Atonement of Blood(116)

Fidaig was lying on the ground, covered in blood. Next to him was the iron ring to which Gláed had been secured by ropes. The pieces of rope lay cut and discarded nearby.

Eadulf fell to his knees by the side of the stricken man as Fidelma caught up and pushed her way between Artgal and his companion, who had jumped from their horses to crowd inside. Conrí had joined them. They were staring in disbelief. Fidaig’s eyes were barely open, his face twisted in pain. He groaned and then caught sight of his son across Eadulf’s shoulder.

‘Artgal, get him … Gláed … he has killed me …’

Artgal’s companion did not hesitate but turned and ran out of the barn, yelling the news to his followers.

‘Gláed has murdered his father! After him!’

The Luachra warriors wheeled their horses round and within moments were indistinguishable from Socht and his men as they formed a body racing after the fugitive.

Fidelma and Eadulf were now joined by Artgal at the side of the fallen Fidaig. The lord of Sliabh Luachra was coughing blood.

‘You were wiser … than I,’ he gasped, peering towards Fidelma as if he found difficulty in focusing.

‘Don’t speak,’ advised Eadulf. ‘Save your strength.’

The man’s mouth twisted in a parody of a grin.

‘It will not … not need much strength to die, Saxon,’ he grunted. ‘Must tell you – I thought I knew best how to treat my son. I cut him loose. Told him … there’d be no fair trial from Uí Fidgente. Told him I … would hear him at Sliabh Luachra. Tried by his own … people.’

Eadulf raised the man’s shoulders to make him more comfortable. ‘It is hard to believe ill of your own,’ he said softly.

‘Didn’t think he … think he would kill his own … father.’ Another spasm of coughing seized the dying man before his fading gaze sought out his son Artgal. ‘You are now … now lord of the Luachra. Rule more wisely than I …’

A spasm suddenly wracked Fidaig’s body and then he was still. Eadulf laid him down gently and rose to his feet.

Fidelma was still in a state of shock. Eadulf had never seen her so distressed before. She was obviously blaming herself for the tragedy. Eadulf turned to the pale-faced Artgal. The young man was still staring at the body of Fidaig as if he did not believe what he had witnessed.

‘Artgal!’ he said sharply.

The young man reluctantly drew his gaze from the dead body to Eadulf.

‘I am sorry for your loss, Artgal. You have heard your father’s dying words. Alas, he has brought this upon himself by releasing your brother.’

Artgal’s eyes suddenly flickered with a curious fire. ‘My brother will answer for this. He will answer for the death of our father.’

Fidelma moved suddenly, as if coming out of a stupor. ‘So he shall,’ she said. ‘But Gláed must answer for other matters as well. He must be recaptured and brought back here alive.’

Artgal’s face was grim. ‘That he shall be, if it can be accomplished. But he must be taken back to Sliabh Luachra where his own people shall sit in judgement on him.’

‘I am more than willing to let that happen, Artgal – but after he has provided witness to his part in this Uí Fidgente conspiracy.’

They faced each other stubbornly. Then the young man’s face seemed to crumple in lines of grief. This time it was Fidelma who reached out to comfort him.

‘You are now the lord of the Luachra, Artgal,’ she said softly. ‘Responsibility often comes upon us before we are prepared to receive it. If we can recapture Gláed, I suggest that you and some of your men shall accompany us to Mungairit. It is my intention to gather the witnesses there and resolve this conspiracy. After that, you may take him back to Sliabh Luachra and you and your people may judge him as you see fit. You have my word.’

The young lord of Luachra glanced down at his father’s body. He was quiet for a few moments. Then he gave a deep sigh.

‘It shall be so, lady. You also have the word of the lord of Luachra. And with your permission, I shall send some men to take my father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra.’

She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement and he left the barn. Conrí had gone to consult with some of his remaining warriors. Not everyone had chased after the fleeing Gláed. Fidelma stood for a long while, shoulders hunched, staring down at the body of Fidaig. Eadulf saw the guilt on her features.

‘It is not your fault,’ he said finally.

‘We have an old saying, Eadulf. “A sharp hound knows its own faults”. Alas, I knew my fault and I ignored it. It is my error that is responsible for Fidaig’s death.’