Badger's Moon (5 page)

‘And for Sirin the cook,’ added Fidelma.

Adag glanced towards her and then turned back to Becc.

‘Sirin is waiting outside,’ he replied directly to his chief.

‘Then bring him in,’ instructed Fidelma sharply.

The steward continued to look at Becc who nodded slightly to confirm the order.

Sirin was almost the double of Adag the steward. He was a roundfaced, rotund figure with thinning hair. His features were lugubrious. At first Fidelma thought his mournful, joyless countenance reflected his grief for the death of his niece, but she soon learnt that his melancholy was a permanent expression.

The corpulent man shuffled forward to stand before his chief while Adag stood quietly in the background.

‘Sirin, this is Fidelma of Cashel. She is a
dálaigh
and has come to inquire into the murders. She has questions to ask of you and you must answer them to the best of your knowledge.’

‘I will do so, lord,’ replied the man in a sonorous tone that matched his plumpness. He turned with a questioning expression to Fidelma.

‘Sirin, let me begin by saying that I am sorry for the tragedy that has befallen your family.’

Sirin inclined his head towards her but said nothing.

‘There are some questions that I need to ask you. Tell me something of your niece and her background.’

Sirin spread his hands in a gesture which seemed to give him the appearance of an almost comic, doleful figure.

‘She was young, seventeen years old. Her parents died from the Yellow Plague two years ago. That terrible scourge almost wiped out our family. My sister and I and poor Ballgel were the only ones who remained alive. Now…now Ballgel is gone.’

‘I understand that she lived with her aunt?’

‘With my sister, Berrach…she did so. She came to work with me here in the kitchens of the fortress two years ago.’

‘She was not married, or betrothed? Did she have a young male friend?’ queried Fidelma.

Sirin shook his head. ‘She used to say that she had never met the right one. It is true that many of the young boys sought her company. But she was not interested.’

‘Any young boys in particular?’

Sirin smiled sadly. ‘She was an attractive girl. I could name most of the lads of Rath Raithlen. There was no one in particular.’ A sudden frown crossed his brow. Fidelma saw it.

‘You have had a thought?’

Sirin shrugged. ‘It was only an incident. Gobnuid, who is one of the smiths working in the fortress – well, it was nothing.’

Fidelma leaned forward encouragingly. ‘Let me be the judge.’

‘Well, it was at a feasting a month ago.’ He glanced at Becc. ‘It was the feast day of the Blessed Finnbarr who founded our little abbey here,’ he said, as if feeling a need to explain.

‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing really. Gobnuid wanted to dance with Ballgel and she refused and Gobnuid seemed mortified. Ballgel was with some of her young friends and, frankly, Gobnuid is old enough to be her father. I am afraid that the young lads mocked him and he turned away with a few angry words. That’s all.’

‘I see. So, returning to the night she died, I understand that she left the fortress at midnight or soon after on that night?’

‘She did.’

‘When was her body discovered?’

‘Early next morning by one of the villagers gathering mushrooms.’

‘And the abbey was immediately attacked. Why was that?’

‘I did not attack the abbey.’ Sirin’s voice was unexpectedly harsh. ‘I was in grief and so was my sister Berrach. It was my cousin Brocc who roused the people to that action. Brocc had already lost his own niece to this evil.’

Becc intervened. ‘It is true that Sirin was not among those who threatened the abbey. He and Berrach were certainly not there.’

Fidelma nodded but continued to address herself to Sirin.

‘Do you believe that the strangers at the abbey could have done this?’

Sirin looked blank. ‘I do not know. Many claim that they did. I have yet to see proof of Brocc’s assertions.’

‘Did your cousin share his suspicions with you?’

‘He does not like the strangers because they are strangers.’

‘You do not appear to share that view,’ she observed.

‘I want the guilty punished, but let us first know that they are guilty,’ replied the man.

‘Do you suspect them or anyone else? Do you have any thoughts as to why Ballgel was killed?’

