‘What would Menma get out of slaughtering his partner Muadnat?’ asked Father Gormán. ‘It does not make sense to me. Agdae would have inherited Muadnat’s wealth anyway.’
‘But, as we have heard, Agdae did not know about the mine and, as it was secret, the partner would continue to reap the benefits whether Agdae took over the farm or not.’
‘Are you claiming that Menma is responsible for all the deaths in Araglin?’ demanded Dubán. ‘I have difficulty following this.’
‘Menma was responsible only for the deaths of Morna, of Muadnat and of Dignait … for they were all slaughtered in the same manner. Menma killed his victims with the same professionalism of a slaughterman killing a lamb.’
‘But why was Dignait killed?’ asked Father Gormán.
‘A simple reason, and the same reason as Morna was killed,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It was to ensure her silence. Dignait did not prepare that dish of poisonous mushrooms which nearly killed Brother Eadulf. A professional cook would know there are better ways to poison someone than to present a dish of false morel which anyone would have recognised.’
‘The Saxon did not,’ Crón pointed out with a sceptical humour.
‘I know morel is usually blanched. I was a stranger in your land and thought this was your way of preparing the dish,’ Eadulf replied defensively, the colour rising to his cheeks. ‘That was why I was not on my guard against false morel.’
‘Dignait would have had a more effective way if she had meant to poison us. No. Dignait was killed for the simple reason that she had seen the real would-be assassin.’
‘And who was that? Menma?’ Grella found the courage to speak up. ‘Menma was about the buildings that morning as usual.’
‘I’ll tell you in good time. Let us continue to unravel the spider’s web first. Let us turn now to the killing of Eber and Teafa. What made this case difficult is that most people here had a reason for killing Eber. He was a hated man. But Teafa was different. Who hated her? I saw that there was a better chance of tracking down the murder of Teafa than of Eber. If the same killer had slain both then we could eliminate some of the suspects.’
She paused for a second and then gave an eloquent shrug.
‘I arrived here having been told a simple story. Eber, the chieftain of Araglin, had been slain and his murderer had been caught. I was told to investigate and to make sure that the law was followed in the prosecution of the murderer. It sounded easy enough. Except that it was not so.
‘The murderer, so it was claimed, turned out to be one who is deaf, blind and dumb. I speak, of course, of Móen. What was more, he was also alleged to have killed the woman who had raised him.
‘I was initially told that Eber was kind and generous and made no enemies. A paragon of every virtue under the sun. Who else would kill him but some crazed animal? That was how Móen was presented to me.’
Móen let out an angry growl as Gadra interpreted what was being said. Fidelma ignored the interruption.
‘Let us proceed along this thread logically. It became apparent that Eber was not the paragon of virtue that everyone first insisted that he was. It became obvious that Eber was a strange, demented man. It is not my task to comment on what forces twisted Eber’s mind. I was told he also drank and was verbally aggressive. He assuaged those he offended by bribes. His faults were overlooked as he was chieftain. But he and his family hid a dark secret … there was incest among them.’
Crón went white and could not suppress a soft hiss of breath. Cranat, beside her, made no effort to comfort her daughter but sat stiffly, eyes fixed on some distant object.
‘This incest went back a long way, Crón,’ Fidelma said compassionately. ‘It went back to the time Eber was a boy reaching puberty and his two sisters were of similar age. Several people here knew, and others perhaps suspected, about that incest. It was let slip to me in conversation that one person knew that Móen was a child born of incest.’
There was a sudden hush in the hall. Crón cast a glance towards where Móen was sitting. Her face was ghastly.
‘Do you mean that he … that Teafa … his mother? That Eber … ?’ She could not articulate properly and gave up with a shudder.
‘I have no doubt that Teafa suffered from Eber’s molestation,’ Fidelma continued calmly. ‘But there was another sister named Tomnát.’
Dubán was on his feet, his face suffused with anger.
‘How dare you bring her name into this!’ he exclaimed. ‘How dare you suggest that she was mother to a … a …’
‘Gadra!’ Fidelma, ignoring his outburst, turned to the old hermit. ‘Gadra, who was Móen’s mother?’
