Badger's Moon

Chapter Sixteen

‘Our sentinels report a sluaghadh of the Uí Fidgente encamped on our borders,’ Becc explained as Fidelma, followed by Eadulf, burst into the great hall and asked the reason for the sounding horn. The harassed chieftain was surrounded by several of his retinue. There was no sign of Accobrán among them.

‘A sluaghadh?’ Eadulf was not familiar with military terms and asked what was meant by the word.

‘A war band,’ explained Fidelma quickly. ‘Is it reported how big this hosting is?’ she asked, turning to Becc.

‘Not large, but too large for us in our present circumstances. The sentinels report that it looks like a lucht-tighe, a house company of no more than four score warriors. However, I doubt whether we can muster a score of fighting men at this moment. I’ve sent for Accobrán and ordered the alarm to be sounded.’

‘He did a foolish thing in not finding out whether the raiding party was an advance guard of a larger band,’ Fidelma muttered. ‘Now we know. Doubtless they are here to avenge their dead.’

Becc was clearly worried. ‘What can we do? We are mostly farmers and woodsmen, with very few warriors left among us. If they are professional warriors then we are outnumbered.’

At that moment, Accobrán entered noisily. He had a grim look.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Becc demanded of him.

The tanist nodded curtly. ‘I can probably raise thirty-five men to face them but of that number only a dozen have been under arms before. Perhaps we can delay them until we have sent out to other parts of our territory and raised more men.’

‘Where are the Uí Fidgente now?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘No more than a mile from here, perhaps less,’ replied Becc.

‘We can find a place to ambush them,’ Accobrán said. ‘We can cut them down before they know it.’

‘And if you don’t surprise them?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Are you prepared to take the risk that you will leave your people defenceless? That is not a good decision for a tanist to make.’

‘What is your proposal, Fidelma?’ Becc asked quietly.

‘Let us go and talk to them and discover what brings them here and what, if any, are their demands. Then we may see if there is any means of ending this matter by talking rather than bloodshed.’

Accobrán laughed harshly. ‘That is a woman’s answer and not a warrior’s way.’

Becc wheeled round on his tanist, his face grim. ‘Remember to whom you are talking, Accobrán. And remember also that some of our great warriors were women. Scáthach was the one who instructed Cúchullain in the martial arts at her academy — was she not a woman? Was not Creidne a woman, one of the most relentless warriors of the Fianna? Did not Medb of Connacht choose a female champion, Erni, to guard her treasures? Here, among the Eóghanacht, was not Mugháin Mhór our greatest warrior queen? Shame on you, Accobrán, that you can forget your inheritance so quickly that you insult your own people by your thoughtless words!’

The tanist flushed angrily but was silent.

Becc turned back with an apologetic look to Fidelma. ‘You are right, cousin. We should first seek the way of peace before resorting to the way of sorrow and bloodshed.’

‘Good. Then perhaps-’

The door burst opened and Adag the steward came in breathlessly.

‘Becc!’ he gasped, without apologising for his entrance which contravened the etiquette of a chieftain’s house. ‘A rider has come to the gates of the fortress. He rides under the méirge, the banner of the Uí Fidgente.’

Accobrán had clasped his hand to his sword hilt and was moving to the door.

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he shouted. ‘Sound the alarm!’

‘Stop!’ cried Fidelma harshly. ‘Have all your senses left you, Accobrán?’ Having caught their attention, she turned to Adag. ‘I presume this rider is a herald from the Uí Fidgente?’

Adag nodded swiftly. ‘He is indeed a techtaire bearing a message to our chieftain.’

Fidelma looked at Becc with grim satisfaction. ‘This saves us having to ride out and find the Uí Fidgente. Let us go and speak to this techtaire and find out what it is that his hosting seeks here.’

