Atonement of Blood(128)

Fidelma and Eadulf glanced at each other and Eadulf thought his wife had a smile on her lips.

It was a bright winter’s day as Fidelma and her companions rode into the outskirts of the township sheltering beneath the great stone palace of Cashel. Although the sky was blue, a frost still showed in places where the advancing day had not chased away the shadows. Few people were stirring, apart from those whose work necessitated them to be outside on such a cold morning. They smiled and called a friendly greeting as the three rode by. There was an air of happy prosperity about the town, which was reassuring for Fidelma, for had Cashel been in mourning for her brother, it would have shown. Some part of her had remained sceptical when Fidaig told her a messenger had passed with news of her brother’s recovery.

They were nearing Della’s cabin and paddock and Fidelma saw Gormán look across.

‘Perhaps you would like to inform your mother that you are safely returned?’ she suggested with a smile.

The young warrior raised his hand in acknowledgement and nudged his horse towards the cabin. The other two continued on through the almost deserted town square. They turned up the slope towards the gates of the palace. Enda was on guard and his features broke into a ready smile of welcome as he saw them.

‘It is good to see you home, lady – you, too, friend Eadulf,’ he called. ‘The news of your brother is good, lady. He is completely out of danger. He is still weak, but improving every day.’

‘That is good news, Enda.’ Fidelma was enormously relieved to have the news confirmed. ‘And Brother Conchobhar – is he still in attendance on my brother?’

‘That he is, lady. He was with the King day and night for several days until all danger passed. Praise be, the King is well enough.’

They had walked their horses into the courtyard and dismounted while attendants rushed forward to lead the horses off to the stables.

‘Where is Gormán?’ Enda asked. ‘Did you succeed in discovering who the assassin was and why he carried out this attack?’

‘We left young Gormán at his mother’s cabin,’ Eadulf assured him. ‘And yes, we have resolved the matter.’

‘You found out who the assassin was?’ Enda said eagerly.

‘We did, but that must wait,’ Fidelma interrupted before Eadulf could reply. ‘We must first report the matter to the council.’

Enda looked disappointed but then said: ‘Should I tell my lord Finguine to summon the council?’

‘Not yet, Enda. First, Fidelma must see her brother,’ Eadulf replied, and added softly, ‘And then we must see our son.’

Fidelma caught the intonation. ‘No,’ she said determinedly. ‘We will see our son first – and then I shall see my brother.’

Eadulf turned so that she did not see his smile.

As soon as they entered their chamber, little Alchú gave a scream of delight and came running towards them, abandoning some toy he had been playing with. Muirgen the nurse looked on approvingly as they embraced the boy.

‘Has all been well, Muirgen?’ Fidelma asked, detaching herself from the child.

‘Everything has been very well, lady,’ she replied.

There was no need to ask as to the health of their son, for the little boy’s robustness demonstrated it. Alchú was even now excitedly tugging at the sleeve of Eadulf.

‘Athair, athair, I can play fidchell.’

‘Really?’ Eadulf regarded him with wide-eyed solemnity. ‘But that is a very difficult game.’

Fidchell was one of the popular board games among the intellectual class of the Five Kingdoms.

‘It is so! It is so! But I can play it. Isn’t it so, muimme?’

Muirgen smiled at her small charge. ‘It is so, my pet. You can play fidchell. Goodness, he is a bright boy. I never learned the game,’ confessed the countrywoman.

‘If you have become so good, I dare not play the game with you,’ Eadulf told the boy, keeping back his amusement by assuming a serious tone. ‘Who taught you this wonderful skill?’

‘Why, King Am-Nar, athair. King Am-Nar came and played with me,’ the child said.

‘King Am-Nar’ was the term by which the boy called his Uncle Colgú, as he could not pronounce the word amnair, the word for a maternal uncle, when he was younger. The name had stuck.

Fidelma turned to Muirgen in surprise to ask a question, but the nurse preempted it.

‘The King is recovering well, lady, and has visited here several times to play with the boy.’

A short time later, Fidelma and Eadulf made their way to the King’s chambers. Caol, the commander of his bodyguard, was on duty outside the doors. He smiled a nervous greeting.