Badger's Moon (30 page)

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

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

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

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

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

Fidelma regarded the man coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

She threw the question at him in challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘That we must see.’

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

‘That is true,’ agreed the warlord.

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

Conri regarded her with slightly narrowed eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conrí was still looking uncomfortable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Killed?’

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

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

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

‘A company of ten men?’ queried Fidelma.

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

‘At the Thicket of Pigs?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Then what is your proposal?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Rath Raithlen Fidelma consulted with Becc and made her plans for a hearing to be arranged for the next day at the noon hour.

That evening, before the meal, she realised that she had one more person to question and slipped out of Becc’s guest hostel without consulting Eadulf. She made her way straight to Gobnuid’s forge and found the surly smith still bent over his anvil.

‘Well, Gobnuid, you are working late this night.’

The smith glanced up with a growl, but whether of annoyance or merely a greeting it was hard to discern.

‘Did you deliver your hides safely?’ Fidelma smiled.

The smith glared at her. There seemed to be some concern on his features.

‘Why do you ask me that?’ he demanded.

‘Because you returned early from your trip. You could not have reached the Bandan river and returned so soon.’ She perched herself on a small wooden stool that stood near the forge furnace and stretched comfortably in the heat.

Gobnuid scowled. ‘If you must know, the wheel of my wagon broke and I had to do a makeshift repair and leave it with a friend for safety while I returned here to get a replacement.’ He gestured to a wheel in the corner of his forge.

‘It is taking you some time to return to your wagon,’ observed Fidelma.

‘You know full well that the Uí Fidgente raided and everyone was needed. Now I am told by the tanist that I am required to attend this meeting you have called in the Great Hall tomorrow. My business will wait until afterwards.’

‘Do you often work for the tanist?’

The smith’s brows drew together. ‘What makes you ask that?’

‘You mentioned you were transporting the hides for Accobrán. How often do you do that?’

Gobnuid stood uncertainly. ‘Well, I do jobs for him when I have time. Is there something wrong with that?’

Fidelma smiled sweetly at his defensive tone. ‘Not at all. It is just that transporting hides is not that rewarding for a talented craftsman.’

‘I often shoe his horse and now and then sharpen his weapons,’ replied Gobnuid.

‘The tanist seems to do a fair and regular trade in hides. I wonder where he gets the hides from in the first place?’

‘The question is best put to him. I suppose he buys them from farmers hereabout. It saves them having to do the business themselves.’

‘Yet I would have thought that Lesren the tanner was best equipped to conduct the trade in hides,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Still, I suppose there is not a great deal of metal working here these days. I mean, what with the mines closed down. Do you do jobs for the abbey, for the Aksumites who stay there, for example?’

She noticed Gobnuid stiffen.

‘What is it you want, lady?’ he demanded, turning and glaring pugnaciously at her.

‘This land used to be full of metal workings,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘Did you ever work in the mines?’

The smith turned from her and bent over his furnace, stirring the charcoal into a spitting display of sparks. ‘The mines closed when I was a young lad.’

‘Did you know that one of the Aksumites, Brother Dangila, worked in the gold mines of his country? You know Brother Dangila?’

Gobnuid was tight-lipped. ‘I have seen the man.’

Fidelma slowly stood up. She realised that Gobnuid was stubborn.

‘If you know Brother Dangila, I was wondering why you supported that cousin of yours, Brocc, in his attack on the Aksumites?’

The smith glowered at her. ‘Strangers are strangers, family is family. Anyway, I have already admitted that I took part in the attack on the abbey.’

‘I’ll bid you a good night, then, Gobnuid,’ Fidelma said in resignation. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’

She turned and began to walk away, feeling his curious gaze upon her. Gobnuid had an obstinate nature. It would be impossible to wring the truth from him but she felt that she had learnt enough.

The guest house of Becc lay on the far side of the great complex of buildings that made up Rath Raithlen and the way to it led through a collection of buildings from which the artisans and traders of the fortress conducted their businesses. Now the buildings were dark and deserted. Only Gobnuid had been working late this dark and chilly night.

