‘My people also had a saying before the arrival of the New Faith,’ Eadulf replied. ‘“Only the gods are without fault”.’
Fidelma said nothing but she seemed to rally a little before striding back to Marban’s mill. Eadulf followed a moment later. Gormán was waiting for them.
‘So, Fidaig paid for his folly?’ he said without sympathy and did not seem to notice Eadulf’s warning look.
Ignoring him, Fidelma asked Marban if there was any of his corma left.
‘Do you think Gláed will be caught, lady?’ asked the miller, pouring the drinks as they seated themselves once again in his mill.
She did not reply, but made a gesture as if to say, ‘Who knows?’
Conrí entered abruptly, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for the moment, lady.’
Fidelma took a sip of the corma and then looked up at the warlord.
‘We can’t delay long. We need to press on to the Abbey of Mungairit. I was hoping to gather all the necessary witnesses. That also means you, Marban,’ she addressed the miller.
Conrí looked astonished. ‘Is it necessary?’
‘I deem it so,’ she said distantly. ‘A Brehon, presenting evidence, must have the backing of witnesses. This territory is in danger and that danger has spread to Cashel. The mystery now has to be resolved. We must ride on to Mungairit before this conspiracy brings down Prince Donennach as well as Cashel.’
‘I will defend Prince Donennach so long as I live, lady,’ declared Conrí.
‘Then live a long time, Conrí,’ she replied dryly. ‘What men do you have left here?’
‘About ten. Socht ordered them to remain in case of …’ He hesitated and ended with a shrug before adding, ‘The rest are chasing after Gláed with warriors of the Luachra.’
‘Artgal has ordered some of his men to carry his father’s body back to Sliabh Luachra. There will be no trouble from the Luachra. Choose five of your men, Conrí – the most trusted men you have. They are to ride towards Tara and intercept Prince Donennach and his party who should be returning from their meeting with the High King along the Slíge Dalla, the main road from Tara to Cashel. It is vital that they intercept them before they enter the territory of my brother’s kingdom, for that is where I believe there will be an ambush. Once Prince Donennach crosses the border into Muman, I am certain the assassins will strike. Make sure they take Brehon Uallach prisoner. He has a hand in this conspiracy, I am sure.’
Conrí looked astounded. ‘I don’t understand, lady.’
‘This is part of a carefully laid plan to assassinate Prince Donennach and those loyal to him. It is intended to appear that my brother or the Eóghanacht are responsible. Anyway, Donennach is not supposed to return alive to the land of the Uí Fidgente. It will be claimed that he was killed by the Eóghanacht in retaliation for the assassination or attempted assassination of my brother. Cashel will be blamed, and in the turmoil a Prince of the Uí Fidgente blood is to come forward to raise the Cathach Fiachu, the sacred standard of the Uí Fidgente. The Cathach, therefore, must remain hidden until we uncover the identity of the leader of this plot.’
Conrí stared at her in horror. ‘But which Uí Fidgente Prince? As warlord, I am now the most senior among the Princes. Am I to be accused?’
‘The answer will be revealed when we get to Mungairit.’
‘Why Mungairit?’
‘Because I now know who attempted to assassinate my brother and why. I also know who it was who persuaded him to carry out that attack. At Mungairit, we will find the person who has unleashed this conspiracy of death.’
A sudden shouting and clamour could be heard outside. They jostled each other to get through the door of the mill and see the return of the horsemen. One man was on foot. His hands were tied before him and a rope formed a halter around his neck. One end of the rope was held in the hands of a grinning warrior of Luachra. The prisoner had clearly been pulled along behind the horse for some distance, running to keep up. His neck was raw and bloody where the rope cut into it. It was Gláed.
The rider halted before Artgal and dismounted.
‘We caught him when his horse stumbled, lord,’ the man said. ‘We were sorely tempted to hoist him from one of the trees and hang him there and then – but we thought you might like to choose the place of hanging.’
Artgal, the new lord of the Luachra, stared with anger at his breathless and bloodied younger brother.
‘Our father is dead by your hand,’ he hissed.
Gláed stared back with hatred. ‘He would have taken me back to Barr an Bheithe and hanged me there. He did me no service.’