Whispers of the Dead

DARK MOON RISING

I have come to you in order to seek compensation for the loss of my goods.”

The man with the moon-like face stood before Fidelma in the court of the Brehons of Dair Inis with such an air of woe that he looked almost comical. Distress did not sit easily on his almost cherubic, virtuous features. His blue eyes stared as if in wondering innocence and his lower lip protruded slightly like a child expecting an admonition from an adult.

“Abaoth’s claim is without foundation,” interrupted the second man, who stood at his side.

Sister Fidelma did not like this thin, wiry individual. His voice grated in her ears with its high-pitched, almost whining note. He was richly, almost ostentatiously, dressed and wore too much jewelery. Rich clothes ill became his physical appearance. She suddenly smiled to herself as she realized that his name suited his cunning looks. Olcán, the very name meant a wolf. He had the appearance of a scavenger.

Fidelma had been staying in the abbey established by Molena on Dair Inis, the island of oaks, standing in the waters of Abhainn Mór, the great river, not far from the trading settlement known as Eochaill, the yew wood, which guarded the estuary of the river. It was a busy port and Fidelma had often passed through it. She had only been in the abbey one night, when Abbot Accobrán had succumbed to a fever, which caused him to retire to his bed. He had requested that Fidelma, being duly qualified in law, take his place as Brehon and deliver the judgments during the court proceedings, which were due the next day.

Now Fidelma sat, trying to suppress her prejudice, as she viewed the two merchants from Eochaill making claim and counter-claim before the court.

“I seek compensation for the loss of my goods,” repeated Abaoth stubbornly.

“And I reject it,” replied Olcán with vehemence.

“The scriptor has already informed me of the nature of your claims,” replied Fidelma sharply. “However, I am lacking in details. Let us begin with you, Abaoth. You are a merchant in Eochaill?”

The round-faced man jerked his head in assertion.

“That I am, learned ollamh,” he replied in an obsequious manner.

“I am not an ollamh,” retorted Fidelma. She was sure that the man knew that fact. “I am a dálaigh but still qualified to hear your case. Proceed with the details.”

“Most learned dálaigh, I trade with the lands of the Britons, Saxons and Franks. I have a small fleet of trading vessels that take leather goods and the skins of otters and squirrels especially to the lands of the Franks and they return laden with corn and wine. My ships off-load their cargoes at Eochaill where I hire the barges of Olcán to transport them along the Abhainn Mór to Lios Mór.”

“So you sell your goods to the abbey there?”

Fidelma was acquainted with the abbey founded thirty years before by Carthach and which was now a prominent center attracting religious from all five kingdoms of Éireann.

“Some portion of the goods are sold to the abbey,” nodded the merchant, “but most of the wine is purchased by the Prince of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

“Learned dálaigh, on the last two occasions, Olcán claims that he has lost my cargoes. He refuses to pay me for that loss. I am not so rich that I can sustain the loss of two cargoes. The goods were lost while being transported by his barges. He is responsible for compensating me.”

Fidelma turned to the wiry-faced man with a frown.

“In what manner have the cargoes been lost?” she demanded.

Olcán made a gesture as if dismissing the matter.

“On two occasions my vessels have set off up-river for Lios Mór and disappeared,” Olcán replied. “My loss has been greater than Abaoth’s loss.”

Fidelma raised her head in surprise to study the man’s face. He was serious.

“Disappeared?” she echoed. “In what way did they disappear?”

“Having taken Abaoth’s cargoes onto my barges-these are the rivergoing vessels crewed by three men-the type known as ethur. .”

“I am acquainted with such vessels,” Fidelma intervened with weary tone.

“Of course,” the man acknowledged. “The cargo was loaded into the barges. They set off up the river to Lios Mór and did not arrive. This has happened twice. The barges have disappeared. If anyone should be compensated it is I.”

Abaoth broke in with almost a whimper in his voice.

“It is not so. The Prince of Glandamnach is refusing to trade further with me because I do not deliver the goods he contracts for. I am not a rich man, learned dálaigh. Two cargoes lost in as many months. It is clear that thieves are at work and I must seek restitution.”

