not far from Cashel. He had returned only at the request of King Colgú to help Fidelma resolve the matter of the murder of Brother Donnchad at Lios Mór.
‘Eadulf has now accepted the choice that I have made,’ Fidelma informed him coldly. ‘But if you need further information about his thoughts, it would be better to ask him.’
Abbot Ségdae’s cheeks reddened a little and he smothered a cough while Colgú shook his head in disapproval.
‘Abbot Ségdae has only the good of our family and the kingdom at heart, Fidelma,’ he rebuked in a soft tone. ‘Indeed, that is what brings him here so early in the morning.’
It was obvious to her that her brother was trying to guide the conversation into other channels. Fidelma obliged him, for she was wondering why the abbot had ridden through the night to seek him out.
‘Is there some matter that affects the well-being of either?’ she asked innocently. ‘I thought it might be arrangements for some more pleasant occasion that brought Abbot Ségdae hither?’
Her brother actually blushed. Drón, Lord of Gabrán in Osraige, and his daughter, Dúnliath, had been guests at Cashel for three days now and Colgú had confessed to Fidelma that he was going to discuss the terms of a marriage contract with him. Fidelma had tried to put aside the fact that she had taken a dislike to the arrogant noble and regarded his daughter with indifference. She was trying to rationalise what she saw as her prejudice and accept that what would make her brother happy would be for his good and, therefore, the good of the kingdom.
‘There is news of unrest coming out of the lands of the Uí Fidgente,’ said Abbot Ségdae. ‘That is what brought me here.’
‘That is nothing new,’ Fidelma replied lightly. ‘The Uí Fidgente have always caused trouble to our family and to the unity of the kingdom.’
The princes of the Uí Fidgente in the north-west of the kingdom had long claimed they should be in the line of the rightful rulers of the kingdom — and not the Eóghanacht, descendants of Eóghan Mór. They even claimed their line descended from Cormac Cass, the elder brother of Eóghan, and hence they called themselves the Dál gCais, descendants of Cass. Beyond their clan lands, however, they found little support for their claims. It had not been many years ago that Colgú had to take the field with his loyal warriors against Prince Eoghanán of the Uí Fidgente and his allies to quell their insurgency. For as long as Fidelma could remember, if there was any plot or mischief in the kingdom, it was usually inspired by the discontent of the princes of the Uí Fidgente.
‘I thought,’ she continued, ‘that since Donennach became their ruler, and agreed a treaty with Cashel, there had been peace among them?’
‘This time we cannot be sure that the Uí Fidgente are behind this unrest,’ the abbot sighed.
‘What unrest do we speak of?’ Fidelma asked.
After a glance at the King, as if seeking permission to speak, the abbot explained. ‘We hear that several villages and farmsteads around the territory of the Uí Fidgente have been set ablaze and many killed. The news only reached Imleach yesterday morning. That is why I set out to bring the information to your brother.’
‘What is the specific information that you have received?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Burning villages and farmsteads — who reported this to you?’
‘The first account came by way of a merchant who had seen several homesteads in ashes. He then saw an entire settlement that had been torched.’
‘Where was this?’
‘A settlement on the banks of An Mháigh.’
‘As I recall, that is a fairly long river. Was he more specific?’
‘The settlement that was destroyed was near a crossing called the Ford of the Oak, Áth Dara.’
‘That is certainly in Uí Fidgente territory,’ Colgú confirmed, ‘but if memory serves, it is on the very border of their territory, for the eastern side of the river is the territory of our cousin Finguine of the Eóghanacht Áine.’