Badger's Moon (22 page)

Gabrán was regarding her thoughtfully.

‘You do not think that I am guilty?’ he whispered. There was no disguising the sudden hope in his voice.

‘I think that you were panicked into flight to make you appear guilty.’

‘Then you think Creoda is guilty?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘However, first we must demonstrate that you are not.’

There came a rap on the door and Accobrán came in. Fidelma glanced up with a frown of irritation.

‘I am in the middle of questioning Gabrán,’ she began.

‘It is Bébháil and Tómma come to see you, lady. They insist on seeing you immediately. Also,’ he glanced at Gabrán, bent close to Fidelma’s ear and whispered, ‘the boy’s parents have arrived.’

Fidelma sighed in resignation. ‘Very well. Tell them that I will join them in a moment.’

She waited until he departed and the door was closed again before she glanced back to Gabrán.

‘You do not like Accobrán, do you?’

The boy raised a hand to his bruised face. He returned her gaze levelly for a moment or two and then shrugged.

‘I have reason not to.’

‘Why?’

‘The answer is simple. Knowing Beccnat to be in love with me, he tried to separate us.’

‘You will have to explain that.’

‘A month or so before Beccnat was murdered, there was a
féis
at the chieftain’s hall. Accobrán insisted on dancing with Beccnat.’

‘Insisted?’ Fidelma picked up on the word. ‘He was forcing his attentions on her?’

Gabrán sniffed and nodded quickly.

‘How did Beccnat respond to that?’

The corner of the boy’s mouth drooped. He said nothing.

‘Did she raise objections? Accobrán is a handsome man,’ she added.

Gabrán looked up angrily. ‘She was flattered at being asked to dance with the tanist. That was all. I suspect that after the
féis
he tried to see her again. But, as I told you before, Beccnat and I were in love…we were going to marry in spite of the story Lesren was spreading around.’

‘But you suspected Accobrán tried to meet with Beccnat secretly?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Tried or succeeded?’ she added sharply.

‘Tried,’ the boy responded immediately. ‘I trusted Beccnat. I did not trust Accobrán.’

‘Very well.’ Fidelma rose to her feet. ‘I’d better see what Lesren’s widow wants. We will continue this shortly.’

Bébháil and Tómma were waiting for them in the chieftain’s hall with Accobrán. Becc was out hunting and not expected back before evening. Accobrán rose quickly and came to her. In a low voice he explained that Goll and his wife had been taken to an antechamber to await them so that they should not confront Bébháil.

The tanner’s widow and Tómma had risen awkwardly as they entered and Fidelma, having acknowledged Accobrán’s arrangements, walked across to them and motioned them to be seated again.

‘I have little time,’ she began, feigning irritation. ‘Tell me what brings you here. I presume that you have something to tell me about Lesren’s death, Bébháil? Have you persuaded Tómma that he should let you tell me the truth now?’

Tómma half rose from his seat, his eyes wide.

‘How could you—’ he began.

Fidelma motioned him to silence with a cutting gesture of her hand.

‘It is no trick. I saw that Bébháil wanted to speak to me at the funeral but you prevented her. I will not put words in your mouth. I now presume that you are persuaded to tell me the truth of what happened between Lesren and yourself.’

Tómma sunk back again, his face grim. He lowered his head as if resigned to what was to follow. Fidelma turned to Bébháil with an expectant expression. The woman was dry-eyed and in firm control of her faculties.

‘What I did was wrong,’ she began. Then she fell silent again. Fidelma did not say anything but continued to wait patiently until she continued. ‘I could not stand the life any more. I did love him once. But love departed even before Beccnat was born.’

Fidelma regarded her with sympathy.

‘And what did you do that was wrong?’ she said encouragingly.

‘I killed him,’ she said simply.

Eadulf let out a noisy exhalation of breath and Accobrán gave a little moan of astonishment. Fidelma did not glance in their direction, keeping her eyes on Bébháil. She turned to Tómma.

‘It was stupid to lie to me.’

The tanner shrugged helplessly. ‘I had to. I could not tell you that Lesren was telling me that Bébháil had struck the blow that killed him.’

‘The name he spoke was Bébháil and not Biobhal. How did you think of such a name? Biobhal, I mean.’

