Badger's Moon (19 page)

‘So, you were playing in the mines on the Thicket of Pigs when you found the metal?’

The boy sniffed.

‘I was not playing but exploring,’ he corrected grandly.

Fidelma smiled briefly. ‘Even so, you should have a care. My companion is right. It is very dangerous to play…to explore disused mine workings.’

The boy sniffed again and returned to his contemplation of the river. Fidelma bade him farewell but he did not bother to respond and so she and Eadulf rode off.

‘Why were you interested in where the boy picked up his fool’s gold?’ asked Eadulf, in a reproving tone, after they had ridden some distance. ‘We should be concentrating on other matters.’

Fidelma glanced at him. ‘I am interested in the fact that the piece of metal which Gobnuid showed me, the piece he said the boy had found, and which he assured me was fool’s gold, was real gold. I have handled both metals before and know the difference. I tested the nugget at Gobnuid’s forge. It was gold.’

Eadulf stared at her for a moment before replying. ‘You mean that this smith, Gobnuid, cheated the boy?’

‘Certainly he told him an untruth.’

‘Why would he do that? Just to make some money?’

Fidelma did not reply for a moment. Then she said, ‘That is what I would like to find out. The girls met their deaths at the Thicket of Pigs. Could there be a connection?’

A silence fell between them again before Eadulf finally said: ‘How long do you think we will remain here?’

Fidelma’s eyebrows rose quickly. Her eyes widened. ‘Here? In these woods?’

‘No, at Rath Raithlen, away from Cashel.’

‘When we have been asked to investigate a matter such as this, do we not usually remain until we have a resolution, Eadulf?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Before there was not a little one awaiting our return,’ he replied. ‘You have not mentioned Alchú once since we left Cashel.’

The corners of Fidelma’s mouth suddenly tightened.

‘Because my son’s name is not always on my lips, it does not mean to say that he is not in my thoughts,’ she snapped. Her sudden anger was born of guilt that until that very morning Alchú had actually been entirely out of her thoughts.

‘We have not discussed
our
son since we left Cashel.’ Eadulf spoke softly but with emphasis on the change of personal pronoun.

Fidelma flushed guiltly. She knew that Eadulf was justified but, in her guilt, she became more defensive.

‘Is there need to discuss him? He is safe at Cashel with Sárait. We have other more pressing business to attend to.’

Eadulf’s jaw was determined. ‘He is barely a month old. You have already given him up to a wet nurse. I learnt enough about such matters, when I studied at the great medical school of Tuam Brecain, to know that allowing the baby to suckle at your breast returns the mother’s body to health and helps the love develop between the child and the mother instead of—’

‘This is not the time nor place to criticse my ability as a mother, Eadulf,’ she snapped.

Eadulf controlled a spasm of anger. ‘I am not sure that I understand your moods, Fidelma. Ever since the child was born you have become a changed person.’

‘Are we not allowed to change, then?’ She knew well what he meant for she had been questioning her motivations of late. ‘Some people would be better off for a change!’ She was growing irritable and the irritation lay in the knowledge that she was in the wrong and Eadulf had every right to discuss the matter. ‘If you are so worried about the child, why don’t you ride back to Cashel and leave me here to resolve this problem?’

Eadulf blinked a little and then he shrugged.

‘A
verbis ad verbera
,’ he sighed. The Latin quotation meant ‘from words to blows’ and described a discussion that spilled into anger.

Fidelma opened her mouth to reply hotly and then she sighed. She leant forward from her horse and placed a hand on Eadulf’s arm.

‘
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cinarea
,’ she said contritely.

After a moment’s reflection, Eadulf remembered the line from Horace, ‘I am not what I was under the reign of good Cynara.’ It was used to signify a change of character and behaviour. He made to reply but Fidelma raised a finger to her lips. Her expression was suddenly penitent.

‘Let us say no more at the present, Eadulf. Do not press me further until I am ready. Ever since Alchú came into this world I have felt strangely disturbed. It is as if my mood changes from moment to moment for no apparent reason.’

Eadulf looked concerned. ‘You did not tell me this before?’

She smiled thinly. ‘You should have noticed.’

‘I did but did not think that you were ill…’

She shook her head. ‘It is not an illness of the body. When I consider my actions with reason, I perceive myself as if some irrational fever has overtaken me. Sometimes I fear for myself. Yet it is only when I think of the baby, Eadulf. My logic remains when I concentrate on other matters. This makes me fear even more.’