They left the chieftain’s hall and moved to the courtyard, where a couple of Becc’s warriors stood nervously, arms at the ready, before a horseman. The man was still seated in his saddle and carried nothing more lethal than a banner of red silk on which was a design of a ravening wolf. It was the symbol of his people. He wore his hair long and had a bushy sandy beard. His close-set bright eyes watched them approach impassively.

‘I am Becc, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda,’ Becc announced as he came to a halt before the techfaire.

‘I see you, Becc,’ intoned the herald ritually. ‘I am here as a voice of Conrí, King of Wolves, war chieftain of the Uí Fidgente.’

‘I see you, herald of the Uí Fidgente,’ replied Becc in return ritual. ‘Why are you so far from your own lands?’

‘I am told to say these words to you — Conrí enters this country with a sluaghadh, a hosting, more in sorrow than in anger. He has encamped at the place you call the Marsh of the Birch and will await you or your representatives there to discuss why he should leave the land of the Cinél na Áeda without spilling the blood of its people.’

Becc inclined his head. ‘Why would your chieftain contemplate spilling that blood?’

‘I have been told to say, should you ask that question, that our sluaghadh was on its way to the lands of the prince of the Corco Loígde, where we were invited to take part in the games.’

Fidelma knew that most of the larger principalities held annual games to prepare themselves for the three great festivals at Tailltenn, Tlachtga and Uísneach. It would not be unheard of for the ruler of the Corco Loígde to invite a band of young men from the Uí Fidgente to participate in the local games there. The herald was continuing.

‘While we were passing near the borders of your land, a small foraging party from our sluaghadh went missing. We sent out scouts and they found the bodies of our men — all had been slaughtered. The arrows we found bore the marks of the Cinél na Áeda. Some of the party had been cut down by sword blows: many had wounds in their backs that spoke plainly of how they came by their deaths. Thus, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda, was it decided that our sluaghadh would turn from its path to the Corco Loígde and enter your territory to demand an explanation. We will see whether that explanation allows us to continue in peace or whether it forces us to invoke the law which demands dígal — blood vengeance.’

Fidelma frowned. She tried to hide the fact that she was appalled that Accobrán had not even buried the slain Uí Fidgente but had abandoned the bodies to the elements and ravering beasts. She drew herself together.

‘The futility of vengeance has been censured by the New Faith,’ she pointed out in a sharp voice.

The techfaire glanced at her as if to dismiss her. ‘Those of your cloth would say so. However, it is written in the Crith Gablach that the blood feud has legal standing and that a party of avengers may pursue such a feud in the territory of those who have wronged them.’

Fidelma smiled grimly at being lectured on the law.

‘However, that law says that the dígal can only be carried out a month after the collapse of any attempt to negotiate compensation if culpability is proved,’ she replied quickly.

The herald’s features twisted in a sneer. He was about to speak when Becc said gruffly: ‘Have a care, techtaire. It is a dálaigh of the courts who addresses you.’

The man blinked and hesitated for a moment. ‘I am not here to debate points of law but to tell you the intentions of my lord, Conrí. He awaits you, Becc, or your representatives, at the Marsh of the Birch. Tell me, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda, will he wait in vain?’

Becc shook his head immediately. ‘You can tell your war chieftain that while it is improper for the chieftain of any tuath or tribe to come to him at his demand, nevertheless I shall send representatives to demand his withdrawal from our lands without the spilling of blood on either side.’

‘Brave words. My part is now over. Your part has begun.’

The horseman wheeled swiftly about and rode off through the gates of the fortress.

‘Let me send him back to his war chieftain with an arrow in him,’ muttered Accobrán, his hand clenching on his sword.

Fidelma turned to him with a sour expression.

‘Had you been a little less concerned with slaughter, Accobrán, then this confrontation need never have happened,’ she snapped.

‘And Suanach and even you might not be alive.’ retorted the tanist.

Becc raised a pacifying hand.

‘Let us confront the common enemy,’ he said reprovingly. ‘Fidelma, this Conrí is only a war lord and, as I am chieftain here, I cannot be seen going to him now that he has invaded our territory.’