Sirin screwed up his face in a negative gesture. ‘I believe only some beast or madman could have done this terrible thing. I can offer you nothing else. But I tell you this, Sister: once I know who is guilty it is vengeance that I want in return. Do not tell me about justice. I am of the Faith and did not Paul of Tarsus write to the Galatians that whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap? Whoever has done this terrible deed has planted a thorn in my heart. He must not expect to pluck a rose from it.’

Fidelma was sympathetic but returned his look with disapproval. ‘Blood will not wash out blood, Sirin.’

‘Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot…’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Very well, Sirin.’

The man was about to turn away, realising that she had finished her questions, when Eadulf suddenly leant forward.

‘You say that Brocc is your cousin, Sirin. Are you also related to Adag?’

Sirin thrust out his lower lip in a sullen expression.

‘I am not,’ he snapped. ‘May I go now?’

‘You may return to your kitchen,’ Fidelma assured him in some amusement. It was true that the steward and the cook might be taken for brothers, for they did look alike.

When Sirin had gone, Fidelma turned to Becc with a sad smile.

‘Heraclitus said that it is difficult to fight against anger, for a man will buy revenge with his soul. It seems that Brocc is not the only one out for vengeance at this place, Becc.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Fidelma turned to the steward who had been waiting patiently by the door.

‘I am told that the abbot was the first to leave the feasting on the night of which we are talking. What time did the abbot depart from the fortress?’ she asked.

Adag frowned and glanced to his chieftain as if in unspoken question.

Fidelma exhaled in exasperation. ‘Adag, mark me well. When I ask you a question, you do not have to seek permission of Becc or anyone else before you answer me. If you do not respect the fact that I am a
dálaigh
, although you should obey the law, then respect the fact that I am sister to your king who sits at Cashel. Even your chieftain, Becc, my cousin, defers to me in this matter.’

Becc looked embarrassed.

‘I apologise for my steward, Fidelma. He has a quaint idea of loyalty,’ he said, before turning with a glance of wrath at the man. ‘You will obey my cousin, Fidelma, with the same alacrity as you obey me, Adag, otherwise I shall be looking for a new steward.’

The steward flushed and gave a nervous grimace.

‘What was your question, lady?’ he asked in an apologetic tone.

‘I asked, at what time did the abbot depart from the fortress on the night Ballgel was killed?’

‘A little after midnight, I think,’ he answered.

‘And was that before or after Ballgel left?’

He stared at her in surprise and hesitated before replying. ‘The abbot left afterwards, I think.’

‘You think?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp. ‘Is there anyone else who would know exactly?’

Adag coloured in annoyance. ‘I was at the gate and bade good night to Ballgel. She left before the abbot. I am sure of it.’

‘So you were the last person to see her alive?’ intervened Eadulf, who had been silent for some time.

Adag sniffed contemptuously. ‘Her killer would be the last person to do so, Brother Saxon.’

Fidelma decided to let the insult to Eadulf go unchallenged for the moment.

‘How long was it between Ballgel’s leaving and when the abbot left?’ she pressed. ‘Moments later or a longer period?’

‘It was some time later…perhaps half an hour or so.’

‘And the path to the abbey lies in the same direction as the woods where she was found?’

‘At the bottom of the hill you would have to turn right to the abbey, while the place where Ballgel was found was to the left, away from the abbey. The abbot could not have caught up with her.’

Fidelma regarded him with some amusement.

‘Why do you think that extra information is of importance?’ she asked softly.

Adag’s mouth thinned in annoyance. ‘I thought that you were accusing—’

‘When I accuse anyone,’ interrupted Fidelma, still speaking softly, ‘I shall say so directly. At the moment, I am still looking for information. I am asking questions and I expect answers and not opinions or prevarication. Questions must be answered with courtesy and respect. Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, who is my
fer comtha
, is also worthy of a respectful response, for he was a lawyer among his own people.’

Adag hung his head in mortification. His cheeks were crimson.

‘I only meant that—’

‘I know perfectly well what you meant,’ Fidelma replied shortly. ‘Now, as to that last exchange of words that you had with Ballgel…’

Adag looked startled for a moment. ‘Last exchange?’

‘Your conversation at the gates of the fortress when she went home that night. I presume you did exchange some words?’

