Whispers of the Dead

GOLD AT NIGHT

By this time tomorrow, thanks be to God, it will be all over for another three years. I have to admit that I am quite exhausted.”

Sister Fidelma smiled at her companion as they walked along the banks of the broad river of Bearbha. Abbot Laisran of Durrow was a portly man, short of stature, with silver hair and a permanent air of jollity about him. He had been born with a rare gift of humor and a sense that the world was there to provide enjoyment to those who inhabited it. In this he was in contrast with many of his calling. In spite of his statement, he looked far from fatigued.

Fidelma and Laisran paused a while to watch some boys fishing in the river, the abbot watching their casts with a critical eye.

“Was it worth your coming?” he suddenly asked.

Fidelma considered the question before answering. She did not like to give glib answers for the sake of politeness.

“The great Fair of Carman is an experience not to be missed,” she replied with studied reflection.

The Aenach, or Fair of Carman, was held once every three years over the days of the Feast of Lugnasadh, the first days of what the Romans called the month of Augustus, and it was one of the two major fairs held within the kingdom of Laighin. It was attended in person by Fáelán of the Uí Dúnláinge, King of Laighin, and no less than forty-seven of his leading nobles. During the period of the fair, there were games, contests in sports and the arts. Poets would declaim their verses and strong men would contest with one another in all manner of feats of skill as well as strength. So would women, because there were special times set aside for contests between women. In addition to the entertainment, there were markets for all manner of livestock, produce and goods.

In fact, Laisran had been telling Fidelma how he had to chase a stall keeper from the fairground because the man had been selling potions for destroying pests such as foxes and wolves. But the very noxious brews that would kill a fox or a wolf could kill other animals and, as such, were prohibited from sale at the Fair. Yet it was true that many wonderful and curious things were to be found on sale in the stalls of the Aenach Carman.

But there was also a serious side to the Aenach Carman, unlike the Aenach Lifé, which was Laighin’s other great fair and devoted to horse racing.

During the days of the Aenach Carman, the assembly of the kingdom met. All the nobles, the chiefs of clans, the Brehons and lawyers, the professional men and women gathered to discuss the laws. On the first day, the men and women of the kingdom held separate councils at which the other sex was not allowed to enter. The women’s council admitted no man and the men’s council admitted no woman. Each council met and decided matters pertaining to their sex and elected representatives to go forward to attend the formal meetings of the Great Assembly of Laighin. Both sexes attended this and matters pertaining to all the people were discussed and decided upon. The King, his Brehons, or judges, and representatives of all the people would discuss any necessary amendment to the laws and agree on the fiscal policies of the kingdom for the next three years.

While Fidelma was from the neighboring kingdom of Muman, and therefore not qualified to voice any opinion in the councils nor Assembly, she had been invited by the women’s council to attend and speak to them as their guest. She was asked to advise them on certain laws in her own kingdom and how they might be applicable to Laighin. For while the great law system applied equally in all five kingdoms, there was a section of laws called the Urrdas Law, which were the minor variations that applied from kingdom to kingdom. But now such serious matters were over and one more day of festivity would end the fair.

Fidelma had been delighted, although not surprised, to find her distant cousin and friend, Laisran, Abbot of Durrow, the great teaching college, attending the fair. Not only attending it, but being present as advisor to the Great Assembly. It had been Laisran who had persuaded her to join the nearby Abbey of Brigid at the Church of the Oaks, not far from the plain by the river Bearbha on which the Aenach Carman was held. But Fidelma had long since left the Abbey of Brigid to return to her own land.

“What did you think of the competence of our law-makers?” Laisran was asking. “Do we pass good laws and have good government?”

Fidelma chuckled.

“Did not Aristotle say that good laws, if they are not obeyed, do not constitute good government?”

Laisran answered his young cousin’s infectious humor.

“I might have expected that from a lawyer,” he said. “Seriously, have you enjoyed the Aenach Carman?”

Fidelma agreed but added: “Although I have often wondered why it is so called. Wasn’t Carman a malevolent female figure who had three sons, and didn’t they blight all the crops in Éireann until the children of Danu defeated them and drove them into exile? How, then, does it come about that the people of Laighin do honor to her by naming their principal festival after her?”

Laisran’s eyes had a twinkle.

“Well, if I were to tell you. .”

“My lord!”

A man who came running toward them cut the abbot’s words short. He was well dressed and wore a chain of office.

“Lígach, chieftain of the Laisig,” whispered Laisran in quick explanation. “The Laisig are the hereditary organizers and stewards of the fair.”

The man halted somewhat breathlessly before the abbot. He was clearly disturbed about something.

“My Lord Abbot. .,” he began, and then had to pause to gulp some air.

“Calm yourself Lígach. Catch your breath and then state calmly the matter that is troubling you.”

The chieftain paused and took several breaths.

“We need your services. Ruisín is dead. I have sent for an apothecary but we cannot find one on the field. I know you are not without some medical skills, Lord Abbot.”

“Ruisín dead? How did he die?”

