Atonement of Blood(29)
‘Not at all,’ Fidelma replied, much to his surprise. ‘Our task has only just started. I told you that I do not believe in coincidences. Now we must find out more about Liamuin.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Darkness had already fallen that early winter afternoon by the time six solemn-faced people gathered in a circle of chairs in the small council chamber of the King’s palace. Finguine, the heir apparent to Colgú, assumed the chair of office in the absence of the King. By his side sat Brehon Aillín, acting Chief Brehon since the death of Brehon Áedo. Caol, the commander of the élite warriors of the Golden Collar and bodyguards to the King, sat next to him. On the other side of the circle sat Beccan, the King’s steward. The only person missing from the King’s intimate council was Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, as senior prelate of the kingdom. A messenger had been despatched to advise him of the attack on the King. Fidelma and Eadulf had been invited to join the council. The lamps had been lit and the attendants had withdrawn.
The members of the council listened in silence to what Fidelma had to report. As if by unspoken consent it was Brehon Aillín who was the first to question her when she had finished.
‘So you believe that this girl, Aibell, is who she claims to be?’
‘It would seem so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But we are faced with accepting two improbable coincidences, and I say that we must take them both into consideration. We found her in the hut where, a short time before she arrived, the assassin changed his clothing, and near where he tethered his horse. Then there is the fact that her mother, who disappeared four years ago after the Battle of Cnoc Áine, was called Liamuin.’
Brehon Aillín made a wry grimace. ‘We should bear in mind what Cicero said: vitam regit fortuna non sapienta – it is chance, not wisdom, that governs human life. So chance – coincidence, call it what you will – does have a part to play and is often dismissed when it should be accepted.’
‘I will grant you that, Aillín,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘In this instance, however, we cannot rely on accepting chance to make a decision about the involvement of the girl. We need evidence.’
‘The evidence you already have may be circumstantial but it is still evidence,’ replied Brehon Aillín.
‘Do we not have an old saying “better ‘it is’ than ‘it may be so’,” Brehon Aillín?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Of course, of course,’ interrupted Finguine impatiently. ‘Suspicion is no substitute for fact, but how do we set about establishing what the facts are?’
There was a silence and then Brehon Aillín spoke again.
‘I am sure the young dálaigh has some suggestions.’ He looked at Fidelma as he spoke, his words deliberately placing emphasis on her age and legal status. He had not forgotten that a few months before, Fidelma had presented herself to the Council of Brehons of Muman as a candidate to replace the Chief Brehon Baithen, who had died from old age and infirmity. The council, however, had chosen Brehon Áedo as Chief Brehon and, as his deputy, the conservative Brehon Aillín.
It was Beccan, the steward and controller of the King’s household, who replied. ‘Sister Fidelma …’ He paused and smiled apologetically at her. ‘The lady Fidelma as she chooses to be known now, although to most of us she will remain as Sister Fidelma … the lady Fidelma has served both the law and the Eóghanacht well. I think her views and suggestions are well worth our careful attention.’
Brehon Aillín flushed. ‘I would not suggest otherwise, Beccan.’
‘Nor would I have misinterpreted you would do so.’ The steward bowed his head towards the Brehon as if to disguise his sarcasm. ‘I merely emphasise that her view is of importance to us.’
Finguine turned to his cousin, anxious to avoid an argument. ‘You have some suggestions as to how we should proceed, Fidelma?’
Fidelma acknowledged his intervention. ‘We have some clues as to who the assassin was. Each piece of information must be followed and examined.’
‘And these pieces of information are … ?’ Brehon Aillín enquired, in a patronising manner.
‘Firstly, the assassin introduced himself as Brother Lennán of Mungairit. Now, I suspect that his name was not Brother Lennán. Perhaps he did not even come from Mungairit. Nevertheless, this must be verified or excluded. Secondly, we were able to confirm that he had changed his clothes before arriving at the palace to attempt his assassination. He rode a good horse, but did not appear to be a warrior, and this evidence leads us to the conclusion that he was a scholar of some description. More importantly, his leather saddle-bag was scored with the sword and serpent symbol of the Uí Fidgente.’