Atonement of Blood(115)

‘It is a father’s right to punish a son.’

‘What your son has done is no longer a matter of discipline from a father or, indeed, the chieftain of his clan,’ Fidelma said.

‘What then?’ demanded Fidaig. ‘Is he to be tried by strangers? The Uí Fidgente?’

‘He is involved in a plot against the rightful Uí Fidgente Prince and probably against the King of Cashel,’ Fidelma said. ‘Therefore, if it comes to trial, he will be tried by a Brehon of Muman.’

Fidaig snorted. ‘I say that my son is of the Luachra and he will answer to the Luachra. I allow no one to interfere in my family or the people of Sliabh Luachra.’ The lord of the Luachra glanced towards his warrior escort.

Fidelma caught the implied threat and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

‘What you allow is of no consequence to me, Fidaig. I am a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth. Even the High King has accepted my legal advice. Further, I speak with the authority of my brother, Colgú, rightful King of Muman. Now, do you deny the law I represent and your King? Deny me by force and there is nothing I can do. But should you do so, you will know that the consequences will be severe, for it will not be just a defiance of those authorities that I have spoken of but of the Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms and therefore the High King himself. Are you ready to accept those consequences?’

Fidaig stood defiant for a while. Then he seemed to acquiesce with a gesture of his shoulder.

‘You make your point with your usual eloquence, lady,’ he said softly. ‘Where will you take my son?’

‘We leave here for the Abbey of Mungairit. It is your right to accompany us, to see that your son is properly treated.’

Fidaig was still looking at Fidelma. ‘I would like to have a word with my son before he is taken to Mungairit.’

Fidelma inclined her head towards the barn. ‘He is being held there.’

Fidaig hesitated. ‘I would like a word alone with him. Perhaps I have been a bad parent and could have prevented this. But I would like one chance to speak to the boy before it is too late.’

‘Boy?’ It was Eadulf who cut in. ‘The boy is now a man, Fidaig. It is too late to treat him as a boy still. The damage is done.’

Fidaig swung round to him, anger on his face. ‘Damage?’

‘Ego enim sum Dominus Deus tuus Deus aemulator reddens iniquitatem patrum super filios in tertiam et quartam generationem,’ intoned Eadulf unctuously.

‘I have no understanding of what you say, Saxon!’ snapped the lord of the Luachra.

‘It is from Deuteronomy, one of the Holy Scriptures. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, and in the third or the fourth generation … And by the way, I am an Angle, not a Saxon.’

Fidelma shook her head warningly at Eadulf, before addressing Fidaig. ‘You may have your word with your son but then we must start for Mungairit.’

Fidaig gave a deep sigh, then took back his reins from the man who was holding his horse before leading the animal across to the barn.

Fidelma had turned back to Eadulf with a look of reproof. ‘You are free with your quotation from Holy Scripture.’

‘I thought the passage from the translation of the Blessed Jerome was appropriate,’ Eadulf replied with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I don’t trust Fidaig.’

‘Then quote for quote – non portabit filius iniquitatem patris … et pater non portabit iniquitatem filii. That’s from Ezekiel.’

Eadulf’s mouth turned down, for it was a contrary statement. The son shall not bear the punishment of the father’s iniquity, nor will the father bear the punishment for the son’s iniquity.

Conrí scratched his head. ‘Whatever this saying means, I think friend Eadulf here is right to suspect Fidaig. Perhaps I should send someone to keep an eye …’

‘I promised Fidaig a word alone with his son,’ snapped Fidelma.

There was a sudden yell from Socht. They swung round. The figure of Gláed had emerged from the barn and leaped onto his father’s horse. Within moments, he had jumped a fence and sped away towards the surrounding forest.

Socht was bawling for his men to give chase, but the Luachra warriors had formed a barrier with their horses.

‘Damn Fidaig!’ cursed Conrí. ‘He’s released his son. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.’

Fidelma looked shocked at the defiance of her legal authority by the lord of the Luachra. It was obvious that he had cut his son’s bonds and allowed him to escape. Eadulf and Conrí were running towards the barn. As Fidaig had not emerged, two of the mounted Luachra sent their horses over to the barn at a trot. Eadulf thought their purpose was to help Fidaig to escape, recognising one of the riders as his son, Artgal. Eadulf increased his speed and reached the barn just moments before them. They all came to a stunned halt at the entrance.