“What of the crews on these barges? What do they say?”

Again the thin-faced merchant shrugged eloquently.

“They have disappeared as well.”

This time Fidelma could not conceal her surprise.

“Six of your men have disappeared. Why was this not reported before?”

The merchant shuffled his feet in response to her sharp tone.

“I do so now in my counterclaim for compensation for my lost barges and. .”

“These men might be dead,” she broke in. “I presume that you are looking after their dependants?”

Olcán grimaced irritably.

“I am a merchant not a charity. . ”

“The law is specific,” snapped Fidelma. “You should know that you are responsible for all those who work for you, especially their medical expenses if injured in your employ. It is clearly stated in the Leabhar Acaill. I can only think that you are more concerned with your lost barges than the disappearance of your boatmen.”

Olcán regarded her with a sour expression.

“Without my barges and trade I cannot pay my boatmen.”

“When did these cargoes disappear?” she asked Abaoth.

“The last cargo disappeared two weeks ago. The first was almost exactly four weeks before that.”

“And why haven’t you reported this before now?”

“I have. I reported it to the master of the port. I was told to bring the matter before the Brehon at the next session of the court here on Dair Inis.”

Fidelma was irritated.

“It is a long time that has passed. The matter should have been investigated before this. Before any decision on whether you merit compensation in this matter, or whether Olcán’s counterclaim is valid, it must be investigated. I will consult Bretha im Gata, the law of thefts. You will give the details to the scriptor of this court and return here when summoned to do so to hear my decision.”

Abaoth inclined his head turning as if eager to be away from the court. Olcán, however, glowered at her obviously dissatisfied, hesitated a moment but left the court after his fellow merchant. At a gesture from Fidelma, the scriptor followed them out.

That afternoon, Fidelma found herself wandering along the quay in Eochaill, looking at the ocean going boats loading and unloading. Her mind was turning over the problem of the disappearance of the barges. A figure was standing blocking her path. It was familiar. She halted and focussed and a mischievous grin spread on her features.

The man was elderly. A short, stocky man with greying close cropped hair. His skin was tanned by sea and wind almost to the color of nut. His stance and appearance marked him out as a grizzled veteran of seafaring.

“Ross? Is it you?”

She knew him of old as the captain of a coastal bark sailing the waters around her brother’s kingdom.

“Lady,” grinned the old seaman, touching his forehead in salutation. Ross never forgot that Fidelma was sister to Colgú, King of Muman.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and then chuckled as she realized it was a foolish question to ask of a sailor in a coastal port. She gestured toward a nearby bruiden, a tavern, which stood nearby. “Let us slake our thirst and talk of old times, Ross, and. .” she suddenly had a thought, “and perhaps you can help me with a problem that I have.”

“Of course, lady,” agreed Ross at once. “I am always prepared to help if you are in need.”

Seated at a table in the hostel, with a jug of honey-sweetened mead between them, Fidelma asked Ross if he knew of the merchants Abaoth and Olcán.

Ross grimaced immediately at the name of Olcán.

“Olcán? He is a greedy man. I’ve shipped cargoes for him along the coast and he always tries to cheat on his payments. I no longer take his cargoes. Indeed, he has lost trade recently because people do not trust him. He is reduced to a fleet of river barges whereas he had two seagoing ships some years ago. What have you to do with him?”

Fidelma explained, adding: “What of Abaoth?”

“I know nothing bad about him. He had a fleet of three ships trading mainly with the Frankish ports. I know he has had bad luck recently for one of his ships foundered and was destroyed in a storm. I think he trades hides in return for wine. But as for Olcán-compensation for stolen cargo? I wouldn’t lift a finger to get him compensation. In fact, I might pay the thieves to take his cargoes in order to compensate for the times he cheated others.”

Fidelma smiled grimly.

“At the moment I am more concerned with the boatmen who have disappeared.”

Ross sighed and nodded.

“I know Olcán never treated his men well but I see what you mean. I have heard that several good river men had disappeared of late. I did not know that they worked for Olcán although, come to think of it, I do not recall seeing as many of Olcán’s barges on the river in recent days.”

