Badger's Moon (33 page)

Fidelma had turned back to Fínmed with a sad expression. Then she looked directly at Goll.

‘When I first spoke to you and your son, I asked Gabrán in your hearing when he had last seen Beccant and he gave one of his few honest answers – he said it was about two days before the full of the moon.’

Goll was standing with his shoulders hunched, tired and defeated as the truth dawned on him. Fínmed was sobbing silently again.

‘Just confirm for me one other thing that you told me, Goll,’ Fidelma said gently. ‘Was it your idea or Gabrán’s that he go to the house of Molaga a day before the full moon following the feast of Lughnasa?’

Goll raised haggard features to face her. ‘You know the answer well enough, Sister. It was he who suggested that he take the goods that day.’

Fidelma turned back to where Gabrán was still being held under restraint.

‘A killer influenced by the moon?’ she mused sadly. ‘Not in the case of Beccnat. The murder was coldly and cunningly planned. Having killed Beccnat, he made for Molaga to establish an alibi. He even started the story of the moon killer, for Adag told us that he had pointed out this fact to Aolú, the Brehon, when being questioned following Lesren’s accusation. It was only later, with the second murder, that Liag pointed out it had been committed on the night of the next full moon.’

The youth regarded her calmly. He even smiled.

‘I am avenged and have come to power. Knowledge is power and I have the knowledge.’ He intoned the words like a priest giving a blessing before beginning to giggle hysterically. At a gesture from Becc, he was led away.

A small flock of choughs, flying with their wild excited call – ‘keeaar…keeaar…keeaar!’ – rose in the air above the mountain crags. Masters of the air, they soared high before, as if in unison, they rolled and dived towards the ground, performing aerobatics that entranced Fidelma and Eadulf as they crossed the shoulder of Cnoc Mhaoldhomhnigh and began their descent towards the plain below.

‘They are a little far inland,’ Fidelma observed, indicating the birds that were easily identified by their glossy purple-black plumage and long, red curved bills and red legs.

Eadulf knew that the chough – the
cosdhearg,
or red shanks as the Irish called it – was usually a coastal bird, nesting on sea cliffs, but sometimes they were found in mountains not far from the sea. However, he was not concerned with the birds. His gaze was focusing across the long, lower slopes of the mountains through which they had passed. From there, the plains below spread to where he could, in the bright late October sunlight, see the broad glinting strip of the River Siúr, the ‘Sister River’ as it was named. He could see where it joined the Tar to curve eastwards on its journey to the sea. It was not far to Cashel now.

‘Do you think that Gabrán is truly sane?’ he asked.

‘Thankfully, that is not my task to ascertain,’ Fidelma replied. ‘He is being sent to the house of Molaga where there are trained men of medicine who will see whether he can be adjudged fit to answer for his crimes.’

Eadulf was silent for a few moments.

‘Well, at least you have averted another conflict with the Uí Fidgente. And Accobrán will be a long time working to repay compensation to all he has wronged.’

‘At least he will never hold any other position of trust again,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I feel sorry for the three Aksumites, though. Brother Dangila and his companions probably did not know about the law of hospitality and the extent to which they transgressed it.’

‘At least they have their freedom and have been sent to the seaports to look for a ship back to their own country. I hope they make it. What happened to Gobnuid, the smith? I am not clear.’

‘He was forced to sell his forge and implements to pay his compensation and has already entered the abbey of Finnbarr. They needed a good smith.’

Eadulf laughed. ‘I cannot see him as one of the brethren devoted to a holy life.’

Fidelma’s mouth thinned in answer.

‘There are many I cannot see as suitable to follow that calling either,’ she said.

They had descended the hill and entered along a stretch of open road through tilled fields. Eadulf glanced at Fidelma and grinned happily.

‘We will soon be in Finan’s Height. We can cross the Siúr there and seek hospitality at the abbey of Finan the Leper for midday refreshment. By this evening we should be in Cashel.’

Fidelma smiled at his enthusiasm but there was sadness in her smile.

She had given little thought to her feelings about the prospect of being cooped up in her brother’s fortress again during these last few days. She had been too busy enjoying the freedom of the chase, the inexorable coming together of the threads which would join into a solution of the puzzle. The burst of adrenalin as she revealed that solution. Above all, the wonderful feeling of freedom which she experienced in her quest for the answers; in her quest for the truth. And now – now she was faced with the return to Cashel from which she had had her few days’ escape. Now, as she had promised Eadulf, there would be no avoiding the problem that faced her. She would have to come face to face with her self and her own problems.

Behind her smiling mask Fidelma felt a terrible sense of guilt at the thoughts passing through her mind. She felt that she was betraying Eadulf. Not for the first time in recent months was she questioning her thoughts and strange feelings that she had been experiencing with the birth of Alchú. She felt in a constant state of depression, even questioning her relationship with her Saxon companion. It had taken her a long time to agree to become his
ben charrthach
less than a year ago. The term was not used for a legally bound wife in Brehon Law but one whose status and rights were recognised under the law of the
Cáin Lánamnus:
a trial marriage lasting a year and a day, after which, if unsuccessful, both sides were able to go their separate ways without incurring penalties or blame.