‘I should go as tanist!’ said Accobrán quickly.

‘Your going with your current attitude would guarantee more bloodshed,’ said Fidelma waspishly. ‘No, I shall go as negotiator.’

Becc looked horrified. ‘But you are the king’s sister. If it is not right for me to go and negotiate with a warlord, then how much less fitting is it for you…’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am here as a dálaigh. Indeed, my relationship to the king might prove useful for the Uí Fidgente might then know that they may once again have to deal with Cashel. A memory of their defeat at Cnoc Áine might cause them to reflect on any precipitous action.’

‘It is like presenting the Uí Fidgente with a hostage,’ protested Accobrán in irritation.

‘Better than presenting them with a dozen corpses still warm from the slaughter! The warrior’s code respects the bodies of slain enemies.’

Accobrán flushed at her retort. Becc was worried and held up a hand to still any response from his tanist.

‘I believe that you are right, Fidelma,’ he said. ‘But you cannot go alone.’

‘I’ll go with her,’ interposed Eadulf quickly.

‘But there should be a representative of the Cinél na Áeda present,’ protested Accobrán. ‘If she is to speak for us, how do we know what she will say?’

‘Are you saying that I am not to be trusted?’ Fidelma asked quietly. There was an ominous tone in her softly spoken words.

Becc moved forward hurriedly and laid a pacifying hand on her arm.

‘Accobrán has fallen into the habit of speaking with impulsiveness. He did not mean that. Yet he does raise a pertinent point. Let Adag my steward accompany you and Brother Eadulf. Then everyone will be satisfied.’

Fidelma smiled in agreement. ‘I have no objection if Adag is willing.’

The steward was not looking happy but he stepped forward quickly enough. His chubby features were firmly set.

‘It is the will of my chieftain. I shall go with you, lady,’ he affirmed.

‘How will you proceed?’ asked Becc, turning back into his hall. They followed him in while someone was sent off to the stables to order the horses to be saddled for them.

‘I think that we will have to see what this Conrí’s intentions are,’ Fidelma said. ‘We know that this foraging party came to the bothán of Menma and Suanach. They kidnapped Suanach, and burnt the cabin. That is hardly in keeping with the behaviour of what the herald described as a peaceful foraging party. For our part, we have to admit that these Uí Fidgente were all slaughtered instead of being made captive.’

Accobrán muttered angrily: ‘Them or me. The choice was obvious.’

‘Are you saying that the messenger was lying when he said that some of the bodies showed that they had been shot or stabbed in the back?’

‘Back or front. An enemy is an enemy and we did right to slaughter the vermin.’

Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

‘It might be that compensation will have to be offered for this slaughter, Becc,’ she pointed out.

‘Never!’ snapped Accobrán, his voice rising in his anger.

‘It is surely true, Fidelma,’ Becc said, waving his tanist to be silent, ‘that it is lawful to kill a thief caught in the act of stealing who does not surrender and threatens violence.’

‘That is so, just as it is permitted that a death resulting from defending oneself against an attack is not subject to punishment. Everyone is entitled to self-defence. The problem is whether a case may be made out that a person who has been shot or stabbed in the back was a threat to the life of the person who killed him in this fashion.’ She stared briefly at Accobrán who scowled back at her but made no reply.

‘I think,’ ventured Eadulf hurriedly, seeing the anger in the tanist’s eyes, ‘we had better leave any decisions on culpability until we see what the Uí Fidgente have to say.’

‘Agreed,’ sighed Becc in relief. ‘In the meantime, I do not think it will harm us if we prepare the defences of this fortress.’

‘That would be an obvious course,’ agreed Fidelma solemnly. ‘Also you might enquire how this war band came so near to Rath Raithlen without an alarm being raised. I thought you had ordered a watch yesterday?’

Becc glanced at his tanist. The young man flushed again.

‘I called it off once we had returned here triumphant after pursuing and defeating the raiders.’