Fidelma swung confidently down the darkened alley. It was not any great length and she could see some brand torches lighting its far end, which led into the squares constituting the stables at the back of the chieftain’s hall. It was only when she was halfway along the darkened alley that some sixth sense caused her to feel a tingling of the hairs at the nape of her neck. She was sure eyes were watching her. There was no logic to the feeling. But Fidelma had an acute sense of surroundings. An awareness of environment was essential to survival. Ever since she was a child Fidelma had trained herself to notice anything out of the ordinary. She rather admired old Liag, the apothecary, for while he might overdramatise his sense of environment in the woods, the basic concepts were right. Without that sense, a person was blind.

She did not show her concern by altering her step or turning her head but the feeling grew stronger. From the corner of her eye she identified a shadow in the darkness of the buildings, just a slight movement. Something, someone, was there. She continued her steady pace, head erect, but eyes alert to the dark. She was only a few yards from the lighted area by the stables when she was aware that the shadow was on the move, moving rapidly and moving towards her.

She spun round on her heel towards the oncoming shadow, which grew into the shape of a burly man. One hand was upraised and the faint light from the burning brand torch at the end of the street glinted on something in that hand which reflected and shone for a moment.

The learned ones of Éireann, both in pre-Christian times and now that they were the repositories of the New Faith, used often to journey far and wide. Travellers were frequently the object of attacks by thieves and bandits. But those learned ones believed it was wrong to carry weapons even to protect themselves from attack. Violence was abhorrent to them and against their teachings. They were therefore forced to develop a technique which they called
troid-sciathagid
– battle through defence. Fidelma, like other members of the religious who journeyed abroad, was taught the method of defending herself without the use of weapons.

In a split second, she saw the danger. She stood, waiting for the man’s assault as he bore down on her. As he reached her, her two hands shot out to take the raised arm and she grasped the wrist, swaying backwards and allowing the momentum of the man’s assault to carry him stumbling forward. He went crashing to the ground, unable to stop that forward movement, while Fidelma heaved on the wrist holding the knife.

The man was strong and he managed to retain hold of the knife. When it became apparent that she could not break his grip, Fidelma let go of his wrist for fear that she would be dragged down with him. She skipped backwards and shouted: ‘Guards! Guards! Help!’

The figure on the floor scrambled up and had turned and was facing her once more, wielding the knife. He was moving forward again.

But two warriors had suddenly appeared at the end of the alley and one gave a shout as they bore down on Fidelma, swords in hand.

The attacker was disconcerted for a moment, glancing behind him.

Fidelma moved forward, turning slightly sideways, and aimed a swift kick, using the flat of her foot in a jabbing motion, at the attacker’s genitalia. There came a scream and the figure dropped to its knees. In another second the two guards had reached them and one rested his sword point lightly on the figure’s neck.

‘Move and you are a dead man,’ he said curtly.

The second guard, whose eyes seemed well used to the dark, had obviously recognised Fidelma. ‘Are you harmed, lady?’

‘I am not. But let us see who it is that would wish me harm.’

The first guard had disarmed the man and he and his companion took an arm each and dragged the still moaning figure out of the darkness into the light of the brand torch.

Fidelma was aware of a babble of voices as people, disturbed by the commotion, now came forward. She saw Eadulf, his face pale, pushing through them.

‘Fidelma! Are you all right?’

She nodded briefly.

Accobrán had also come forward.

‘Is it the moon killer?’ he demanded.

The two warriors pulled their captive forward so that the light fell on his face.

‘Brocc!’

There was a gasp from the crowd.

The tanist stared at the burly man, who glowered with hatred at them.

‘So you were the moon killer? Even when you tried to stir up the people against the strangers it was you all the time!’

Brocc scowled. Fidelma moved forward and returned Brocc’s glare with a slight smile.

‘It is true that you tried to kill me in that dark alley, Brocc, but I doubt whether you are the moon killer.’

‘You know I am not!’ snapped Brocc.

‘Why did you attempt to kill me?’

‘Because you are protecting the real murderers.’

‘How do you make that out?’ she said with a frown.

‘I knew it when you first came to Rath Raithlen. You religious are all the same, protecting one another. It was obvious that the strangers killed Escrach, killed Beccnat and Ballgel. Yet I have seen you meeting them and being friendly with them. You are protecting them and therefore you must accept the guilt with them.’