Eadulf ran a hand through his hair as if to massage his mind into some line of positive thought. ‘I seem to recall…I was told that sometimes, after a birth, a mother can feel unhappy—’

‘I have resolved to see old Conchobhar when we return to Cashel,’ Fidelma intervened sharply. ‘Until then, let us speak about this no more.’

Conchobhar was chief apothecary at Cashel as well as an astrologer.

Eadulf realised that it was pointless to pursue the matter further. They rode on silently, entering the thickness of the woods where the trees grew close together down to the riverbank. They tried to keep the river to their left as they rode along but the track twisted and turned and once or twice they had to retrace their path to follow another route. But suddenly they emerged along a stretch which both Fidelma and Eadulf recognised.

‘There’s the hill,’ muttered Eadulf as they halted in a clear space by the river. ‘What was it that Accobrán called it?’

‘Cnoc a’ Bhile,’ replied Fidelma.

‘That’s it. Hill of the Sacred Tree.’ Eadulf sighed. ‘I think I have heard that such a tree relates to the habitation of the pagan gods.’

‘Bile was a sacred oak, according to the old ones, and when Danu, the divine water of heaven, flooded down it nurtured the oak and produced acorns and out of each acorn grew one of the ancient gods and goddesses. That is why the old deities are called the Tuatha de Danaan, the children of the goddess Danu.’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable. ‘I thought Bile was a god of darkness and death from the underworld.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Some of the New Faith who came here from Rome have viewed the old deity in that form. Our people still hold the great tree sacred and many of our chieftains are inaugurated under its branches, for it was symbolic of our kings, a place of origin of all the people. It is sacrilege to cut a sacred tree although the chief or king’s rod of office might be cut and carved from a branch of the tree to give him power. A few centuries ago the High King carried such a wand of office cut from a sacred ash tree. The tree was called Bile Dathí and it was classed as one of the six wondrous trees of Ireland.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘I thought that you said Bile was an oak tree?’

‘Language changes. Now any tree regarded as sacred is called by that name. Bile has also long been seen as a divine personification, a god who the ancients belived ferried souls along the sacred rivers, or by sea, to the Otherworld.’

Eadulf felt uncomfortable. He had grown to manhood before he had converted to the New Faith, and was still trying to deny his pagan past. Fidelma seemed more comfortable in the ancient lore of her people even though the people of Éireann had accepted Christianity several centuries before. But now a memory stirred.

‘I passed through Londinium once,’ he said reflectively. ‘It is mainly deserted these days but once it was a thriving Roman city.’

‘I have heard of it,’ Fidelma responded gravely.

‘The Welisc, who called themselves Britons, once dwelt there and continued to do so even when Rome ruled the city.’

Fidelma nodded, frowning slightly as she wondered what Eadulf was getting at.

‘I know the Welisc shared many ancient gods and goddesses with the Irish.’

‘This is true. What is your point?’

‘Near where I was staying was an ancient gate called Bile’s Gate which opened onto the great river Tamesis which flows past the city. An old man told me that in ancient times, when people died, their heads were severed from their bodies and taken through the gate and ferried downriver. Not far away a confluence called Welisc Brook emptied into the Tamesis and here the heads were thrown into the river with various items like swords, shields and so on. A terrible pagan custom.’

Fidelma smiled and nodded. ‘Not so terrible. The ancients believed that the soul dwelt in the head and to honour the dead they often removed the heads – which freed the souls – and deposited them in their most sacred places. It is fascinating that there is such a reminder of the ancient custom in the heart of what is now the land of the Angles and Saxons.’

Eadulf shook his head sadly.

‘
Semel insanivimus omnes
,’ he said. ‘We have all been mad once. I do not know whether people should be reminded of such things. It is a hard enough job to convert them to the true Faith without referring to the old one. We learnt that last year, didn’t we?’

Eadulf was obviously thinking of how many of the Saxon kingdoms had recently converted back to the old gods of the forefathers. Sigehere, king of the East Saxons, on the very borders of Eadulf’s own country of the East Angles, had reopened the pagan temples after the plague of two years before.

‘You cannot build the future by ignoring the past or trying to destroy past knowledge. But we all make such mistakes. I view with sadness the account by the Bishop Benignus, who became the successor of the Blessed Patrick at Armagh, when he wrote that Patrick burnt one hundred and eighty books of the Druids in his attempts to convert the people to the New Faith. The destruction of knowledge, any knowledge, does not provide a sure foundation for the future.’

‘You surely cannot disapprove of the destruction of the pagan faith when you are sworn to proselytise for the New Faith?’ Eadulf was aghast.

