Badger's Moon

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Identify yourselves!’

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

‘Strangers, identify yourselves!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old apothecary was silent for a moment.

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

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

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

‘By whom charged?’

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

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

Fidelma seated herself on a fallen tree trunk and gestured for the others to come forward and do likewise.

Liag the recluse set down his bag and moved a short distance to where a spring was gushing over some rocks. He reached forward and tugged on a leather thong that appeared to be hanging in the water. As it came out they saw that a jug was tied to the end of it. It had been cooling in the crystal splashing water. The old man took a pottery bowl from his apothecary’s bag and poured some of the liquid into it.

‘I am afraid you will have to share,’ he said without sounding apologetic. ‘I neither expect nor encourage visitors.’

‘Then we will not keep you long,’ Fidelma assured him, accepting the bowl from him and taking a sip for politeness’ sake before handing it on to Eadulf. The mixture was too strong for her and even Eadulf gasped a little as the first drop of the fiery liquid hit his throat. He coughed and hurriedly passed the bowl to Accobrán, who seemed more used to the strong liquid.

‘I understand that you examined the bodies of the girls who were killed here during the last two months. You believed that all three were murdered.’

‘I take my calling seriously, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the old man said, seating himself before her.

‘I am sure you do.’

‘I know the law of Dian Cecht, so do not try to question my ability.’

‘Is there a reason why I should do so?’ demanded Fidelma so sharply that the old man looked startled for a moment.

‘None,’ he replied defensively.

‘That is good. For I see no need to bring in the medical laws of Dian Cecht. I am here not to question your findings but to seek facts.’

The old man had composed himself and gestured for her to proceed.

‘I am told that you examined all three bodies,’ she repeated.

‘That is so.’

‘And I am told that you guided people away from the original idea that some animal had attacked the first of these poor women. Tell me why.’

Liag spoke thoughtfully. ‘I could understand why such a notion sprang to mind. The first of the victims…Beccnat, was her name…was horribly mutilated. It was difficult to see from the dried blood and there was some decomposing for the body must have lain out in the woods for two or three days. It was only when the body had been bathed for the funeral rites that I realised that while the flesh was badly ripped, the wounds were not made by teeth but by the jagged edge of a knife.’

‘And this was so in the other two cases?’

‘It was so.’

‘Tell me.’ Fidelma hesitated, trying to formulate the question carefully. ‘Was anything removed from the bodies?’

Liag was puzzled by the question. ‘Removed?’

‘Were the bodies intact apart from the mutilations?’

‘No physical part was missing,’ confirmed the old man, realising what she meant. ‘Do not look for some ancient ritual here, Fidelma of Cashel. The three girls were simply stabbed to death by some madman.’

Fidelma looked up quickly. ‘A madman? Do you choose your words carefully?’

‘Who but someone with a demented soul could have done such a deed?’

‘Do you subscribe to the idea that a lunatic is loose within the community, striking at the full of the moon?’

‘I believe that is self-evident. Examine the time of the last killing, for example. It took place upon the Badger’s Moon.’

Eadulf frowned and leant forward quickly.

‘The Badger’s Moon? What is that?’ he demanded.

Liag turned to him in disapproval as he heard his accent.

‘A Saxon? You surely travel in strange company, sister to King Colgú of Cashel,’ he said to Fidelma. Before she could reply, he had turned to Eadulf. ‘The October full moon is called the Badger’s Moon, my Saxon friend. It is so bright that, according to the ancients, it was said that the badgers dried the grass for their nests by its light. The October moon is a sacred time and the light of the Badger’s Moon shines benevolently on all who accept its powers…or so the ancients thought.’

Eadulf shivered slightly. He had converted to the New Faith in his early manhood and still remembered the superstitions of his pagan background.

Old Liag smiled appreciatively at his reaction. ‘The ancients said the moon goddess, whose name must not be uttered, cleansed the earth at the time of the Badger’s Moon, especially if one sacrificed a badger to her and ate the meat.’

‘I have heard that you teach star lore,’ Fidelma observed. ‘So you know all about the legends associated with the full of the moon?’