“Ruisín?” intervened Fidelma, interested by Laisran’s concern. “Who is he?”

Laisran replied immediately.

“He is. . he was,” he corrected, “a champion of the Osraige.” He turned back to Lígach. “What has happened? An accident?”

Lígach shook his head.

“We think a surfeit of alcohol has killed him.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query. Lígach saw the look and answered.

“He was taking part in a challenge. Crónán, the champion of the Fidh Gabhla, had challenged him as to how much ale each of them could consume. Suddenly, with no more than the first jug taken, Ruisín collapsed, and was carried to his tent, but when we laid him down we found his pulse no longer beat.”

“A drinking contest?” Fidelma’s features twisted into a grimace of disapproval. Drink in moderation, wine with a meal, there was nothing better. But to drink to destroy the senses was pathetic, something she could never understand.

Lígach was defensive.

“There are often such contests between the champions of the clans. A clan can lose all honor if their champion fails.”

She sniffed in distaste.

“Far be it for me to condemn anyone when a man lies dead, but my mentor, the Brehon Morann, always said that alcohol is lead in the morning, silver at noon, and gold at night and lead always follows the period of gold. So excessive drinking is merely a pursuit of fool’s gold.”

“Please, my lord,” urged Lígach, ignoring her, “come, confirm his death and perform the last rite of the Faith. Ruisín’s wife Muirgel is with the body and is in distress.”

“Lead me to his tent, then,” Laisran said, and then glancing at Fidelma, “Perhaps you would like to accompany me, Fidelma? You might be able to formulate some words to the widow for I feel myself inadequate to utter comfort in such circumstances.”

Reluctantly, Fidelma fell in step with the abbot. She, too, could not think what might be said to comfort someone who drank him or herself into an early grave for the sake of a wager. They followed the nervous chieftain to the area of the field where the tents of those participating in the fair were raised. A small group stood outside one tent, which marked it off as the one in which Ruisín’s body had been laid. The group of men and women parted before them.

Lígach went in before them.

Inside, a woman was kneeling beside the body of a man. She was young and fairly attractive. She glanced up as they entered. Fidelma noticed that her face wore an almost bland expression. The eyes were large and round and dry. There was no discernible grief in the face, not the tearful lines of one struck by sudden grief.

“This is Muirgel,” Lígach said quickly.

The young woman regarded them curiously. She seemed almost a somnambulist. It was as if she was not quite cognizant of her surroundings.

“Muirgel, this is Abbot Laisran and Sister. . Sister. .?”

“Fidelma,” supplied Laisran, bending down to the body.

Fidelma glanced down. The man whose body lay there had been a big, broad-shouldered man with a shock of red curling hair and a beard that covered most of his barrel chest. He had obviously been a strong man.

A thought struck Fidelma.

“What work did this man do?” she asked Lígach quietly.

“He was a blacksmith, Sister,” replied the chieftain.

“Didn’t you say that he collapsed after the first jug of ale had been consumed?”

“I did so.”

Laisran, kneeling beside the body, suddenly expelled the air from his lungs with a hiss.

“The man is, indeed, dead. I am sorry for this anguish that has been visited upon you Muirgel. Lígach, would you take Muirgel outside for a moment?”

Fidelma frowned at the studied seriousness of Laisran’s voice.

Lígach hesitated and then reached forward to help Muirgel to her feet. She did not actually respond willingly but she offered no resistance. It was as if she had no will of her own. She allowed Lígach to lead her out of the tent without a word.

“Shock, perhaps,” Fidelma commented. “I have seen death take people so.”

Laisran did not seem to hear her.

“Take a look at the man’s mouth, Fidelma,” he said quietly. “The lips, I mean.”

Puzzled a little, Fidelma bent down. She found that the man’s beard was so full and wiry that she had to pull it back a little to view his mouth and the lips. Her brows came together. The lips were a bright purple color. Her eye traveled to the skin. She had not noticed it before. It was mottled, as if someone had painted a patterning on the man.

She looked up.

“This man has not died from an excess of alcohol,” Laisran said, anticipating her conclusion.

“Poison?”

“Some virulent form,” agreed Laisran. “I have not practiced the apothecary’s art for some time, so I would not be able to identify it. Death was not from excessive alcohol, that is obvious. He was young, strong and fit, anyway. And if it was poison that caused his death, then. .”

“Then it was either an accident or murder,” concluded Fidelma.

“And no poison would enter a jug in a drinking contest by mere accident.”

“Murder?” Fidelma paused and nodded slowly. “The local Brehon must be summoned.”

There was a movement behind them. Lígach had re-entered the tent, unnoticed by them. He had heard their conclusion.

“Are you sure that Ruisín has been murdered?” he demanded, aghast.

Laisran confirmed it with a quick nod of his head.