The trial marriage had been Fidelma’s decision. She had been concerned that, under the law, her marriage with Eadulf would have been a marriage between unequal persons. Fidelma was of royal rank and Eadulf would not have had equal property rights with his wife. Knowing Eadulf’s character, she had believed that such a marriage might not be a good prescription for happiness if Eadulf felt less than her equal.

She cared for Eadulf to the extent that rather than rush into easy decisions she wanted everything to be right. Logically, she knew she loved Eadulf and could not contemplate an existence without his support, his tolerance of her sharp temper, which she knew was her biggest fault. But in the months since their baby was born she had begun having all manner of depressive thoughts. She had even begun to wonder if she was ready for marriage? She turned her head aside and pulled a face, expressing her inability to form logical conclusions from the emotional turmoil into which her thoughts had descended.

Did she resent the birth of Alchú? Was that what this was all about? Often she thought how much more freedom she would have without the child. It troubled her yet she could not dispel such thoughts.

She tried to turn her mind back again to her original thought. Why was she unhappy? She loved Eadulf. She had had one unhappy affair before with the warrior Cian and thought she would never experience the agony of falling in love again. Then Eadulf came along and there had been a strange attraction. She remembered the time when they had parted, when she had left him in Rome to return to Cashel. She had felt a curious isolation then. She had not wanted to admit that she missed the company of the Saxon monk. However, she kept comparing Eadulf to the men she had met such as poor Cass, the warrior who had been killed helping her. She remembered her excitement and joy when she and Eadulf had met up again.

It was love. Surely? She enjoyed Eadulf’s company, his friendship, and his love. But she wanted to be sure that she was doing the right thing. Last year, she had decided that he should return to his homeland while she went off on the pilgrimage to the Tomb of St James and when she received the message that he was in danger of death, she came rushing back to his assistance. Surely love?

What was wrong with her? Why did these thoughts afflict her? She was surely not physically ill. The previous night, Eadulf had tried to make her drink some noxious brew made from
brachlais
– what was it? St John’s Wort, he called it in his own tongue. She was not stupid. She knew the apothecaries of Éireann applied it to women who became dispirited and despondent after giving birth. She was not suffering such melancholia – surely? Even as she asked herself the question, she began to realise the answer.

Her mind was so engrossed in these thoughts that she found that they had arrived at the ford before the monastery of Finan the Leper already. The place had been built fairly recently, and around the collection of buildings which constituted the monastery and chapel a small village had sprung up. It was a good location set in pleasant scenery. An excellent base for traders coming up river and transferring their goods to wagons before continuing on to the more inaccessible reaches of the kingdom.

They navigated the ford, which was still deep, the currents fairly strong. The monastery provided a ‘watcher at the ford’ to ensure that no accident went unobserved. A bell stood ready to be rung if help was needed. But Eadulf, not the most brilliant of horsemen, was able to pass across the river first and wait while Fidelma came easily across. They turned towards the monastery, where they knew hospitality awaited them.

‘Lady! My lady!’

The harsh cry came from the doorway of a tavern they were passing. A tall, swarthy warrior emerged from the shadow of the doorway. He wore the colours of the warriors of Cashel, and at his neck, the gold torc of Cashel’s warrior élite. Fidelma turned with a frown. She recognised the warrior by sight but not by name. The man came quickly forward to stand at her stirrup.

‘Thank God that I have found you, lady.’ He glanced to Eadulf and gave a swift salute, raising a hand to his forehead, adding: ‘And you, Brother Eadulf.’

‘What is God to be thanked for?’ muttered Eadulf curiously.

‘I was just setting out for Rath Raithlen in the lands of the Cinél na Áeda.’

Fidelma was solemn. ‘Then we are pleased that we have saved you such a long journey. Why do you seek us? I presume that you have some news from Cashel?’

The man shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. He looked sombre. ‘That I have, lady.’

Fidelma saw his downcast features and a fear began to clutch at her heart. ‘Is it my brother? Is it Colgú? Is there bad news?’

‘Your brother, the King, is in good health but not in good spirits. The news is bad, lady—’

‘Then speak it quickly or not at all!’ interrupted Eadulf, irritated by the man’s prevarication.

‘It is your nurse, Sárait. She has been killed.’

Fidelma regarded him in bewilderment. ‘Sárait killed? By whom? How? Why?’

‘Lady.’ The warrior drew a deep breath and his words came out with a sudden rush. ‘Sárait has been murdered and your son, Alchú, has been kidnapped.’

Come visit the Society’s Web site at
www.sisterfidelma.com
for
further details, news, merchandise, and updates.

Annual subscription for members is $29.95
(U.S. funds drawn on a U.S. bank).
Checks to be made out to: David Robert Wooten, director & editor
The International Sister Fidelma Society
PO Box 1899
Little Rock, Arkansas 72203-1899
U.S.A.
[email protected]