Liag appeared indifferent. ‘Such legends are our cultural birthright. We should all know the stories told by countless generations of our forefathers. It has fallen to my lot to impart these tales to the young of the Cinél na Áeda, is that not so, Accobrán?’

The young tanist flushed momentarily. ‘You are a good teacher, Liag. Your knowledge is unsurpassed. But sacrificing a badger…I have not heard that. Surely badger’s meat was said to be one of the delicacies favoured by Fionn mac Cumhail? In the ancient tales, it is recounted that one of Fionn’s warriors, Moling the Swift, was charged to bring him such a dish.’

Liag did not contradict him.

‘I have also heard it said that the Blessed Mo Laisse of the Isle of Oaks, in Uí Néill country, wore a hood of badger skin which is now cherished as a relic on the island,’ Fidelma added softly.

Liag laughed cynically. ‘I do not understand why those of the New Faith revert to worshipping objects while claiming not to do so. Veneration of the cross, holy objects and icons…what is the difference between that and the veneration of anything else?’

The comment elicited no response from anyone.

Fidelma waited a moment or two and then asked Liag: ‘While examining the bodies, did you see anything other than the jagged wounds that you felt was unusual, something that might lead you to speculate on who the author of the attacks might be?’

The apothecary shook his head. ‘Only that which I have told you.’

‘Accobrán has shown us where Ballgel was found. Where, in relation to that site, were the other bodies discovered?’

‘Beccnat’s body was at a spot called the Ring of Pigs. It is a small stone group further up the hill.’ He indicated the tall wooded slopes behind them. ‘It overlooked the abbey. Escrach was discovered almost at the same place.’ The old man suddenly rose. ‘And if this is all the question you have to put to me…?’

Fidelma rose awkwardly in surprise at the sudden termination of the conversation, as did her companions.

‘I may need to speak to you again,’ she called after him as he turned abruptly away.

Liag glanced back at her in disapproval. ‘You have found me once, sister of the king. Doubtless, you may find me again, but there is nothing in your questions that could not have been answered by the words of others. If you wish to waste your time, that is your affair. I have better things to do with mine. Therefore, if you come again have more pertinent questions or you may not find me willing to play the host and squander precious time.’

The old man strode away, leaving Fidelma gazing at his vanishing figure in amazement.

‘A man who has no manners,’ muttered Eadulf sourly.

Accobrán grimaced wryly. ‘I did warn you that Liag was a person who prefers his own company. He does not obey the accepted rules of behaviour in the society of others.’

‘You did forewarn us,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But in one thing Liag did speak the truth. Every question I put, I could have heard the answer from others. The one thing that was necessary, however, was to hear them given in the mouth and manner of Liag. Eadulf knows my methods. It is always important to hear the individual witness rather than rely on hearsay.’

Eadulf glanced at her in surprise. ‘And did you learn anything?’

Fidelma smiled softly. ‘Oh yes. Yes, indeed. And perhaps, Accobrán, you could now lead us to the father of the first of these sad victims, Lesren the tanner.’

Accobrán was looking more perplexed at her words than Eadulf but he shrugged. ‘Lesren’s place is but a short distance along the river, lady. It is upstream under the hill on which Rath Raithlen stands.’

As Accobrán started to walk ahead Fidelma reached forward and placed her mouth close to Eadulf’s ear.

‘Mark this spot well, Eadulf,’ she whispered. ‘We may have to return here alone.’

Once again the path Accobrán took was narrow and difficult even though it ran as near the river as was possible. For most of its length trees and underbrush grew all the way down to the banks, which were crumbling and unsafe. They were reduced to moving in single file once again. Eadulf had come to realise that Becc’s country was very hilly indeed.

‘That hill Escrach and Beccnat were found on,’ Fidelma suddenly asked, ‘I seem to recall that it had a name?’

Accobrán nodded. ‘It is a wooded and hilly area which is called the Thicket of Pigs. The same name applies to the hill.’

Fidelma remembered that Becc had mentioned the name.

‘The killer seems to strike in the same place,’ she reflected.