“And are you Fidelma of Cashel?” Lígach added, turning to Fidelma. “I heard that you were attending the Fair. If so, please undertake the task of inquiring how Ruisín came by his death for I have heard great things of you. As organizer of the Fair, this is my jurisdiction and I willingly grant you the right to pursue these inquiries. If we do not clear this matter up then the reputation of the Aenach Carman will be blighted for it will be said, murder can be done within the king’s shadow and the culprit can escape unknown and unpunished.”

Before Fidelma could protest, Laisran had agreed.

“There is none better than Fidelma of Cashel to dissect any web of intrigue that is woven around a murder.”

Fidelma sighed in resignation. It seemed that she had no choice. It was time to be practical.

“I would like another tent where I may sit and examine the witnesses to this matter.”

Lígach was smiling in his relief.

“The tent next to this one is at your disposal. It is my own.”

“Then I shall want all involved in this matter to be gathered outside, including the widow, Muirgel. I will tarry a moment more with the body.”

Lígach hastened off, while Laisran stood awkwardly as Fidelma bent down to examine the body of Ruisín very carefully.

“What should I do?” he asked.

Fidelma smiled briefly up at him.

“You will witness my inquiry,” she replied, “for I would not like to be accused of interference by the Chief Brehon of Laighin.”

“I will guarantee that,” confirmed Laisran.

Fidelma was carefully examining the body of the dead man.

“What are you looking for?” the abbot asked after a while.

“I do not know. Something. Something out of the ordinary.”

“The extraordinary thing is the fact that the man was poisoned, surely?”

“Yet we have to be sure that we do not miss anything.” She rose to her feet.

“Now, let us question the witnesses.”

Fidelma and Laisran seated themselves on camp stools within Lígach’s tent. There was a table and a scribe had been sent for to record the details. He was a young, nervous man, who sat huddled over his inks and leaves of imported papyrus.

“Who shall I bring in first, Sister?” asked Lígach.

“Who organized this drinking contest?”

“Rumann, who was Ruisín’s friend, and Cobha, who supplied the ale.”

“Bring in Rumann first.”

First through the tent door came a young, eager terrier, its ears forward, his jaws slightly opened, panting, and its neck straining against a rope. The animal hauled a burly man into the tent who was clutching the leash. It leapt toward Fidelma in its excitement, but in a friendly fashion with short barks and its tail wagging furiously.

The man on the end of the leash snapped at it and tugged the animal to obedience at his heel. Then he gestured apologetically.

Rumann was almost the twin image of Ruisín, but with brown tousled hair. He was burly man who also had the look of a smithy about him. Indeed, such was the craft he pursued.

“Sorry, Sister, but Cubheg here is young and excitable. He won’t harm you.”

He turned to a tent post and tied the rope around it. As the dog continued to tug and pull forward, Rumann glanced ’round.

“With your permission, Sister?” he indicated a bowl on the table. There was a jug of ale nearby. He poured some ale in the bowl and set it down before the animal, which began to noisily lap at it with great relish. “Cubheg likes a drink of ale. I can’t deny him. Now, how can I help you?”

“This contest: whose idea was it?” demanded Fidelma without preamble.

“Crónán of the Fidh Gabhla issued the challenge.”

“For what purpose?”

Rumann shrugged.

“The rivalry between the Fidh Gabhla and the Osraige is generations old.”

“This is so,” whispered Abbot Laisran at her side.

“During the games these last few days, there have been several contests and the Osraige have held their own with the Fidh Gabhla,” went on Rumann. “Crónán then challenged my friend, Ruisín, to a contest which would finally decide who were the greater at this fair, Osraige or the Fidh Gabhla.”

Fidelma’s mouth turned down in disapproval.

“A clan made great simply by whoever could drink the most?”

“Sister, you must know that it is an old contest known in many lands? Whoever can drink most and still remain on their feet is the champion. This was to be the last great contest between us at the Aenach Carman.”

“Why was Ruisín chosen to take part?”

“He was our champion. And he was a great drinker,” Rumann said boastfully. “He would drink a barrel of ale and still lift the empty barrel above his head at the end of it.”

Fidelma hid her cynicism.

“So the challenge was to him or to the Osraige?”

“Ruisín was champion of Osraige. It was the same thing.”

“So explain what happened at this contest.”

“Ruisín and Crónán met at the tent of Cobha the ale maker. He supplied the ale. And. .”

“And which side was Cobha on?” queried Fidelma sharply.

“He was from the Fidh Gabhla. But the supplier of the ale in these contests is supposed to maintain neutrality.”

“Was there an impartial referee?”

“We were all referees. The men of Osraige and the men of Fidh Gabhla were there to see fair play.”

“No women?”

Rumann looked pained.

“It was not a contest that appealed to women,” he said.

“Quite so,” replied Fidelma grimly. “So a crowd was gathered ’round?”

“Cobha poured two jugs of ale. .”

“From the same barrel?”

Rumann frowned and thought.

“I think so. One jug apiece. Each man took up a position at either end of a wooden table on which the jugs were set. At a word from Cobha, they began to drink. Each man drained the first jug without a problem. Cobha brought the second jug. . my friend, Ruisín, had picked up the second jug when he staggered. He dropped the jug and he suddenly fell back. How the men of the Fidh Gabhla jeered, but I saw him writhing on the ground. I knew he was ill. Within a moment he was dead. That is all I know.”

