Badger's Moon

Chapter Ten

After Brother Dangila had been escorted back to the abbey, Fidelma accompanied Eadulf and Accobrán to the tannery of Lesren by the banks of the river. It was Eadulf who cynically pointed out that Fidelma might have come on Brother Dangila after he had killed Lesren. The hill overlooking the abbey was but a half-hour’s walk from the tannery where Lesren’s body had been discovered.

‘I do not discount any fact, Eadulf,’ Fidelma replied, ‘but why on earth would Brother Dangila want to kill Lesren?’

Eadulf opened his mouth and then, as he thought about the question, shut it.

‘The death of Lesren would be a significant development,’ Fidelma said, after a pause.

‘I do not understand, lady.’ Accobrán was frowning.

‘If the killing of Lesren is part of this pattern of killings, then we must reconsider our popular theory.’

Seeing their incomprehension, Fidelma motioned to the blue autumnal sky above them.

‘When was the body found?’ she asked.

‘A little after midday.’

‘And when was Lesren last seen?’

‘Just after the noon meal and…oh.’ Eadulf cut himself short and then sighed. He flushed in embarrassment. ‘His death could not be ascribed to any lunatic killing. It is out of sequence with the killings at the full moon.’

‘Exactly so.’

Eadulf suddenly hit his balled fist into the cupped palm of his other hand as a thought struck him. He forgot he was on horseback and the horse shied nervously as the movement tugged on the reins. He struggled to bring the animal under control.

Fidelma regarded him with amusement.

‘Gabrán! The boy had good reason for killing Lesren. There is the possibility that, after our visit this morning, Gabrán might have been so angry that he went to have it out with Lesren.’

The thought had already occurred to Fidelma. The boy had certainly been angry that Lesren was still accusing him of the death of Beccnat.

Accobrán seemed impressed. ‘I think Brother Eadulf’s suggestion is worthy of investigation.’

‘Certainly, nothing should be discounted,’ Fidelma said. ‘But we know that Lesren’s accusation was false, so Lesren’s death is not part of the pattern of killing.’

‘I suppose that motive can be ascribed to Fínmed as well,’ sighed Eadulf as he thought more about the matter. ‘All three, Goll, Fínmed and Gabrán, felt an anger and hatred towards Lesren which might be a motive for this crime.’

‘On the other hand, there may be no connection with any of these matters at all,’ Fidelma reminded him. ‘We must consider this development very carefully. But, as yet, I have heard no details at all. You have still to tell me how you came by the knowledge of Lesren’s death.’

It was Accobrán who explained. ‘After we left you, we had just returned to the fortress when one of Lesren’s workers came to find me. It was he who reported the matter. So we rode to check whether it was true. Lesren’s body was at the edge of the woods just behind the tannery. Seeing that we could do nothing further for the man. thinking that you might be in danger, we came straight away to find you.’

‘And the man who found the body?’

‘We left him looking after it and rendering what comfort he could to Bébháil, Lesren’s wife.’

They had joined the road which stretched along the riverbank and came once again to the collection of wooden buildings that constituted the tannery of Lesren. The drying hides were still stretched on the frames about the buildings but there was no sign now of anyone working at the framing or the dyeing.

‘Where is the body?’ Fidelma demanded, as they halted outside Lesren’s bothán, and dismounted.

Accobrán indicated the edge of the wood. Even before he spoke, a man appeared from the cover of the trees and waved to them.

‘That is Tómma. Lesren’s assistant. It is he who reported the death and he whom we left looking after it,’ the tanist explained, waving back to the man.

‘Am I to presume that Tómma left the body unattended when he came to tell you at the fortress?’

‘He told us that he and Creoda had discovered it and then he called Bébháil. She said she would stay with the body while Tómma came to the fortress to find me.’

They left the horses hitched to the rail outside the main building and Accobrán led the way towards the waiting man.

‘Where is Bébháil?’ asked Fidelma, glancing quickly around. There was no sign of the woman. Accobrán shrugged by way of reply.

