Badger's Moon

Chapter Eight

It was after they had broken their fast on the next day that Fidelma decided that they should find Goll and his family. This time she told Accobrán that they would travel by horse because the previous day’s walking had been quite exhausting. While the distances had been short, the hilly terrain and small woodland paths had been tiring. The young tanist went off to arrange for their horses to be saddled. While he was doing so, Fidelma and Eadulf took the opportunity to examine the high watchtowers that marked the gates in the triple ramparts of the fortress.

‘Impressive,’ Eadulf commented as he peered up at the constructions.

Impulsively, Fidelma suddenly made for the doorway to one of the towers.

‘Let’s climb up and see what view we can gain of the terrain,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It will help us get a good perspective of the countryside about.’

With a suppressed groan, Eadulf followed, for he was the first to admit that he had no head for heights. Inside the wooden tower, ladders ran from floor to floor, and Eadulf counted five levels before they emerged on a flat roof. It was bathed in the soft October sun. Eadulf blinked nervously at the scene that unfolded below him. The woods spread like vast carpets of green in all directions, criss-crossed by silver lines that marked the run of rivers through the valleys. And faintly to the north and west he could make out the distant shadows of mountains.

‘A beautiful countryside,’ Fidelma was saying, stretching languorously in the early morning sunlight. Although it was autumn, the sun was growing quite warm. Eadulf could feel it through his clothing. He stood nervously near the hatch through which they had ascended rather than venture to the edge of the tower where Fidelma stood looking down towards the territory they had traversed yesterday. Whether he looked down or whether he looked outwards across the hills from this high point, Eadulf felt an uncomfortable sensation. It was a sense of losing his balance; that he would fall off the earth into the void of the sky. He felt the sweat stand out on his brow.

Fidelma had not noticed his discomfort and appeared to be making calculations of distance as she surveyed the wooded countryside.

‘Come and see, Eadulf,’ she urged. ‘No wonder there are so many names of places in this area with the word garran in them.’

Eadulf tried to concentrate, to focus on what she was saying rather than the dizzy view beyond.

‘Garran? What does that mean?’ he asked absently, knowing full well its translation.

‘A wood of small size or an avenue through trees,’ replied a male voice at his feet. It was a thin, wiry man with a thatch of sandy hair, whose head and shoulders had appeared through the hatch.

Fidelma swung round and her eyes widened a fraction as she recognised the smith named Gobnuid.

‘Exactly so. In your own Saxon tongue, Eadulf, you have the word gráf, I think.’ She pronounced it ‘grove’. ‘It means the same thing.’

Eadulf, nodding, was attuned to the hostile glance that she gave the newcomer.

‘The land of groves. It seems appropriate.’

‘I have been sent to tell you that your horses are ready, lady,’ Gobnuid announced, having climbed onto the roof to join them. ‘Accobrán the tanist is waiting below for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Fidelma said, her voice distant. ‘We were admiring the beautiful countryside around here. It certainly is best seen from this high vantage point.’

‘None finer,’ the smith agreed, glancing around as if examining the landscape for the first time.

‘In what direction is the bothán of Goll the woodcutter?’

‘To the south-west, beyond the Thicket of Pigs and across the river.’

Fidelma glanced towards the dark green of the treetops that spread across the hills in the direction Gobnuid had indicated.

‘It appears that it will be a pleasant ride,’ she observed.

The smith nodded absently.

‘Perhaps it is time you should be leaving, lady? Accobrán is waiting below,’ he repeated.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ replied Fidelma softly.

‘After you, lady.’ The smith stood aside from the hatch.

Eadulf said quickly: ‘I’ll go first.’ In truth, he was glad to leave this high, unprotected place. Without awaiting a reply, he climbed onto the ladder, hoping that Fidelma would not observe his haste to be gone, and began to descend. Fidelma followed him with the smith bringing up the rear.