‘As I said, I merely bade her good night,’ acknowledged Adag hurriedly. ‘She responded. She left and that was the last I saw of her.’

Fidelma paused in reflection for a moment.

‘The moon was full that night. It was bright. Was Ballgel nervous of going home alone? She was aware that two other young girls had been killed in those woods, wasn’t she?’

Adag sighed and nodded. ‘Ballgel was a very stubborn and self-willed girl. Nothing seemed to make her nervous. But I suppose that it was not until after her death that most of us generally realised the significance of the full moon.’

‘Significance?’ Eadulf interposed.

‘That the three killings had happened on the night of the full moon.’ The steward spoke to him with a little more courtesy than before. ‘I think it was young Gabrán, the woodsman, who first realised this and told our late Brehon Aolú…’

‘He did,’ intervened Becc in confirmation. ‘But he was not taken seriously until Liag pointed it out. That was after the second body was discovered. But the fact that he felt it was significant was no secret. Liag knows about these things. He teaches our young about the stars and the moon. Though what Adag says is true. In spite of young Gabrán, and then Liag, the fact that the killer struck at the full of the moon only became generally realised after the body of Ballgel was found.’

Fidelma considered for a moment before resuming her questions.

‘So Ballgel left for home and some time later the abbot also left?’

‘That is so,’ agreed the steward. ‘Then I went to bed, for I knew my lord Becc’s other guests would be staying the night.’

‘That will be all for the moment, Adag,’ Fidelma said with finality.

Adag glanced to his chieftain and Becc made a quick gesture of dismissal with his hand.

Fidelma waited until he had gone and then turned to Becc.

‘We will see the families of the other two victims tomorrow, but perhaps we should start with the reclusive apothecary. As he examined all three bodies, he might be able to tell us something of significance. Remind me of his name. Liag?’

‘Indeed. It is Liag,’ Becc confirmed. ‘I’d better send Accobrán with you as your guide, for these woods are wide and dark and deep. Liag dwells on a hillock by the river that is hard to find and he does not welcome visitors, especially strangers.’

‘If the man is a recluse,’ Eadulf pointed out, ‘then it sounds as if you should be considering finding another apothecary to minister to the needs of the people here. Is there no apothecary at the abbey?’

Becc nodded. ‘Indeed there is. But Liag is one of our community. He is not as reclusive as, perhaps, we have implied. He even accepts pupils.’

‘Pupils?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Ah yes. You said he taught your young. Does he train them in the art of being an apothecary?’

Becc shook his head. ‘As I have said, he teaches them star lore.’

‘Star lore?’

‘The symbolism of the sun and moon, of the gods and goddesses that rule them, and…’ Becc stopped and looked uncomfortable. ‘I do not mean to imply that he teaches anything that is contrary to the New Faith. But he is a repository of knowledge of the ancient beliefs and legends. He is a good apothecary. My people believe in him and have faith in his cures.’

‘For a hermit who dislikes visitors to be relied upon to tend the sick and injured is, indeed, a sign of his ability,’ Eadulf remarked. ‘What makes him attract such loyalty?’

Becc smiled knowingly. ‘His ability to cure. It is said that he is descended from those who were possessed of thorough knowledge. Those who practised the healing arts long before the coming of the New Faith.’

‘Then we shall look forward to meeting him,’ Fidelma assured the chieftain, as she rose to her feet. ‘And now…’

‘I will get Adag to show you to your quarters. I think your baths should be ready.’ Becc took the hint. ‘Afterwards, please join us in a small feast that has been prepared to welcome you to the land of the Cinél na Áeda.’

Later, as Fidelma and Eadulf, having washed away the dust of travel, eaten and imbibed well in the feasting hall and been entertained by poets and harpers, were preparing for bed, Eadulf succumbed to a contented smile. ‘Well, this distant cousin of yours – Becc – seems an amiable chieftain. He dwells in a comfortable and pleasant fortress.’