As they neared Tómma, Fidelma saw that Lesren’s body was lying on its back by the edge of the trees. It was stretched out in repose as if waiting for burial. In fact, it was clear that someone had carefully laid Lesren’s body out on the grass, straightening the limbs and folding the arms across the chest. Indeed, as Fidelma peered closer she realised that the corpse had already been washed.

Fidelma suppressed a hiss of irritation. She knew that clues could have been destroyed in the process. She glanced angrily at the man who stood there.

‘Did you do this?’ She indicated the body and then, realising that her question was open to misinterpretation, she added: ‘Did you lay the body out and wash the limbs?’

Tómma was a man of about the same age as Lesren but with curly black hair. He looked surprised at her question and shook his head rapidly.

‘Not I, Sister. It was Bébháil who did this.’

‘You should have stopped her,’ admonished Eadulf, who realised what was passing through Fidelma’s mind. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Resting in the bothán,’ Tómma replied. ‘The woman was in shock and it would be pointless to rebuke her for ministering to her dead husband.’

‘You were right to treat her gently, Tómma, but this makes my task the more difficult,’ Fidelma said with a tightness in her voice which showed that she was still annoyed. She bent down and began to examine the corpse. There was little she could tell at first glance.

‘Do you recall how the body was lying when you first came upon it, Tómma?’ she asked. ‘And how did he die? In fact, what were the circumstances of your finding his body?’

The man shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘It was just after midday. There was only drying to be done and Lesren had sent most of the other workers back to their homes. That was the last time I saw him alive, Sister. I went home but I was to return this afternoon to help Lesren and Creoda take the bigger skins down from the frames-’

‘Creoda? What is his position?’

‘He is one of the young workers at the tannery. I called at his cabin on my return here, so we came together. Lesren was nowhere to be found and so I went to his bothán. Bébháil was there but said she had not seen her man since the midday meal. Creoda and I went looking around to see if we could find him.’

‘And you did?’

‘We found him.’

‘And he was dead?’

Tómma hesitated and looked unhappy. ‘Not quite.’

Fidelma raised her head to look squarely at him. ‘You mean that he was alive?’

‘He was dying and delirious.’

‘Did he say anything?’

The man hesitated again. ‘He was muttering something. All I heard was the name Biobhal.’

Fidelma frowned. ‘Biobhal? Not Bébháil? Was he asking for his wife?’

‘He was not. The name was clearly Biobhal. I remarked on that to Creoda, for Lesren died while uttering it. I know of no one by that strange name.’

‘Where is this Creoda, by the way?’

‘He returned to his bothán.’ Tómma paused and gestured apologetically. ‘Creoda is barely eighteen years old and lives nearby. I suppose with what has happened he was naturally fearful, and…’

‘No matter. We will see Creoda later. Where may we find him?’

Tómma indicated with his hand. ‘Westward, along the river track. His bothán lies back in the trees about twenty-five yards from the river. If you head in that direction, you can’t miss it.’

‘Very well. Now, where was Lesren lying when you found him?’

‘He was just here by these trees. He was lying there but in a more untidy fashion. The legs spread out, one under his body. The arms stretched out — so.’ He demonstrated with his own arms.

‘And, when he had muttered this name that you say you do not recognise, you knew that he had then died?’

The man considered for a moment. ‘I was fairly sure. Blood was everywhere. Creoda had run off. So I went to fetch Bébháil. She told me to run to the fortress.’

‘When did she start to clean the body?’

It was Eadulf who answered Fidelma. ‘When we left Tómma and Bébháil, she had not begun.’

The assistant tanner nodded. ‘Liag told her that she could do so after the tanist and this brother had ridden off to bring you here.’

Fidelma was genuinely startled. ‘Liag the apothecary? Was he here? How does he come into this drama?’

She glanced at Eadulf and Accobrán but their astonished looks gave the answer to her question. Liag’s arrival was news to them.

‘As soon as the Saxon brother and our tanist had left, Liag came out of the woods and examined Lesren,’ explained Tómma. ‘He instructed Bébháil to begin the funereal ministrations.’

Fidelma almost cursed the apothecary under her breath. ‘And she did so?’

‘As you can see.’

‘You do not know when Liag arrived here?’

Tómma shrugged. ‘All I know is that I was here alone with Bébháil when he appeared from that woodland path and that was after the tanist and the Saxon brother had left.’