Fidelma was intrigued.

“Are you saying that you know Olcán’s barges by sight?”

Ross grinned.

“Even barges bear names, lady. And Olcán’s barges have the head of a wolf burnt into the bow to brand the owner’s identity on them. Where did these barges disappear?”

She told him what she knew.

“Between Eochaill and Lios Mór?” he said reflectively. “That’s over thirty kilometers of river, maybe more. That’s a long stretch of river to examine.”

Fidelma was thoughtful.

“There has been something troubling me about it, something Olcán said which struck a thought in my mind and then it passed and now I cannot remember it,” she confessed. Then she clicked her fingers abruptly.

“I know, it was the fact that these boats disappeared at night. That they undertook their journey by night.”

Ross shook his head with a smile.

“Nothing unusual in that. Night is often the safest time to travel and the speediest time for boats like the ethur or cargo-carrying boats, as we call them. Often during the day, on rivers such as these, you get many people out in small boats who really don’t know the ways of the river. Many skippers of ethur try to avoid them because of the accidents that they cause. The answer is that they choose night to travel and so they can move speedily along.”

“I see.” Fidelma was disappointed. However, Ross was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Did you say that Olcán said the last boat to disappear was two weeks ago and the other was four weeks before that?”

“He did. Is that significant to you?”

Ross pursed his lips.

“Not really. Only that it must have coincided with the new moon on both occasions. Usually skippers avoid that period when traveling at night.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you said they liked traveling at night?”

“But during the three days of the new moon they usually avoid travel for it is the dark time. The day of the new moon, the day before and the day afterwards.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Even boatmen need moonlight to see by and while they like to travel at night, they do not like total darkness. You must know that we call that the period of the Dark Moon for on those three days the moon is so weak it shows little light.”

“Of course. It is said that the moon holds sway over the night and that things happen at the period of the Dark Moon that never happen in the Full Moon. Hidden acts take place at the Dark Moon.”

Ross nodded quickly.

“She is the sailor’s strength, the Queen of the Night. But she is a hard taskmistress, that is why we have so many names for her in our language and none dare pronounce her real name. Once a sailor steps on shipboard he must never refer to the moon by other than an euphemism such as ‘the Queen of the Night’, ‘the brightness’ and. .”

Fidelma had been looking thoughtful and interrupted him.

“Ross, can you find someone to take me upriver? I’d like to examine its course between here and Lios Mór.”

Ross grinned.

“If it’s a trip upriver that you are wanting, lady, then I am your man. I was born on this river. I have a curragh moored a short distance away.”

“But there are only a few hours of daylight left today. The sort of trip I had in mind needs daylight. If your offer still holds at dawn tomorrow, then I accept.”

Ross nodded agreeably.

“Dawn tomorrow it is, lady. I’ll bring the curragh to the quay at Dair Inis.”

“Good.” She rose. “Then I shall take this opportunity to visit some of the wives of the boatmen who disappeared and see in what condition Olcán has left them. The scriptor has made me a list of their names and their families live mostly around Eochaill.”

The first three boatmen who had disappeared had been Erc, Donnucán and Laochra. The second crew were Finchán, Laidcenn and Dathal.

On inquiring for the families of the first two names on the list prepared by the scriptor, Fidelma was informed by neighbors that they had departed from Eochaill. As soon as the news of their husbands’ disappearance had been reported, the womenfolk and their children had left the area, presumably to go to stay with other members of their families.

The third family Fidelma found was still living in Eochaill. A woman with heavy jowls and a baby in her arms stood on the threshold of a poor house, and glowered in suspicion at Fidelma.

“My man was a steersman on Olcán’s barges,” she acknowledged. “Five weeks ago now he was contracted to take a cargo up to Lios Mór and has not returned.”

Fidelma was aware of several children playing around the house.

“You have a large family?”

The woman nodded.

“Times must be hard with the loss of your man. Does Olcán help support the family?”

The woman laughed unpleasantly.

“The wolf? That sly one? He would not give a pingín that he did not have to.”

Fidelma sighed. By right, Olcán had to give support to his workers injured in the course of tasks undertaken in their employment. Obviously, the woman did not know her rights.