The old man bowed his head, his shoulders slumped in resignation.
‘You know the answer already.’
‘Then tell everyone, so that they may know the truth.’
‘It was the year before Eber married Cranat that this happened. Tomnát became pregnant with Eber’s child. Teafa knew of it.’
‘Tomnát loved me!’ Dubán cried, his voice cracking with emotion. Crón was staring at him unable to believe his outburst. ‘She would have told me if this had been true. She disappeared. Eber killed her, of that I am sure.’
‘Not so,’ replied Gadra sadly. ‘The secret was kept between Tomnat and Teafa. They knew that if it was known, if either Eber or Father Gormán heard of it, then the child might have been killed. Eber to hide his shame and Father Gormán because he is of an intolerant faith. Gormán approves the custom of many Christian lands in which such children born of incest are put to death in the name of morality. There would be no help from Father Gormán for poor Tomnat if she had tried to turn to him.’
‘Why didn’t Tomnat turn to Dubán. He protests that he loved her and that she loved him.’ Fidelma’s lips thinned. ‘Surely, if this were so, she would have turned to Dubán for help?’
‘Not so,’ the old man replied. ‘If it is the truth you want, then here it is. Tomnát knew that Dubán was far too concerned with his ambition to go to Cashel and receive the golden collar of a warrior. In spite of his professed love, Dubán would never have endangered the fulfilment of his ambition. Could she trust him to accept the child, the child of her own brother?’
Dubán leant forward, head cradled in his hands.
‘So she turned to you, Gadra?’ quietly prompted Fidelma.
‘Before her condition became noticeable, Tomnat left Araglin. She came to join me in my hermitage where she knew that she would be safe. Only Teafa knew where she was.’
‘If Tomnat could not tell me, why didn’t Teafa tell me?’ cried Dubán. ‘I spent weeks scouring the valley, thinking that Eber had killed her.’
‘Teafa kept faith with Tomnát’s request,’ the old man said.
‘Go on,’ urged Fidelma. ‘What happened?’
‘When her time came, Tomnat died giving Móen life. Teafa was with her and she resolved to take the baby and bring it up, claiming it to be a foundling. She did not know until later that the child was handicapped and then she refused to give him up having sworn an oath to her dead sister.’
Eyes were turned on the young man whose face creased in anguish as Gadra translated what he had been saying.
Fidelma looked round the hall with a contemptuous expression.
‘You are a farming community here. Farmers! You know about inbreeding. You know that the offspring of closely related animals usually have a magnification of certain traits of their parents in behaviour or health. Some of these traits may be favourable ones – they could lead to higher intelligence – but other traits could develop; ones that are detrimental and unhealthy. Traits that give rise to deafness, blindness and the inability to give voice.’
Crón interrupted, her voice full of distaste.
‘So are you saying that we must accept Móen as the son of my father … his own uncle? That he is my … my half-brother?’
She shivered as she said it.
‘Tomnát died and left a living child,’ confirmed Fidelma. �
�Teafa, as we all know, pretended that he was a foundling, discovered while she was hunting in the forest. At first it was not suspected that the child was unlike other children. But then Teafa realised that things were wrong with the child. She sent for Gadra and Gadra, being a wise man and healer, realised the problem. He could not heal the afflictions caused by the incest but he taught Teafa a means of communicating with Móen. Apart from the physical problems, the child was highly intelligent and able to learn. Teafa raised a talented boy.’
‘Are you saying that Eber did not even know that Móen was his own son?’ asked Agdae.
‘By all accounts he was kind to the boy,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Of all the people here, all who hated Eber, only Móen did not.’
She turned once again to Gadra.
‘Ask Móen whether he knew that Eber was his father.’
Gadra shook his head.
‘No need for that. He has suffered much. I will tell you, however, that Teafa never told the boy. It was for his own protection. Nor was Eber told that Móen was his flesh and blood, so far as I know.’
‘In fact, Eber was eventually told,’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘There was a row one day which was witnessed by the youth Crítán. We will come to that later.’