‘It was the only thing that came into my head. You see, while Lesren was mumbling away about Bébháil, Creoda was standing at my side. I could not gamble on the fact that he might have heard what Lesren was saying. I turned to him and pretended that I had heard the name Biobhal just in case. I could pretend that he had misheard the name, as it was so similar. He readily accepted that Biobhal was the name he had heard.’

Fidelma’s lips were pressed firmly together to hide her annoyance. ‘I swear, Tómma, that your false information led me astray for a while. You chose a name that could have had some pertinence.’ She turned back to Bébháil. ‘What you have to confess is very serious, Bébháil. The most serious offence under our law is to deprive another person of his life. You are confessing to a killing. You had best tell me the story from the very beginning.’

The widow appeared calm and implacable. ‘It is a simple story, lady. It is one that is as old as the relationship between men and women. I was young. I was beguiled. Lesren was an attractive man. An artisan. A
súdaire
– a tanner. I knew he had been married before but he had told me all manner of bad stories about Fínmed. I married him.’ She paused and gave a quick, meaningless smile. ‘His stories were untrue, as I soon found out. My life has not been happy.’

‘There was a redress for your situation in law,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘The law allows for separation and divorce.’

‘I stayed for many reasons. I suppose my daughter was the chief reason but perhaps I am only making excuses. I should have left after poor Beccnat was murdered. Yesterday, he began abusing me again. It was then that something seemed to snap within me. I grabbed a kitchen knife and—’ She broke off and gave a helpless sob.

‘Are you pleading self-defence?’ demanded Accobrán harshly. He seemed to be trying to take command of the situation, perhaps in an attempt to make up for his treatment of Gabrán.

‘Of course she is!’ snapped Tómma, moving closer to Bébháil and putting an arm protectively around her shoulders. ‘Can’t you see how ill this woman has been treated by that beast? If you want proof, lady,’ he added, turning to Fidelma, ‘ask her to go with you into the next room and show the blemishes that Lesren made on her body.’

‘Is this true, Bébháil?’ Fidelma asked gently.

The woman did not raise her eyes but merely nodded. Fidelma was quiet for a moment or two.

‘This crime of
fingal
, kin slaying, is the most horrendous in our laws,’ she reflected.

‘Heavy sanctions are made against the perpetrators,’ added the tanist sharply. ‘You will have to face a harsh punishment.’

‘But,’ Fidelma’s voice suddenly snapped like a whip, irritated at being interrupted by the young man who knew little of the law, ‘the law recognises that there are circumstances in which the killing of another person is justified. It is not a crime in kill in battle, no crime to kill a thief caught breaking into your house with the intent to steal or render harm to you. The
Cairde
text also shows that it is permitted to kill in self-defence. Had you brought this matter before me while Lesren still lived, you would have received an immediate divorce and not only half his property but also a considerable recompense. The laws are clear on the protection of women from men, even husbands, and abuse, whether physical or verbal, is treated seriously. You should have pursued that course in law. You did not and your suffering coalesced into a point where you struck back. I cannot pretend that it was correct to kill him but that you did it in self-protection is a defence that must be taken account of.’

They waited in silence while she pondered the matter.

‘It is clear that there has to be a hearing. I must sit in judgement on this matter with the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda and the abbot. Come back to the Great Hall when you hear the evening Angelus bell striking at the abbey.’

Tómma seemed unhappy but Bébháil inclined her head in agreement.

‘It shall be as you say, lady,’ she said.

Fidelma gave her a brief smile of encouragement. ‘That you have come forward voluntarily with this confession, Bébháil, also stands you in good stead before judgement. Had you not done so, I might have been tempted to waste many days pursuing a wrong path.’

She swung round on Tómma with a frown.

‘You stand in greater peril than Bébháil,’ she said sternly.

The assistant tanner shuffled his feet uneasily but did not reply.

‘The
Din Techtugad
says that to give false witness is one of the three great crimes that God avenges most severely. A person who is a
gúfiadnaise
loses his honour price.’

Eadulf was not sure of the legal word she had used and he was glad when Tómma asked her to explain.

‘A person who bears false witness. What made you pick on the name Biobhal?’

