Brehon Morann was smiling.
“You are the first student that has ever seen beyond the nature of the test to that fact,” he said.
“The first student that has even spotted the identity of the Brehon,” agreed Firbis. “Most students try to make a guess answer at the moment that I ask the initial question.”
“But some others demand more knowledge?” queried Fidelma.
“Others do, but when we,” Firbis motioned to Morann, “argue and try to dissuade them from pressing their questions, they usually give up long before you did so. You kept on tenaciously. You have a good inquiring mind.”
“The purpose of this test is not only to show an inquiring mind and not spring to snap judgments,” Brehon Morann explained, “but to show to us that you have the tenacity in the face of opposition to carry on against odds, against authority, in your efforts to seek out the truth. Truth might be great and always prevail, but sometimes it needs someone who is tenacious in the face of apparently insurmountable barriers to prise it out of its hiding places. You have done well, Fidelma.”
Fidelma stood up looking from Firbis to Morann.
“Does that mean that I have passed this test?” she inquired blandly.
Brehon Morann almost grinned.
“The results will be announced in the morning assembly. You shall hear the result then-that is if you are not late again.”
Fidelma nodded, her gesture encompassing both Morann and Firbis.
At the door, she paused and turned back to them with a thoughtful expression.
“Will you also tell me tomorrow whether I passed today’s other test?” she asked brightly.
Brehon Morann regarded her warily.
“Other test?”
“I presume that locking me in my room on the morning of this test so that I might be late and therefore distracted was also to test my tenacity and whether I would function under stress?”
The expression in Brehon Morann’s face told her that she was correct in her assumption. With a mischievous, almost urchin-like smile, she closed the door quietly behind her.
DARK MOON RISING
I have come to you in order to seek compensation for the loss of my goods.”
The man with the moon-like face stood before Fidelma in the court of the Brehons of Dair Inis with such an air of woe that he looked almost comical. Distress did not sit easily on his almost cherubic, virtuous features. His blue eyes stared as if in wondering innocence and his lower lip protruded slightly like a child expecting an admonition from an adult.
“Abaoth’s claim is without foundation,” interrupted the second man, who stood at his side.
Sister Fidelma did not like this thin, wiry individual. His voice grated in her ears with its high-pitched, almost whining note. He was richly, almost ostentatiously, dressed and wore too much jewelery. Rich clothes ill became his physical appearance. She suddenly smiled to herself as she realized that his name suited his cunning looks. Olcán, the very name meant a wolf. He had the appearance of a scavenger.
Fidelma had been staying in the abbey established by Molena on Dair Inis, the island of oaks, standing in the waters of Abhainn Mór, the great river, not far from the trading settlement known as Eochaill, the yew wood, which guarded the estuary of the river. It was a busy port and Fidelma had often passed through it. She had only been in the abbey one night, when Abbot Accobrán had succumbed to a fever, which caused him to retire to his bed. He had requested that Fidelma, being duly qualified in law, take his place as Brehon and deliver the judgments during the court proceedings, which were due the next day.
Now Fidelma sat, trying to suppress her prejudice, as she viewed the two merchants from Eochaill making claim and counter-claim before the court.
“I seek compensation for the loss of my goods,” repeated Abaoth stubbornly.
“And I reject it,” replied Olcán with vehemence.
“The scriptor has already informed me of the nature of your claims,” replied Fidelma sharply. “However, I am lacking in details. Let us begin with you, Abaoth. You are a merchant in Eochaill?”
The round-faced man jerked his head in assertion.
“That I am, learned ollamh,” he replied in an obsequious manner.
“I am not an ollamh,” retorted Fidelma. She was sure that the man knew that fact. “I am a dálaigh but still qualified to hear your case. Proceed with the details.”
“Most learned dálaigh, I trade with the lands of the Britons, Saxons and Franks. I have a small fleet of trading vessels that take leather goods and the skins of otters and squirrels especially to the lands of the Franks and they return laden with corn and wine. My ships off-load their cargoes at Eochaill where I hire the barges of Olcán to transport them along the Abhainn Mór to Lios Mór.”