‘Why is my father’s … sexual life,’ interrupted Crón, pausing a moment and then reforming her thoughts. ‘While this may be of interest, it does not tell us who is responsible for Eber and Teafa’s death.’
‘Oh, but it does.’
‘Please explain then,’ invited the tanist coldly. ‘Are you saying that you now believe Móen to be guilty? That he found out who his real father was? That he hated him for the wrong which Eber had done to his mother and himself?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘I dismissed the charge that Móen was the killer at an early stage of this investigation. Even before I had spoken with him, I knew Móen was not the killer.’
‘Perhaps you will explain why?’ Father Gormán asked dryly. ‘It seemed perfectly clear to me.’
‘The original accusation was that Móen had killed Teafa and then made his way to Eber’s apartments and killed him. There were certain things wrong with this idea. Firstly, from the haughty young Crítán I learnt that he had seen Teafa alive after Móen went to Eber’s apartments. To be responsible for both murders, Móen would have had to kill Teafa first and then Eber.’
‘Why couldn’t he have done that?’ demanded Agdae.
‘Because Menma claimed that he had found Móen bending over the body of Eber, knife in hand, having just killed him. The whole essence of the charge is that Móen was caught almost in the act.’
They greeted the point in silence. Then Crón said: ‘But Menma has already been condemned by you as a murderer and therefore a liar. Perhaps he lied.’
‘He told lies right enough,’ agreed Fidelma impassively. ‘But not in this instance. His discovery of Móen at the scene of this crime was a gift. It could not have worked out better. But Teafa was still alive when Móen entered Eber’s apartments. Crítán, returning from Clídna’s establishment, saw Móen on his way to Eber’s apartments and then saw Teafa still alive standing by her cabin with a lamp. For a moment, when he was telling me this story, I think Crítán recognised the illogic of it. But he wanted Móen to be guilty, so he ignored it.
‘Móen had been for a walk in the early hours of the morning and was just entering the cabin of Teafa when someone handed him an Ogam stick. Ogam is the method by which one communicates with Móen. Móen told me that someone with calloused hands, but whom he had thought, by the rich perfume he detected, was a female, had pressed the Ogam stick into his hand. It told him to go to Eber’s apartments at once. He did so and, having stumbled over the body, it was there that Menma found him. The person who pressed the Ogam stick into Móen’s hands was the killer who meant him to be discovered and condemned.’
‘What proof have you of the existence of this fabled stick, instructing Móen to go to Eber?’ asked Father Gormán.
‘Proof? I have the stick itself.’ Fidelma smiled complacently. ‘You see, Móen thought he dropped the stick at the door. It was knocked from his hand before he set off to Eber’s. The killer did not want the evidence found. They had already killed Eber. Just as the killer was going to recover the stick, Teafa, who had been awakened by the encounter, came out. She was holding a lamp and had discovered Móen was missing. She saw the Ogam stick and picked it up. At this point she was seen by Crítán. She asked Crítán if he had seen Móen. The boy lied and went on his way. The killer, who had to wait in the shadows until Crítán moved on, was faced with a dilemma. Teafa had gone back into her cabin to read the faked Ogam message. So now she had to be killed. The oil lamp which Crítán had seen in Teafa’s hand was knocked to the ground in the struggle and caught fire. That had to be extinguished because the killer wanted to ensure that Móen could also be accused of the murder. The Ogam stick with the instructions on it was thrown into the fire but not entirely burnt. There is still enough on it to compare with Móen’s excellent memory. He recalled that the stick said: “Eber wants you now.” The letters ER and WANTS remained.’
Brother Eadulf was smiling at the simplicity of Fidelma’s reconstruction.
‘Móen did another impossible thing,’ he offered. ‘When Menma found Móen leaning over the body, he said it was just before sunrise. And the lamp was lit by Eber’s bedside.’
‘Well? What is wrong with that?’ asked Dubán. ‘It would be dark before sunrise.’
Eadulf chuckled.
‘Why would Móen need to light a lamp? This disposes of the accusation that Móen entered by stealth and stabbed Eber to death as he lay there asleep.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Fidelma approvingly. ‘Unless we are to believe that a blind person had need to light a lamp to see what they were doing.’