“Do your family help, with the feeding of your children?”

Again the woman laughed.

“It is the generosity of Abaoth who feeds my children, Sister. A blessing on his name.”

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Abaoth?” While it was technically Abaoth’s cargo, the legal responsibility was on the employer, Olcán, to compensate the families of the men who were injured in his employ. Disappearance could well be interpreted by the Brehons as a form of injury.

“He is a generous man,” repeated the woman. “It was his cargo that my man was transporting.”

“Does he help all the families of the boatmen who have disappeared?”

“So I am told. I know he helps me and will do so until the time my man returns.”

“And you have no idea what has happened to your man and his fellow boatmen?”

“None. Now I have things to attend to, Sister.” The woman turned abruptly to her house and closed the door behind her.

Thoughtfully, Fidelma went to find another of the families. According to the scriptor, one of the boatmen had recently been married. His young wife’s name was Serc. The house was a small but better kept house, near the quay. As she came to the door Fidelma heard voices raised, a male voice and a female voice. She could not hear what was said but some altercation was taking place. Fidelma knocked loudly and the voices fell silent. She knocked again. There came the sounds of whispering. Then Fidelma heard the noise of a door opening softly on the far side of the house. Something prompted her to move swiftly to the corner of the building where there was a narrow passage leading to the back of it. She had a brief glimpse of a semi-clad male figure, some of his clothes in hand, moving hurriedly away. A second’s glimpse, and then he had disappeared.

Behind her the front door had opened.

Fidelma turned back to find herself being confronted by a young, attractive but sulky-looking girl with a shawl around her. It was clear that she was naked underneath. Her hair was tousled and her lips were pursed in a surly expression. There was something promiscuous about her even in this state. Her stare was disapproving as she looked at Fidelma.

“Is your name Serc? I am told your husband disappeared a few weeks ago while working as a boatman for Olcán the merchant.”

“What’s it to do with you?” demanded the girl, still sulky.

“I am a dálaigh of the Brehon Court and my inquiry is official.”

Serc was still defiant.

“If you are who you say then you must know the answer to the question.”

Fidelma controlled her irritation.

“Since your husband disappeared, I presume that you are being cared for by the employer of your husband?”

The girl raised her chin a little.

“Abaoth has ensured that I do not want.”

“Abaoth? Not Olcán?”

“Olcán is a lecherous old bastard!” the girl replied without rancor.

“He came here and said he would take care of me if. .” Her mouth clamped shut.

Fidelma was not surprised.

“You do not know what happened to your husband?”

“Of course not. Why should I?”

“I am trying to find out what happened to him and to the others.”

“Let me know when you do. I’d be interested. Now I am cold, standing here. Have you finished?”

It was clear that even though her husband had vanished with his fellow boatmen, Serc would lack for nothing now or in the future so long as she retained her looks.

There were two other families on her list. One of them, like the first two Fidelma had inquired after, had left Eochaill and had, presumably, moved off to live with relatives, since their husbands had gone missing. The other was a large, broad-faced woman who had several children. She seemed anxious when confronted with Fidelma. She and her children seemed to lack for nothing and Fidelma confirmed that this was due to Abaoth rather than the miserly Olcán. Like the other wives, Fidelma was not able to pick up any useful information-neither about the missing boatmen nor their last trip for Olcán.

It was dawn the next day when Fidelma joined Ross in his curragh and they began to move upriver from Eochaill. The Abhainn Mór was well named. It was a “great river” whose black waters were deep and dark. Once out of the estuary waters and entering the river proper-around the place called the Point of the Sacred Tree from pagan times: this was a hill on which a small fortress stood to protect the river passage-progress was more interesting. They went through the wooded banks of the still-broad river, the trees rising on hills along either side as it kept a moderately straight course north.

Apart from small streams that fed the river Fidelma saw nothing that excited her suspicions. Isolated farmsteads could be seen now and again but there were no major settlements once they were beyond Dair Inis.

Ross eased on his oars for a moment.

“Have you seen anything of interest yet, lady?” he asked.

She shook her head negatively.

