Badger's Moon

Chapter Twelve

Fidelma stood for a moment, staring at the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda as if she had not heard him.

‘Lesren’s killer? Does that mean that the identity of the killer has been discovered?’

‘A farmer came into the rath not so long ago and said that he had encountered Gabrán on the road. The young man was heading for the coast and told the man that he was going to find a ship and sign on as one of the crew.’

Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf, her face a mixture of surprise and irritation. Then she turned back to Becc.

‘Did this farmer say any more?’

Becc nodded. ‘The young man as good as admitted that he was fleeing from justice. Anyway, Accobrán has taken some warriors and will take the road to the coast. They should be able to overtake him soon enough and bring him back for trial. At least we have solved one murder. Maybe Gabrán will be the means of solving the others. Perhaps Lesren was right after all?’

‘The boy may be stupid,’ replied Fidelma in an exasperated tone, ‘but to run away does not mean to say he is responsible for any deaths.’

Becc regarded in her astonishment. ‘But the very act of running away proclaims his guilt.’

‘A stupid act, I warrant you, but not a proclamation of guilt,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It can also imply fear. Let me know immediately Accobrán returns.’

Then, motioning Eadulf to follow, she led the way to their chambers. Once inside the room, she closed the door with a sharp thud behind her.

‘The stupid, stupid boy!’ she exploded.

Eadulf stood observing the anger on her features as she began to pace the room. ‘You really think that he is innocent?’

Fidelma did not even bother to answer the question.

‘I fear for the boy’s life now,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember there is enmity between him and Accobrán.’

‘But that is all on the part of Gabrán,’ replied Eadulf. ‘A silly suspicion that Accobrán was trying to seduce his betrothed.’

Fidelma did not say anything for a moment. Then she said softly: ‘Let us hope that if Accobrán and the boy meet up on the road, they may come back to us living and not as corpses.’

There was no further news of the tanist and his pursuit by the time they retired for the night.

The next day, as the early grey October light filtered through the windows, Fidelma was already at her morning ablutions. In the distance she could hear the tolling of a bell, presumably from the abbey of the Blessed Finnbarr. She found Eadulf waiting for her in the kitchen of Becc’s great hall where they normally broke their fast. He had been up and washed before her.

Becc came in while they were finishing their meal and looked uneasy.

‘Accobrán came back in the middle of the night,’ he announced without preamble. ‘He overtook Gabrán.’

Fidelma was immediately concerned.

‘I asked you to inform me immediately Accobrán returned,’ she replied sharply. ‘Is the boy alive?’

Becc blinked in surprise at the abruptness of her tone.

‘Accobrán brought him back for trial, cousin. Not for execution,’ he said defensively.

‘So the boy is in good health?’ she insisted.

‘He may be bruised a little but he should not have resisted his capture.’

Fidelma’s features were immobile. ‘No, he should not — especially when he is innocent of the murder of Lesren.’

Becc showed his irritability. ‘You will have to present the evidence to prove it then.’

‘That I shall do,’ Fidelma replied. She made to rise, and paused. The distant bell from the abbey was still tolling. ‘What is that bell sounding for?’

The chieftain looked surprised, as if hearing the bell for the first time. ‘It will be for Lesren’s funeral.’

Fidelma sprang to her feet with an exclamation. ‘I had forgotten the funeral in all that has transpired. Eadulf, come. We must attend it.’

Eadulf grabbed a piece of cold meat and some bread and went quickly after her as she headed for the door. On the threshold she halted with such abruptness that Eadulf bumped into her. She was looking back at Becc.

‘Are you not coming?’ she demanded.

The chieftain had seated himself at the vacated table.

‘I was never a friend of Lesren or of his family. He was a good tanner, that is all. Accobrán has gone there to ensure all is as it should be. But it would be insincere should I attend.’

Fidelma had not waited for the chieftain to finish. She was through the door and instructing their horses be saddled and brought without delay.

‘I don’t understand why you want to attend this funeral,’ Eadulf protested, trying to finish his bread and meat.

‘At funerals one may gather information,’ she replied mysteriously.

It did not take them long to reach the abbey. A few other stragglers were hurrying in answer to the bell’s summons and it was still tolling as the gatekeeper admitted them and pointed to the chapel.