‘That may be,’ Fidelma replied and it was clear that she was far from sharing Eadulf’s content. ‘But remember why we are here, Eadulf. There is an evil in this place. An evil which strikes savagely at young women at the full of the moon. Do not let the pleasant food, or company or surroundings, coax your senses into a false complacency. That evil that lurks in the dark forests round here can strike…and maybe not just when the moon is full.’

The autumn morning was bright and crisp, without any mist. The shapes of the hills and trees were sharply defined and the colours of the countryside were still lustrous with browns and reds streaking through the multi-shades of green. It was only in the morning light, when they had finished breakfasting, that Eadulf had looked out of the window which gave an overview of the fortress and realised that Rath Raithlen was not small at all. It was a complex that covered nearly a hectare, enclosed by triple ramparts. He tried to work it out in Irish measurements but gave up. Brought up among farmers, he estimated that a yoke of oxen would probably take more than two days to plough the area. It was large by comparison to the fortresses and strongholds he had seen previously. It compared even with Cashel.

The ramparts were typically built along the contours of a hill that rose 80 metres or more, overlooking other smaller hills in all directions. Through the surrounding valleys ran a series of streams, some worthy of being called rivers, such as the one that twisted around the foot of the hill on which Rath Raithlen stood. There were woods as far as the eye could see, although now and then smaller raths or fortresses could be made out atop adjoining hills. It was a rich-looking and fertile countryside, in spite of the oncoming grip of autumn which had the leaves changing colour but not, as yet, falling.

Within Rath Raithlen itself, apart from the chief’s hall and adjoining buildings, were several streets and alleys crowded with artisans’ workshops and several residential buildings. Eadulf assumed these were the habitations of the chieftain’s retinue. He realised that the walls of the fortress encompassed an entire village with several forges, saddle-makers’ shops and even an alehouse. Rath Raithlen must be a prosperous place.

‘I had not realised that the Cinél na Áeda were so wealthy,’ Eadulf remarked to Fidelma when she suggested that they go down to the courtyard and prepare for the morning’s work.

‘The scribes maintain that this was the capital of the Eóghanacht before our ancestor, King Conall Corc, discovered Cashel and made his capital on the Rock,’ Fidelma explained. ‘I told you that Becc, my cousin, was grandson of King Fedelmid, which is the masculine form of my name.’

‘It is an impressive place,’ agreed Eadulf, looking around him as they went out into the courtyard before Becc’s hall. ‘I see many memorial stones with inscriptions on them but they are carved in Ogham which I cannot decipher.’

‘If we have time, I shall teach you the ancient alphabet,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘When I was little and visiting here, I was told that they marked the tombs of great rulers of ancient times.’

‘What puzzles me is the number of forges in the rath. I saw them from the bedroom window. Only a few seemed to be used, though. Why does Becc need so many?’

‘This used to be a centre of metal working. The whole area is rich in metals: copper mines, lead and iron, even gold and silver. The Blessed Finnbarr, who was born at the abbey of which we have spoken, was the son of a metalworker.’

Eadulf frowned as he dredged a memory. ‘I have often heard you talk of Magh Méine, the plain of minerals. Is this it?’

‘That is not far from here, to the north-east. This countryside has a similar mining tradition.’ She broke off as Accobrán, the handsome young tanist, emerged from a doorway and came across to them. He greeted them pleasantly and seemed more accommodating than he had initially been on the previous evening; more helpful and friendly. Fidelma still felt a distrust of his charm. He asked whether they wanted to go on horseback to visit the people they needed to question. Hearing that none was located more than twenty-one
forrach
from the fortress – a distance of no more than two kilometres – Fidelma decided that they should walk. It would be a chance to examine the countryside and possibly explore the places where the three victims had met their deaths.

Accobrán led the way through the ramparts, beyond the last great wooden gates, and turned down the hill. They followed the broad path for a short while and then the tanist turned off into a thickly wooded area through which a very narrow path twisted between the trees.

‘Old Liag, the apothecary, dwells within these woods,’ Accobrán informed them, speaking over his shoulder as there was only room for them to walk in single file with the growth towering on either side. ‘He is usually to be found along the banks of the Tuath. That is the river that runs around the hill here.’

