The Shapeshifter's Lair

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Well, as a symbol to keep the Aos Sí at bay, they don’t seem to be working,’ Eadulf muttered ruefully.

  Muirgel was nothing like her name – sea bright, sea white. Her features were dark, the skin baked brown by the weather and a life spent outdoors. Yet her eyes were bright blue, deep set in her thickset, almost coarse features. However, they seemed to suit the woman and did not detract from some inner kindness that was displayed on her features. She was heavily built but with muscle rather than fat. Her hair was mostly dark but intermingled with grey. Her sea-bright gaze seemed to miss nothing as she paid them a close scrutiny.

  ‘Are you Muirgel?’ Fidelma began by asking the obvious. ‘Are you the widow of Murchad?’

  ‘Who are you and what do you want of me?’

  They had dismounted before the small granite-built cabin and Eadulf had taken charge of their horses while Fidelma approached the door.

  ‘I am a dálaigh. I would like to ask you a few questions about how your husband met his death.’

  Muirgel scowled momentarily. ‘Have you come in answer to my complaint about the Brehon’s assistant?’

  ‘I have heard that you made a report about your husband’s death to Brehon Rónchú’s assistant and were not satisfied with her response.’

  ‘Response? There was none. Time has gone on and Brehon Rónchú has not returned and I am without satisfaction.’

  ‘Perhaps you should tell me what you know about the death of your husband, Murchad.’

  ‘In that case …’ The woman stood back and motioned her inside her cabin.

  Fidelma glanced at Eadulf with an unasked query, but he shook his head, pointed to a nearby building that looked like a tavern and began leading the horses towards it. Fidelma then turned and obeyed the woman’s invitation. The room was tiny and hot, heated by a central log fire. It was one room that served as living room and cooking area, while wooden steps led above to a platform that acted as the sleeping area. There was a chair and some stools about the room and, at Muirgel’s invitation, Fidelma seated herself, allowing the woman to maintain her right to the single chair.

  She leant forwards towards the fire where a coire, a small cauldron, sat on the fire steaming, filling the room with a warm fragrance. Muirgel took two clay mugs from a shelf, filled them and offered her one.

  ‘It’s dandelion and burdock sweetened with honey,’ she explained.

  Fidelma thanked her with the ritual of hospitality given and received.

  ‘Tell me the facts of your husband’s death,’ began Fidelma immediately. ‘Tell me the circumstances.’

  ‘He was murdered, plain and simple,’ replied the women. ‘We had been up the Great River to the Áth na mBó, the Ford of the Cows, to collect some pieces of furniture for the tavern owner here. They had been ordered from a good worker in wood, who makes chairs, beds and cupboards and the like. We were returning down the river to here and coming in to tie up at the wharf just outside. You will still find our boat moored there. We had done it so many thousands of times that Murchad could do it by himself blindfolded. I emphasise that because the assistant Brehon even questioned my husband’s competence as a riverboat captain.’

  She paused for a moment. ‘I had gone to the bow and was hauling down the for’ard sail while Murchad was at the tiller, allowing the boat to swing inshore. There was still a gap between the stern and the wooden wharf, whereas the bow had already touched the wharf. I was aware of a smaller vessel overtaking us from the rear of our craft.’

  ‘Did you see whose vessel it was?’

  ‘No. I was just aware of a small craft with a sail fully rigged. And then I saw a long pole, longer than an oar, emerge from behind the sail as if someone was holding it. The holder pushed it and suddenly it caught Murchad in the back. He gave a cry, spun a little, and went over the side. He went over just as the stern of our boat swung towards the jerry.’ She choked back a sob that arose in her throat. ‘He was crushed against the wood of the jetty and the swing of the boat. He did not fall in by accident. I told the stupid lawyer woman that!’

  ‘You told Beccnat, the assistant to the Brehon, these details?’

  ‘I did, for all the notice she took of me,’ replied Muirgel bitterly.

  ‘You say that you did not see the person who was obscured behind the sail? You did not see who held the pole that pushed your husband off the boat?’