Lesren’s body had been taken to the abbey chapel and it was here that the funeral obsequies were to take place. As Fidelma and Eadulf entered the chapel, they found it surprisingly crowded with many from Rath Raithlen. They immediately saw Accobrán, and by his side Adag the steward. Fidelma nudged Eadulf and indicated that Gobnuid the smith was also there. There were many others who had probably traded with the tanner or were relatives of Lesren and Bébháil. Bébháil herself sat at the front of the chapel with a woman who looked remarkably like her. Fidelma remembered that the widow of Lesren had a sister who was to have been summoned to look after matters. There was Tómma close by. Even a frightened-looking Creoda was standing just behind Tómma. Among the religious, however, the three strangers were not present. There was no reason why they should be and, indeed, Abbot Brogán told Fidelma afterwards that he had thought it wise that they should not attend in case of trouble.

The congregation was subdued by the ominous tones of a new bell. The solemn baritone of the clog-estechtae, or death bell, which was always rung to mark the death of a Christian, replaced the tenor of the summoning bell. The religious who were gathered began to sing their requiem, the écnairc, an intercession for the soul’s repose. Members of Bébháil’s household had probably watched over Lesren’s body for the entire night. Eadulf knew all about the custom. In some cases, he knew, the relatives and their guests indulged in the cluiche cainrech or funeral games that preceded the fled cro-lige, the feast of the deathbed.

The body had been wrapped in a recholl, a winding sheet, and placed on a guat or wooden bier. Eadulf wondered whether the body had been accompanied to the chapel by the wailing cries of the relatives, and hired mourners who wept aloud in a strange fashion called the caoidneadh accompanied by the slow clapping of hands, said to emphasise despair.

When the prayers and psalms were over, the bier was lifted by four men and carried out of the chapel. Fidelma and Eadulf followed the mourners as they moved behind the bier. Outside, a grave had been dug and the body was gently lowered into it while the women set up cries that, although Eadulf had heard them before, made his blood run cold.

Then, to Eadulf’s surprise, a man came forward with an axe, and broke up the bier. The pieces were thrown into the grave. Seeing his puzzled look, Fidelma leant close and whispered: ‘It is the custom to destroy the bier, for if it is left whole then the evil demons, the fairy folk, might use it to carry off the corpse on their nightly excursions. The bier is destroyed so that the corpse might obtain peace.’

Eadulf thought it not the time or place to comment disapprovingly on the continuance of a pagan ritual as part of a Christian ceremony. Then he saw that everyone was lining up before a Brother of the Faith who stood next to a great pile of broom. Each person was handed a branch of broom and took it to the grave and dropped it in.

‘This is just to protect the body from the clay,’ explained Fidelma. ‘But each person who drops the broom in does so as a sign of respect.’

When this was done, the grave was closed. Bébháil’s sister held up her hands and the lamentations stilled.

‘The Amra — the elegy — will be spoken by my husband.’

A man, looking every inch a farmer, came forward. He appeared very uncomfortable. It was clear that he was unhappy at the task he had been asked to perform. He spoke in a swift, mumbling tone.

‘We have interred the body of Lesren who was married to my wife’s sister.’ He hesitated and coughed. ‘Lesren was a tanner. He was a súdaire, a craftsman, whose worth was well known to all who are here today. He now lies beside his daughter, Beccnat.’ He paused again and sniffed. ‘Beccnat was killed, even as he was, and so this is the second time in as many months that the laithi na canti — the days of lamentation — have been visited on us who were related to Lesren. Sorrow is the load we must bear.’

Yet again he paused and looked across to Bébháil who stood, dry-eyed and stony-faced, supported by her sister on one side and Tómma on the other. He set his jaw as though he had made up his mind to follow through an unpleasant task.

‘There is little I can say. I cannot pretend I liked Lesren or made him welcome at my threshold. But I suffered him for the sake of my sister-in-law. He was not a good father; he was not a good husband. But they are truly good who are faultless. I will not call praise on him, for that would be insincere, false and pretending. I will say only this — he was my wife’s sister’s husband and I am sorry that his passing has made her a widow.’

Eadulf studied the faces of those around him with surprise, expecting some to react at this curious elegy. It seemed that no one wanted to articulate any criticism for what had been said. More important, Bébháil was standing with her face devoid of emotion. Eadulf realised that few people could have liked Lesren in the community. That fact caused him some consternation. He wondered how many had a motive to kill Lesren. He realised that it was not just Goll and his son. Lesren had made enemies of many people. He wondered if Fidelma was relying on this fact to defend Gabrán.

