‘That is good. You may know who Cétach’s friends and enemies were, who would have the best information. Perhaps we could share what you learn from them?’
Beccnat was diffident. ‘Not so easy because he had no friends, especially after people learnt how he treated his wife when she divorced him. As for enemies …’ She shrugged eloquently.
‘I presume there are too many enemies to choose from?’ queried Eadulf with a sardonic tone.
Beccnat examined him with a serious expression for a moment.
‘Cétach was not the man to make friends,’ she said coldly. ‘No one will mourn his death, that is for sure. But I cannot say that anyone here would volunteer to take his murder on themselves. Of course, you never know what drives a person to an act of murder so I suppose my answer is I know no one who would go so far as killing him. He was a drunkard, true; but he paid for his liquor with his petty trading. Local people just disliked him. He was given to trying to form relationships with women, but no respecting woman would want to go with him.’ She paused and thought for a moment and then said, ‘He used to go to an echlach.’
‘An echlach?’ Eadulf frowned. ‘Isn’t that a household servant?’
Fidelma was a little self-conscious as she explained. ‘It is an older name for what we now call meirdrech, a prostitute.’ She turned to Beccnat. ‘I would not have thought there were many such in a place like this. Is there a mertecht-loc, a brothel, here?’
Beccnat seemed sourly amused. ‘There is no registered brothel, as such. But you forget that this is a crossroads of trade. The merchants come by river and through the mountains, along the tracks. So just south of the township is an area with some abandoned old boats, which constitutes a sort of brothel area. That is where those searching for the services of a prostitute are likely to find them. Many passing traders have been known to visit there in the twilight hours.’
Fidelma was disapproving. ‘Are you saying that such places are not regulated by law? If there is a demand, then there ought to be some sort of protection for both the prostitutes and those who visit them.’
‘You are probably right, but the laws are not as all-encompassing as they should be on the subject, and what exist are often in conflict with the laws that are being adopted from the Faith that is brought from Rome. Sometimes it is impossible to use the law of the Brehons when it conflicts with the new religious laws.’
‘Was there a particular woman that Cétach visited?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Sometimes a man will give information to a prostitute that he would not give to anyone else.’
Beccnat considered this for a moment. ‘There is a woman who works from one of the boats that is moored on the river there,’ she pointed. ‘If Cétach didn’t visit her, then she would probably know which of her colleagues he did visit. But I am sure she was the one I heard most mentioned.’ She paused and added: ‘People gossip to her. I do not think many secrets are kept. But gossip is not usable in law.’
‘Well, it’s a start,’ Eadulf conceded. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Her name is Serc.’
Enda chuckled and then immediately apologised. ‘An appropriate name as it means “love”, and this lady makes men pay for it.’
Fidelma cast a disapproving glance at him before turning back to Beccnat.
‘Very well,’ she said, rising from her seat, an indication that her companions were to follow. ‘We will find this woman Serc. Perhaps she would know if there was anyone who might have particular animosity against Cétach. Just so that other motivations can be eliminated. I am afraid we must leave the man’s mule in your hands.’
Beccnat did not smile. ‘I will take charge of the beast and the cabin, and see to all the matters with our local physician.’
As they were riding away, Eadulf said softly: ‘If this Beccnat was an old friend from college, I would not like to encounter one who had been your enemy.’
Fidelma did not respond.
It did not take them long to find the boat on which Beccnat had told them that Serc plied her trade. There was a small inlet of the river just south of the township in which a few ageing and rotting boats were to be found. They appeared like derelict hulks, long since abandoned to time and the elements. Fidelma insisted on confirming, with a passing boatman, that this was indeed where Serc lived. The man confirmed it was but not before giving her and her companions a curious look. It was clear from his expression that he was wondering why the three should be seeking a prostitute.
The man pointed to one of the several hulks moored in the inlet, of which two had rotting wooden planks connecting them to the muddy shore. By one of them, a patient but frail-looking mule was tied to a post. The adjoining hulk was where the boatman indicated that Serc dwelt. It looked as if it had once been used for carrying cargo. It was broad in the beam with cabins at the bow and at the stern. The centre hold was left uncovered and just for’ard of the centre were the sawn-off remains of what had been a tall central mast for the mainsail.
Eadulf was left on the wharf to mind the horses because Enda insisted it was his role to precede Fidelma, leading the way on board, testing the rotting planking carefully with each step. Only when he was safely aboard did he turn and call Fidelma to follow, warning her to be careful. A noise behind him made him turn. A woman had emerged from the stern cabin and was regarding him with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.
She had probably been attractive once, he thought. Age and experience now weathered her face, and the strands of her unkempt hair were greying. The pale lips drooped, as if there was no traction in the muscles that would have added expression to the mouth. Enda was not sure how he read the feelings of suspicion and contempt because, as he examined her, he thought the eyes were dead – grey orbs as if they had no pupils. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation. The forearms folded before her breast with very thin; the bones of the wrist and elbows seemed painfully sharp. Her clothes, a threadbare dress and ragged woollen shawl, were almost colourless, although the flecks of colour here and there showed they had once been of good quality. He guessed that she was just beyond middle age.
