The man was elderly. A short, stocky man with greying close cropped hair. His skin was tanned by sea and wind almost to the color of nut. His stance and appearance marked him out as a grizzled veteran of seafaring.
“Ross? Is it you?”
She knew him of old as the captain of a coastal bark sailing the waters around her brother’s kingdom.
“Lady,” grinned the old seaman, touching his forehead in salutation. Ross never forgot that Fidelma was sister to Colgú, King of Muman.
“What are you doing here?” she asked and then chuckled as she realized it was a foolish question to ask of a sailor in a coastal port. She gestured toward a nearby bruiden, a tavern, which stood nearby. “Let us slake our thirst and talk of old times, Ross, and . . .” she suddenly had a thought, “and perhaps you can help me with a problem that I have.”
“Of course, lady,” agreed Ross at once. “I am always prepared to help if you are in need.”
Seated at a table in the hostel, with a jug of honey-sweetened mead between them, Fidelma asked Ross if he knew of the merchants Abaoth and Olcán.
Ross grimaced immediately at the name of Olcán.
“Olcán? He is a greedy man. I’ve shipped cargoes for him along the coast and he always tries to cheat on his payments. I no longer take his cargoes. Indeed, he has lost trade recently because people do not trust him. He is reduced to a fleet of river barges whereas he had two seagoing ships some years ago. What have you to do with him?”
Fidelma explained, adding: “What of Abaoth?”
“I know nothing bad about him. He had a fleet of three ships trading mainly with the Frankish ports. I know he has had bad luck recently for one of his ships foundered and was destroyed in a storm. I think he trades hides in return for wine. But as for Olcán—compensation for stolen cargo? I wouldn’t lift a finger to get him compensation. In fact, I might pay the thieves to take his cargoes in order to compensate for the times he cheated others.”
Fidelma smiled grimly.
“At the moment I am more concerned with the boatmen who have disappeared.”
Ross sighed and nodded.
“I know Olcán never treated his men well but I see what you mean. I have heard that several good river men had disappeared of late. I did not know that they worked for Olcán although, come to think of it, I do not recall seeing as many of Olcán’s barges on the river in recent days.”
Fidelma was intrigued.
“Are you saying that you know Olcán’s barges by sight?”
Ross grinned.
“Even barges bear names, lady. And Olcán’s barges have the head of a wolf burnt into the bow to brand the owner’s identity on them. Where did these barges disappear?”
She told him what she knew.
“Between Eochaill and Lios Mór?” he said reflectively. “That’s over thirty kilometers of river, maybe more. That’s a long stretch of river to examine.”
Fidelma was thoughtful.
“There has been something troubling me about it, something Olcán said which struck a thought in my mind and then it passed and now I cannot remember it,” she confessed. Then she clicked her fingers abruptly.
“I know, it was the fact that these boats disappeared at night. That they undertook their journey by night.”
Ross shook his head with a smile.
“Nothing unusual in that. Night is often the safest time to travel and the speediest time for boats like the ethur or cargo-carrying boats, as we call them. Often during the day, on rivers such as these, you get many people out in small boats who really don’t know the ways of the river. Many skippers of ethur try to avoid them because of the accidents that they cause. The answer is that they choose night to travel and so they can move speedily along.”
“I see.” Fidelma was disappointed. However, Ross was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Did you say that Olcán said the last boat to disappear was two weeks ago and the other was four weeks before that?”
“He did. Is that significant to you?”
Ross pursed his lips.
“Not really. Only that it must have coincided with the new moon on both occasions. Usually skippers avoid that period when traveling at night.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you said they liked traveling at night?”
“But during the three days of the new moon they usually avoid travel for it is the dark time. The day of the new moon, the day before and the day afterwards.”
“I still do not understand.”
“Even boatmen need moonlight to see by and while they like to travel at night, they do not like total darkness. You must know that we call that the period of the Dark Moon for on those three days the moon is so weak it shows little light.”
“Of course. It is said that the moon holds sway over the night and that things happen at the period of the Dark Moon that never happen in the Full Moon. Hidden acts take place at the Dark Moon.”
Ross nodded quickly.
“She is the sailor’s strength, the Queen of the Night. But she is a hard taskmistress, that is why we have so many names for her in our language and none dare pronounce her real name. Once a sailor steps on shipboard he must never refer to the moon by other than an euphemism such as ‘the Queen of the Night’, ‘the brightness’ and . . .”
Fidelma had been looking thoughtful and interrupted him.
“Ross, can you find someone to take me upriver? I’d like to examine its course between here and Lios Mór.”
Ross grinned.
“If it’s a trip upriver that you are wanting, lady, then I am your man. I was born on this river. I have a curragh moored a short distance away.”
“But there are only a few hours of daylight left today. The sort of trip I had in mind needs daylight. If your offer still holds at dawn tomorrow, then I accept.”
Ross nodded agreeably.