The people had begun dispersing from the graveside. Accobrán was approaching them with a smile of satisfaction.

‘Have you heard the news, lady?’ he began, seeming pleased with himself. ‘The news about my capture of Gabrán?’

Fidelma did not match his smile.

‘I shall go to see him shortly,’ she said. ‘While the boy was stupid to run away, I do not believe he was guilty of Lesren’s murder.’

Accobran’s jaw dropped in surprise.

‘Not guilty…?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Well, I think he was, and guilty of Beccnat’s murder as well.’

‘Yet you were the one who found the evidence to prove otherwise,’ pointed out Eadulf quickly.

Accobrán flushed. ‘Perhaps he fooled me. Perhaps he was not at the house of Molaga on that night of the full moon.’

‘I spoke to Brother Túan from the house of Molaga.’ Fidelma cut him short. ‘You were not mistaken. He was there at the night of the full moon.’

The young tanist looked glum. ‘Well, at least he showed his guilt of Lesren’s death by running away.’

‘He showed his fear of being blamed for it,’ Fidelma pointed out. She turned and made her way across to where Bébháil was standing with her sister and Tómma.

Tómma greeted her with a grim smile. ‘The tanist has told us that young Gabrán has been caught and imprisoned for Lesren’s death.’

Fidelma examined the downcast features of Bébháil for a moment before replying.

‘He has been captured because he was running away. If he were guilty, it would be stupid to run away and draw attention to himself. There has been too much innocent blood shed in this place for another innocent to have his life destroyed.’

Tómma frowned and cast a nervous glance at Bébháil. ‘But the tanist said…’

‘I am returning to the fortress to question Gabrán. I am hoping that the innocent will go free and that the guilty may come forward.’

She returned to Eadulf, aware that Bébháil had taken an involuntary step after her and that Tómma had reached out a hand to stay her.

Accobrán accompanied them as they rode back to the fortress. Fidelma and Eadulf went immediately to the place where Gabrán had been confined. Fidelma gently declined the tanist’s offer to attend the questioning of the youth. She wanted to speak with Gabrán without Accobrán there.

The young woodcutter rose as they entered the dark stone cell in which he had been confined. He had a cut across one eye and a bruise on his cheek.

‘You have done a stupid thing,’ Fidelma told him after a moment or two.

The boy shrugged, trying to be indifferent. It was clear that he was nervous.

‘I did not kill Lesren,’ he said quietly.

‘Is running away designed to make us believe that?’ she asked, motioning Eadulf to shut the door so that they would not be overheard. He did so.

‘What else could I do? No one here appeared to believe that I did not exact revenge for what Lesren was saying about me.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Why, Creoda said-’

‘Creoda? And he said — what?’

‘That everyone believed that I had killed Lesren because he accused me of murdering Beccnat. I knew I had to leave.’

‘You should place your trust in the law.’

‘Law and injustice are often the same thing,’ the boy replied quickly. ‘I often heard old Aolú say as much before he died.’

‘That may be true, but it is the interpretation of the law which balances the account.’ Fidelma indicated that the boy should reseat himself on the wooden bench that served as a bed. Then she took a chair while Eadulf stood by the door. ‘When did you first hear of Lesren’s death?’

‘I was returning home from cutting wood.’

‘And Creoda told you?’

The boy nodded.

‘Is Creoda a friend of yours?’

‘I know him.’

‘Did he tell you to run away?’

‘He advised it.’

‘So you ran away at Creoda’s behest. Did you not think that you were doing a foolish thing, if you were innocent?’

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.’

‘I suspected it. I suspected that it was a matter entirely unrelated to the deaths of the three young girls.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘I don’t see how.’

‘I felt instinctively that young Gabrán could not have had anything to do with Lesren’s death. It was obvious from the day we met Lesren and Bébháil that there was tension between them. But Liag’s chance appearance and the use of the name Biobhal distracted me. Those matters threw a doubt in my mind.’

‘You are too hard on yourself.’

‘I know when I am at fault.’

‘Having seen and recognised your fault, do you not always advise that one must move on without dwelling on it?’

Fidelma smiled benevolently at him, ‘That is true. Sometimes, Eadulf, you know when to say the right thing to help me.’

‘Then what is our next move?’ he replied brusquely.

‘As I planned before. I want to see this Thicket of Pigs before I do anything else.’