‘What I am saying is that mankind’s folly should be destroyed by laughter, not by creating martyrs. That is the tradition of our satirists and why our laws have strong punishments for those who satirise people without justification.
Castigat ridendo mores
.’

Eadulf pondered.

‘They correct customs by laughing at them?’ he hazarded.

Fidelma smiled. ‘In other words, laughter will succeed where threats, punishments and pious lectures will not.’

Eadulf sighed. ‘It is an interesting philosophy. I am sure there is an argument against it.’

‘Tell me, when you have discovered it. In the meantime, let us continue with our task.’

They moved their horses on at a slow walking pace towards the tree-covered hill where they had previously met Liag.

‘We’d better raise a shout,’ muttered Eadulf, glancing around nervously. ‘He might try to avoid us.’

‘Avoid you? Why?’

The harsh tones of Liag’s voice, speaking just behind them, caused them both to jerk nervously in their saddles. Eadulf, a less experienced rider than Fidelma, had to struggle to keep his horse from shying at the movement.

Liag, the apothecary, had emerged from the trees behind them. He appeared as he had on their previous meeting, with his saffron-dyed woollen robe, the snow-white hair held in place by the green and yellow bead headband and the silver chain around his neck. The elderly apothecary still carried his traditional apothecary’s
lés
, the satchel containing his cures and implements, and the
echlais
, his whip-like wand of office.

‘You seem startled to see me, Fidelma of Cashel.’ He smiled thinly. He did not even acknowledge Eadulf.

‘You came up behind us quietly,’ returned Fidelma, dismounting from her horse.

Liag raised his eyebrows in a bland expression. ‘Did you not hear my approach? When I was young, one was taught to attune one’s ears to the sounds of the forest. One was taught to hear the lizard avoiding the hungry eye of the kestrel, the badger slinking through the undergrowth and the stoat splashing homewards. Hark!’ The old man tilted his head to one side and cupped a hand to an ear in an exaggerated stance.

Eadulf glowered in annoyance. He had succeeded in dismounting from his nervous beast and was tying the reins to a bush.

‘You don’t mean to tell me that you can hear anything?’ he sneered.

Liag turned to Eadulf. ‘I hear a rat grab a lizard by its tail and the sound of the lizard’s cry as it sheds its tail to fool the predator while it scurries off to its nest, for this is the month it sneaks into hibernation.’

Eadulf regarded the bland expression on the face of the old recluse and was not sure whether he was being made fun of or not. ‘I can hear nothing.’

‘Exactly so, Brother Saxon. Exactly.’

Fidelma regarded the apothecary cynically. ‘If you can hear such things, Liag, then you should be able to answer some simple questions.’

The elderly man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

‘It is said that those who ask questions cannot avoid the answers,’ he replied softly. ‘But it is not every question that is deserving of an answer.’

‘A good response. If your ears are so attuned, then you surely heard the death cries of Beccnat, of Escrach and of Ballgel.’

The apothecary’s cheek coloured hotly at the sarcasm. ‘I do not claim omniscience. I do not hear all that passes in the forests. Had I been near to where they perished…’ He lifted a shoulder and let it fall eloquently.

Fidelma’s lips thinned. ‘Then I presume that you heard the death gasp of Lesren? I understand that you were close by when he died?’

Liag’s brows came together in a frown. ‘Who said I was near?’

‘So you do know that Lesren has been killed?’ Eadulf pointed out quickly.

‘I do not deny that,’ replied the apothecary.

‘You emerged from the forest when Bébháil and Tómma stood by the body of Lesren?’

‘But Lesren was dead, my Saxon friend. In fact, so far as I could tell, he had been dead for some time.’

‘What were you doing there?’ asked Eadulf.

Liag wore a droll expression. ‘In case you have not perceived it, Saxon, if I crossed the hill of Rath Raithlen and returned in this direction, my path would pass through the forests that surround Lesren’s tannery.’

‘And you were crossing the hill and just happened to be passing at that time?’ said Fidelma.

‘I happened to be passing the tannery at that time,
dálaigh
,’ he responded with irony in his voice. It was the first time he had chosen to address her by the title of her profession and it was clear that he was being sardonic.

‘Where had you been?’

‘Rath Raithlen is the only place of importance on that hill.’

Fidelma hid her surprise. ‘Everyone says that you are a recluse, Liag. That you dwell in the forests and shun the outside world. Are you telling me that you were visiting the fortress of the chieftain?’

‘I believe that is exactly what I told you.’

Fidelma tried to stifle her irritation. ‘Why this change of character, Liag?’