“So you sell your goods to the abbey there?”
Fidelma was acquainted with the abbey founded thirty years before by Carthach and which was now a prominent center attracting religious from all five kingdoms of Éireann.
“Some portion of the goods are sold to the abbey,” nodded the merchant, “but most of the wine is purchased by the Prince of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach.”
“Very well. Proceed.”
“Learned dálaigh, on the last two occasions, Olcán claims that he has lost my cargoes. He refuses to pay me for that loss. I am not so rich that I can sustain the loss of two cargoes. The goods were lost while being transported by his barges. He is responsible for compensating me.”
Fidelma turned to the wiry-faced man with a frown.
“In what manner have the cargoes been lost?” she demanded.
Olcán made a gesture as if dismissing the matter.
“On two occasions my vessels have set off up-river for Lios Mór and disappeared,” Olcán replied. “My loss has been greater than Abaoth’s loss.”
Fidelma raised her head in surprise to study the man’s face. He was serious.
“Disappeared?” she echoed. “In what way did they disappear?”
“Having taken Abaoth’s cargoes onto my barges-these are the rivergoing vessels crewed by three men-the type known as ethur. .”
“I am acquainted with such vessels,” Fidelma intervened with weary tone.
“Of course,” the man acknowledged. “The cargo was loaded into the barges. They set off up the river to Lios Mór and did not arrive. This has happened twice. The barges have disappeared. If anyone should be compensated it is I.”
Abaoth broke in with almost a whimper in his voice.
“It is not so. The Prince of Glandamnach is refusing to trade further with me because I do not deliver the goods he contracts for. I am not a rich man, learned dálaigh. Two cargoes lost in as many months. It is clear that thieves are at work and I must seek restitution.”
“What of the crews on these barges? What do they say?”
Again the thin-faced merchant shrugged eloquently.
“They have disappeared as well.”
This time Fidelma could not conceal her surprise.
“Six of your men have disappeared. Why was this not reported before?”
The merchant shuffled his feet in response to her sharp tone.
“I do so now in my counterclaim for compensation for my lost barges and. .”
“These men might be dead,” she broke in. “I presume that you are looking after their dependants?”
Olcán grimaced irritably.
“I am a merchant not a charity. . ”
“The law is specific,” snapped Fidelma. “You should know that you are responsible for all those who work for you, especially their medical expenses if injured in your employ. It is clearly stated in the Leabhar Acaill. I can only think that you are more concerned with your lost barges than the disappearance of your boatmen.”
Olcán regarded her with a sour expression.
“Without my barges and trade I cannot pay my boatmen.”
“When did these cargoes disappear?” she asked Abaoth.
“
The last cargo disappeared two weeks ago. The first was almost exactly four weeks before that.”
“And why haven’t you reported this before now?”
“I have. I reported it to the master of the port. I was told to bring the matter before the Brehon at the next session of the court here on Dair Inis.”
Fidelma was irritated.
“It is a long time that has passed. The matter should have been investigated before this. Before any decision on whether you merit compensation in this matter, or whether Olcán’s counterclaim is valid, it must be investigated. I will consult Bretha im Gata, the law of thefts. You will give the details to the scriptor of this court and return here when summoned to do so to hear my decision.”
Abaoth inclined his head turning as if eager to be away from the court. Olcán, however, glowered at her obviously dissatisfied, hesitated a moment but left the court after his fellow merchant. At a gesture from Fidelma, the scriptor followed them out.
That afternoon, Fidelma found herself wandering along the quay in Eochaill, looking at the ocean going boats loading and unloading. Her mind was turning over the problem of the disappearance of the barges. A figure was standing blocking her path. It was familiar. She halted and focussed and a mischievous grin spread on her features.
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 sti
ll 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.
Whispers of the Dead sf-15 Page 10