Fidelma found herself having to undo the clothing of the corpse in order to make her examination. It became obvious that Lesren had been stabbed several times, judging from the wounds about the neck and chest. The jagged wounds spoke of a frenzied attack with a blunt knife. The wounds were not the clean cuts which one might expect from a hunting knife or — the thought came unbidden into her mind — a physician’s scalpel. Lesren had been stabbed twice in the back of the neck, once in the throat and once in the chest.

She stood up and shook her head slowly. It was useless trying to learn anything further from the corpse. Fidelma gave only a cursory glance around but it was obvious that there were no signs of the discarded weapon or any other significant item, and too much movement had taken place after Lesren’s death for there to be any meaningful clues.

‘Let us find Bébháil,’ she said. ‘You’d best stay here, Tómma. Make sure that no one does anything further with this corpse until I say so.’

When they were out of earshot of Tómma, Accobrán moved to her side and said with quiet vehemence: ‘Upon reflection, there are only a couple of real suspects in this case. I think I should go to apprehend them.’

Fidelma glanced at him, knowing what was in his mind but wishing him to make his thoughts clear. ‘Who may these suspects be?’

The tanist gestured in impatience. ‘As we have already discussed, lady. Who but Goll or his son Gabrán? Having heard how Lesren still accused Gabrán, and the hurtful contempt in which he held that family, I know what I would do if I was filled with youthful pride and anger.’

‘What you might do does not mean that someone else has done it.’

‘I believe the killer of Lesren will be found at the woodcutter’s homestead.’

‘You may well be right, Accobrán,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, I shall conduct my investigation in my own way, adhering to the priorities that I have set.’

They found Bébháil sitting in a chair before her hearth. She looked up, dry-eyed but with pinched, strained features, as they entered. Then she turned her gaze back to the embers of the fire.

‘It is sorrowful to me to be in life after Lesren has departed from this world,’ she muttered.

Her voice was wooden, without feeling. Fidelma glanced at her companions and motioned, them to withdraw, for she felt it best if she talked to the widow by herself. When they had done so, she seated herself opposite the woman.

‘Bébháil, I am sorry to ask these questions, but if we are to find the killer of Lesren, then they must be asked. When did you last see your husband?’

The woman stared at her for some time as if not recognising her. It took several times of asking before she formed a proper answer. Lesren had had his midday meal and gone outside to continue his work. Some time later, Bébháil did not know how long, Tómma had called to say he and Creoda were looking for Lesren. They had gone off to search. Then Tómma had returned with the news of their discovery. She had stayed with the body while Tómma had gone to find Becc or Accobrán at Rath Raithlen.

Fidelma listened intently as the woman confirmed Tómma’s account.

‘Where was Liag during this time?’ she asked quickly.

Bébháil blinked. ‘The apothecary?’

‘He was here, wasn’t he?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘He came after the tanist had ridden off with your Saxon companion.’

‘How was that?’

‘Tómma and I were with the body when Liag suddenly emerged from the woods nearby. There is a small footpath that comes through the woods near where Lesren was found.’

‘Where does the footpath lead?’

‘Up to Rath Raithlen, to the fortress.’

‘Did Liag seem surprised to see the body?’

‘Surprised?’ The woman frowned and gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Liag never expresses surprise.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He examined Lesren and said that he was dead. Then he told me that I ought to lay out the body before the limbs grew cold. That I should prepare the body for the funereal rites.’

Fidelma’s lips thinned. ‘So it was on the specific instructions of Liag that you washed and prepared the body?’

‘It was.’

Fidelma wondered what had motivated Liag. Had he purposely set out to destroy evidence or had he done so from ignorance? She tried to put the questions to the back of her mind because there would be no answers until she spoke to Liag.

‘During the time between Lesren’s leaving the bothán and the finding of the body, did you hear or see anything unusual?’

Bébháil shook her head. ‘I knew nothing until Tómma called me.’

‘You were not aware of anyone else here or around the tannery during this time?’

‘No one.’

‘Have you any idea who might have done this?’

Bébháil regarded her with large, dark eyes.