“Dawn tomorrow it is, lady. I’ll bring the curragh to the quay at Dair Inis.”
“Good.” She rose. “Then I shall take this opportunity to visit some of the wives of the boatmen who disappeared and see in what condition Olcán has left them. The scriptor has made me a list of their names and their families live mostly around Eochaill.”
The first three boatmen who had disappeared had been Erc, Donnucán and Laochra. The second crew were Finchán, Laidcenn and Dathal.
On inquiring for the families of the first two names on the list prepared by the scriptor, Fidelma was informed by neighbors that they had departed from Eochaill. As soon as the news of their husbands’ disappearance had been reported, the womenfolk and their children had left the area, presumably to go to stay with other members of their families.
The third family Fidelma found was still living in Eochaill. A woman with heavy jowls and a baby in her arms stood on the threshold of a poor house, and glowered in suspicion at Fidelma.
“My man was a steersman on Olcán’s barges,” she acknowledged. “Five weeks ago now he was contracted to take a cargo up to Lios Mór and has not returned.”
Fidelma was aware of several children playing around the house.
“You have a large family?”
The woman nodded.
“Times must be hard with the loss of your man. Does Olcán help support the family?”
The woman laughed unpleasantly.
“The wolf? That sly one? He would not give a pingín that he did not have to.”
Fidelma sighed. By right, Olcán had to give support to his workers injured in the course of tasks undertaken in their employment. Obviously, the woman did not know her rights.
“Do your family help, with the feeding of your children?”
Again the woman laughed.
“It is the generosity of Abaoth who feeds my children, Sister. A blessing on his name.”
Fidelma raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Abaoth?” While it was technically Abaoth’s cargo, the legal responsibility was on the employer, Olcán, to compensate the families of the men
who were injured in his employ. Disappearance could well be interpreted by the Brehons as a form of injury.
“He is a generous man,” repeated the woman. “It was his cargo that my man was transporting.”
“Does he help all the families of the boatmen who have disappeared?”
“So I am told. I know he helps me and will do so until the time my man returns.”
“And you have no idea what has happened to your man and his fellow boatmen?”
“None. Now I have things to attend to, Sister.” The woman turned abruptly to her house and closed the door behind her.
Thoughtfully, Fidelma went to find another of the families. According to the scriptor, one of the boatmen had recently been married. His young wife’s name was Serc. The house was a small but better kept house, near the quay. As she came to the door Fidelma heard voices raised, a male voice and a female voice. She could not hear what was said but some altercation was taking place. Fidelma knocked loudly and the voices fell silent. She knocked again. There came the sounds of whispering. Then Fidelma heard the noise of a door opening softly on the far side of the house. Something prompted her to move swiftly to the corner of the building where there was a narrow passage leading to the back of it. She had a brief glimpse of a semi-clad male figure, some of his clothes in hand, moving hurriedly away. A second’s glimpse, and then he had disappeared.
Behind her the front door had opened.
Fidelma turned back to find herself being confronted by a young, attractive but sulky-looking girl with a shawl around her. It was clear that she was naked underneath. Her hair was tousled and her lips were pursed in a surly expression. There was something promiscuous about her even in this state. Her stare was disapproving as she looked at Fidelma.
“Is your name Serc? I am told your husband disappeared a few weeks ago while working as a boatman for Olcán the merchant.”
“What’s it to do with you?” demanded the girl, still sulky.
“I am a dálaigh of the Brehon Court and my inquiry is official.”
Serc was still defiant.
“If you are who you say then you must know the answer to the question.”
Fidelma controlled her irritation.
“Since your husband disappeared, I presume that you are being cared for by the employer of your husband?”
The girl raised her chin a little.
“Abaoth has ensured that I do not want.”
“Abaoth? Not Olcán?”
“Olcán is a lecherous old bastard!” the girl replied without rancor.
“He came here and said he would take care of me if . . .” Her mouth clamped shut.
Fidelma was not surprised.
“You do not know what happened to your husband?”
“Of course not. Why should I?”
“I am trying to find out what happened to him and to the others.”
“Let me know when you do. I’d be interested. Now I am cold, standing here. Have you finished?”
It was clear that even though her husband had vanished with his fellow boatmen, Serc would lack for nothing now or in the future so long as she retained her looks.
There were two other families on her list. One of them, like the first two Fidelma had inquired after, had left Eochaill and had, presumably, moved off to live with relatives, since their husbands had gone missing. The other was a large, broad-faced woman who had several children. She seemed anxious when confronted with Fidelma. She and her children seemed to lack for nothing and Fidelma confirmed that this was due to Abaoth rather than the miserly Olcán. Like the other wives, Fidelma was not able to pick up any useful information—neither about the missing boatmen nor their last trip for Olcán.