Eadulf was halfway down the first ladder when he felt the rung on which he had placed his foot give way with a sudden crack. Had his fear not been making him hold the ladder so tightly, the surprise of the breaking rung might have precipitated him off the ladder and could have sent him tumbling the five floors down the ladder well. For an eternity he hung by his arms, his feet waving into space as they sought for a support.

He lowered himself a rung by his arms, and his foot finally found the support of the rung below the one that had snapped.

‘Are you all right, Eadulf?’ came Fidelma’s concerned voice from above him.

‘I’ve been better,’ Eadulf breathed after he felt secure. ‘One of the rungs snapped under my foot. Come down carefully, I’ll guide you over it.’

He waited until she came further down the ladder.

‘Right,’ he called. ‘The next rung is now missing. Lower yourself by your hands and feel for the next rung.’ He paused as she did so. ‘That’s it. Your foot is on the rung. Come on down.’

Fidelma did not do so at once. As she passed over the broken rung, reaching it at eye level, she paused and examined it carefully while Eadulf stood impatiently on the landing. As she came down level with him, she asked anxiously: ‘Are you sure that you are all right?’

He nodded. ‘I’d better lead the way down again.’ He smiled. ‘There could have been a nasty accident. The wood snapped.’

Gobnuid came down quickly to join them. He looked nervous.

‘Accident?’ He picked up on the word. ‘I think you are right. Some of the wood is rotten and in need of replacing.’

Eadulf glanced from Gobnuid to Fidelma with silent curiosity. He could sense something of the tension between them. Accobrán was waiting outside the tower when they emerged. He saw that something was amiss.

‘What happened?’ he demanded.

‘One of the rungs was rotten,’ replied the smith almost defensively. ‘No one is hurt.’

‘Eadulf was lucky that he had a good grip,’ added Fidelma, ‘otherwise things might have been different.’

Gobnuid vanished towards his forge and Fidelma saw the look of anger on Accobrán’s face as he looked after the smith. It seemed that he was on the point of following him, but a stable lad brought forward their horses.

‘What made you send Gobnuid up to fetch us?’ Fidelma asked the tanist. ‘A smith has more important things to do than act as a messenger. The stable lad could have summoned us.’

The young tanist shrugged.

‘Gobnuid was here. He had to shoe my mare this morning, lady,’ he replied almost defensively. ‘He volunteered to run up to get you.’

Accobrán dismissed the stable lad and began to mount his horse. ‘Fidelma and Eadulf followed his example and they were soon trotting out of the gates of Rath Raithlen.

It was a pleasant ride along the forest tracks and, as if by mutual agreement, they rode in silence for most of the way. Eadulf was bursting with questions but he knew Fidelma well enough to remain silent when he saw her preoccupied features.

They passed over the wooded hill, the strangely named Thicket of Pigs, and crossed the River Tuath by a ford where the water gushed over a bed of pebbles. Suddenly, in mid-stream, Accobráh halted and pointed to the hills that rose before them. Solemnly, he intoned: ‘A forest in full colour. The sigh of myriad leaves whispering to the listening heavens. Even great cities appear as muddy hovels to the venerable shady groves that were old before the first brick was placed on brick.’

Fidelma was startled out of her silence because the verse Accobrán had just recited was in Greek.

‘I did not know you spoke Greek.’ she commented.

The young tanist shrugged. ‘A little of Greek, Hebrew and Latin, for I spent some years at the house of Molaga thinking to become one of the religious before I realised that my hand was better suited to hold a sword than a stylus. I spent some time serving my uncle Becc in the campaigns to prevent the Uí Fidgente raids on our territory.’

‘And thus you were elected tanist, Becc’s successor?’

‘Ten months ago,’ confirmed Accobrán with a smile. ‘Now, while Becc enjoys the prestige of chieftainship, I enjoy the hard work of riding through the territory to ensure that order is kept and no one has cause to complain.’

Fidelma glanced at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘Do you resent that?’