  ‘I did not see them.’

  ‘But the boat passed you and that would have given you a clear vision of them?’

  ‘My only thought was for Murchad. As soon as he cried out and I heard him go overboard, I lost interest in the sailboat and was trying to get back to the stern to help him get back on board. Of course it was too late. He had already been crushed.’

  ‘And this you told to Beccnat?’

  ‘I have told you that I did.’

  ‘Was anything more heard or seen of this small boat from which Murchad was attacked?’

  ‘I did not see who did the actual attack, but even in passing I recognised the boat. We are not so large a community here that we river folk do not know who owns what boats.’

  Fidelma raised her brows in astonishment. ‘You mean that you know who owned the boat?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Muirgel said firmly. ‘It belonged to Síabair.’

  ‘Síabair – the physician?’ Fidelma asked in surprise. ‘Surely, Beccnat questioned him about your identification.’

  ‘I was told that he claimed that his boat had never left its moorings. Neither had he used the vessel at all during this time I said it passed me and Murchad was pushed overboard.’

  ‘What did the Brehon’s assistant do?’

  ‘She merely accepted Síabair’s word. Why would she do otherwise? She and he are of the same social status while I …’ Muirgel’s voice was bitter and she was unable to finish.

  ‘Did Síabair ever have any cause to do your husband harm?’ Fidelma went on, ignoring the claim of social bias.

  ‘None that I was ever aware of,’ Muirgel said, recovering. ‘But I swear that it was from that boat that my husband was pushed to his death.’

  ‘What if it had been stolen and returned to the mooring before Síabair had noticed that it was missing?’ she mused. ‘Is that not a possibility?’

  Muirgel was silent for a moment before she answered with some reluctance. ‘I suppose it is a possibility. The rivers and small waterways are many in these parts. So if a small craft was taken from Síabair’s mooring, it did not have to turn round and come back this way again to return to that mooring.’

  ‘Do you know if this was put to Síabair? I mean, was he asked to examine his boat to make sure that it was in the same condition in which he left it? For example, was that long pole that you saw still part of his boat or was it abandoned somewhere?’

  ‘Nothing was investigated,’ Muirgel replied, her anger now subdued. ‘The assistant of the Brehon just accepted Síabair’s word, as I said.’

  ‘But she must have given you an explanation as to why she was making a decision not to investigate?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘She told me that she would not deviate from her conclusion that Murchad had died as a result of falling overboard by accident. She declared that it was her judgment.’

  ‘Are you sure … her judgment? Those are ritual words.’

  ‘Those were her very words.’

  ‘There is something amiss in this. Tell me, did you ask her to investigate the matter for a specific purpose?’

  Muirgel was puzzled by the question. ‘I told her the facts and wanted to find out who killed my husband. I wanted to see if I could claim his honour price and compensation.’

  ‘So you presented yourself as a litigant?’

  ‘I am not sure what that words means.’

  ‘If you were a litigant seeking judgment then Beccnat was giving judgment. That being so, she should have presented a pledge so that if you were dissatisfied with her judgment you could demand her actions be re-examined by another Bre
hon. If her judgment was proved wrong, then some means of compensation could be recovered. I presume there was no other senior judge in this area, other than Brehon Rónchú, that you could appeal to? It is your right to appeal against a judgment.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘There is only Brehon Rónchú, and I admit that I have been waiting for him to return to tell him. But he has not returned. If you are a lawyer, as you say, then surely you could investigate for me?’

  ‘The problem is that if I appeared as a judge in a claim against Beccnat, she might raise a counterclaim of personal animosity against me.’ Fidelma was thinking of the sudden verbal attack that Beccnat had launched against her. ‘Do not worry. I will find an answer to this. I am certain that what you say is the truth. I have no doubt that Murchad’s death was murder.’

  ‘Can you get justice for me?’ Muirgel’s voice rose in hope.

  ‘Let me ask a few more questions. Do you remember the day when Brehon Rónchú challenged Murchad about the boxes of ore that he was to take downriver?’