‘My husband was not a man who was well liked, lady,’ she said softly. ‘You must already know that he had several enemies. However, I will not lift a finger to point in any direction.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment or two, Then she said, ‘Have you ever heard the name of Biobhal spoken? It sounds very similar to your own name, I know. But it seems your husband was calling it out when he died.’

Bébháil frowned and shook her head rapidly.

‘There is no one in these parts who has such a name,’ she said simply. ‘Biobhal? Are you sure that he was not calling out my name?’

‘Tómma was sure and apparently Creoda also heard it.’

‘I know of no such name, lady.’

Fidelma gave her a smile of reassurance. ‘I have done with my questions. Can I do anything for you, Bébháil? Can you call on anyone to come and be with you? Is there anyone who is able to make the funeral arrangements for you?’

‘I have a sister who lives nearby. Tómma will fetch her for me.’ Her voice was low and measured and still without emotion. Fidelma rose, reached forward and laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.

‘I will ask the tanist to do so. Tómma should stay here until your relatives arrive so that you are not alone.’

‘Alone?’ Bébháil sighed. ‘Ah! Let the days of lamentation begin for my man was alive and now is dead. Cry and clap your hands and sing the Nuall-guba, the lamentation of sorrow.’

‘It shall be done with all ceremony, Bébháil,’ Fidelma assured her solemnly in answer to the ritual instruction of one who has suffered the death of a near one. She called for Accobrán to come in to receive instructions from Bébháil.

She was about to turn from the room when she caught sight of a small piece of glinting polished metal standing on a table. She frowned and took it up in her hand. It was heavy and there was a glint of metallic yellow about it.

‘You appear rich, Bébháil,’ she said quietly. ‘This is a large gold nugget.’

‘Let me see!’ Accobrán demanded, reaching out his hand and taking it from her. He seemed abruptly curt. He turned it over for a moment or two and then put it carelessly back in place. ‘It’s only iron pyrites — fool’s gold,’ he said. Was it relief that Fidelma heard in his voice?

‘Ah,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Non teneas aurum totum quod splendet ut aurum.’

Bébháil continued to sit without moving as if she no longer saw nor heard them.

Outside, Fidelma told Tómma what was intended and while she was speaking to him Accobrán followed her out and informed her that he had agreed to undertake the task of arranging the funeral obsequies.

‘I’ll also alert Bébháil’s sister and her family,’ he agreed. ‘When can the funeral go ahead, lady?’

‘As soon as custom allows,’ replied Fidelma. ‘There is nothing more to be learnt from the body. Eadulf and I will meet you at the rath on your return.’

Accobrán raised an eyebrow. ‘Your return? Return from where, lady?’

Fidelma was already moving back to her horse with Eadulf trailing in her wake. She mounted up quickly.

‘We will have a word with this youth Creoda and then I want to see Liag to find out how he just happened to be passing by here. Perhaps he noticed something.’

Accobrán looked uncomfortable. ‘I should go with you. I have told you that he-’

‘Don’t worry,’ Fidelma interrupted him. ‘Eadulf and I will find the way. You concentrate on finding the sister of Bébháil.’

She knew well enough that Accobrán had not meant that they needed to be guided to Liag’s hermitage but that he was worried for their safety. However, she had begun to feel that she had now had enough of being chaperoned. She needed freedom to continue her own investigations now she knew the lie of the land.

Side by side, she and Eadulf rode silently along the bank of the river, retracing their route of the previous day towards the place where Liag dwelt. Accobrán stood staring after them a few moments before he mounted his own horse and rode off in the opposite direction.

After a while, Eadulf said: ‘We should have asked Accobrán for his hunting horn. Didn’t he say that he had to use it to summon the hermit?’

Fidelma glanced at him with amusement. ‘If our upraised voices do not summon Liag then nothing will.’

Eadulf grimaced without humour. ‘What do you think the old apothecary was doing so close to the tannery?’

‘That is what I hope to find out.’

‘And destroying evidence?’ added Eadulf.

‘The question has occurred to me,’ she replied quietly.

Eadulf fell silent. It was obvious that Fidelma had considered all the matters he had wondered about.

It was not long before they spotted a log cabin through the trees.