‘Resent? Accobrán seemed surprised at the idea. ‘Of course not. That is the task I undertook. When I am elderly, and I am chieftain with a tanist, it will be his task to do as I do and my reward to do as Becc does. That is in the way of things. Brother Eadulf, there’ — he indicated Eadulf with a nod of his head — ‘does not resent the tonsure he wears. He would not have become a religious if he did not want to wear the garb and perform the duties that go with the job, would he? No more do I resent the duties that are incumbent on me as tanist.’

They continued on their way through the dark woods, climbing steadily along the forest pathway through the thickly growing trees.

A loud shout from nearby caused them to abruptly rein in their horses.

There came the sound of something being struck, a crack, and then an awesome tearing noise. It was as if a mighty army was coming crashing through the trees. The horses shied nervously and Eadulf, not the best of horsemen, nearly took a tumble. He managed to regain control more by desperation than with skill.

‘What the devil…?’ he began. ‘Are we under attack?’

Accobrán was laughing and he patted his horse’s neck to calm its nervousness.

‘Not the devil, Saxon. It is just a tree being felled nearby. By law, the gerrthóir, the woodcutter, must give a cry of warning before the tree falls.’

The sound of an axe biting into wood now came to their ears.

‘Through here,’ called Fidelma, guiding her horse expertly in the direction of the sound.

They soon emerged in a clearing where a young man was working on a newly felled holly tree, hacking at its branches. He paused as he saw them, straightened up. He was scarcely out of his teenage but handsome, tanned with fair hair and blue eyes. He seemed to carry an air of boyish innocence with him. As he examined them and recognised Accobrán, a frown crossed his features.

‘I did give a warning cry,’ he said defensively.

Fidelma halted her horse before him and smiled down at his belligerent features. He was hardly more than eighteen or nineteen years of age.

‘So you did,’ she replied pleasantly.

The young man shifted uneasily, axe held loosely at his side. He stared at Fidelma and Eadulf with a glowering, suspicious look.

‘Don’t worry, Gabrán,’ called Accobrán, moving his horse alongside Fidelma. ‘We are not here to remonstrate with you.’

Gabrán glanced up at the tanist and Fidelma noticed that his suspicion gave way to a momentary expression of intense dislike. Then he seemed to control his features into a mask of indifference.

‘What is it you want, Accobrán?’ His voice was icy. Fidelma realised that there was no friendship between these young men. Then Gabrán’s gaze suddenly returned to Fidelma and his eyes widened. ‘You must be the king’s sister — the dálaigh of whom people are talking.’

‘Who talks about the dálaigh, Gabrán?’ asked the young tanist in irritation. ‘More importantly, what are they saying? It is not courteous to gossip about the sister of the king.’

When the boy answered he spoke to Fidelma and not to Accobrán. ‘It is only the usual gossip.’ He was guileless about protocol. ‘We were in Condn’s bruden last night and we heard about the dálaigh’s arrival.’

‘Conda’s tavern is by the little fort on the other side of that hill,’ the tanist explained with irritated embarrassment as he raised a hand to indicate the direction. ‘The Hill of Crows, we call it.’

‘Well, such talk is natural.’ Fidelma smiled. She was no great believer in meaningless etiquette. ‘It would be amazing if my arrival was not talked about. So,’ she looked down at the young woodcutter, ‘there should be no need to explain why I have come to see you and your parents.’

The young man frowned again. ‘No need to explain why you should come to see me. Doubtless, Lesren is still making terrible accusations about me. But why do you have to bother my mother and father? They have suffered enough from his vile tongue.’

‘I simply need to clarify some matters, that is all. Is your bothán near here?’

‘Not far. The track here leads up to a standing stone and you have to turn across the hill. Our place is a short distance away.’

‘Then let us proceed there, for the sooner we have talked, the sooner we can resolve matters,’ Accobrán suggested. ‘Swing up behind me, Gabrán, and it will save you a walk.’

He reached down one arm but the young woodcutter shook his head.

‘I have my tools to collect and bring with me. It is more than my life is worth to leave them lying about in the woods. My father would flay me.’

‘Then we will wait until you are ready,’ Fidelma announced. ‘Your father is right. Tools are valuable. Sometimes tools are more precious than gold. Is that not so, Accobrán?’