‘It is an odd name for a river,’ Eadulf commented. He liked to improve his knowledge of the language of Éireann whenever he could. ‘Doesn’t the name simply signify a territory?’

The young tanist smiled briefly. ‘One of the septs of our people, south of here, was ruled by a chieftain named Cúisnigh and his district was called Tuath an Cúisnigh. Soon the original name of the river that divided his territory was forgotten. People referred to it as the river that runs through the territory of Cúisnigh and gradually even that was foreshortened into the “territory river” or Tuath. It is as simple as that.’

Fidelma had other things on her mind than to listen to his folklore.

‘If this apothecary, Liag, is so reclusive, how do we make contact with him without fear that he will hide at our approach?’ she enquired.

Accobrán tapped the bone horn that was slung at his belt. ‘He is not really so reclusive. I will simply blow my hunting horn when we near his
bothán
and he will know that it is the tanist of the Cinél na Áeda who seeks him.’

The woods had become very dense indeed, a compressed mixture of thick-trunked oaks, lofty holly trees and alders and yews, as if someone had taken a handful of seeds and thrown them indiscriminately about so that they grew in a mixed profusion. Accobrán seemed very much at home as he conducted them through the woods and guided them easily along the twisted path. Suddenly he halted, turned and indicated a small area like a glade to one side. Fidelma’s keen eye had already discerned that it had been lately disturbed by a human presence. The grass and shrubs had been trodden down, ferns had been bent and branches broken, showing signs of several people’s having moved about the little area.

‘That is where they found Ballgel’s body, lady.’

Fidelma frowned as she inspected the area. ‘Was this Ballgel’s usual path home?’

The young tanist shrugged. ‘I would not have thought so. A young girl does not usually take to this forest path alone at night. However, it is a short cut to her aunt’s
bothán
where she lived. There is no denying that. The safe way would have been to follow the main track, which goes around the hill beyond the abbey, but this one would take some time off her journey. Perhaps if she were in a hurry she might have decided to chance it.’

‘Chance?’ Eadulf asked. ‘That sounds as if she would know that some danger lurked here?’

Accobrán regarded him with a serious expression. ‘Wolves and other animals, which would normally shun people during the day, sometimes haunt the woods at night and are not above attacking humans, especially if they can smell fear in them. There are some wild boars here that are very aggressive if disturbed.’

‘You think that Ballgel would have exuded such fear?’ Eadulf asked reflectively. ‘Surely, if she grew up here she would have known the local dangers and not been fearful. Fear is usually to be reserved for the unknown.’

‘She was young, Brother Eadulf. A girl. What young girl is unafraid of the woods in darkness?’

Fidelma smiled softly. ‘Apparently Ballgel was not afraid to venture along this path on her own…’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe she did not start down this path alone or of her own accord?’

Eadulf, who had been examining the ground, shook his head. ‘There is no sign that anyone was compelled unwillingly along the path to this point. Obviously, several people have been here, presumably to recover her body. Surely, if she had been waylaid on the main path and killed there or dragged to her death here, there would be signs of a struggle. It appears to me that she came along this path willingly.’

‘Or she might have been unconscious or dead,’ pointed out Accobrán, ‘then she would not have been able to struggle. She could have been carried here.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But, if so, there ought to be have been some sign of that such as deep tracks in the earth showing someone was carrying a heavy weight. However, the movement of the people who found the body has destroyed any useful traces. But I am inclined to believe that she did come along here of her own accord. She might even have known her killer.’

Accobrán grimaced indifferently. ‘That sounds like speculation. I did not think a
dálaigh
would indulge in speculation.’

Fidelma regarded him seriously and answered, ‘A
dálaigh
does not make judgements on speculation alone, but it behoves anyone considering or reflecting on a set of possible events to theorise or make conjectures to see if the evidence fits the known facts. Let us move on, for I do not think we shall find much in this spot to help us. It has been too long since the event and too many people have trodden here, including animals – I think I see the marks of a wild boar of which you spoke.’

Accobrán hesitated a moment but then turned and continued to lead the way. The path rose over the lower slope of a tree-strewn hill and then began to descend again. After a while the trees and the undergrowth began to thin as the path opened out. There were even a few grassy glades into which the sun penetrated. The tanist pointed ahead.