Fidelma was quiet for a moment.

“You say that Ruisín was your friend?”

“He was.”

“He was a smith?”

“Like myself. We often worked together when our chieftain needed two pairs of bellows instead of one.” “Would you say that Ruisín was a strong man, a healthy man?”

“I have known him since he was a boy. There was never a stronger man. I refuse to believe that a surfeit of alcohol would kill him. Why, just one jug of ale and he went down like a cow at the slaughter.”

Fidelma sat back and gazed at the man with interest.

“Did your friend have enemies?”

“Enemies? Why, was he not our champion and being challenged by the Fidh Gabhla? The Fidh Gabhla had enough motive to ensure that their man should win.”

“But in these circumstances, there would be no victory.”

Rumann pursed his lips as though he had not thought of that fact.

“Did he have any other enemies?”

Rumann shook his head.

“He was regarded a first class craftsman; he had plenty of work. He was happily married to Muirgel and had no other cares in the world except how to enjoy his life more fully. No one would wish him harm. .”

“Except?” prompted Fidelma as his voice trailed away and the cast of thought came into his eyes.

“Only the men of the Fidh Gabhla,” he replied shortly. Fidelma knew that he had thought of something and was hiding it.

Crónán, the drinking champion of the Fidh Gabhla, was shown in next; a surly man with a mass of dark hair and bright blue eyes, which flickered nervously as if seeking out potential danger.

“We have had many a drinking contest in the past, Ruisín and I. We were rivals. Our clans were rivals. But we were friends.”

“That’s not what Rumann seems to imply,” Fidelma pointed out.

“Rumann has his own way of looking at things. Sometimes it is not reality.”

“Why would anyone put poison into Ruisín’s drink during this contest?”

Crónán raised his chin defiantly.

“I did not, that you may take as the truth. I swear that by the Holy Cross.”

“I would need more than an oath if I were to attempt to use it as evidence in court. You were both given separate jugs. I am told that the ale was poured from the same barrel.”

“It was. There were many witnesses to that. Cobha opened a new barrel so that the measure could be strictly witnessed.”

“What were the jugs?”

“The usual pottery jugs. They contained two meisrin each. We watched Cobha fill them and we all watched carefully so that the measure was equal. We had to double check because of Rumann’s damned dog.”

“His dog?” Fidelma frowned.

“That young excitable terrier. He broke loose from Rumann just when Cobha was pouring the second jug for me. He had set the first on the table while he poured the second. Then the dog went between his legs and nearly had him over. Rumann was apologetic and tied the dog up for the rest of the contest. I and Lennán, who was my witness, had to double check to make sure that Cobha had poured an equal measure for me.”

“And when you had ensured that he had. .?”

“He brought it to the table and placed them before us. The signal was given. We took them and downed the contents, each being equal in time to the other.”

“Cobha then filled a second pair of jugs?”

The man shook his head.

“No he retrieved the empty jugs from us and refilled them with the same measure, no more than two meisrin each. He put the jugs on the table before us as before. The signal was given and I began to drink mine. It was then that I noticed that while Ruisín had picked up his jug, he held it loosely, staggered and then fell back, dropping it.”

“Did it break?”

“What?”

“The jug, I mean. Did it break?”

“I think so. Yes, it cracked on the side of the table. I remember now, the damned dog ran forward to try to lap at the contents and Rumann had to haul him away with a good smack on the nose.”

Fidelma turned to Lígach.

“Can the broken pieces of the jug be found?”

The man went off about the task.

“Tell me, on this second time of filling, Crónán, I presume the same jugs were returned to you both? The jug that you first drank from was returned to you and the jug Ruisín drank out of was returned to him? Can you be sure?”

“Easy enough to tell. The jugs had different colored bands around them, the colors of the Fidh Gabhla and Osraige.”

“What craft do you follow, Crónán?” asked Fidelma suddenly.

“Me? Why, I am a hooper.”

“You make barrels?”

“I do indeed.”

Lígach returned. The broken jug could not be found. A more than diligent assistant to Cobha the ale keeper had apparently cleaned the area and taken the pieces to a rubbish dump where the results of several days of broken jugs and clay goblets were discarded in such manner that it was impossible to sort them out at all.

“I thought it best to take the broken jug to the rubbish dump immediately,” the assistant said defensively when summoned. “It was dangerous. Broken pieces and jagged. Rumann had difficulty dragging his dog away from it. He was very perturbed that the animal would injure itself. There were sharp edges.”

When Cobha entered to give his account, Fidelma had to disguise her instant dislike of the man. He was tall, thin, exceedingly thin so that he gave the appearance of someone on the verge of starvation. His looks were sallow and the eyes sunken and filled with suspicion. The only touch of color was the thin redness of his lips. He came before Fidelma with his head hanging like someone caught in a shameful act. His speech was oily and apologetic.

