‘It is not the only mystery here. Why is it that everyone is accepting Móen as guilty but making no effort to discover why he killed Eber and the woman Teafa?’
Fidelma gave him an approving nod at the aptness of the observation.
‘Let us go and see how Menma’s story accords with that of Móen.’
They walked across to the two warriors standing by the stable doors. The younger man, scarcely more than a youth, had dirty fair hair and rather coarse features, and was lounging against the door post. A round shield hung loosely from his shoulder and he wore a workmanlike sword at his left side. Both men had turned to watch Fidelma and Eadulf approach. The younger warrior did not shift his lounging attitude as he stared with unconcealed curiosity at Fidelma. Silence had fallen between them.
‘Are you truly the Brehon?’ The question was uttered by the youth. His voice sounded as if he suffered a perpetual sore throat. Fidelma did not reply but showed her disapproval of his greeting by turning her attention to the middle-aged warrior.
‘I am told that your name is Dubán and that you command the bodyguard of the chieftain?’
The burly warrior shifted uneasily.
‘That is so. This is Crítán, who is one of the guard. Crítán is …’
‘Champion of Araglin!’ The young man’s voice was boastful.
‘Champion? At what?’ Only Eadulf could tell that Fidelma was irritated by the pomposity of the youth as she acknowledged him.
Crítán was not deflated by her question.
‘You name it, sister. Sword, lance or bow. I was the one sent to Cashel to inform the king. I think he was impressed with me. I mean to join his bodyguard.’
‘And does the king of Cashel know of your great ambition?’ she asked. Fidelma’s expression did not alter. It was impossible to tell whether she was amused or angry at the youth’s impertinence. Eadulf decided that she was scornful of the boy.
Critan did not hear the irony in her voice.
‘I have not told him yet. But once he knows of my reputation, he will accept my services.’
Fidelma saw that Dubán looked uncomfortable at his subordinate’s bragging tones.
‘Dubán, a word with you.’ She drew him aside, ignoring the piqued expression on the youth’s face.
‘You realise that I am an advocate of the courts?’
‘I have heard as much,’ agreed the commander of the bodyguard. ‘The news of your coming is now common knowledge in the rath.’
‘Good. I now wish to see Móen.’
The warrior jerked a thumb across his shoulder to the closed stable door.
‘He is in there.’
‘So I am told. I will wish to question you on your part in discovering the body of Teafa but at this moment I shall deal with Móen. Has he said anything since you detained him?’
She was confounded by Dubán’s expression of confusion.
‘How could he do that?’
Fidelma was about to reply but decided it was better to see Móen before pressing any further.
‘Unlock the door,’ she instructed.
Dubán motioned to his boastful subordinate to do as she bid.
Inside, the stable was dark, dank and stale.
‘I’ll get a lamp,’ Dubán said apologetically. ‘We have no place to confine prisoners and so we turned out the horses which Eber kept here and put them in the pasture. This has been converted into a prison.’
Fidelma sniffed disapprovingly as she peered into the blackness.
‘Surely there must have been somewhere better to confine him? This place reeks enough without the added indignity of darkness. Why wasn’t a light left for the prisoner?’
The young warrior, Crítán, chuckled loudly behind her.
‘You have a wit, lady. That is rich!’
Dubán gruffly ordered the youth to return to his post outside and then shuffled into the darkness. Fidelma and Eadulf, as their eyes adjusted to the gloom, could see the shadowy outline of his figure bending over something, then they heard a sound as he struck a flint and a spark caught an oil wick which began to glimmer. The warrior turned with a lamp in his hand. He beckoned them further inside the cavernous stables and pointed to the far corner.
‘There he is! There is Móen the killer of Eber.’
Fidelma moved forward.