The tanist sniffed disdainfully, ‘I know nothing of the value of an artisan’s tools. My tool is this!’ He clapped his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘That, certainly, is precious.’

Gabrán lost no time in gathering his tools in a leather bag, which he then slung across his shoulders. He turned back to the horses but hesitated.

‘There is more room behind Eadulf,’ suggested Fidelma diplomatically. ‘He is not laden with a warrior’s accoutrements.’

The woodcutter took Eadulf’s extended hand and swung up behind him within a moment. Leading the way, Accobrán allowed his horse to walk along the path through the woods. A standing stone stood where the track turned at a right angle and began to rise more steeply up the hill.

They soon came upon a large wooden building which appeared to be the home of Goll the woodcutter. Piles of logs and stacks of newly cut timber and and planking stood around the clearing in which the bothán was constructed. There would have been no need to ask the occupation of the person who dwelt there.

A woman appeared at the door and then called to someone behind her. She stood aside and a man took her place, bearing a strong resemblance to Gabrán. The youth swung down from Eadulf’s horse and walked swiftly towards them.

Fidelma and Accobrán dismounted. Eadulf followed and took the reins of all three horses, tying them to a stake set in the ground for just such a purpose, before joining them before the door of the bothán, where Gabrán had already explained who his companions were.

‘You are welcome here, lady. I am Goll, the gerrthóir. This is my wife, Fínmed. We have heard that you have come at the behest of our chieftain, Becc, and we have heard why you have come. Nevertheless, I believed that Lesren’s outrageous claims had long been disproved and that suspicion now lay with the strangers at the abbey.’

‘Lesren continues to voice his accusations against Gabrán,’ replied Fidelma calmly, ‘and it is my duty to hear and judge the merits of all accusations and the evidence for and against.’

‘But the Brehon Aolú said…’

Fínmed moved forward nervously with a warning glance at her husband to still his protest.

‘Will you and your companions come into the bothán, lady, and take a little mead with us? Then the facts may be discussed in more comfortable conditions than on the threshold.’

Fidelma gave her a look to show her appreciation. Fínmed had a pleasant face. She was still a handsome woman but what was more appealing than simple regularity of feature was the gentleness and kindness that could not be disguised in her eyes and around the corners of her mouth.

‘You are very kind, Fínmed. We are pleased to accept your hospitality.’

Goll’s wife conducted them inside and seated them before a pleasant log fire while she fetched the jugs of sweet honey mead.

‘Now, lady,’ she said, after they had all savoured the first mouthful, ‘how can we help? You must know that there is enmity between Lesren and our family. You must also know of what passed between us before Aolú gave judgement.’

‘I have heard the story and that is why I wanted to meet all of you to clarify matters,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I should like you to tell me how you perceive the causes of this enmity.’

‘Easy enough,’ Goll said roughly, trying to disguise his obvious irritation at being reminded of the events. ‘It goes back to the time when my wife Fínmed was wed to Lesren. The man was a beast. He beat her and she divorced him.’

Fínmed pursed her lips, glanced at Fidelma and nodded. ‘It is true. The man was drunk most of the time. He beat me and so I left him.’

‘I understand that you were awarded compensation and left the marriage with you coibche?’ Fidelma said.

‘That is so.’

‘My wife was also entitled to the tinól, which she took, and the tinchor which she refused to claim,’ Goll pointed out.

The tinól was a kind of wedding present to the bride from her friends, of which two thirds went to the bride and one third to her father. If the bride was at fault, the husband could claim the bride’s share. The tinchor was the bride’s wedding portion of household goods, considered as a joint property. These awards clearly demonstrated that the fault for the break-up of the marriage, at least in law, lay with Lesren.

‘You claim that Lesren has held a grudge ever since?’ asked Fidelma.

‘He has.’

‘So how did you feel when your son told you that he was in love with Lesren’s daughter?’

Goll and Fínmed exchanged a quick glance of embarrassment and then Fínmed replied.