Fidelma looked at the man with an expression of astonishment, which dissolved into sadness. Then she shook her head.

‘How anyone can become as confused as you are is beyond me, Brocc. And it saddens me. I do not know how to answer you. But you must know that what you have done is a serious crime. You have attempted to murder a
dálaigh
—’

‘Worse still,’ interrupted Becc, who had joined her, the crowd having parted respectfully to allow the chieftain to come forward, ‘worse still, you have attempted to kill the sister of the king.’

Fidelma grimaced, dismissing the fact. ‘It is more important to consider the law above all things and what this man has done is not an affront to me but to the law that I represent. That is the more serious of his crimes. There is a fixed penalty for homicide and attempted homicide, which is seven
cumals
irrespective of rank. But this matter goes deeper—’

‘It does go deeper,’ interrupted Brocc, his temper not yet controlled. ‘It goes deeper in that you are the guilty one in preventing the truth coming out and blame being laid where it should be. At least I struck a blow for the truth!’

Fidelma sighed and shook her head sadly. ‘You struck a blow for your own prejudice, which is eating your very soul, Brocc, so that it blinds you to the truth. The most serious offence one can commit against another person is to deprive them of their life. In some lands it is called justice to balance the taking of a life by taking another. Even those of the New Faith are beginning to say that we should adopt the way which demands “life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth”. But we are an old and wise people and we allow a killer to atone for his crime by compensation and entry into a process of rehabilitation. We have an ancient system of law that says that evidence must be gathered against a person first, then the person is allowed to answer in public and counter that evidence. Only when it is judged that the evidence is overwhelming is the person convicted.

‘I have been sent to gather the evidence and, until tonight, I have still been gathering that evidence. That you think you can stand above the law and its process, and even assassinate the appointed representative of the law system, is something I have never encountered before. All I can say is that you must be suffering from a loss of sanity – whether permanent or temporary needs to be judged at a later time.’

Brocc continued to scowl in defiance. ‘Your words are designed to disguise the truth, lawyer. All lawyers have lying tongues.’

Fidelma was sarcastic. ‘I thought it was the fact that I am a member of the religious that caused you to think I was hiding the truth?’

‘Lawyers! Religious! Black dog and white dog, both are dogs,’ snapped Brocc.

Becc looked towards Fidelma in a troubled fashion. ‘What shall we do with him, cousin?’

‘There is little to do but to confine him until tomorrow. Then we can bring a resolution to the case of the moon killings.’

The chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda sighed unhappily and motioned for Brocc to be led away. As the crowd began to disperse he said quietly: ‘We are approaching the feast of Samhain, Fidelma. It lacks only a few days. Are you sure all will be resolved tomorrow? It would certainly be best if we could see a resolution before Samhain. I would hate bad luck to be visited on our people.’

Fidelma turned towards the entrance of the chieftain’s hall. Becc and Eadulf followed her inside and Fidelma took a seat before the fire.

Becc was regarding her anxiously.

‘Are you recovered from the attack?’ he asked nervously. ‘Are you sure that you were not hurt?’

She made a negative gesture with her hand.

‘I have survived worse things,’ she said. ‘Brocc’s attack was very clumsy. However, he is a very stupid man and his stupidity makes him dangerous.’

‘What is the concern about this feast of Samhain?’ Eadulf demanded.

Becc regarded him for a moment or two and then decided to explain. ‘The significance of the feast of Samhain is that it is the one time of the year when the Otherworld becomes visible to this world. From sunset until sunrise those who have departed to the Otherworld in the preceding year can return to this one and wreak their vengeance on those who have wronged them.’

‘But that is an old pagan belief,’ said Eadulf dismissively.

‘So it might be,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘but a change in religion does not necessarily mean that people have ceased to believe in the ways of their fathers. In Rome, fifty or so years ago, Pope Boniface decreed that the old pre-Christian Roman feast of the dead, Lemuria, held in May, should be sanctified as a festival to commemorate all the martyred saints. So even Rome clings to its pagan past.’

‘It is true that the people of the Cinél na Áeda continue to celebrate the feast of Samhain with full rigour,’ added Becc. ‘They believe that the wraiths of Beccnat, Escrach and Ballgel will return and seek revenge on all the people here until justice is given to them.’