Eadulf, behind Fidelma, said: ‘Is that significant? After all, it seems that we are dealing with a madman whose killing would be random.’

‘Perhaps you are right. But, perhaps, the choice of place has not been entirely random.’

Eadulf was about to question her further but she turned to him with an impassive expression that he knew well. She wanted to say no more on the subject for the moment.

They had walked for some distance when the narrow path suddenly joined a broader stretch of track along which the banks of the river became shallow and sloped into a shingle-like beach which ran into the river bed itself. Fidelma had heard them before she saw them. The sound of children is always shrill enough to be heard even above the rushing waters. Two boys were crouching in the shallows, apparently intent on examining something in the river.

‘Local lads, fishing,’ Accobrán explained brusquely to Fidelma and Eadulf and would have walked on.

‘Not fishing,’ Fidelma corrected. She turned aside and moved towards the riverbank. ‘What luck, lads?’ she called.

They turned. Two tousled-haired youngsters of about eleven or twelve. One of them, who held a metal pan in his hand, shrugged and gestured towards it.

‘No luck at all, Sister. But Síoda claimed that he had found a genuine nugget the other day.’

‘Oh? Who is Síoda?’

‘A lad we know. That’s why we came down here. Although he won’t tell us exactly where he found it. So far, we haven’t seen anything, just mud and stones.’

‘Well, good luck, lads.’

Fidelma rejoined Eadulf and Accobrán on the main path. Eadulf was frowning.

‘What are they doing?’

‘It is what we call washing the ore,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Sometimes metals like gold are washed along the river bed. You place the sediment in a pan, as those boys are doing, and wash it with the hope of finding a gold nugget in the bottom of your pan.’

Accobrán laughed loudly and somewhat bitterly. ‘It has been a hundred years, back in the time of the Blessed Finnbarr, since gold was last discovered in these hills, lady. Those boys will be there until the crack of doom if they are intent on finding gold nuggets.’

‘You do not think that they spoke the truth when they said a boy called Síoda had made such a find?’ Fidelma asked with interest.

‘If a child found a nugget in that river, it will be sulfar iarainn.’

Eadulf frowned, for while he recognised the word ‘iron’ he did not understand the exact meaning of the Irish term.

‘Iron pyrites,’ explained Fidelma. ‘Fool’s gold, for it looks like gold but is not and many a fool has thought that he had struck lucky by picking it up.’ She turned to Accobrán. ‘Are you knowledgeable about such matters?’

The young tanist shrugged and shook his head. ‘This was once mining country and the Cinél na Áeda grew rich and powerful through it. Now the gold and the silver are all worked out and we have only copper left, and some lead to the north of here.’

He turned and began to lead the way again. Here the wooded area was not so oppressive and now and again they came to small patches of cleared land bordering the river which had been sown with crops of corn and wheat.

‘We will find the house of Lesren the tanner not far now,’ called the tanist.

Indeed, a curious smell had come to Eadulf’s nostrils. An acrid smell, as of bad cooking. He sniffed suspiciously until his senses told him what it was. They turned through a bordering treeline into a wide stretch of clearing that ran for some distance along the river. There was a small comfortable-looking bothán, a cabin built of logs with smoke curling from a chimney. There were several small outhouses, and all around the buildings were a score of wooden frames on which were stretched animal skins, Heavy iron cauldrons hung on chains over two large fires, their contents bubbling and smoking as a youth stirred them. It was the acrid smell from these that had assailed Eadulf’s nostrils. He saw a man using a stick to drop a section of skin into the cauldron and presumed that this was part of the tanning process.

At one of the great wooden frames on which a hide was stretched, a thin, wiry-looking man in a leather apron was standing poking in an examining fashion at the taut skin.

‘Lesren!’ called Accobrán.

The man turned with a frown of annoyance. He had small, quick dark eyes in a face whose expression reminded Fidelma of a pine martin. Suspicious and fearful. His rapid glance took them all in before he returned his gaze to the young tanist.

‘What do you want of me, Accobrán?’ he snapped. ‘Am I not busy enough?’