‘It would be foolish,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, ‘to pretend that we approved — at first, that is. We disapproved on principle. Then we met the girl and she seemed untainted by her father’s moods. She was a pleasant enough girl who, in other circumstances, we would have been delighted to welcome into our house. We eventually accepted that Gabrán had the right to take his own path in life and so, for his sake, we made her welcome. Then, as I say, she was welcome for her own sake.’

Goll was in agreement. ‘It was Lesren who started this feud with me from the moment I married Fínmed. I avoided the man. However, when Gabrán announced his intentions, Lesren really became a nuisance to me.’

‘A nuisance?’ Eadulf asked quickly. ‘In what way?’

Gabrán had been standing silently by his mother. The matter was apparently painful to him. Now he spoke.

‘If anyone killed Beccnat, it was Lesren. She hated him and he used her like an animal in the same manner as he used her mother, Bébháil.’

‘I presume that when you say Lesren killed Beccnat you are not making the claim literally?’ demanded Accobrh, astonished.

‘He killed her spirit. He killed her childhood and youth. That is what I mean,’ replied Gabrán defiantly.

‘Let us come to that later, Gabrán,’ Fidelma said. ‘In what way did Lesren became a nuisance to you, Goll?’

‘He began to spy on me and reported me to Aolú, the Brehon at Rath Raithlen, for felling the ash tree. I know. I was in the wrong. I was fined a screpall for the illegal act. I have no complaints as to the judgement. It was the pettiness of Lesren that I felt anger over. That’s when my thoughts turned to revenge; I just wanted Lesren to know that two could play at that game. I had heard he was bark-stripping at the wrong time. I set to watch him in the woods and that’s when I saw him stripping apple-tree bark during the killing month.’

‘And he, too, was fined before the Brehon. Did that bring an end to this childish feuding?’

Goll shook his head. ‘Lesren went insane with anger. He tried everything to turn Beccnat from my son. He told appalling stories about my wife.’

‘Did you report this to the Brehon Aolú?’

‘Of course, I did. Aolú told me to forget it.’

Fidelma looked shocked. ‘Aolú, a Brehon, told you to forget that someone was spreading lies about you?’ There was an incredulous tone in her voice.

Eadulf was again reminded that verbal assaults on a person were treated with the utmost seriousness under the law. That a judge would advise such assualts to be ignored was the reason for Fidelma’s shock. She had already warned Lesren the previous day that his words might be seriously interpreted. A victim’s entire honour price might be the fine involved against the person who spread such tales.

‘Aolú, the Brehon, told me not to pursue this matter. He said that he would have a quiet word with Lesren and put a stop to it.’

‘Did it stop?’

Goll grimaced. ‘Lesren lost no opportunity to spread lies and rumours about us.’

‘Beccnat was very upset,’ interposed Gabrán, who had been quiet since his outburst. ‘She told me that life was becoming unbearable with her father, and her mother was too weak to do anything about the situation. Lesren dominated Bébháil. We decided that we would elope.’

Fínmed nodded quickly. ‘We supported our son in this matter. It was not illegal.’

‘I know,’ agreed Fidelma. There were two forms of legal marriage that involved a girl’s eloping with a man without the consent of her kin. ‘So when was this elopement to be?’

Gabrán looked pained for a moment or so. ‘As soon as I returned from the coast.’

‘You were at the coast when Beccnat was killed?’ enquired Eadulf.

‘He was staying at the house of Molaga,’ Fínmed said swiftly.

‘And Beccnat was in total agreement with this plan?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘She did not tell you that she had changed her mind? That she no longer wanted to marry you?’

‘You have been listening to Lesren.’ snapped Gabrán angrily.

‘I just want to clarify all the facts,’ Fidelma was unperturbed by his anger.

‘Everything was well when I last saw Beccnat,’ Gabrán said with quiet vehemence.

‘And when was that?’

‘About two days before the full moon.’

‘Why did you go to the coast?’