Becc did not say anything but his features were like granite as he turned to give instructions, ordering that defences be prepared as they rode out of the gates and down the hill. It was Adag who led them to the area called the Marsh of the Birch, which was scarcely an hour’s ride away. There was no mistaking the area because they were soon in sight of an encampment marked by posts from which red silk banners bearing the wolf symbol fluttered. The wolf symbol was always associated with the Uí Fidgente. Watchful sentinels challenged their party and then allowed them to pass into an area sheltered by trees beside a small stream.

Several warriors stood about there and Fidelma had no trouble recognising the techtaire who had come to the fortress. He looked surprised as she and Eadulf, followed by Adag, dismounted and approached.

Two felled trees provided seats by the banks of the stream.

Fidelma made straight for one of the logs and took a seat, ignoring the astonished looks of the Uí Fidgente. Eadulf and Adag took a stand behind her. The half-dozen dumbfounded warriors looked at one another. No one said anything for a moment and then Fidelma announced icily: ‘I am here to see Conrí. Let him come forward.’

Her natural hauteur and air of command confused them even more and again no one seemed to know how to speak to her.

Then a tall, well-muscled man, with a shock of black hair, grey eyes and the livid white of a scar across his left cheek, emerged from a nearby pupall or tent as used by military commanders in the field. He scowled as he saw Fidelma seated at her ease on the log and moved forward to face her.

‘I am Conrí, King of Wolves, warlord of the Uí Fidgente,’ he growled. ‘You are arrogant, religieuse. You forget your manners.’

Fidelma regarded the man coldly.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she replied in icy clear fashion. ‘I am here as a dálaigh, qualified to the degree of anruth. Thus I may sit even in the presence of kings, thus I may speak before they do, and thus they must be silent until I have had my say. I am Fidelma of Cashel, daughter of Failbe Flann, sister to Colgú, who reigns in prosperity there.’

Conrí had taken an involuntary step backwards, his eyes wide. He glanced at his herald and Fidelma noticed the man spread his hands, palms outward, and shake his head as if disclaiming any knowledge.

A look of reluctant admiration spread over Conrí’s features.

‘You have courage, Fidelma of Cashel. I’ll grant you that. Courage that you come with only two unarmed companions into the lair of the warlord of the Uí Fidgente, especially after your brother slaughtered my people on the slopes of Cnoc Áine two years ago.’

Fidelma looked at him levelly. ‘You might recall that it was the hosts of the Uí Fidgente who began a rebellion and marched on the legitimate ruler of Muman. They were an armed host desperate for victory. They had only themselves to blame for their fate. As for the courage of my companions or myself, is courage needed here when we come at your own invitation, under bonds of the strict code of hospitality and the rules of the Brehons which no one can break with impunity? What danger can possibly be here for us?’

She threw the question at him in challenge.

Conrí stared at her for a moment and then his stern features dissolved in a smile. He moved to the second log and sat down opposite her.

‘You are right, Fidelma of Cashel. There is no danger in my camp for you or any member of your party who comes here in the office of techtaire.’

‘That is good. Now, perhaps you will tell me what brings you to this land?’

‘Willingly. Although I would like to know why you are here and how you represent the Cinél na Áeda?’

‘I came at the invitation of Becc, chieftain-’

‘I know of Becc.’ interrupted the warlord. ‘What are you doing in his territory?’

‘I am here as a dálaigh. There have been some unlawful killings among his people.’

Conrí pursed his lips sourly. ‘Then we share a similar goal, for it is the unlawful killings of my men that bring me also into this territory.’

‘I doubt that we share the same goal, Conrí,’ Fidelma returned evenly. ‘But tell me the details for, at this time, it cannot be accepted that the Cinél na Áeda are responsible for the death of your men.’

‘That we must see.’

‘I am told by your techtaire that your host was passing on their way to the games being held by the prince of the Corco Loígde.’

‘That is true,’ agreed the warlord.