Eadulf exchanged a glance with Fidelma. The man was obviously not going to be helpful. No one of the Cinél na Áeda seemed kindly disposed towards strangers, so far as they were able to tell.

‘I have brought a dálaigh to ask questions of you, Lesren.’

The tanner’s dark eyes swivelled to Eadulf. ‘Dálaigh? That man is a foreigner.’

‘Do you have objections to foreigners, Lesren?’ demanded Fidelma sharply.

‘None, woman, if they do not interfere in my business.’

Accobrán swallowed and was about to explain who Fidelma was when she cut him short.

‘It is I who am the dálaigh, Lesren. I am come to ask some questions about your daughter.’

‘You?’ The tanner seemed amused. ‘A young woman?’

‘This is Fidelma of Cashel,’ put in Accobrán. ‘Sister to King Colgú,’ he added sotto voce.

The tanner blinked but his unfriendly expression did not change. ‘If you are here to ask me about Beccnat’s murder, I will tell you who killed her. It was Gabrán.’

Accobrán expressed his impatience. ‘We made inquiries, Lesren. You know that. Gabrán was nowhere near Rath Raithlen on the night your daughter died.’

‘So you say.’

‘I only say what the witnesses say. The fact is that he was staying twelve miles away.’ The tanist’s voice indicated that he had told the story a hundred times before. ‘Aolú, our late Brehon, agreed that he was innocent of your claim.’

‘If you claim that Gabrán slew your daughter,’ Fidelma added. ‘Are you also saying that he killed the other two girls as well?’

Lesren raised his chin stubbornly. ‘I say that he killed Beccnat. That is what I say. I told her to beware of him and his thieving family.’

‘Those words are harsh and have harshness in the saying of them,’ Fidelma reproved him. ‘I would caution you against calling people thieves. You know the law and the penalty that falls upon those who tell false tales about others. It could even lead to the loss of your honour price, súdaire.’ She laid a soft stress on his title as a means of reminding him of the standing in society he could lose.

Eadulf knew that everyone in the five kingdoms of Éireann, from the lowborn to the highest, was possessed of an honour price. The High King himself was rated at the value of sixty-three cows while a provincial king, such as Fidelma’s brother Colgú, held an honour price valued at forty-eight cows. In the time that he had been in this land Eadulf prided himself on having learned to judge the honour price of most people and concluded that a tanner would be valued at four cows. The cow was the basis of the currency, with a séd being the value of one cow while a cumal was that of three cows. Smaller coins like a silver screpall or a sicil were divisions of the value of a cow.

At first Eadulf had not been able to understand the honour price system and vainly tried to equate it with the caste system of his own people. He soon realised that there was a fairness in its structure that had much to do with the system of punishments for crimes. The whole basis of the law system was compensation and rehabilitation. To maintain a standard throughout the kingdoms, each person was ascribed an honour price that was based on the job they did, and not on who their parents were. Fines were assessed on the honour price of the one transgressed against. If a man killed a master builder then he would have to pay the master builder’s family compensation to the value of twenty cows, together with a fine to the court. If he could not afford it, and his own honour price was less than the value of twenty cows, then he would lose his honour price and all civil rights, and would have to work to compensate the family and the court. He became an ‘unfree’ man, a man without any rights — a fuidhir.

There were two types of ‘unfree’ person, depending on the seriousness of the crime. While a daer-fuidhir had no rights and could not bear arms, a saer-fuidhir was entitled to continue to work his own land or follow his own professional calling — within reason. He was expected to pay taxes. If, by the end of his life, he had not provided the required compensation and rehabilitated himself into society, then the punishment did not fall upon his wife or children. Every dead man kills his own liabilities, said the Brehons.