“Everything seems as it should be.”

“What did you expect to see?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Something out of the ordinary perhaps.”

Ross sighed.

“We should break for a meal soon. The sun is already at the zenith.”

She nodded absently.

“The Abhainn Mór is a long river, lady.” Ross had a quiet sense of humor. “I trust that you don’t want to explore its whole length? It rises on the slopes of a mountain in the country of the Muscraige Luachra and that is a long, long journey from here.”

“Don’t worry, Ross. Whatever happened to the barges happened before Lios Mór and I think it happened to them before dawn. Whoever or whatever was responsible for their disappearance would not want any witnesses and with daylight would come such witnesses.”

“Well, the next settlement is Conn’s Plot, Ceapach Choinn. It is there that the river makes a forty-five-degree turn towards Lios Mór. I don’t know whether they could reach that settlement before dawn. Whatever happened to them must have happened long before the river turns.”

Fidelma was grateful for Ross’s knowledge.

They pulled into the bank to take a midday snack of bread and goat’s cheese and the flask of mead. It was a warm, pleasant day, and Fidelma felt herself sinking into a lazy drowsing state beneath the tall oaks soaring up from the bank above her, with the sound of songbirds in her ears.

“We should be on our way, lady,” Ross reminded her after a while.

She started nervously from her reverie.

“I was thinking,” she said defensively. Then smiled.

“No, I think I was dreaming. But you are right. We must press on. There must be somewhere that these barges were taken and hidden before the bend in the river.”

Ross rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“The only place I can think of is where the River Bríd joins this river.”

Fidelma frowned.

“The River Bríd? Of course, I had forgotten that.”

“It joins the Abhainn Mór less than a kilometer from here.”

Fidelma leant forward excitedly.

“We will turn off into the River Bríd and see where it takes us.”

The Bríd was a powerful river, although not so wide as the Abhainn Mór, and it was difficult to negotiate against the surge where it flooded into the greater river, joining its slow progress to the sea. There were tiny whirlpools and currents that sent Ross’s curragh this way and that in a helter-skelter fashion. Finally, they broke through to calmer water and began to move slowly through a green plain with distant hills on either side. It was a fertile valley in which Fidelma had never been before.

“Do you know this area, Ross?”

“This is the territory of Cumscrad, Prince of the Fir Maige Féne.”

Fidelma suddenly shuddered.

“They are a non-Eóghanacht people whose prince claims that he descended from Mogh Ruith, a sinister Druid who was a disciple of Simon Magus, the magician who opposed the Blessed Peter, the disciple of Christ.”

Ross grimaced but without concern.

“If it is a villain that you are seeing, you may seek no further that Cumscrad,” he said.

“There is a local chieftain here who acts in his name, Conna.”

“I have not heard of him.”

“He has a small fortress on a rock above the river but it is some way further on. We have to come to the main settlement first.”

“That’s called Tealach an Iarainn, the hill of iron, isn’t it? I have heard of that because it is famous for its wealth.”

“That’s the place, lady. The people extract iron ore and smelt it and trade it. In fact, Olcán trades for iron cargoes here.”

“Does he now?” Fidelma asked reflectively.

They had come nearly three kilometers along the winding river when Ross, glancing over his shoulder, indicated the settlement on the south bank of the river. There were several barges and small boats moored along the riverbank where wooden quays showed that a trade was carried on here.

“We’ll stop here and make some inquiries,” Fidelma instructed, and Ross pulled in looking for a mooring.

On firm land, Fidelma took a moment or two to recover her balance, having been for some hours seated in the curragh. She looked about along the line of vessels. Tealach an Iarainn was certainly a busy little settlement. There were a lot of people about. By their appearance it seemed that they were mainly merchants or boatmen. There were a large number of blacksmith forges along the quays as well.

“What now, lady?” asked Ross. “Where do we make our inquiries?”

“Let’s take a stroll along the quay first.”

She was surprised at how busy the settlement was. In the hills behind she realized that people were mining and extracting iron ore. She could see wagons bringing it down to the forges where she presumed the iron was extracted and then sent in the barges to be sold at various destinations. It suddenly came to her memory that the plains beyond this settlement were called Magh Méine, the Plain of Minerals.