‘Why did this group of men, whom you so lament, leave your main body and cross into the territory of the Cinél na Áeda? And spare me the story claimed by your techtaire that they were merely a foraging party.’

Conri regarded her with slightly narrowed eyes.

‘Why do you doubt our word?’ he demanded.

‘Because I happened to be in the bothán of Menma and Suanach when your men rode up outside. This foraging party set fire to that place and took Suanach as a prisoner among them.’

The warlord let his breath out in one long sibilant sigh. His eyes narrowed. ‘You were taken hostage?’

‘Suanach hid me in the sousterrain because she feared that harm would befall me, being sister to the king. I escaped. She did not.’

There was a silence, then Conrí lowered his head slightly.

‘You realise that this places your hosting in a bad position legally.’ pointed out Adag, feeling that he should add something.

Conrí raised his head and glanced at the steward, but not angrily. ‘My intention and the intention of the main body of my men is clear. We were passing down to the land of the Corco Loigde.’

‘Your foraging party had come to that bothán seeking the woodsman, Menma,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Finding him not there, they kidnapped Suanach in order to lure him after them so that they might capture him. I heard them speaking to one another and that is what they said.’

Conrí was still looking uncomfortable.

‘Why would they be seeking Menma?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘And what was the attraction of the Thicket of the Pigs?’ she added, leaning forward, the words spoken so softly that not even Eadulf and Adag could hear her.

Conrí started on his seat. ‘You know of that?’ His voice had lost its aggression.

‘What game are you trying our patience with, Conrí?’ She sat back and spoke normally.

Conrí glanced around for a moment and then he gestured to his pupall. ‘One to one, Fidelma of Cashel. I am willing to tell you and no other. Will you come into the tent while I explain?’

Adag started to protest. ‘It is not seemly, it is not correct protocol.’

‘I am happy to dispense with protocol so long as we find truth at the end of the path,’ Fidelma said, rising, and giving a reassuring nod to Eadulf.

There was a murmuring among Conrí’s men but he silenced them with an angry glare. Fidelma followed him into his tent and he motioned her into the only camp chair while he took a seat on the edge of his bed.

‘There is one thing that we must be clear about,’ he began. ‘I spoke the truth when I said that my men and I are on the way to the games at Corco Loígde. We had gathered at Geiphtine’s Waterfall in our own land and thought to come by ship to the harbour of our hosts. But the captain of the ship we had hired was killed in a fight on the evening before we sailed. A stupid drunken brawl. We could not persuade the crew to fulfil the agreement.’

‘Killed?’

‘By one of his drunken crew. But before he died he spoke to Dea, who, as it turned out, was the leader of the foraging party. Dea was with the seaman when he died.’

‘I presume that there was no suspicion that Dea was involved in the man’s death?’

Conrí quickly shook his head. ‘Dea was a good warrior but inclined to be headstrong. He commanded his own small company.’

‘A company of ten men?’ queried Fidelma.

Conrí made a motion of assent. ‘As we came south, I noticed that Dea was growing more and more preoccupied. Then, as we approached the border of the territory of the Cinél na Áeda, he asked me if he could take his men on a foraging party. I will admit that I was suspicious of his intentions and asked him what was on his mind. Then he told me that the sea captain, just before his death, had spoken of new discoveries of gold in Becc’s territory.’

‘At the Thicket of Pigs?’

Conrí nodded morosely. ‘You see, when our prince, Torcán, was killed fighting your brother at Cnoc Áine, we not only lost a lot of our youth but were forced to pay reparation for our rebellion both to Cashel and to the High King. It impoverished us.’

‘How would the finding of gold in this land, where lawful Eóghanacht rule continues, have anything to do with you?’