  ‘That was the start of our troubles.’

  ‘Do you remember the details of how these men approached Murchad to take this cargo?’

  ‘We always worked the boat together so I was there when these men arrived. Two men came to the township in a wagon. They wished to transport two boxes to the seaport at Clocha Liatha. They had locks on them and when Murchad asked the contents they said they contained some ancient carved rocks of the old religion. Curiously, they said they would not accompany the boxes. They had arranged for them to be met at the destination. Murchad agreed to take the boxes but he was very suspicious.’

  ‘Then the two men left?’

  ‘Not before they paid what was to be one half of the sum in advance and agreed the second half would be paid when the boxes were handed over.’

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Brehon Rónchú was making a random inspection of goods being transported downriver. He said he was suspicious of the movements of metals. He had been told that the lord of The Cuala had asked him to be vigilant about stolen precious metals from his mines. Murchad told him that he was suspicious about the boxes even though he had agreed to take them. We are honest traders. Murchad told the Brehon that he was sure he had seen one of the men in the local tavern some weeks before. Brehon Rónchú knew about locks and soon opened the boxes. We were shocked when we saw the ore. Brehon Rónchú believed the ore was valuable when smelted. He checked a piece with the local smith and, when he returned to us, he suggested that he and two warriors accompany our boat to the port at the Clocha Liatha and confront whoever came to collect them. We are a busy crossroads and sometimes the town is rowdy and so the lord of The Cuala places some of his warriors here in case things become too rowdy.’

  ‘So you all went downriver? What happened when you reached Clocha Liatha?’

  ‘To our surprise the same two men that placed the boxes on our boat were there to take delivery of them,’ she continued. ‘They must have ridden on horseback across the country to do so. When Brehon Rónchú challenged them, they immediately drew their swords but the warriors accompanying the Brehon were more than a match for them. They soon perished in their futile attempt to escape.’

  Fidelma grimaced in disapproval. ‘Was there any real attempt to capture them alive?’

  Muirgel was indifferent. ‘They were challenged, but once they had drawn their swords there was nothing to be done except kill them … short of their own surrender.’

  ‘Was it then that the Brehon Rónchú decided to return here with the boxes?’

  ‘Brehon Rónchú ordered us to return with the cargo. He allowed us to keep the fees paid as compensation, but said he was escorting the metal ore to Garrchú up at Dún Árd. Garrchú is the steward of the mines to the lord of The Cuala. Brehon Rónchú hired a wagon from that old good-for-nothing Cétach and left. That was it.’

  ‘So Cétach drove the wagon with the ore. He came back here and was murdered. Brehon Rónchú has not returned from that trip. Then your husband met his death.’

  Muirgel was staring at Fidelma with a growing expression of horror.

  ‘Are you saying …?’

  Fidelma suddenly rose and smiled down at the woman. ‘I must thank you. Trust me, you will hear from me again on this matter and I will ensure that we will examine the role of the Brehon’s assistant. But, if you see her, do not speak to her of this conversation or my intentions. In fact, do not speak to anyone about this conversation until I tell you.’

  Muirgel thought for a moment and then inclined her head. ‘I will do so, lady, so long as I get justice for my man.’

  ‘I assure you, Muirgel, I am sworn to uphold justice and truth above all … even if it contravenes the law.’

  ‘But the law is the law,’ gasped the woman, perturbed at the instruction. ‘We must obey it.’

  ‘Laws are not created to command obedience or to restrain people. When the law does not support freedom, then it absolves people from obedience to its authority. Above all, people must accept their own moral authority. Justice should always come before law.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  When she left Muirgel’s cabin, Fidelma went to the tavern Eadulf had previously indicated. Their horses were outside. Inside, she found not only Eadulf but Enda, too. They were seated in a corner, sipping mugs of honey mead.

  ‘Did you get what you wanted?’ Eadulf asked as she sat down.

  ‘Not exactly, but that is the nature of solving riddles,’ Fidelma replied seriously.

  Enda greeted her and explained: ‘I was bored just hanging round the abbey so I came to see if you needed assistance. Did you say you have solved a riddle?’