As a foreigner in Éireann, Eadulf was classed in law as a ‘grey dog’, cú glas, which actually meant one who was an exile from overseas. Thus Eadulf, no longer an emissary of the Archbishop of Canterbury, was without legal standing and had no honour price. Even married to Fidelma he would have remained without an honour price had not Colgú and Fidelma’s nearest relatives recognised the union and approved it. Being accepted by Fidelma’s family, Eadulf was also accepted as having an honour price that was half that of Fidelma’s. But there were restrictions that someone of his culture found onerous and almost offensive. He was not entitled to make legal contracts without Fidelma’s permission and she was responsible for any debts or fines that he might incur. Neither was he allowed to have any legal responsibility in the rearing of their son Alchú. That was Fidelma’s responsibility alone. For Eadulf, his position as a ‘grey dog’ was a bitter legal concept in spite of the fact that, in reality, Colgú treated Eadulf as both friend and equal.

What Eadulf found astonishing was that Fidelma’s people saw many matters that his culture would not even call transgressions worthy of severe punishment — if one could call fines and loss of rights a punishment. In Saxon society, death and mutilation and slavery were considered just punishment for the entire range of social and political transgressions, whereas in the Bretha Nemed the Brehons decreed that if a man kissed a woman against her will, he would have to pay her full honour price. If a man tried to indecently assault a woman, then the Cáin Adomnáin set the fine at the value of twenty-one cows.

Truth was taken seriously in law. The Bretha Nemed stated that if a person wrongfully accused another of theft, or publicised an untrue story that caused shame, it required the payment of the victim’s honour price. Hence he could understand why Fidelma was now giving the tanner a fair warning.

Lesren, however, would not be warned.

‘What I saw is the truth. Ask Goll, the woodcutter, if you do not believe me. Ask him why he had to pay me a fine of one screpall. I will say no more on the matter until you have done so.’

‘One screpall is no great sum to pay,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘A transgression of the law is great enough, no matter the outcome,’ snapped the tanner.

‘And what Brehon imposed this fine?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Aolú.’

‘And Aolú is dead,’ muttered Accobrán.

Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘Am I to believe that you disapproved of your daughter’s relationship with Gabrán because of his father, Goll, and this matter of the fine that you have mentioned?’

Again the chin came up aggressively. ‘It is reason enough.’

‘What did Beccnat have to say about your disapproval? She was seventeen and beyond the age of choice. She had the right to decide her own future.’

Lesren’s features wrinkled in a scowl. ‘She was my daughter. She refused to abide by my decision and look what happened to her. If only Escrach had not broken with Gabrán, he would not have pursued my daughter.’

‘Escrach?’ Fidelma glanced at him with quickened interest. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Gabrán was paying her attention until she made it clear that she was not interested in him. I warned my daughter not to encourage him.’

‘Daughters have rights once they reach the age of choice,’ Fidelma admonished him.

‘Daughters also have duties,’ replied the tanner angrily. ‘I had to chastise Beccnat when she spent nights away from home. Even to the end she refused to obey and those last three nights she spent away from home — well, I feared she would pay for it and she did. Gabrán was to blame.’

‘You are a stubborn man, Lesren,’ Accobrán broke in. ‘Gabrán was nowhere near here when your daughter died. No amount of accusations against Gabrán’s father will alter the fact that this can be proved by witnesses. And even with your prejudice, you cannot blame the deaths of Escrach and Ballgel on Gabrán. Why would he kill them and for what reason?’

‘To achieve what he has clearly done with you…to put you off his scent. To make it seem that there is a maniac at large here. I do not believe in maniacs. I will affirm it at every opportunity I am given. Gabrán killed my daughter.’

‘But why? For what reason would he have killed her? They were to marry.’ Fidelma’s voice was quiet but her question cut like a knife with its logic.

Lesren stared at her.

‘Why?’ he repeated slowly, as if the question were new to him.

Fidelma was firm. ‘He wanted to marry Beccnat. I have been told that your daughter was going to marry Gabrán in spite of your objections. What reason would he have to kill her?’

For a moment Lesren hesitated, seeming to gather his thoughts together.

‘Because,’ he said quietly, ‘some days before her body was found, she told me that she did not want to cause her mother and me any upset. She said that she was not going to many Gabrán. She said she had discovered that he was using her. She realised that he was not a suitable choice of husband. Then she went out and never came back. She went to tell Gabrán of her decision to break off her relationship. I know that he killed her because of it.’