‘Is your name Serc?’ Enda asked the obvious question.
The woman watched Fidelma negotiating the plank and then without a change of expression or stance, said tonelessly: ‘I don’t cater for couples.’
Enda felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. ‘We did not come as your customers,’ he snapped. ‘If your name is Serc, we came to seek answers to certain questions.’
‘By what right?’ demanded the woman belligerently.
‘My right of authority as a dálaigh,’ Fidelma replied quietly as she came to stand alongside Enda on the deck of the vessel.
Still the face of the woman seemed to be filled with hostility but the contempt had faded.
‘You are not the local Brehon,’ she said coldly.
‘That is true,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘I am working in conjunction with Brehon Beccnat.’
‘I have no liking for lawyers.’ Serc’s tone was still hostile. ‘They make a living out of the suffering of others. What do you want from me?’
‘The answers to questions.’
‘Why should I answer your questions?’
‘It is your obligation under law to answer to my questions,’ Fidelma said sharply.
‘And if I do not care to answer them?’
‘That’s right, dear!’ came a cackling voice from the quayside. ‘Never answer questions, lest the answers be put in the service of the dark forces.’
The visitors turned, surprised by the intrusion. An elderly woman appeared from the neighbouring hulk. It seemed that the half-starved and elderly mule, standing patiently below, belonged to her. The old woman was dragging a heavy sack, which she attempted to haul on the back of the waiting animal. It was obviously a difficult task for her and instinctively Eadulf left their horses secured and went to help her.
‘Let me give you assistance, mother,’ he greeted in a friendly manner. ‘You will do da
mage to yourself trying to do things that way.’
The old woman turned her hag-like features towards him with a snarling expression that caused him to flinch and take a step backwards.
‘Beware, Saxon.’ Her harsh cackle sent a coldness rising against the back of his neck. ‘I know you and know where your questions will lead. You will not wish to go there. So, I warn you yet again. Do not venture into the realms of the Aos Sí. Do not ask questions that are not meant to be asked. In the dark mountain passes dwells the wizened old man of lies and from his tongue spread chains to catch the ears of those who listen and answer his honey tongue. Others use chains of metal, but beware the chains that you do not see!’
NINE
Eadulf was momentarily shocked at the vehemence in the crone’s voice. Then he reset his features in a grim smile.
‘Well, Iuchra, I didn’t recognise you for a moment. I don’t see any of your Aos Sí springing forward just now to help you with this heavy load, so I will do so.’
Eadulf reached for the sack and swung it up to fasten it to the bow of the saddle of the mule.
‘Get away! I don’t want your help!’ the old woman cried as, with the ease of one long practised, she used a nearby flat raised stone to elevate herself up and on to the scrawny beast’s back. She swung round with such determination that she almost knocked Eadulf over and, uttering imprecations at the world in general, went trotting off down the track towards the main square.
Eadulf returned to his horses and, brushing the dust from his clothes, grinned ruefully up at Fidelma standing looking down at him from the wreck of the boat.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘Wasn’t that the old woman Iuchra?’
‘It was the old witch, with curses and all,’ Eadulf confirmed. ‘I think she was merely unused to being offered help,’ he added to make light of it.
Serc gave a sharp guffaw, which was meant to be laughter, but then she continued in the same toneless manner as she employed earlier, ‘That one never needed nor accepted help in her life. Iuchra is one of those who will outlast us all and woe betide those who try to help her in this world or even in the next one. She’s the local ammait … always boasting of her supernatural powers.’
‘But I thought she dwelt in the caves and forests,’ Enda said, forgetting Brother Eochaí had mentioned she had a place in the township.
Serc sniffed. ‘Sometime she slips out of character as being the mystic of the woods. When the days are cold enough, she sleeps in that hulk, where it is warm. She does all right.’
‘Pity about the state of her mule, though,’ Eadulf commented. ‘She should have devoted some of the foodstuff in her sack to feeding it.’
Fidelma stared curiously at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘When I went to lift the sack on to the mule, I could not help but notice that it contained cooked meats, cheese, bread and fruits. She must do well for herself although she looks every bit as emaciated as her animal.’
Serc shook her head. ‘It’s not her foodstuff. She cooks and delivers things for other people, even your friend, the new assistant to the Brehon. I’ve often seen them being cordial with each other.’
The mention of Beccnat brought Fidelma back to the matter in hand.
‘Ah, yes, we were talking about matters legal. You were going to answer some questions, I hope. You are aware now of your duty to answer the questions of a dálaigh?’
‘I am aware of my right not to answer if I cannot answer, or if I do not care to answer.’ The reply was returned in the same expressionless tone, which seemed to be her natural expression when dealing with figures of authority.
Fidelma glanced to Enda with a slight shake of her head as she saw that he was growing irritated and feared he was about to say something that would make further questions impossible. She turned back to Serc and quickly forced a smile.
‘Let us start with simple things then,’ she began. ‘Is your name Serc?’
‘I do not deny it,’ sniffed the woman.