“Lady!”

Ross’s urgent whisper made her turn her head.

They had been walking by a series of barges that were being filled with cargoes of iron ore. It was the end one by which Ross had paused. There was no one on board and he had halted and was staring at the bow.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Take a look at the bow, lady.”

Fidelma looked.

The wooden planking of the vessel seemed to have been recently tarred and for a moment she could not see what he was trying to indicate. Then she saw the slight indentations on the wood. Only by looking at them in a certain way, the way the sunlight glinted and formed shadows, could she make out the deep lines that had been seared into the wood.

She turned excitedly to Ross.

“I make out the head of a wolf.”

Ross nodded grimly.

“This was one of Olcán’s barges. They did their best to remove the outward signs and paint over the brand mark with tar. . but not quite.”

A sailor was passing nearby.

“Excuse me,” called Fidelma.

The sailor halted and took in her religieuse robes.

“You want me, Sister?”

“Can you tell me whose barge that is?”

“That one? The end one there? Surely I can.”

Fidelma smiled to hide her impatience.

“And to whom does it belong?”

“That is the barge of the merchant Ségán.”

“Ségán, eh? And where might I find this man?”

“Across in that tavern there, I’ll warrant. He’s just loaded a cargo and is probably having a last drink before going downriver.”

She thanked the man and turned for the tavern with Ross in her wake.

Inside, the room was packed mainly with boatmen. Several heads turned as she entered. The landlord, or such she presumed him to be, came across to her immediately.

“God be with you, Sister. We do not often have ladies of your cloth in this poor place. We mainly serve the river boatmen. There is a tavern not far away that I can recommend that is better suited. .”

“I am told that I might find a merchant named Ségán here,” she cut him short.

The landlord blinked and then he pointed to a corner where a fat-looking individual was seated before a plate on which the remains of what had obviously been a small joint reposed. He was sipping at a great pottery mug of a liquid, which he was obviously savoring.

With a curt nod to the landlord, Fidelma moved across and took a vacant seat opposite the merchant.

“Your name is Ségán, I believe?”

The fleshy-faced man paused, the mug halfway to his lips and stared at her.

“Why would a religieuse know my name?” he said, a little surprised.

“I am a dálaigh and I am here on official business.”

The man set down the mug with a bang, closed his eyes and groaned.

“I knew it. I knew it.” He shuddered.

Fidelma stared at him speculatively.

“Perhaps you will share your knowledge with me, then?” she asked, a little sarcastically.

“It’s my wife, isn’t it? She is seeking a divorce and. .”

Fidelma gave an impatient gesture of her hand.

“It’s not about your wife. It’s about your boat.”

At once a look of suspicion crossed the man’s features.

“My boat? You mean the barge? What of it?”

“When did you acquire it?”

Ségán was still frowning.

“I bought it legally. Two weeks ago.”

“From whom?”

“What is this? What are you implying?”

“From whom?” she insisted.

“A man at Conna’s Fortress.”

“Does he have a name?”

“No more questions until you tell me what this is about.”

Two burly boatmen had risen and made their way over to where Ségán was sitting.

“Something wrong, master?”

“Tell them nothing is wrong unless they are also to be charged as parties to theft,” Fidelma said calmly without taking her eyes from the merchant.

The fleshy-faced man’s eyes widened.

“Theft?”

“Your barge and its cargo and crew disappeared two weeks ago. It was then in the ownership of a merchant in Eochaill named Olcán.”

The merchant was shaking his head rapidly. He glanced at the boatmen and waved them away.

“How can you know this?”

“Did you examine the markings on the barge when you bought it?”

Ségán shook his head.

“I know that it had been repainted. There is new tar. What markings?”

“The image of a wolf’s head is branded into the woodwork at the prow. That is Olcán’s mark. Now where did you get this barge?”

“As I said, I bought it. I bought it from a boatman.”

Fidelma frowned.

“And what was his name?”

“Name?” He shook his head.

“There were some boatmen up at Conna’s Fortress upriver and they were trying to sell the barge. I offered them a good price.”