Dubán held up the lamp as high as he could in order to shed its light around the smelly interior. In the far corner was what seemed, at first, to be a bundle of clothes. Dirty, smelling rough homespuns. The bundle twitched and a chain rattled. Fidelma swallowed hard as she saw that the clothes were, in fact, the covering of a man who was shackled by the left foot to one of the support posts which held up the roof of the building. Then she saw a tousled head raise itself with a jerky motion, back towards her, and it seemed as if its owner was listening, the head slightly to one side. A strange whimpering sound came from it.
‘That is the creature, Móen,’ Dubán said hollowly at her shoulder.
Chapter Six
Fidelma could not restrain the shudder which passed through her as she gazed on the grotesque figure.
‘God look down on us! What is the meaning of this? I would not keep an animal in such conditions, much less a man, even one suspected of murder.’
She moved forward and bent down to touch the shoulder of the crouching form.
She was unprepared for what happened next.
The figure jumped at her touch with an anguished howl. It scurried away on all fours like an animal, moaning, until the length of the chain attached to its ankle caused it to jerk to a halt. It fell; fell full-length on the dirty straw of the floor, and lay there, at the same time raising both hands as if to protect its head from a blow. Pausing in that position only for a moment or so, it scrambled up and turned to face them. Fidelma and Eadulf were unprepared for what they saw; the eyes were pupilless, wide staring white orbs.
‘Retro Satana!’ It was Eadulf who breathed the words, raising a hand to genuflect.
‘Satan it is, brother,’ Dubán agreed in humourless tones.
The figure was that of a male. It was so covered in dirt and excrement, the hair so wild and matted, that they could not clearly discern its features. Fidelma had the impression that it was not elderly. Then she recalled that Crón had said that Móen was only twenty-one years old. The mouth was a wide slobbering aperture and a terrible moaning noise continued to issue forth. But it was the eyes that held the attention of both Fidelma and Eadulf. Those pitiful white opaque orbs with scarcely any sign of a pupil at all.
‘Is this Móen who is accused of killing Eber and Teafa?’ whispered Fidelma aghast.
‘Indeed it is.’
‘Móen,’ muttered Eadulf grimly. ‘Of course! Doesn’t the very name mean one who is dumb?’
‘You have the right of it, brother,’ agreed Dubán. ‘Dumb has he been since he was found and given a home by the lady Teafa.’
‘And sightless?’ queried Fidelma, staring in horrified pity at the figure crouching before her.
‘And deaf,’ Dubán added grimly.
‘And it is claimed that such an unfortunate could kill two healthy beings?’ breathed Fidelma in disbelief.
Eadulf stared at the creature with distaste.
‘Why were we not told about the condition of this person before?’
The warrior looked surprised.
‘But everyone knows Móen. It never occurred to me that …’
Fidelma silenced his protests.
‘No. It is not your fault that I have not been informed before now. Let us be perfectly clear; am I to understand that it is this deaf, dumb and blind creature who is charged with the slaughter of Eber and …’
She paused for the figure had moved cautiously forward and was holding his head up like an animal, his nostrils flaring. He was sniffing. Fidelma stared down at him as he approached near to her on all fours.
‘I would stand back a little, sister, for he smells people even if he can’t see or hear
them,’ warned Dubán.
It was too late, for a cold, dirty hand suddenly stretched out and touched Fidelma’s foot. She started back in alarm.
Móen stopped abruptly.
Dubán moved towards him, one hand holding the lamp while the other was raised as if to strike the unfortunate.
Fidelma saw the action and reached out a hand.
‘Do not strike him,’ she commanded. ‘You cannot strike one who cannot see the blow.’
Indeed, it was just as well for Móen was sitting his face upturned and now he had raised his hands, waving them in curious motions before him.
Fidelma shook her head sadly.
‘Ignore him, sister,’ muttered Dubán, ‘for he is cursed by God.’
‘Can you not have him cleaned at least?’ demanded Fidelma.
Dubán looked astonished.
‘For what purpose?’
‘He is a human being.’
The warrior grimaced sarcastically.
‘Not that you would notice it.’
‘According to the law, Dubán, you have already committed an offence by mocking someone who has a disability.’
