‘He tried to deliver you from the Uí Fidgente,’ snapped Artgal.
‘He never did anything for me unless he expected me to pay for it. You were always his favourite, Artgal. That’s why he chose you as his heir apparent. Well, you are in the ascendant now. Hang me – go on! I will curse you from the next world. You can watch for me at the Feast of Samhain when this world and the Otherworld meet and the dead return to wreak their vengeance!’
A silence had fallen over the warriors of the Luachra. They shifted nervously. Artgal’s face was a mask of fury. He took a step forward as if he would strike down his brother there and then.
‘Artgal!’ Fidelma moved forward. ‘Remember your promise. Have Gláed cleaned up and secured on a horse. You and two of your warriors may accompany us to Mungairit. Afterwards, you may take him back to Sliabh Luachra.’
Gláed’s anger was turned on her.
‘I will say nothing! Don’t think I have any gratitude to you for stopping my brother from killing me.’
‘I do not expect any,’ she replied, turning away from him in disgust. Then she looked up at the sky. ‘The sooner we set out for Mungairit, the sooner we shall arrive.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For Eadulf, the ride back to Mungairit seemed to take a curiously short span of time compared with the outward trip. Artgal and two warriors of the Luachra took charge of Gláed. Accompanied by Marban, they had halted at Dún Eochair Mháigh to rest their horses. When they moved on, Conrí ensured that the principal fortress of the Uí Fidgente was secure in the hands of some of his trusted warriors. They spent the night at the Ford of the Oaks where Conrí increased his escort of warriors, once again ensuring that the fortress was left well-defended.
Early that morning, they moved northwards along the banks of the turbulent River Mháigh. They had one more stop to make before the final part of their journey back to the abbey. Fidelma insisted that they halt at Temnén’s farmstead and request the former warrior-turned-farmer to accompany them as a further witness. Temnén reluctantly did so, on the condition that he could bring his hound, Failinis, and that he would not be long away from his farmstead.
‘If I cannot demonstrate my case within an hour of reaching Mungairit, then I will have failed anyway,’ Fidelma assured him.
They arrived at the gates of the abbey as darkness was falling. Lanterns and brand torches were already in evidence, lighting the courtyards and buildings. Unlike their previous visit, the arrival of some sixty horsemen caused excitement among the brethren, many of whom came crowding into the courtyard in a state of curiosity. The steward, Brother Cuineáin, came hurrying out with an expression of anger on his features as the company came to a halt.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, gazing at them all in horror. ‘This is a House of God and you have no right to bring warriors into its sanctuary.’
‘I am Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente,’ called Conrí, still seated on his horse. ‘I act in the name of Prince Donennach.’
Fidelma and Eadulf swung down from their horses and went up to the steward. His eyes looked almost malignant in the flickering light.
‘Ah,’ was all he said; the syllable expressed in a long and slow breath.
‘You will observe, Brother Cuineáin, that this time I am wearing the badge of the Golden Collar?’ Fidelma addressed him quietly.
The steward sniffed in disapproval. ‘I have noticed.’
‘You will also know what this is?’ She continued presenting the official hazel wand of office, the emblem of her authority from the King of Muman.
‘I know it.’
‘Then you know what it symbolises and the recognition that must now be accorded me and my party?’
‘It is so acknowledged,’ the man admitted reluctantly. ‘You are both representative of the law of the Five Kingdoms and of the personal authority of the King of Muman.’
‘That is good. Then you shall conduct me, and those I choose, to the chamber of Abbot Nannid immediately.’
‘But …’ the steward began to protest, throwing out an arm to encompass her warrior companions, ‘are they necessary?’
‘They are here because there is treason in these walls. Now, this is not a request,’ Fidelma expressed herself firmly. ‘Take me to Abbot Nannid. It is an order and you will carry it out now.’
The steward’s shoulders sagged a little in defeat.
‘Very well. But the abbot will complain to the High King and Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms.’
‘That is your right,’ replied Fidelma. She turned to her companions. ‘Conrí – your men are to secure the gates of the abbey in case of any attack on us. I do not think there will be, since I believe that the conspirators’ warriors have been sent to ambush Prince Donennach. However, we must be cautious.’