His account basically confirmed what had been said before.

“Did you examine the jugs before you poured the measure?” asked Fidelma.

Cobha looked puzzled.

“Were they clean?” Fidelma was more specific.

“Clean? I would always provide clean drinking vessels to my customers,” Cobha said, with an ingratiating air. “I have been coming to the Fair of Carman for two decades and no one has ever criticized my ale. . nor died of it.”

“Until today,” Abbot Laisran could not help but add, showing he, too, disapproved of the ale-man’s character.

“My ale was not to blame.”

“Do you have any idea what or who might be to blame?”

Cobha shook his head.

“Ruisín was not liked by everyone.”

Fidelma leant forward quickly.

“Is that so? Who did not like him?”

“Lennán, for example. He hated Ruisín.”

“Why?”

“Because of his sister.”

“Explain.”

“He once told me that his sister was having an affair with Ruisín. He disliked that.”

“Who is his sister and who is Lennán?” asked Fidelma.

“He has been mentioned before as being Crónán’s witness.”

“Lennán is a farmer. His farm straddles the borders of Osraige and the lands of the Fidh Gabhla. His sister is Uainiunn. Lennán hated Ruisín but, to be honest, I think Lennán was trying to find an excuse for his hate. I have seen Uainiunn and Muirgel together and they were close friends.”

Fidelma sat back thoughtfully.

“And Lennán was Crónán’s witness today?”

Cobha nodded.

“Let us go back to the jugs. How did you decide which jug to give to whom?”

“Easy enough. One jug had a yellow band on it, the color for Osraige. The other jug had a red band for the Fidh Gabhla.”

“Who put the color bands on them?”

“I did.”

“Before the contest?”

“About half an hour before.”

“And where did the jugs stand while the contestants readied themselves and you finally took up the jugs to fill?”

“On the table by the cask.”

“I want you to think clearly. Did you examine the jugs before you began to fill them?”

This time Cobha thought more carefully.

“I looked into them to make sure that they were still clean and no creature had crept in, a fly or some such creature.”

“And they were clean?”

Cobha nodded emphatically.

“I would not serve ale, even in such circumstances as this contest, in dirty vessels. I have my license to consider. My alehouse has always been dligtech for it has passed the three tests according to law.”

Fidelma was looking puzzled.

“The contestants were standing with the table between them. Is that so?”

“It is.”

“How near were the onlookers?”

Cobha rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

“Gathered around,” he said with a shrug.

“Such as? Who was, say, near Crónán? I presume this witness, Lennán?”

“Lennán was next to him.” Cobha agreed and added. “Lennán would not miss an opportunity to see Ruisín worsted.”

“That he certainly saw,” commented Fidelma dryly.

Cobha suddenly looked nervous.

“I did not mean to imply that. . I only meant to say. . You asked me where Lennán was.”

“And you told me,” agreed Fidelma. “Who else was there?” Cobha compressed his lips for a moment then shrugged.

“Uainiunn was with her brother.”

“I thought Rumann said that there were no women present?” frowned Fidelma. Cobha shrugged indifferently.

“She was the only woman present apart from Muirgel. Perhaps that is what Rumann meant?”

Fidelma’s eyebrows shot up.

“Muirgel as well? Where was she standing? You say that Uainiunn stood by her brother, Lennán? So they were close to Crónán?”

“That is so. Rumann and Muirgel were standing at the opposite end of the table, on either side of Ruisín.”

“And you were the only person to pour the ale and place the jugs on the table?”

“True enough.”

She gestured for him to withdraw and turned with a fretful expression to Abbot Laisran.

“So, as far as I can see, there are only two possibilities. One possibility is that the poison was introduced into the jug destined for Ruisín between the time of it being poured and the time of his drinking it.”

“That surely means that Cobha is chief suspect, for if anyone else had introduced the poison then they would surely be seen.” replied Laisran.

“But I fail to see the second possibility.”

“That would involve introducing the poison to Ruisín before the contest so that it would affect him later.”

Laisran immediately shook his head.

“I know of no such poison that could have such a long-term effect as has been described. By all accounts Ruisín was well until the second jug was placed before him.”

“Importantly, we are told that he did not drink from it. So the poison must have been in the first jug.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“It seems an impossible crime, for it was carried out in front of so many witnesses,” Laisran sighed.

“We don’t even know how the crime was committed let alone who committed it. Although a young dálaigh I knew would say, solve the one and find the other.”

Fidelma shook her head with a wry smile.

“That young dálaigh was being a little glib,” she confessed.

“You were correct then. The principle is also correct now.”

“Let us see what Lennán has to say,” she sighed. “At least he is the only person who seems to have had some dislike for Ruisín.”

She called to Lígach to bring in the man.