‘Is your occupation that of a meirdrech?’
The jaw of the woman thrust out a little further. ‘That is the profession that I follow. Is there now a law forbidding it?’
‘None that I know of. However, by those that do exist, your rights are restricted.’
‘I know that, and so does my son, who now lies in a quiet grave on the hill above here. My son was two years old when he was laid in the cold earth of the hill and I have seen three winters since that cold day.’
Fidelma frowned, not understanding. ‘I am sorry for your loss, but …?’
‘I was raped by a man,’ the woman intervened sharply. ‘He was not even a customer of mine. He was a religieux from the abbey. I was told that the rape of even a prostitute is against the law. But Brehon Rónchú refused me compensation and refused even to recognise my son in any legal form.’
‘Is the person still a member of the abbey?’ Fidelma pressed firmly. ‘Would you remember his name?’
‘I was told he was called Brother Tóla, but Brehon Rónchú assured me there was no such member of the abbey by that name,’ she replied. ‘I would have recognised him but was not allowed to visit the abbey. He was of average height but his features were grey and almost the complexion of stone. I was not able to confront him and Brehon Rónchú dismissed my claim. My son was born without a father and died without being acknowledged and I could obtain no help for him. That is all I know.’
‘I thought a prostitute had no recourse to an honour price,’ Eadulf called, as he had been overhearing from below. The honour price was the basic guide to fines from personal injury or death.
‘It is true, Eadulf,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘But half of what might have been the honour price, before she turned to prostitution, is allowed in compensation if the meirdrech was raped, even by a customer, should she report the matter. If there was a child of the rape and the father admitted that the child was his, he has to pay seven cumals so that the child could be adopted with full rights into his father’s clan or family. In this case no one admitted the offence and no identification of the father could be made.’
Eadulf knew that Fidelma was well acquainted with such problems. He remembered that she had played a leading part in securing rights for her friend Della, who had once been a prostitute, and who had been raped. Not only had she secured the compensation but had managed to reinstate Della into society and secure rights for her son, Gormán, who had become commander of King Colgú’s bodyguard.
‘Some compensation should have been claimed,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Why was it not allowed?’
Anger replaced the previously flat tone of Serc’s voice. ‘Except that did not happen to me. I was told that under the law the entire responsibility of looking after my child rested on me. I did not receive half my honour price – as little as it had been because I was daughter of an assistant boat builder downriver. I received nothing and, after a few years, my baby died of the plague.’
‘I know some of the laws on the Maccshléchta are harsh.’ Fidelma, seeing her companion’s puzzled glance, added: ‘That’s the laws on the inheritance of sons.’
‘Those laws killed my son.’
‘For which I am sorry. The laws also allow interpretation and change as people’s values change. Indeed, the laws change according to the progression of the generations. Or, at least, that is the philosophy that many Brehons follow, and that is why, every three years, there is a great council of the Brehons of the Five Kingdoms to discuss and amend the laws. If you wish, I will ask my colleague Beccnat, the assistant to the Brehon here, if there is a basis to re-examine the law in the light of your case.’
The woman snorted derisively. ‘What good will that do when my son lies under the sod on the hill?’
‘It won’t bring him back, but some justice should be done. I will have a word with her on the circumstances.’
When the woman did not respond, Fidelma gave an inward sigh and added: ‘Alas, you cannot bring back the
past. However, if there is injustice it will be examined. At the moment, Serc, I still require you to answer my questions.’
The woman looked at her with a sneer. ‘You expect me to report on someone or other? Well, let me put this to you, high and mighty lawyer … If I am merely a meirdrech then there is no need to remind you of the Berrad Airechta.’
‘Why would you say so?’ Fidelma was puzzled. ‘What has law court procedure to do with the matter?’
‘If you want me to give evidence against someone then the Berrad Airechta says that, as a prostitute, I am not allowed to give such evidence. That is the one lesson I learnt about your law. The man who raped me and fathered my son was a religious. My evidence against him was not allowed. Brehon Rónchú explained that clearly. Yes, that is the one lesson of the laws I learnt. So if my evidence is not valid in that case, it will not be valid whatever you want me to say.’
Fidelma shifted her weight uncomfortably. She was thoughtful.
‘I do not want you to give evidence, just to answer a few questions. But tell me more of this rape and why your case was considered invalid. You are saying the perpetrator of this attack was a religieux from the abbey here?’ she asked. ‘You are sure?’
‘Are they not as any other men as well as being religious?’
‘Very well, Serc. But we must get to the matter we came here to discuss. Do you know Cétach the pedlar?’
Serc shrugged indifferently. ‘I thought everyone knew him.’
‘Was he a client of yours?’
‘When he could afford it, which was not often.’
‘So, in your eyes, he was poor?’
‘Destitute is what most local people would say.’
‘It was well known that he was impoverished?’
‘It was no secret. Now and then he would take that flea-bitten mule of his and go off, usually across the mountains, to see what he could pick up to sell. If he made a little money, his first preference was the tavern and, if anything remained, he would come here.’
The Shapeshifter's Lair Page 11