“You bought the barge from someone whose name you do not even know?”

“I know Conna,” replied the fat merchant. “He knew the boatmen. That was good enough for me.”

Fidelma sighed.

“Then we must have a word with Conna,” she said to Ross. Turning back she viewed the merchant with disfavor. “I would advise you not to travel far. The boat you now claim to own was stolen and doubtless its owner will seek restitution.”

The merchant paled a little.

“I bought it in good faith. .” he began to protest.

“From someone whose name you didn’t know,” interrupted Fidelma sharply. “You therefore share some of the culpability.”

She stood up and left the tavern, followed by Ross.

“Would it not be wise to keep an eye on the merchant?” the old sailor ventured.

“I do not think he will be hard to find in the future. I am sure that he was telling the truth although I suspect that he probably realized something was wrong with the transaction.”

“Where now?”

“As I said, to Conna’s fortress. How far is that from here?”

“About four or five kilometers.”

Conna’s fortress was perched on a rocky outcrop beside the river. There were several barges and boats moored beneath its walls and signs of boatmen unloading cargoes. As they climbed out of the curragh, with Ross securing it, several armed warriors approached. They were not friendly. Fidelma saw it from their faces and so she assumed her haughtiest manner.

“Take me to Conna at once.”

The leading warrior halted and blinked in surprise, unused to being addressed in such a fashion by someone in religieuse robes.

Fidelma followed the advantage.

“Don’t stand there gawking, man. It is Fidelma, sister of Colgú your king who demands this.”

Nervously the man glanced at his companions and then, without a word, turned and led the way. Ross, following a step behind Fidelma, was trying to hide his nervousness. Fidelma’s royal rank apart, Ross knew that Conna owned allegiance to the Prince of Maige Féine, who was an hereditary enemy of the Eóghanacht kings of Muman.

Their guide had instructed one of his men to run on and announce Fidelma’s coming to Conna.

The chieftain met them at the door of his hall, a thinly-built man with beady dark eyes, like those of a snake. He gave the impression of someone close to starvation, so gaunt and elongated of limbs was he.

“The fame of Fidelma of Cashel precedes her,” he greeted, almost sibilantly. “How may I serve you?”

Fidelma was not impressed with the man.

“You may best serve me by telling me the truth. I have spoken to the merchant Ségán.”

Did a nervous look appear in the man’s dark features?

“You recommended Ségán to a boatman who sold him a stolen barge.”

The features of Conna became immobile.

“I am not responsible for that.”

“If you recommended a thief to persuade another to receive stolen property, then there is your responsibility-chieftain or not.”

“This boatman was trading here at the time. I did not vouch for his character. I simply told Ségán of the fact. Ségán was saying that he wanted to expand the number of barges he had. I introduced them, that is all.”

“Tell me about this boatman.”

“What can I tell you?”

“His name, where he came from, where he is now.”

“His name was Dathal. He came from a downriver port.”

“You say that you had never seen him before?”

“I didn’t say exactly that. I know that he traded along the rivers.”

“You have bought cargoes from him?”

“He was only a boatman. The man he worked for owned the cargoes. The man who imports the cargoes from the land of the Britons or the Franks.”

“With whom did you transact your business, then?”

Conna was hesitant but no match for Fidelma in her most assertive manner.

“I always gave the money to Dathal,” he admitted. “I presumed that he was selling the barge on behalf of his master.”

“Do you know where this Dathal went?”

“Back to Eochaill, I presume.”

Fidelma let out a sighing breath.

“This is not the first time that boatmen have brought you a cargo and then sold their barge before leaving, is it?”

The expression on Conna’s face confirmed the suspicion that was in her mind.

“Dathal sold the barge two weeks ago, is that right?” pressed Fidelma. “Who sold a barge six weeks ago?”

“I bought a cargo then. The boatman’s name was Erc and he was from Eochaill. Erc and his men sold their barge to a trader from The Ford of the Cairn not far upriver. That was over four weeks ago.”

Fidelma suddenly smiled brightly. The smile seemed to disconcert Conna.