The warrior opened his mouth to protest but Fidelma went on grimly, ‘I want him clean before I next see him. You may still confine him but he must be given food and water and be cleaned. I will not see one of God’s creatures suffer this way. Whatever they have been accused of.’
She turned on her heel and strode from the stable. Eadulf hesitated a moment; he felt an unease as he watched the bitter emotions chase themselves across the middle-aged warrior’s face as he stared after Fidelma.
Fidelma was standing outside breathing deeply as if in an effort to control her anger. There was now no sign of the other warrior, Crítán. They hesitated a moment before walking slowly in the direction of Eber’s apartments.
‘One cannot blame Dubán,’ Eadulf tried to act as conciliator. ‘And remember, this poor creature, as you call him, did kill Eber, his chieftain.’
He almost winced as Fidelma’s green eyes suddenly blazed at him with an angry fire.
‘Móen’s guilt has first to be proved. He is a human being and has the same rights before the law as everyone else. In the meantime there is no excuse to treat him as if he were less than an animal.’
‘True,’ conceded Eadulf. ‘He should not be treated in such a way but …’
‘He has a right of defence before being judged guilty or not.’
Eadulf raised a shoulder and let it fall in an expressive gesture.
‘Deaf, dumb and blind, Fidelma. How can one communicate with such a being in order to find out what defence they can present?’
‘If there is a defence, I shall find it. But he will not be condemned without a fair trial. On my oath as an advocate of the laws of the five kingdoms, I shall ensure it.’
There was an awkward silence and then Eadulf asked: ‘Is there really a law imposing penalties on anyone who mocks the disabled?’
‘I do not make up laws,’ Fidelma replied stiffly, still irritated. ‘Heavy fines can be imposed on anyone who mocks the disability of any person from an epileptic to a lame person.’
‘It is hard to believe, Fidelma, even though I had studied in this land of yours, I am still a prisoner of my own culture. In our society we recognise that man is a cruel creature and that God often ordains him to live short and brutish lives. It is in the holy order of things that, in the violence of nature, man has a violent path.’
Fidelma stared at him in surprise.
‘You have seen the alternative in our society, Eadulf. You surely do not believe that the Saxon way is the only way?’
‘Any way is only transitory. Life is subject to sudden change. On every side there is pestilence, famine, oppression, violence from personal or political enemies. We resign ourselves to the dispensation of the inscrutable will of the Father in the heavens where all our security lies.’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘Time to argue such a philosophy later, Eadulf. Our laws and the way we conduct our lives is surely an argument against the manifold misery of life you accept in your land? But before we debate the subject, there is this matter to be resolved. And it is a difficult one, Eadulf, and I need your support. Once I have gathered the evidence, and if the blame does lie at the door of this unfortunate then I will have to decide whether he has any legal capacity in law. Such a disabled person is not subject to distraint and one has to act against the legal guardian. So we must discover who is the legal guardian of this creature, Móen. Ah,’ she paused and rubbed her head, ‘I must try to recall the words of the text Do Brethaib Gaire …’
‘What is that?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘On the judgments of maintenance which is a tract on the kin’s obligation to care for its incapacitated members. The first part deals with the care of the deaf, blind and dumb.’
Eadulf was always bemused by the Irish laws of compensation to the victim and their family even for murder. In his land of the South Folk, the death penalty was enacted even for thieves and those who harboured and supported them. Murderers, traitors, witches, absconding slaves, outlaws and those who protected them could be hanged, beheaded, stoned, burnt or drowned, while lesser penalties consisted of mutilations; the cutting off of hands, feet, nose, ears, upper lip or tongue, even blinding, castration and scalping as well as branding and scouring. Eadulf knew that the Saxon bishops preferred to mete out the punishment of mutilation rather than death for it gave the sinner time to repent. But these Irish with their refusal to accept the satisfying concept of revenge but who talked of compensating the victim by putting the wrongdoer to useful work … well, it was humane but he often wondered whether it was an appropriate justice.