Conrí grimaced wryly. ‘Dea had an idea. But the first thing to do was to check whether the information was true or not. The captain said that he had picked up the information while his ship was in the port of the house of Molaga. A man who was trying to find ships to transport the gold approached him. He heard that the gold was found near a place called the Thicket of Pigs. The captain knew that there was a hunter called Menma who lived in that area and knew it well. The captain had an idea to return to the shores of the territory of the Cinél na Áeda and seek out Menma who must surely be able to identify the discovery. When he was dying, the captain simply passed the information on to Dea.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘However, I repeat my question. Even if gold were found here, what use would it be to the Uí Fidgente?’

Conrí looked uncomfortable. ‘As I said, we are improverished by the defeats inflicted on us.’

‘They were just defeats against a rebellious people,’ Fidelma reminded him.

‘One may interpret our rebellion. But, anyway, it is true that we were defeated and impoverished. The captain had said the discovery of gold was still a close secret, known only to a couple of people and not even the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda knew it. Dea’s idea was that before the news was widely known, a powerful Uí Fidgente raid could carry off a sufficient quantity of gold to restore some power to our people.’ He paused and then added, ‘I swear that I knew nothing of this until the day Dea asked me to allow him and his men to go foraging. I would not dissuade him for I am not traitor to my own.’

Fidelma gazed into his features for a moment or two. ‘Curiously, I am inclined to believe you. It is too bizarre a tale not to be the truth.’

‘But then Dea and his men did not return and my scouts found their bodies. Surely, whatever the intention was, they should have been allowed time to surrender? They did not deserve to be slaughtered like animals, shot in the back with arrows, or cut down from behind. This is what has angered my warriors and me. I am determined to see reparation.’

‘Conrí, you have told me your truth. For that I am grateful. I cannot accept any legal basis why your men should be compensated for they were found having burnt down an innocent person’s home, abducted his wife and slaughtered his animals. Furthermore, their intention was theft. This Dea came to you and proposed no more than theft…’

‘Dea was my brother,’ Conrí replied in a hollow voice. ‘That is why I cannot let this matter rest.’

‘For that, I am sorry for you. But I represent the law not the spirit of vengeance. Let me make a proposal to you…’

Conrí looked at her with suspicion. ‘I cannot return to my brother’s wife and children without telling them that his death has been avenged.’

‘I said that I do not represent the spirit of vengeance. However, you might be able to return to them and say that justice still prevails, for I know that your brother and his men were not given the opportunity to surrender.’

‘Then what is your proposal?’

‘Simply this. Stay encamped here, attacking no one, harming no one, and tomorrow I shall summon you and two others of your band that you care to nominate to attend the chieftain’s hall at Rath Raithlen. You will be there under my personal guarantee of protection. There I shall reveal all the truths behind what has been happening in this troubled land. You will know the truth behind the deaths of your brother and his men and who was responsible. There is no need to wreak vengeance on the entire people just for the sin of a few.’

Conrí sat in silence for a while and then he shrugged. ‘I am a reasonable man, Fidelma of Cashel. I know the Eóghanacht think all Uí Fidgente are mindless monsters, seeking only blood and booty. It is not so. We are an independent people, a proud people, bowing to nobody and accepting nobody as our lord. That brings us into conflict on many occasions. But we are, above all, just and fair-minded. I have heard what you have said. You, too, are just and reasonable. I will answer your summons to Rath Raithlen. My men are all warriors and like hounds that are straining at the leash to be among those that killed their kindred, so assure the Cinél na Áeda that if they try to trick us, their punishment will be that much harsher and bloody.’

Fidelma rose slowly and reached out a hand. ‘I hear you, Conrí.’

The warlord rose and took her hand. They shook silently.

‘We have made a good start, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the man said as they emerged from the tent to face the waiting men. Eadulf and Adag stood with worried expressions on their faces while the Uí Fidgente were sulky and suspicious.

‘Then let us hope the finish is good also.’ Fidelma smiled.

On the way back to Rath Raithlen both Eadulf and Adag pressed her to reveal what had passed in Conrí’s tent. All she would do was smile gently and say: ‘The sun does not shine without shadows being cast.’