“Then I have no need to bother you further. You may be required to attend the Brehon Court at Dair Inis. It depends. You will be informed in due course. In the meantime, I shall trouble you no more.”

She turned swiftly and with Ross trotting in bemusement at her heels she returned down from the fort to where they had moored the curragh.

“Where now, lady?” demanded Ross, scrambling in after her. “Upriver to the Ford of the Cairn?”

Fidelma shook her head with a smile of satisfaction.

“No, back to Eochaill. I think the mystery is cleared up.”

Two days later the merchants Abaoth and Olcán stood before her.

“Ah yes. Abaoth, you claim compensation for the loss of your cargoes due to the disappearance and theft of Olcán’s barges. Two losses in the same month, one six weeks ago and one two weeks ago. Is that right?”

“It is, learned dálaigh,” agreed Abaoth nervously.

Fidelma turned to the glowering Olcán.

“And you counter this claim, Olcán?”

“Of course,” snapped the man. “The loss of my barges and crews and the loss of the money for the transportation of cargoes for which I have not been paid is the compensation that I seek.”

Fidelma nodded absently and sat back.

“I have made some investigation into this matter,” she said slowly. She turned to Olcán. “You may rest easy in that your barges and crews have not disappeared.”

The merchant returned her gaze in astonishment.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Both ships were, indeed, the subjects of theft. Their cargoes were sold, sold to Conna of the Maige Féine. The barges were then disposed of by selling them to local merchants-after they had been repainted, of course.”

Abaoth was shaking his head.

“Who was responsible?” he asked wonderingly. “What has Conna to say of this?”

Fidelma was suddenly grim.

“The crew of each barge willingly diverted from their course and took the barges upriver along the Bríd to Conna’s Fort. There they sold the cargoes and then the barges, and disappeared.”

“The crews were the thieves?” Abaoth sounded aghast.

“They were acting under orders,” replied Fidelma. “They acted under orders of the man who they were working for.”

Abaoth turned to Olcán, whose face was reddening in rage.

“How dare you. .?” he began.

Fidelma shook her head.

“The plot was yours, Abaoth.”

The fleshy merchant was stunned.

“Are you accusing me of robbing my own cargoes?” he demanded, suddenly pale.

“It was a good way at getting double the money for the same cargo. Money you wanted in order to compensate for the loss of one of your ships. You sold your cargo to Lios Mór. Then you did a deal selling your cargo to Conna who, of course, supplies the Prince of Maige Féine. Now, if you could persuade the crews of Olcán to work with you and disappear with their barges after they had delivered the cargoes to Conna then you would have the added bonus. You could also come here and seek compensation from Olcán for the loss of your cargoes. If successful that would cover compensation to Lios Mór and obtain more money for you. It was a complicated and ingenious plot, Abaoth.”

“You cannot prove it.”

“I can so. Olcán’s men were willing to do your bidding because Olcán was not a generous master anyway. There is a lesson for you to learn there, Olcán.”

Olcán scowled angrily but said nothing. Fidelma continued to address Abaoth.

“You paid the crews some initial money but, as their major share of the deal, you allowed them to sell the barges and pocket that money. Now it would look peculiar if the boatmen and all their families disappeared at the same time from Eochaill. When I checked these families I did find that most of them had already left the port. Those that remained behind told me that you, Abaoth, were looking after them. I wondered why. It was not your responsibility. I found it difficult to believe that a man with financial problems would be such a great philanthropist. There was another thing-when I visited Serc I surprised her with her husband Dathal who, I believe, was your main contact with the crews and who acted as your intermediary with Conna.”

Abaoth was standing white-faced and silent.

“Do I have to waste my time in presenting the proof of these matters, Abaoth? I shall not be so generous in allotting fines and compensation if I have to spend unnecessary time in doing so.”

Abaoth’s shoulders had slumped in resignation.

Fidelma turned to Olcán who was a picture of anger as he regarded the merchant.

“Olcán,” she said sharply, “you would do well to ponder on what motivated your men to be persuaded to betray you. There is a saying that a closed hand only gets a shut fist. It is bad fortune that always attends a mean person.”