  ‘I am faced with a drochtcheist – a puzzle or riddle,’ she explained. ‘To resolve it you have to proceed by collecting brodhe. By that I mean the particles that you have to piece together until they form a whole. So, in this matter, we have just added a few more particles to the key that solves the puzzle. It seems that we have a conflict between law and justice here.’

  Eadulf was mystified. ‘Surely without law there can be no justice?’

  ‘But law and justice are not always synonymous. Law often creates the bigger injustice. Brehon Morann used to say, “You will always get justice in the Otherworld. In this one you often get only the law.”’

  The tavern-keeper came across at that moment. Fidelma was not really in the mood for a drink, but for propriety’s sake she joined Enda and Eadulf with a mug of íarlinn, a small beer. Eadulf noticed deep furrows had formed on her forehead as she seemed to be wrestling with an elusive problem.

  ‘I think we had better get back to the abbey,’ she finally said, finishing her drink. ‘I feel there is something that I am missing, although it is staring me in the face.’

  ‘Is it that we should go back to that valley of Lúbán?’ Eadulf said.

  ‘I am already sure the body was that of Brehon Rónchú but in no way must we admit it before Teimel,’ she replied. ‘There is something else, however; something even more important to the solution we are seeking.’

  As they were leaving, mounting their horses, Enda caught sight of a familiar figure mounted on a thin and exhausted-looking mule down on the wharfs on the far side of the river.

  ‘There’s that old woman again,’ he indicated with a faint smile. ‘Amazing, she seems so frail and her mule is on its last legs, yet both seem to have hidden strengths. I am presuming she still takes food to those relatives in the mountains?’

  It was a rhetorical question but Fidelma’s reaction was surprising. She swung round to her companions.

  ‘I am an idiot!’ she exclaimed vehemently.

  Eadulf raised his eyebrows and forced a grin. ‘You are possessed of a bizarre humour, I agree,’ he acknowledged. ‘However, I would not exactly say an idiot—’

  ‘I don’t need humour now,’ she snapped back. ‘I have just come across the resolution to this mystery.’

  Eadulf stared at her. ‘You k
now what has happened to Princess Gelgéis?’ he asked.

  Fidelma hesitated for only a moment. ‘I am sure I do,’ she replied firmly. ‘It was not until this moment that I realised that I have been told where she is. I was confusing my metals.’

  Eadulf looked startled, casting a glance around as if to identify the informant. ‘Told where she is? By whom?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. First we must return to the abbey.’

  With that she turned her horse back towards the abbey without another word, followed by her bewildered companions.

  At the stables Fidelma asked for Brother Cuilínn, but to her disappointment she was told that he had been sent on some errand.

  It was a short time later that Fidelma rejoined Eadulf and Enda, who were waiting patiently by the bridge.

  ‘Do you want to tell us what is happening, where we are supposed to be going, and why?’ Eadulf demanded. ‘I can’t understand about the confusion of metals. Gold and silver are surely the only metals concerned in the matter of the theft?’

  Fidelma replied with the briefest of smiles. ‘I have learnt enough not to raise hopes, before I am sure that the promise I made can be kept.’

  ‘Should we not at least know something, lady?’ queried Enda, feeling excluded.

  ‘I will tell you when the time is right. We will ride from here north-westward along the Glasán Valley,’ she told them in a tone that forbade anything further to be asked.

  She led the way west at an easy canter. However, as soon as they were out of sight of the main abbey buildings, Fidelma turned north, over the hill path into the valley of Glasán.

  ‘We’ve been on this path before,’ Eadulf remarked, after they had been riding for some time. ‘Can you tell us now where we are making for?’

  Fidelma pointed across the valley to the far side of the river.

  ‘We’ll stop the other side of the river, across the ford that is there. Once there I shall explain,’ she replied. There was now a bright air of excitement in her tone and, for the first time since they had entered the dark mountains of The Cuala, Eadulf suddenly felt a confidence that they were coming near the end of their quest.