‘Eber could have lit the lamp himself,’ Agdae pointed out. ‘He could have lit the lamp to let Móen in and …’
‘Of course!’ Fidelma was sarcastic. ‘Eber was awake, lit the lamp and let Móen in. He then obligingly went back to bed and waited while Móen felt his way to where he kept his hunting knives, selected one, found his way to the bed and stabbed him to death. The easier answer is Móen’s version of what happened. That when he entered the room he found Eber already dead. The killer had already struck. The killer then went to divert Móen to Eber’s apartments and then found that they had to deal with Teafa. Eber was not slain in his sleep. He was killed by someone he knew very well; someone he had no suspicion about. He had lit the lamp and allowed that person into his bed chamber.’
‘Who would Eber trust enough to allow into his bed chamber?’ demanded Agdae. ‘His wife?’
Crón let out a gasp.
‘Are you accusing my mother?’
Fidelma looked at Cranat thoughtfully. The widow of Eber was sitting disdainfully watching her.
‘I was waiting for you to reach me with your foul allegations,’ Cranat said sibilantly. ‘Sister Fidelma, I remind you that I am a princess of the Déisi. I have powerful friends.’
‘Your rank and friends mean nothing to me, Cranat. The law applies to us all in equal measure. But we have finally come to the spider in the centre of its complicated web.’
Crón was staring aghast at her mother.
‘It cannot be.’
‘Cranat has never made a secret of the fact that she wanted money and power,’ sneered Agdae.
‘You cannot prove that Cranat had cause to murder her own husband,’ Father Gormán protested to Fidelma.
‘Prove cause? Let me try. Since Crón was thirteen years old Cranat was prepared to put up with her hatred of Eber so long as he supported her. When Teafa told her what Eber was doing, she simply withdrew from his bed but continued to live as chieftainess - wealth before virtue. Eber seemed prepared to tolerate the situation. Perhaps he just wanted a wife for the sake of appearances? Dubán informs me that a few weeks ago there was another argument between Teafa and Cranat whe
n Crón became tanist. The argument included mention of Móen. That was when Cranat learnt the truth about her husband’s son. Did she now plot a day of vengeance?’
Fidelma paused. No one said anything.
‘Virtue after wealth. Quaerenda pecunia primum est virtus post nummos. Cranat might have left Eber’s bed but, ironically, she had began to have an affair with Muadnat. With Eber gone she might become the wife of the new chieftain.’
Brother Eadulf bent forward, excitement on his face.
‘Móen said that the person who gave him the Ogam stick had calloused hands like a man. But he scented perfume and thought it was a woman. Dignait had calloused hands. Dignait was close to Cranat because Dignait was of the Déisi and had come here as Cranat’s servant when she married Eber.’
‘Only ladies of rank wear perfume,’ corrected Dubán. ‘Dignait would not have worn perfume.
Crón was shaking her head with disbelief.
‘Are you saying that my mother was Muadnat’s partner in the gold mine and that she decided to kill my father to marry him?’
‘Cranat had reason to hate Eber and Móen. Teafa had told her about the relationship.’ She paused and glanced at Crón. ‘You have good Latin, don’t you?’
‘My mother taught me,’ replied the tanist.
‘She taught you well. Actually it was the Latin on a piece of vellum that set in motion the final pieces to this puzzle. Menma, having killed Dignait in her room to prevent her speaking about whom she had seen putting the false morel on the trays in the kitchen, was told to dump the body at Archú’s underground store. Then he was to give me the vellum with the clue written in Latin on it. It was good Latin.
‘Am I accused because my Latin is good?’ sneered Cranat.
‘Is your Ogam also good?’ inquired Fidelma. She went on before Cranat could reply. ‘It is wise to remember the words of Publicius Terentius Afer that no one ever drew up a plan where events do not introduce the necessity of modification. Dubán had followed Menma to the mine, having observed him with the so-called cattle raiders. He reached the mine entrance and heard Muadnat’s partner giving Menma some final instructions. Dubán entered. Menma waylaid him and allowed his chief to get away. I was there as well, and I saw the figure flying along the path.’
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