It was Goll who replied. ‘There was a wagon of holly wood that had been bought by the abbot at the house of Molaga. It was specially cut for the new altar that was being constructed in the chapel there. I was going to take it but there was much work to be done here. So Gabrán said he would drive the wagon to the coast. Rather than returning with an empty wagon and the payment from the abbey, he decided to return with some goods that we needed to purchase. The ship with these goods had not arrived and so my son waited a few days until it put into the port. By the time he returned, it was a few days after the full moon.’

‘Is that so?’ Fidelma demanded sharply of Gabrán.

The young man nodded.

‘So you returned — when?’

‘Two days after…after…’

The boy had a catch in his throat and his mother rose from her chair to put an arm round his shoulders.

‘And, of course, this was checked when Lesren made his accusation against you?’ Fidelma went on, as if ignoring the boy’s emotion.

Her matter-of-fact voice seemed to quieten the boy. He nodded slowly.

‘Ask Accobrán there,’ he replied. ‘Aolú asked him to confirm my story.’

‘Which I did, as I have already told you, lady,’ the tanist pointed out. ‘Gabrán was at the house of Molaga over the period of the full moon. Aolú accepted that.’

‘Lesren is a beast,’ Fínmed interrupted in a slightly shrill tone. ‘An evil beast that he would descend so low as to suggest…’

Gabrán patted his mother’s hand for she was not able to finish. Her voice had choked with emotion.

‘Aolú has pronounced that I could not have…have done what Lesren claimed I did,’ he insisted.

‘Nevertheless,’ Goll added, ‘this evil beast Lesren has continued to spread his lies. Aolú is dead and as you are now acting as our Brehon, I want his mouth closed and compensation paid to me for his wickedness.’

‘I am only a dálaigh, not a Brehon,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Nevertheless, I hear you. When this investigation is concluded, then action shall be taken against all who have not told the truth.’ She turned to Gabrán again. ‘I believe that you knew the other girls who were killed — Escrach and Ballgel?’

The youth nodded sadly. ‘The Cinél na Áeda is not such a large population that there are strangers among them, lady. I knew Escrach. We were childhood friends and more recently I would often take grain to her father, the miller, for grinding. Ballgel I did not know so well.’

‘We knew all the girls and their families,’ Fínmed added, a little defensively. ‘As my son says, we are not such a large community. Why do you ask?’

‘I am wondering if there was some common factor between them as to why they should become victims,’ replied Fidelma.

Goll rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘If you were to ask me, lady, the common factor was that they were alone in the woods at night when the moon was full,’ he replied quietly.

‘All the mothers of the Cinél na Áeda have instructed their daughters to remain inside their homes during the hours of darkness,’ Fínmed said.

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. ‘A difficult policy when the feast of Samhain is fast approaching and the hours of darkness are getting longer.’

‘Apparently, people believe a maniac stalks the woods.’ Eadulf addressed himself to Goll. ‘Who do you think is responsible for the tragic deaths in these last few months?’

The woodcutter hesitated, staring at the floor.

‘You suspect the strangers?’ pressed Eadulf quickly. ‘Those at the abbey?’

Goll sighed and shook his head. ‘I have no knowledge of those strangers. I have heard that Brocc favours the idea that they are responsible. He has been able to persuade others.’

‘Others such as Gobnuid, the smith at Rath Raithlen?’

‘Such as Gobnuid,’ agreed Goll.

‘And you?’

‘All I know is that there is someone who is…’

It took Eadulf a moment to translate the phrase do bhíodh tinn lé goin an ré as someone suffering from lunacy; someone affected by the power of the full moon.

‘And that someone not being one of the Cinél na Áeda?’ suggested Fidelma. ‘We are back to the strangers.’

To her surprise, Goll shook his head.

‘You have a suspicion who it is?’

‘I am not like Lesren. I would not spread a story for the sake of spreading a story. All I know is that it is easy to find a person who forsakes the New Faith, who lives a life following the old ways and thus knows the forbidden names of the sun and the moon. I objected when my son went with the others to learn of such things.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful and when Eadulf, who was puzzled by the woodcutter’s words, opened his mouth, she turned and frowned quickly at him. He shut his mouth.