‘You can’t really think that there is some connection to the murders of the young girls other than the fact that the place provided the location where they were attacked?’

‘I can’t think so logically,’ replied Fidelma shortly. ‘But I will be honest and say that I have some instinct. It is like an itch and I fear that I must scratch it or go mad. Remember how we saw one of the strangers and the smith, Gobnuid, on the hill? I would like to speak more to Gobnuid but I do not think that he will be in much of a mind to reply to my questions until I have some information to give weight to my interrogation.’

Eadulf suppressed a sigh. He had seen Fidelma presented with many difficult cases but he had never seen her attempting to show confidence while being so ill at ease. He was reminded once again that Fidelma seemed to have become a different person from the self-assured, confident dálaigh he had fallen in love with. It had all changed with the birth of little Alchú. There was no denying that, even though he felt guilty in returning to those thoughts he had been turning over in his mind in recent days.

He had heard stories of women who had given birth to babies and then, by all accounts, seemingly altered their very personalities, becoming victims of moods of black despair or varying temperament. The apothecaries at Tuam Brecain, the great medical school he had attended, said it was one of those mysterious feminine conditions that was released by childbirth. He racked his memory to recall what else they had said.

The idea was that the condition was induced by a state of blood deficiency. The heart, according to the apothecaries, was the powerhouse of the mind and the heart governed the blood. When the heart’s blood became deficient then the mind had no sustenance and became anxious and depressed. This caused the woman’s mind to become filled with negative thoughts, so that she felt anxiety, depression and fatigue, and was unable to cope and mentally restless and agitated.

Eadulf compressed his lips tightly.

There was a treatment they prescribed. He wished that he could remember it. Even if he did recall it, he realised it would be difficult to get Fidelma to take any medication. His eyes brightened suddenly when he remembered what the treatment was.

At that moment, Accobrán came through the door with Goll the woodcutter and his tearful wife, Fínmed. Eadulf turned quickly with a muttered apology to Fidelma, begging to be excused, and made for the door, taking Accobrán by the arm.

‘Tell me, tanist, do you have a dyer in the fortress?’

Accobrán looked astonished.

‘A dathatóir?’ he murmured.

‘Indeed,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘There is surely a dathatóirecht in the fortress, a place where fabrics are dyed?’

‘Well, if you can find the smith’s forge on the east side of the fortress, within the walls, you will see the shop of Mochta nearby. He not only tends to the clothes of the chieftain, but also…’

Eadulf did not wait to hear any more but was already hurrying away. Accobrán stood shaking his head as he looked after the Saxon. Then he turned back to where Fidelma was greeting Goll and his wife. The woodcutter’s face was grim.

‘I have come to tell you that my son is innocent,’ he said belligerently. ‘Furthermore, I am here to declare that I shall undertake the troscud until my son has been released without blemish on his character.’

Fidelma tried to hide the smile that rose unbidden to her lips and she drew her brows together as she tried to concentrate. It made her features express harsh resolve.

Fínmed moved forward, her hands imploring. ‘My husband is indeed resolved, lady. I have argued with him. But we both know that Gabrán is not guilty of that with which he is charged. He tried to run away in a moment of weakness, of fear, because-’

Goll snorted in derision. ‘Words will not release him. I am prepared-’

‘To go without food and water until he is released,’ supplied Fidelma. She knew the troscud well for less than a year ago she had been forced to face a difficult situation in which a chieftain threatened the troscud against a people who had no idea of the significance and symbolism of the act. She gave a hiss of breath denoting her irritation.

‘Listen to me, Goll. Listen well, woodsman. The troscud is a course of last resort. To starve to the point of death and to death itself is a weapon not to be used as a mere whim. Do you think if your son were guilty that it would be moral to secure his release by such a means? The consequence of the action would fall on you.’

Goll’s jaw came up aggressively. ‘I know my son to be innocent and I will not be swayed from my intention.’

Fidelma shook her head sadly. ‘Fínmed, I will address myself to you. You are more sensible than your husband and your son; indeed, more sensible than many here. Take your husband and take your son, Gabrán, and go home. There is hot blood in your men, Fínmed. Too much reaction and too little thought.’

Fínmed and Goll stood staring at her as if they had not understood what she had said.

‘Did I not make myself clear?’ Fidelma demanded. ‘Take Gabrán and go home. He has not been accused of any crime except the mistake of not believing the inevitability of justice.’

She turned and quickly left the Great Hall before realisation hit them.