‘This must be Creoda’s bothán,’ Fidelma said as she turned her horse towards it.

They were some distance away when a youth emerged and called shrilly: ‘What do you want here?’ He was clearly nervous.

‘Are you Creoda?’

The youth was clad in a tanner’s traditional leather apron. He wore a sharp leather-worker’s knife in his belt and had one hand on the handle. His features displayed his anxiety. He regarded them with suspicion.

‘I am Creoda,’ he replied. Then he seemed to relax. ‘Ah, you are the dálaigh. I saw you at Lesren’s tannery yesterday.’

Fidelma and Eadulf dismounted.

‘We have come to ask you a few questions about Lesren,’ Fidelma told him.

The boy thrust out his lower lip in a grimace. ‘Lesren is dead.’ He jerked his head towards Eadulf. ‘He was there with the tanist. He saw the body.’

‘I know. We have come from the tannery.’

‘I can tell you little more.’

‘I just need to hear your version of the events.’

Creoda hesitated before commencing his story. ‘I had finished my noonday meal when Tómma called for me. We went to the tannery together. There was some work for us to do but everyone else had been sent home. We arrived at the tannery but there was no sign of Lesren. We asked at the bothán but he was not there and so we went looking for him. We found him by the edge of the woods. That is all.’

‘I gather that he was still alive,’ said Fidelma.

‘Alive? Aye, barely; alive but rambling.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Tómma was bending down by him. He will tell you.’

‘We would like to know what you heard — just to clarify things.’

Creoda pursed his lips. ‘Nothing that made sense. I heard some snatches of words and a name…it was indistinct. Tómma turned to me and asked me if I had heard the name before.’

‘What was the name? And had you heard it?’

Creoda shook his head once more. ‘Tómma clarified the name for me because, at first, I thought he was calling for his wife, Bébháil. But the name was apparently Biobhal. It is not a name that I know or have heard the like of here.’

‘Biobhal,’ repeated Fidelma. ‘Are you sure that was the name?’

‘I asked Tómma to repeat it. I have never heard of its like,’ affirmed the tannery worker.

‘Then we will trouble you no more,’ Fidelma said gravely, turning to remount her horse.

‘Will you find this killer who threatens our peace, Sister?’ demanded the boy. ‘Three of my friends have been slaughtered by this moonlight maniac and now comes the death of him who was training me in the art of tannery.’

Fidelma glanced back at the youth.

‘Lesren was killed in the sunlight,’ she said pointedly.

The youth blinked as if he had not considered this.

Fidelma waited for a while and then said: ‘Yet you have reminded me. You knew all the girls who have been killed. Did they know each other well?’

Creoda pursed his lips in a sullen expression. ‘They were great friends, the three of them. Thick as thieves and no secret safe with any of them but was shared between them. Or, at least, that is my opinion.’

‘And didn’t you also attend old Liag’s instruction on star lore?’

Creoda inclined his head. ‘I did.’

‘And who else attended?’

‘Gabrán came with Beccnat, of course. They were always together and, in spite of Lesren’s disapproval, I heard that they were going to marry.’

‘Who else?’

‘Escrach. I liked Escrach very much…I had hoped that…’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, Escrach tried to comfort Gabrán after he returned from the coast when it was found that Beccnat had been killed. Escrach was a kindly girl. She and Gabrán had been friends from childhood. Then, of course, Ballgel attended and sometimes Accobrán the tanist.’

‘Accobrán?’ Eadulf was surprised. ‘He is several years older than all of you.’

Creoda grimaced.

‘I am not sure whether he was interested in star lore or in Beccnat,’ he said bitterly. ‘I know Gabrán did not like the way that the tanist sought her out at feastings to dance with him.’

‘Did she protest at his attentions?’ asked Fidelma.

Creoda sighed and shook his head. ‘The tanist had an eye for girls. I think he and Gabrán quarrelled over Beccnat because he danced with her at some festival. But Accobrán was not the oldest to attend Liag’s classes. That smith — Gobnuid — he came along a few times.’

‘I am interested in what Liag taught in these sessions,’ Eadulf said. ‘He taught about the moon and the stars? What in particular?’