‘The river is a short distance away and that rise on our right is called the Hill of the Sacred Tree. That is where Liag, the apothecary, dwells.’

There was a small wooded hillock rising before them to the right, almost sheltering in the shadow of the large, spreading hill whose footings they had crossed with its thickly covering forest of oaks and alders.

‘Then perhaps you had better announce our presence,’ Fidelma suggested.

Accobrán unslung his hunting horn, licked his lips, paused a moment and then gave three short blasts.

‘If he is nearby, he will know that we need to speak to him,’ he said, and resumed his steady pace towards the rise. The sound of running water now came to their ears, announcing a stream gushing over a stone bed. The trees thinned even more and they were able to see a moderate-sized stretch of river to their left.

‘That is the Tuath. It flows around the base of the hill on which Rath Raithlen is situated and then it moves south from here,’ explained the tanist.

They reached the base of the small rise and now they could see a wooden building amongst the trees near its top. The trees grew thickly and protectively around it.

‘Identify yourselves!’

The shout startled them. Fidelma looked in the direction of the sound but could discern nothing in the dark shadows among the trees.

‘Strangers, identify yourselves!’

The voice was male, strong and vibrant; a voice that seemed used to command.

Accobrán glanced at Fidelma before he raised his voice in answer. ‘It is Accobrán the tanist, Liag. I bring some friends who wish to speak to you.’

‘Your friends, not mine. Who are they and what do they seek?’ came the uncompromising response.

‘I am Sister Fidelma,’ cried Fidelma. ‘With me is Brother Eadulf.’

‘I have no need of religious here in my sanctuary.’ The voice was still unresponsive.

‘We do not come as religious. I am a
dálaigh
and come representing the authority of the law.’

There was a silence and it seemed the speaker contemplated this information for a moment. Then a shadow seemed to detach itself from the trees. It was the figure of an elderly man clad in a woollen robe dyed saffron. He wore a silver chain around his neck and he had long snow-white hair that was fixed in place with a headband of green and yellow beads. A leather strap across one shoulder supported a satchel, which Eadulf recognised as the traditional apothecary’s
lés
or medicine bag. In his right hand he carried what looked like a whip.

‘Come forward,
dálaigh
. Let me see you who call yourself lawyer rather than religieuse.’

Fidelma moved a little way up the path, motioning the others to remain where they were. The man’s face was etched with deep lines of age but his eyes were icy blue like glittering stones. He regarded Fidelma with deep suspicion.

‘You seem young to be an advocate of the law,’ he finally observed.

‘And you seem old to be the only trustworthy apothecary in this area,’ replied Fidelma solemnly.

The old man indicated the whip-like object in his hand. ‘You recognise this?’

She nodded quickly. ‘The
echlais
is your badge of office, showing that you are a lawful physician.’

‘That is so. I hold the authority of my profession. I am no mere herb doctor.’

‘I did not think you were.’ She moved a hand to her
marsupium
and drew forth the rowan wand of office that her brother had given her. ‘And do you recognise this?’

The old man’s eyes widened slightly. ‘The wand of office of the Eóghanacht, kings of Cashel, rulers of Munster, descendants of Eber Fionn, son of Golamh, the soldier of Spain who brought the children of the Gael to this place. I see the stag emblem and recognise it.’

Fidelma returned it to her
marsupium
. ‘I am, as I have said, a
dálaigh
and sister to Colgú, king of Cashel.’

The old apothecary was silent for a moment.

‘Why have you come to me?’ he demanded at length.

‘My companion and I are charged to investigate the deaths of the three girls who were killed here.’

The suspicious look still did not leave the old man’s face.

‘By whom charged?’

‘By my brother, Colgú, king of Cashel, and by the invitation of Becc, lord of the Cinél na Áeda.’

The old man grimaced. ‘One Eóghanacht name is good enough for your authority, Fidelma of Cashel. Let you and your companions sit awhile. I can offer you
miodh cuill
, the cool hazel mead that I distil myself.’