Tómma shrugged. ‘As I told you, it was the only name I knew which sounded like Bébháil. I had to think of something to confuse Creoda in case he had heard Bébháil’s name.’

‘But where had you come across this name before? It is unusual, not one that a tanner might readily know.’

Eadulf realised she was stating a simple fact, and not being condescending. There was a purpose behind the question.

Tómma thought for a moment, as if trying to remember in order to answer Fidelma’s question. ‘It was old Liag who told me some story. I can’t remember what about but Biobhal was in it somewhere.’

Fidelma could not help meeting Eadulf’s eye.

‘Liag told you the story. Are you sure?’ she insisted.

‘I am sure. I am sorry that I misled you, lady. I did it only to protect Bébháil.’

‘And did you tell Creoda to advise Gabrán to flee?’

‘I told Creoda that everyone thought Gabrán was the culprit. He took it on himself to advise Gabrán as he did.’

The woman moved forward eagerly. ‘Tómma has been my friend these many years. When I told him what I had done, he was afraid for me and tried to protect me. You must not blame him.’

Accobrán snorted indignantly. ‘The law is the law.’

Fidelma ignored him and smiled in gentle reassurance at the woman. ‘All things will be taken into account, Bébháil. You and Tómma must be in the Great Hall this evening and you must be judged accordingly. But remember, Tómma, that there is always a consequence to our actions. The Gospel of the Blessed James says “How great a matter a little fire kindles.” A word spoken in innocence can do great harm. Remember that.’

The assistant tanner nodded and, taking Bébháil by the arm, left the room.

Accobrán was angry at their departure. ‘They should be imprisoned. You are too lenient, lady. I do not understand. You are a
dálaigh
but do not follow the law as it is laid down.’

Fidelma regarded him coolly. ‘Sometimes it is better to follow the spirit of the law than the syntax of the law. What do you wish, tanist? An eye for an eye?’

‘The woman confessed to the murder, the man to being her accomplice – yet you have allowed them to go free!’

‘Hardly free. They must return here for judgement.’

Accobrán laughed scornfully. ‘Do you expect them to do so? What Gabrán did, so can they.’

Fidelma was serious, ‘Gabrán fled from fear. These two do not fear the consequences of what they have done. Why would you expect them to flee? It is our law and custom that truth is more important than action. Our laws were written for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘That is why I am the
dálaigh
and you are the tanist. You have much to learn before you take the chieftain’s oath.’

Accobrán glowered. His pride stung. ‘I accept that I am no lawyer. One thing I do not understand was why you seemed more concerned with the man’s lying to you than with the woman’s crime of murder.’

‘The woman killed from fear. I think it is obvious that she was telling the truth about her crime. The law makes allowances for that and though she will be judged to owe compensation and fine for the crime they will probably be cancelled out by the hurt committed by her husband Lesren upon her. But giving false evidence, telling a lie, is something that is abhorred by the law. Is there not an ancient saying that the gods love not a lying tongue? While truth may be bitter, nevertheless truth is great and must prevail.’

‘You seem concerned that Tómma misled you with this name Biobhal. Why would such a name mislead you?’

‘We thought Biobhal…’ began Eadulf, caught Fidelma’s eye, swallowed, and managed to regain his composure before the tanist turned to regard him questioningly. ‘We thought Biobhal was the name of the murderer,’ he ended lamely.

‘Well, it’s not a Cinél na Áeda name,’ replied Accobrán.

‘Probably not,’ Fidelma agreed, dismissing the subject. ‘Didn’t you say that Goll and his wife were also waiting to see me?’

The tanist gave a nod of assent and moved off to summon them. Eadulf waited until he had left.

‘I presume that you did not want him to know about your idea that there is some connection about gold?’

‘You presumed correctly,’ she replied quietly.

‘But with Tómma’s confession that he spoke the first name that came to mind which sounded like Bébháil, you must surely have to change your mind about any such connection?’

Fidelma was serious. ‘The more I think about it, the more I am not so sure. Let us keep this matter of the gold to ourselves for the moment, Eadulf. There are some things here that I find intriguing.’

‘You were not surprised that Lesren was killed by his wife.’