Whispers of the Dead (36 page)

“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.