‘There is no change of character. Whether I wish to see people or not is my own affair. I rule my life, not other people. If I want to see them, I see them. If I do not, I shall not.’

‘Are you saying that some business or some desire drew you to the chieftain’s fortress?’

‘Some business drew me there,’ affirmed Liag.

‘You are not being helpful,’ Fidelma replied impatiently.

Liag was amused. ‘I thought that I was obeying the law that says that one must answer the questions of a
dálaigh
. I am replying to your questions.’

Fidelma knew that the apothecary was right. He was answering her questions but to a minimum level.

‘Will you tell me what business took you to Rath Raithlen?’

The old man considered.

‘I had need to see a smith,’ he replied.

‘Gobnuid?’ The name shot out of Fidelma’s mouth, catching the apothecary by surprise. He was the only smith at Rath Raithlen that Fidelma knew. She thought it worth throwing out to see if it would force Liag into more explicit answers. He merely nodded affirmation.

‘What was the nature of your business?’

‘I cannot see that it bears any relationship to your inquiries, Fidelma of Cashel. Anyway, Gobnuid was not at his forge so I returned.’

‘Gobnuid has left Rath Raithlen driving a wagonful of hides to some river merchant. What was the nature of your business?’

Liag half closed his eyes as if the information surprised him, but he recovered in a split second.

‘Even a recluse who lives in the forest by himself sometimes has need of a smith. I had some knives and axes that needed sharpening.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma.

‘And these knives and axes…’ he began, but Liag’s features were wreathed with his mocking smiling again.

‘I am afraid that I was returning to my home after taking them to the smith. I was not carrying the sharpened implements. I left them at Gobnuid’s forge so that he might attend to them on his return. I did not use them to end Lesren’s life, if that is what you wish to imply, my Saxon friend.’

‘You might find this matter amusing, Liag,’ Eadulf said irritably, ‘but a man lies dead and also three young women. Corpses are not matters of amusement.’

The old man’s eyes were like gimlets. Cold and sparkling. ‘Indeed, they are not, Brother Saxon. Neither are accusations made by some stranger in this land.’ He jerked his head in Eadulf’s direction.

‘Brother Eadulf is making no accusations,’ Fidelma interposed. ‘Neither am I. We are seeking information, that is all. If there is an accusation to be made, it will be couched in terms so direct that no one will misunderstand it. Now, tell us your account of what happened. You were returning home when…?’

For several moments the old man stood staring into Fidelma’s eyes, his own cold eyes challenging. Fidelma did not waver. Her features were fixed. It was Liag who finally shrugged and accepted defeat.

‘I came through the woods, at first thinking to skirt round Lesren’s tannery. I do not particularly like Lesren and his workers. I noticed that there was a strange stillness to the place. Usually, Lesren has several people working for him, boiling the noxious brews for his tanning and stretching the skins to dry. In the stillness I heard a woman’s sobbing.’

He paused for a moment.

‘Go on,’ prompted Fidelma, still feeling irritable with the man.

‘I found both Bébháil and Tómma standing by the corpse of Lesren. I decided that the woman was so distraught that she might need my help. It seemed that Tómma was unable to calm her.’

‘And?’

‘I managed to calm her but Bébháil seemed to be unsure whether her husband was dead or not. I made an examination and realised that not only was he dead but that he had been dead some time.’

‘How did you know that?’ demanded Eadulf.

Liag looked pityingly at him. ‘The body grows cold after a while.’

‘Why did you advise Bébháil to wash the body and prepare it for burial?’ demanded Fidelma abruptly.

Liag replied immediately. ‘It seemed to me that in her emotional state she needed something to do which would awake her to the finality of the situation. It would be wrong to allow her to think that her husband might be somehow resuscitated. It was an act of charity to get her to concentrate her mind…’

‘An act of charity that probably destroyed all the clues to Lesren’s killers,’ pointed out Fidelma.

Liag stared at her thoughtfully and then shook his head. ‘I doubt it. There was nothing I could see that would have constituted a clue.’

‘Ah, as well as hearing lizards in flight, I presume that you are also a trained
dálaigh
?’ Eadulf sneered.

Liag looked at him. A spasm of anger distorted his features for a moment and then he seemed to relax and smiled broadly.

‘You have a right to be angry, my Saxon friend. I have been unkind to you and that is unworthy of me. You have been unworthy in return. Let us make an end to it. I am competent enough as an apothecary to say that there was nothing about the corpse that could lead to the killer.’