It was dawn the next day when Fidelma joined Ross in his curragh and they began to move upriver from Eochaill. The Abhainn Mór was well named. It was a “great river” whose black waters were deep and dark. Once out of the estuary waters and entering the river proper—around the place called the Point of the Sacred Tree from pagan times: this was a hill on which a small fortress stood to protect the river passage—progress was more interesting. They went through the wooded banks of the still-broad river, the trees rising on hills along either side as it kept a moderately straight course north.
Apart from small streams that fed the river Fidelma saw nothing that excited her suspicions. Isolated farmsteads could be seen now and again but there were no major settlements once they were beyond Dair Inis.
Ross eased on his oars for a moment.
“Have you seen anything of interest yet, lady?” he asked.
She shook her head negatively.
“Everything seems as it should be.”
“What did you expect to see?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know. Something out of the ordinary perhaps.”
Ross sighed.
“We should break for a meal soon. The sun is already at the zenith.”
She nodded absently.
“The Abhainn Mór is a long river, lady.” Ross had a quiet sense of humor. “I trust that you don’t want to explore its whole length? It rises on the slopes of a mountain in the country of the Muscraige Luachra and that is a long, long journey from here.”
“Don’t worry, Ross. Whatever happened to the barges happened before Lios Mór and I think it happened to them before dawn. Whoever or whatever was responsible for their disappearance would not want any witnesses and with daylight would come such witnesses.”
“Well, the next settlement is Conn’s Plot, Ceapach Choinn. It is there that the river makes a forty-five-degree turn towards Lios Mór. I don’t know whether they could reach that settlement before dawn. Whatever happened to them must have happened long before the river turns.”
Fidelma was grateful for Ross’s knowledge.
They pulled into the bank to take a midday snack of bread and goat’s cheese and the flask of mead. It was a warm, pleasant day, and Fidelma felt herself sinking into a lazy drowsing state beneath the tall oaks soaring up from the bank above her, with the sound of songbirds in her ears.
“We should be on our way, lady,” Ross reminded her after a while.
She started nervously from her reverie.
“I was thinking,” she said defensively. Then smiled.
“No, I think I was dreaming. But you are right. We must press on. There must be somewhere that these barges were taken and hidden before the bend in the river.”
Ross rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“The only place I can think of is where the River Bríd joins this river.”
Fidelma frowned.
“The River Bríd? Of course, I had forgotten that.”
“It joins the Abhainn Mór less than a kilometer from here.”
Fidelma leant forward excitedly.
“We will turn off into the River Bríd and see where it takes us.”
The Bríd was a powerful river, although not so wide as the Abhainn Mór, and it was difficult to negotiate against the surge where it flooded into the greater river, joining its slow progress to the sea. There were tiny whirlpools and currents that sent Ross’s curragh this way and that in a helter-skelter fashion. Finally, they broke through to calmer water and began to move slowly through a green plain with distant hills on either side. It was a fertile valley in which Fidelma had never been before.
“Do you know this area, Ross?”
“This is the territory of Cumscrad, Prince of the Fir Maige Féne.”
Fidelma suddenly shuddered.
“They are a non-Eóghanacht people whose prince claims that he descended from Mogh Ruith, a sinister Druid who was a disciple of Simon Magus, the magician who opposed the Blessed Peter, the disciple of Christ.”
Ross grimaced but without concern.
“If it is a villain that you are seeing, you may seek no further that Cumscrad,” he said.
“There is a local chieftain here who acts in his name, Conna.”
“I have not heard of him.”
“That’s called Tealach an Iarainn, the hill of iron, isn’t it? I have heard of that because it is famous for its wealth.”
“That’s the place, lady. The people extract iron ore and smelt it and trade it. In fact, Olcán trades for iron cargoes here.”
“Does he now?” Fidelma asked reflectively.
They had come nearly three kilometers along the winding river when Ross, glancing over his shoulder, indicated the settlement on the south bank of the river. There were several barges and small boats moored along the riverbank where wooden quays showed that a trade was carried on here.
“We’ll stop here and make some inquiries,” Fidelma instructed, and Ross pulled in looking for a mooring.
On firm land, Fidelma took a moment or two to recover her balance, having been for some hours seated in the curragh. She looked about along the line of vessels. Tealach an Iarainn was certainly a busy little settlement. There were a lot of people about. By their appearance it seemed that they were mainly merchants or boatmen. There were a large number of blacksmith forges along the quays as well.
“What now, lady?” asked Ross. “Where do we make our inquiries?”
“Let’s take a stroll along the quay first.”
She was surprised at how busy the settlement was. In the hills behind she realized that people were mining and extracting iron ore. She could see wagons bringing it down to the forges where she presumed the iron was extracted and then sent in the barges to be sold at various destinations. It suddenly came to her memory that the plains beyond this settlement were called Magh Méine, the Plain of Minerals.
“Lady!”
Ross’s urgent whisper made her turn her head.
They had been walking by a series of barges that were being filled with cargoes of iron ore. It was the end one by which Ross had paused. There was no one on board and he had halted and was staring at the bow.
“What is it?” she asked.
Whispers of the Dead Page 11