‘The old lore, the old names of the stars and what their courses meant, the moon and its powers…you must know the sort of thing? Perhaps if Liag hadn’t taught so much about the moon then the girls might still be alive.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows.

‘You ought to explain that,’ she suggested.

‘Liag was always going on about knowledge meaning power. There was no need to fear the darkness of the night for if you possessed the knowledge of the secret names of the moon then you could control her. The night held no secret for Liag and he taught that power came at night.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘Power came at night?’

‘Had he taught that there were things to fear at night, Beccnat, Escrach and Ballgel might never had ventured forth,’ Creoda said. ‘Had they feared, then they might still have been alive.’

‘Where fear is, knowledge and safety are not,’ Fidelma reproved him.

Creoda stared at her for a moment and then, almost pleading, asked: ‘Will you find out who has done this evil?’

‘I will find the person responsible,’ Fidelma replied gently. ‘On that account you should have no fear.’

They remounted and retraced their route back to the main path.

‘Are we still seeking out Liag?’ asked Eadulf after they had ridden some way in silence.

She nodded absently, apparently lost in thought. Eadulf did not interrupt her and they rode on without speaking. They came to the spot where they had seen the two boys panning for gold on the previous day. At first they thought the river and its banks were empty, but a loud plop caused them to glance to where a rock overhung the riverbank.

A small boy was sitting on the rock and had obviously just thrown a stone into the water for he held another in his hand. At first they thought that it was one of the boys they had seen on the previous day. He was about twelve years old with fair hair and small limbs, and his clothing was not dissimilar to the other boys’. Some passing thought in the back of her mind caused Fidelma to ease her horse to a halt where the track passed close to the overhang. Eadulf looked at her in surprise and also halted.

‘A pleasant day, boy,’ she called.

The boy stirred and seemed to notice them for the first time. His expression was morose.

‘The day may be pleasant but not so all that passes in it,’ he replied sullenly.

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little and she chuckled in appreciation at the other’s words. ‘You sound like a philosopher, my boy.’

He put down his stone and put his arms round his knees. ‘I have heard the old ones say it when things go wrong for them.’

‘And what is going wrong for you on this bright day?’

‘Gobnuid made fun of me.’

‘Gobnuid the smith?’ Fidelma frowned.

The boy nodded. ‘I brought him something I thought valuable and he laughed at me.’

‘Is your name Síoda?’

The boy scowled immediately.

‘What do you know of me?’ he demanded defensively. ‘Has Gobnuid been spreading the story-’

‘I heard from your friends that you had discovered some metal,’ Fidelma interrupted.

‘I thought it was gold,’ the boy affirmed, his mood swinging again to gloom. ‘Gobnuid said it wasn’t. He gave me a coin for it but I thought I would be really wealthy.’

‘Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora,’ said Eadulf.

The boy glanced at him as if he were stupid. ‘He’s a foreigner, isn’t he?’ he asked Fidelma.

Fidelma smiled.

‘It is a Latin saying that eggs today are better than chicken tomorrow,’ she explained. ‘In other words, a coin in your pocket is better than the promise of riches to come. It’s good advice.’

The boy sniffed. ‘I was sure that the metal was gold.’

‘Did you find it in this river?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I did not.’

‘I saw two other boys panning for gold here yesterday. They seemed to believe that you had found the gold in the river here.’

The boy laughed bitterly. ‘I told them that I had found it in the river when I thought it was valuable. I didn’t want them to find out where I had really discovered it. Now I don’t care. I am not going to be wealthy.’

‘So you did not find the metal in the river?’ Fidelma sought clarification.

The boy shook his head. ‘I found it on the Thicket of Pigs. There are old mines there.’

‘The Thicket of Pigs?’ Fidelma’s brow creased a moment.

The boy pointed across to the hill in front of them. ‘It is really the wooded area on top of that hill, but the entire hill is now called by that name.’ He confirmed the knowledge they already had.

‘Should you be in the mines at your age?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Surely it is dangerous?’

The boy regarded him with a frown.

‘There are many metal workings around here,’ he said. ‘My father worked in them when he was not much older than I am. They are abandoned now. We all play in them. The boys from the area, that is.’

‘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.