Eadulf swallowed in annoyance at the condescension in the other’s tone, but he could not think of a suitable response.

‘Tell me, Liag, having now observed all four deaths in this place, have you discerned any similarities between them?’ queried Fidelma.

‘Only in as much as all met their deaths by a knife – and a knife that was jagged and blunt.’

‘If that was the only similarity, what were the dissimilarities?’ Fidelma pressed.

Liag shot her an appreciative glance. ‘I would say that there was a distinct difference between the way the first three victims came by their deaths and the way that Lesren came by his.’

‘How so?’

‘The first three victims were, of course, young girls. They were savagely attacked and mutilated. The fourth, Lesren, was a male. While there was savagery in the number of wounds he sustained, being stabbed several times in the neck and chest, there was no mutilation. Indeed, Tómma told me that Lesren was still alive when he reached him and was able to breathe a few words that did not make sense.’

Fidelma nodded slightly.

‘He was able to breathe a name,’ she conceded.

‘A name that makes little sense, if Tómma has reported it correctly. It may well be that the wounds inspired some delirium. Who knows what passed through his mind in the last moments before death?’

‘You are a man of knowledge, Liag,’ Fidelma said. She spoke simply, without sounding as if she was paying the apothecary any compliments. ‘You must know about the old days when gold and silver were worked in this area.’

Liag inclined his head a little, although he was clearly puzzled by her apparent change of subject. ‘I have some knowledge. The ore raised here was rich and excellent and was once produced in abundance. Now, alas, gold of such quality is only found in the eastern mountains of Laighin.’

‘Did Lesren ever work in the mines?’

Liag shook his head quickly. ‘Never. What makes you ask that?’

‘Do you recall who, according to the ancients, first brought gold to Ireland?’

The apothecary looked surprised. ‘Is this to be a discussion on our ancient lore and history? Well, it was Tigernmas, the twenty-sixth High King of Éireann, after the coming of the children of the Gael. He first smelted gold in this land. During his reign it is said that golden goblets and brooches were plentiful and that his chief artificer was Uchadan.’

Eadulf was also regarding Fidelma with a bewildered frown at her seeming irrelevant line of questioning. She seemed momentarily disappointed at Liag’s answer.

‘I have heard it said that the mines here are all in disuse now.’

‘You have heard it said correctly, lady,’ agreed Liag. ‘There are some lead workings not far from here but the old wealth is gone.’

‘I suppose things would greatly change if the precious metals were found again?’

Liag grimaced distastefully. ‘They would indeed change, but probably not for the better. For myself, I prefer the quiet and peace that solitude and a degree of indigence brings. Wealth brings greed, greed brings hate, and crime spreads—’

‘Crime such as murder?’ snapped Eadulf, losing patience with the conversation. ‘Have not such crimes already been visited on your idyll, master apothecary?’

Liag’s mouth tightened as he turned on Eadulf. ‘You are direct, Brother Saxon. There is no denying that you come to the point with a directness that others might not use. Yet I prefer my idyll, as you call it. The place is not responsible for the evil in men’s hearts. There is an old saying that wealth does not improve character but always changes it for the worse.’

Eadulf was about to open his mouth to retort when Fidelma moved forward to her horse, unloosening the reins.

‘Thank you for your time, Liag. We have much to do and must now return to the rath. But one question more. When was it that you were asked to examine the body of Beccnat?’

The apothecary looked surprised. ‘On the morning after the full moon. I thought that was understood.’

‘And both Escrach and Ballgel were also examined on the morning after the full moon?’

Liag confirmed it.

‘Thank you once again, Liag. You have been most helpful.’

Liag did not respond but stood motionless as they mounted their horses and rode away. Once out of earshot and sight of the old apothecary, Eadulf learned forward to Fidelma.

‘Why are you so interested in the mines? What has gold to do with this case?’ he demanded, perplexed.

‘Perhaps I should have mentioned to you earlier that it is interesting that the subject of gold often appears in this case. Now, if the name that was on Lesren’s lips really was Biobhal, then it becomes of particular interest.’

‘How so?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Because there has been only one Biobhal that I know of. It is the name of a character out of our ancient times. The ancients say that long, long ago, before even the children of the Gael came to these shores, there were many invaders of our land. Partholón, the son of Sera, who had killed his father in the hope of obtaining his kingdom, led one of the invasions. But he was driven into exile and he and his followers came to this very kingdom of Muman. Partholón is said to have introduced ploughing into the kingdom and cleared plains and established agriculture and built hostels. Then a plague descended on the land and he and all his people were wiped out.’