A call halted them as they passed around the grey granite of the hall of assembly.
It was Dubán hurrying after them. There was still a degree of hostility in his eyes but his features were more controlled.
‘I have given orders to Crítán to carry out your instructions, sister. Móen will be made presentable for your …’ He fought for the right word. ‘To your sensibilities.’
‘I had no doubt that you would do so, Dubán,’ Fidelma replied quietly.
The elderly warrior frowned, trying to detect what hidden meaning might lurk in her voice. However much he was affronted by Fidelma’s criticism, he had apparently been told to follow her instructions.
‘Crón has charged me to attend you during your stay in the rath of Araglin and carry out any other directions you might give.’
‘I see. Well, we are on our way to Eber’s apartments to examine where Menma found the body with the wretched Móen.’
‘Then I shall be your guide,’ offered Dubán, moving off to lead them to the building which Menma had already pointed out. It was a single storey affair like most of the wooden buildings within the rath.
The door led into an easily recognisable reception room where the chieftain could dine and entertain in private when not using the hall of assembly. This room was connected to the hall by means of a door hidden behind a tapestry which Dubán indicated. There was a cauldron in a hearth, a table and chairs. The dead chieftain’s weapons hung on the wall with trophies of the hunt. Rugs and tapestries gave a warmth to the room. A wooden panelled wall and door divided it from what was obviously the bed chamber. The sleeping arrangements were simple, a large straw palliasse on the floor with rugs. Fidelma saw the bloodstains on them but did not comment. A table stood nearby on which an oil lamp stood.
‘Is that the lamp which was lit when Menma entered?’
‘Yes,’ Dubán confirmed at once. ‘The room has not been disturbed since the … the tragedy. The lamp was still lit when I came here with Menma. Móen was kneeling just there,’ he indicated with his hand, ‘just by the bedside.’
‘Had he made any attempt to leave?’
‘Oh no.’
‘So he made no attempt to run away before you came?’
‘Run away? Deaf, dumb and bl
ind as he was?’ Dubán laughed dryly.
‘Yet deaf, dumb and blind as he was, you tell me that he was able to enter here and kill Eber,’ mused Fidelma, examining the room. Before he could respond she instructed him: ‘Tell us what happened from your viewpoint.’
‘As commander of the guard, I was on watch that night.’
‘This is an isolated rath. Surely there is no need to mount a watch for you have the natural protection of the mountains around this valley?’
Duban nodded morosely.
‘Yet a few weeks ago we had cattle-raiders in the valley, sister. Eber asked me to set a watch.’
‘Ah yes, of course. And you were on watch during the night when Eber was murdered?’
Dubán looked chagrined.
‘To be truthful, as daylight approached, I had fallen asleep on the seat within the entrance of the assembly hall. Menma had to rouse me. He told me that he had found Eber dead and Móen was the killer. I came here with him without delay and I saw the body of Eber sprawled in the bed, just as Menma described. There was blood all over the place and you can see where it has dried. Móen was crouched as I have indicated. He still had the knife in his hand, it was stained with blood, and his clothes were all bloody as well.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Just rocking back and forth and moaning to himself.’
‘And you were able to observe this clearly because the lamp was lit? What then?’ encouraged Fidelma.
‘I told Menma to carry on with his duties and went to fetch Critan. But he was already coming to relieve me of the watch. We took Móen to the stables and shackled him and I went to inform Crón.’
‘Ah yes, Crón. Why did you not inform Eber’s wife first? Would that not have been the correct procedure?’
‘Crón is tanist, the heir-elect. With Eber dead, she was now chieftainess-elect of Araglin. It is correct that she should be informed first of all.’
Fidelma silently agreed with Durbán’s interpretation of the protocol.
‘And then?’
‘When we started putting the shackles on Móen, he began to struggle and cry out. I told Crón so and she instructed me to fetch Teafa. I went to her chambers.’
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