‘I understand you, Goll,’ she said quietly.

She rose from her seat and the others followed her example.

‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ Fidelma smiled at Fínmed. ‘I am hoping that we will soon clear up this mystery and end the misery that you and your family must be suffering from the stories that Lesren has spread.’

The woman returned her smile sadly, ‘I am afraid my son has suffered much for my first mistake.’

‘Your first mistake?’ Fidelma frowned.

‘The mistake was that I ever married Lesren. My excuse was that I was young and innocent and did not realise that youthful handsomeness could disguise a personality that was selfish and brutal. I feel sorrow — not so much for myself, for I have discovered a loving husband now and have a loving son — but for Bébháil. She has to suffer marriage to Lesren and, as an additional curse, she now has to bear the loss of her only child, her daughter Beccnat.’

Fidelma laid a hand on the woman’s arm in a gesture of sympathy. ‘You have a great heart, Fínmed, that you are able to allow a corner of it to feel sympathy for the suffering of Bébháil. But remember that if life was unbearable for her, she could have done as you did. Divorce is within her power also. So perhaps she is content with her lot with Lesren, for they have been seventeen or eighteen years as man and wife. But, truly, the loss of a child is a great tragedy for any mother, and in feeling sorrow for her on that account I would join you.’

They were riding away, down the slopes of the Hill of Crows, when Eadulf, who had been silent with his thoughts awhile, finally spoke.

‘Whom did Goll mean, Fidelma, when you asked about the person he suspected?’

‘I have to respect his wishes, Eadulf. He did not wish to name names. But it is a name that has crossed my thoughts and one that I shall keep to myself. For in naming names, you have a power to destroy if it is done in injustice.’

She noticed that a sulky look of irritation crossed Accobrán’s features for a moment. Then he asked: ‘Where do we ride to now, lady?’

For the first time in the many investigations that she had undertaken, Fidelma realised, with some surprise, that she did not know what her next move was going to be. She had pursued all the obvious avenues and each had led to a dead end. Goll had prompted her about one person she had a passing suspicion of, but it would not do well to approach that person with as little knowledge as she currently possessed. She needed more information first. One thing Fidelma had learned was that alerting someone to your suspicions when suspicion was all you had to offer was to provide them with time and opportunity to lay in alibis and defence. No; she was not going to go down that path yet.

‘Lady?’ Accobrán was prompting, thinking that she had not heard his question. He was looking sharply at her and in that moment she suddenly realised that she was neglecting to clarify a point that had previously worried her.

‘You do not have a friend in young Gabrán,’ she observed to the tanist. ‘Why is that?’

Accobrán flushed at the unexpected question. ‘That is a personal matter.’

Fidelma pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I must be the judge of that, Accobrán.’

‘I can assure you-’

‘As a tanist,’ Fidelma cut in, ‘you should know something of the law and the powers of a dálaigh.’

Accobrán exhaled swiftly. ‘Very well. Gabrán suspected that I was seeing Beccnat behind his back.’

Fidelma raised her brow in momentary surprise. ‘And were you?’ she said calmly.

The tanist flushed and shook his head. ‘Beccnat was an attractive young girl. I believe we danced once or twice at some féis, a feasting, but nothing more. I think young Gabrán was jealous, that is all. I have also danced with Escrach and even Ballgel, come to that.’

‘And that is all there is to it?’ asked Fidelma.

‘That is all,’

‘You should have told me of your relationship with Beccnat before,’ she rebuked him.

‘There was no relationship.’

‘Except that you knew and danced with her. And Gabrán believes that there was more to it.’

Accobrán gave a snort of indignation. ‘There was no more to it.’

‘We have already discovered, Accobrán, that more often than not suspicion is a stronger provocation to action than the truth.’

The tanist looked at her with surprise mingled with uncertainty. ‘Do you mean…?’

‘When I speak I try to make my meaning clear,’ she snapped.

There had been silence for a few moments when Fidelma decided that she wanted to speak with Brother Dangila again.