Lennán was another of those people that she felt should be distrusted on sight. Shifty weak eyes, light and flickering here and there but never focusing on the person he was addressing. His was not thin but wiry; the mouth seemed malleable and he had a weak jaw. Nothing seemed firm about him. A vivid white line curved across his forehead, the scar of some terrible wound. The aura he gave out was intangible; that was the word Fidelma came up with. There seemed nothing substantial about the man that would even give a reason for her feeling of distrust.

“Well, Lennán,” she began sharply. “We understand that you did not like Ruisín.”

The man actually cringed before her. It was not a pleasant sight.

“With good reason, Sister. With good reason,” he whined.

“And what good reason?”

“He was having an affair with my sister, and he being married to Muirgel. It is a matter of her honor.”

“How did you know Ruisín was having an affair with your sister?”

“How do I know the midday sun is bright?” retorted the man.

“Sometimes the midday sun is obscured by gray cloud,” Fidelma pointed out dryly. “I ask again, how did you know this?”

“She was always going to Ruisín’s house.”

“But isn’t that naturally explained? Ruisín’s wife was her friend.”

Lennán sniffed in annoyance, the closest gesture he came in defiance of her.

“Ruisín’s wife was an excuse. It was not Muirgel that she was going to see.”

“I still cannot see how you can be so sure. I presume you asked her?”

“She denied it.”

“Did you ask Ruisín?”

“He also denied it.”

“So did you kill Ruisín?”

The question was put in the same tone and without pause so that Lennán was about to answer before he realized what he was being asked. He frowned in annoyance.

“I would have done so if I had had the chance,” he replied in surly tone.

“That seems honest enough,” admitted Fidelma.

“You take your sister’s honor seriously. I think you take it more seriously than she does. I wonder why?”

The man said nothing.

“You can offer no facts about this affair between your sister and Ruisín?”

“I don’t need facts. I base my knowledge on logic.”

“Ah, logic. My mentor, Brehon Morann, once said that anything could be demonstrated by logic. By logic we can prove whatever we wish to. Very well. During this contest, I am told you were standing at the table next to Crónán?”

“I was. My sister was beside me, mooning across the table at that oaf, Ruisín.”

“And you saw no one interfere with the drinking vessels?”

“I would not stoop to poison, Sister. If I reached the point where I wished to kill Ruisín, my weapon would be a sword or axe.”

Abbot Laisran was smiling in satisfaction when Lennán left the tent.

“That is our man, Fidelma. A whole screpall on it. That’s worth a good barrel of Gaulish wine.”

“I think you are a little free with your money, Laisran,” she smiled. “Before taking the wager, let us have a word with his sister, Uainiunn.”

Uainiunn looked nothing like her brother. She was fleshy; almost voluptuous, with an animal magnetism and a provocative way of looking at one, from under half-closed eyelids. She was dark of hair and eyes and had full red lips.

“I understand that you attended this drinking contest.”

“With my brother. He insisted.”

“He insisted?”

“He wanted to see Ruisín beaten by Crónán.”

“And you?”

The girl shrugged.

“It was a matter of indifference to me.”

Fidelma examined her closely.

“Why would that be so?” she asked.

Uainiunn sniffed.

“What entertainment is there is watching men drink themselves senseless?”

“True enough, but didn’t you want to see Ruisín win the contest?”

“Not particularly. I am sad for Muirgel, though. The loss of Ruisín is going to be a heavy blow for her. However, I do not doubt that she will find another man to take care of her. Rumann for example. It might stop Rumann chasing me. He does not interest me.”

“Ruisín’s death does not affect you in any way?” demanded Abbot Laisran, slightly outraged at the seeming callousness of the girl.

Uainiunn frowned.

“Only inasmuch as it affects my friend, Muirgel.”

“It sounds as though you did not care much for Ruisín,” Fidelma reflected.

“He was my friend’s husband, that is all.”

“I understand that is not what your brother thought.”

The girl’s eyes blazed for a moment. It was like a door opening suddenly and for a moment Fidelma glimpsed something equivalent to the hot fires of hell beyond. Then they snapped shut.

“I am not responsible for what Lennán thinks,” she snapped.

“So you would deny his claim that you were having an affair with Ruisín?”

The girl threw back her head and laughed. Yet it was not a pleasant sound. There was no need to press her further on her opinion.

“Very well,” Fidelma said quietly. “You may leave us.”

Abbot Laisran turned eagerly after she left.

“You think that she did it? She is callous enough.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

“Are you about to place another wager, another screpall on it?” she asked.

Laisran flushed.

“Perhaps either one of them did it,” he countered.

Fidelma did not reply directly. She turned to Lígach.

“Let Muirgel come in.”

Laisran looked slightly crushed and sat back. He whispered stubbornly.

“No, she didn’t do it. A screpall on Lennán. He’s your man, I am now certain. After all, he confessed that he wanted to murder Ruisín.”

“But says that he did not. If he were guilty of the fact, he would surely have attempted to hide his intention?” replied Fidelma.

“A subtle way of deflecting you from the truth. He has motive and. .”

“And opportunity? How so? He was with Crónán on the far side of the table.”

Laisran shook his head.

“This is worse than the mystery you had to solve in my abbey, when Wulfstan was founded stabbed to death in his cell which had been locked from the inside. Do you remember?”

“I remember it well,” agreed Fidelma.

“No one could have entered nor left-so who had killed Wulfstan? Here we have a similar problem.”

“Similar?”

“There is Ruisín. He is in full view of a large number of people and he is poisoned. No one can have administered the poison without being seen.”

Fidelma smiled softly.

“Yet someone did.”

Muirgel came in; her face was still mask-like, displaying no emotion. Fidelma pointed to a chair and invited her to sit down.

“We will not keep you long.”

The woman raised a bland face to them as she sat.

“The gossip is that my husband did not die from excess of drink but was poisoned.”

“It is a conclusion that we have reached.”

“But why? There was no reason to kill him.”

“There obviously was and we require your help in discovering that reason. What enemies did he have?”

“None except. .” she suddenly looked nervous and paused.

“Lennán?”

“You know about him?”

“I know only that he hated your husband.”

Muirgel sat silently.

“Was your husband having an affair with Uainiunn?” demanded Fidelma brutally.

At once Muirgel shook her head vehemently.

“What makes you so positive?” pressed Fidelma.

“Uainiunn is my friend. I have known her longer than Ruisín. But I also know Ruisín. You cannot live in close proximity with a man day in and day out without knowing whether he is seeing another woman, especially if the woman is your best friend.”

Fidelma grimaced. She had known women who had been fooled, as well as men come to that. But she did not comment further. Then another thought occurred to her.

“Rumann was your husband’s friend?”

“He was.”

“And your friend also?”

The woman frowned.

“Of course.”

“Rumann is not married?”

“He is not.”

Fidelma was watching the woman’s expression intently when she posed the questions with their subtle implication. But there was no guile there. Nothing was hidden.

“I suppose that you and Ruisín, Rumann and Uainiunn were often together?”

Again, Muirgel looked puzzled.

“Uainiunn was my friend. Rumann was Ruisín’s friend. It was inevitable that we would be together from time to time.”

“What of Uainiunn’s brother-Lennán? Was he in your company?”

Muirgel looked annoyed.

“I thought we had cleared up that matter. He was never in our company.”

Fidelma nodded with a sigh.

“You see, I would like to understand why Lennán has developed this idea about his sister and your husband.”

“If you can peer through a person’s skull, through into the secrets of their mind, then you will find the answer. All I know is that Lennán was not so extreme until after he returned from the cattle raid against the Uí Néill.”

“You will have to explain that.”

“Over a year ago Lennán decided to join a raiding party to retrieve some cattle stolen by the one of Uí Néill clans. When he came back he was a changed man. You saw the scar across his forehead?”

“He was wounded?”

“The rest of the raiding party did not return,” went on Muirgel. “Only he returned out of the score of men who went off.”

“Did he explain what had happened to them?”

“An ambush. A fight. He was, indeed, wounded, and left for dead. A hill shepherd cared for him until he was well enough and then he returned. That was when he became suspicious of everyone and when he began to make those silly accusations against Ruisín.”

Fidelma leaned forward a little with interest.

“So this started only after his return. And you say there was no reason that you knew of?”

“Perhaps he had become deranged.”

“Did you speak about this to Uainiunn?”

Muirgel grimaced.

“Of course. Lennán was her brother.”

“And what comment did she make?”

“That we should ignore him. She said that most people knew that he had become a changed man since his return from the cattle raid. No one would take him seriously.” Muirgel suddenly paused and her eyes widened as she gazed at Fidelma. “Lennán? Do you suspect Lennán of killing Ruisín? How? He was standing on the far side of the table when the contest started. How could he have killed my husband?”

“You’ve no idea who killed your husband?” Fidelma asked, ignoring her question.

“None.”

“That is all then.”

Muirgel rose and went to the flap of the tent.

“Oh, just one question more,” called Fidelma softly.

The woman turned expectantly.

“You were not having an affair with Rumann, were you?”

Muirgel’s eyes widened for a moment in shock and then a cynical smile slowly crossed her face. She made a sound, a sort of suppressed chuckle and shook her head.

“I am not. Rumann is too interested in Uainiunn to bother with me, and I would have discouraged him. I loved Ruisín.”

Fidelma nodded and gestured her to leave.

Abbot Laisran was staring at Fidelma in surprise.

“That was surely an insensitive question to ask of a newly widowed woman?” He spoke in a tone of stern rebuke.

“Sometimes, Laisran, in order to get to firm ground one has to tread through bogland, through mire,” she replied.

“Do you really suspect that Muirgel poisoned her husband because she was having an affair with his friend, Rumann?”

“Every question I ask is for a purpose. You should know my methods by now, Laisran.”

“I am still at a loss. I thought it was clear that Lennán must be the culprit. But your question to Muirgel. .?”

Fidelma had turned to Lígach, who had entered the tent again. The chieftain bent down and whispered in her ear. She nodded firmly.

“Bring Rumann back,” she ordered.

Rumann came in with his dog again, but this time immediately tied it to the tent post so that it would not leap up.

“Well, Sister? Have you found out who killed my friend?” Fidelma regarded him with grave chill eyes.

“I think I have a good idea, Rumann. You did.”

The man froze. He tried to form a sentence but the words would not come out. He managed a nervous laugh.

“You are joking, of course?”

“I never joke about these matters, Rumann.”

“How could I have done such a thing?”

“Is that a practical question or a philosophical question?”

Rumann stood defiantly before her, having regained his composure. He folded his arms across his chest.

“You must be mad.”

“I think that you will find that you have been the victim of madness, but that does not emanate from me. How did you do it? The drinking contest had been arranged. Early in the fair you saw the stall which sold poisons. Abbot Laisran had told me how he had to chase the stallholder away because the noxious brews that he was selling to control pests could also be used to kill other animals. They would also kill human beings. You acquired some of that brew before Abbot Laisran forced the stall so close.”

For the first time Rumann looked nervous.

“You are guessing,” he said uncertainly.

“And am I supposed to have slipped this poison into his drink in full view of everyone gathered to watch the contest?”

“Supposed to and did so,” agreed Fidelma. “It was very simple. You were standing by his side. Your terrier is always with you. It seems to like ale. As Cobha had poured the first jug, and each jug was marked for the individual contestant, you let slip the leash of your dog, who ran to Cobha just after he set down Ruisín’s jug and while he was filling the jug for Crónán. The immediate concern was to save Crónán’s jug that he was filling. No one noticed that you slipped the phial of poison into Ruisín’s jug while people fussed over whether Cobha had filled a proper measurement in the other jug.”

Rumann was silent.

“You retrieved your dog and tied it to a post. When Ruisín fell dead and his jug shattered to pieces, your dog sprang forward to lap the ale in the broken pieces. You don’t mind your dog lapping at ale. I asked myself why you were so concerned to drag your dog away from the ale in those broken pieces. A fear that the beast might injured himself on the broken pieces? Dogs have more sense. You thought some residue of the poison might be left, didn’t you? You didn’t want your dog to be poisoned.”

Rumann was still silent. Fidelma glanced toward the open tent flap.

“I could bring forth the stallholder who sold you the poison but I am sure you won’t want to give us that trouble,” mused Fidelma softly.

Laisran went to say something, and then put a hand in front of his features and coughed noisily. Rumann did not seem to notice him, and his jaw came up defiantly.

“Even if I admitted that I purchased poison from that stall, you have yet to argue a good cause why I would want to kill my friend, Ruisín.”

Fidelma shook her head.

“Sadly, that is not difficult. It is a cause, if you would call it so, that is as old as time itself. Jealousy.”

“I? Jealous of Ruisín’s wife? Ridiculous!”

“I did not say who you were jealous of. It was not Ruisín’s wife. You are desperately in love with Uainiunn, although she does not appear to care for you. In your justification for this, you came to believe the stories that Lennán was putting about-that his sister was having an affair with Ruisín. She was not. But you chose to believe Lennán because you could not accept that Uainiunn was simply not interested in you. Your jealousy knew no bounds. Pitifully, you believed if you killed Ruisín, then Uainiunn would turn to you. It is not love that is blind, Rumann, but jealousy.”

“I loved Uainiunn. Ruisín stood in my way,” replied the smith firmly.

“He did not. That was no more than a deranged mind’s fantasy which a frustrated and suspicious ear picked up and then nurtured among the gall of rejection. The bitter fruits of this harvest have destroyed minds as well as lives. Love that is fed only on jealousy dies hard. So it will die in you, Rumann.”

She gestured to Lígach to remove the man from the tent.

Abbot Laisran was wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I swear that you had me worried there, Fidelma. A dálaigh is not supposed to tell an untruth to force a confession. What if Rumann had called your bluff and demanded that you bring in that stall-holder that I chased from here?”

Fidelma smiled wanly.

“Then I would have asked him to come in. As soon as I saw that poison was involved, I remembered what you said and asked Lígach to find the man. You did not think that an entrepreneur would meekly depart from such a good source of revenue as this fair-ground just because you chased him away from his stall? He had not gone very far at all.”

“I think I shall need a drink after this, but an amphora of good Gaulish wine-” Laisran shuddered-“certainly not ale!”

Fidelma looked cynical.

“What was it that you were going to wager with me-a screpall? A barrel of Gaulish wine? Lucky for you I did not accept it. You’ll find wine is sweet but sour its payment.”

“I’m willing to fulfill my obligation,” the abbot said defensively.

Fidelma shook her head.

“A share of the amphora will do. You are not searching for the gold at night, surely? Tomorrow will only bring lead.”

Abbot Laisran grimaced wryly.

“Poor Ruisín found lead earlier than most. Moderation, Fidelma. I agree. I invite you to the hospitality of the abbey.”

“And is it not an old saying that it is not an invitation to hospitality without a drink?” smiled Fidelma.