‘Ah, I know what you are thinking. That there might have been some secret way out of the fortress to account for no one seeing the lady Lúach leaving the fortress? I can assure you there are none.’ Then his eyes lightened. ‘Oh, you haven’t been listening to the old stories of Ibor? His father was a grand storyteller about the old attack on the fortress. Someone asked me about it a year or so ago.’ He frowned as if trying to remember. ‘Who was that now? I think it was Dergnat or it might have been Brother Máranáin. They both came from the same territory as the rebellious clan that tried to attack here. There was a tunnel in that story. That was all filled in after the defeat of the rebellious tribes. I see how your mind is working, lady, but do not waste your time on secret tunnels. We have made sure that this fortress is even more secure from attack than since the days when Gunnat tried to reduce it. We have more to protect now.’
‘More to protect? What do you mean?’
The steward looked awkward for a moment then raised a shoulder and let it fall. ‘Well, I suppose it is no secret. Dún Dealgan has stood, as I have said, from the time beyond time, and has been answerable to no one. The rulers of Muirthemne have acquired much wealth during that time – rose gold, silver, jewels. We often hear that some of our northern neighbours, the Cuailgne for example, have plans to attack us. That is why you see Ibor and his warriors guarding the fortress and why we ensure the tradition of shutting our gates at night. There is no way the brigands of Cuailgne can descend in a surprise attack on us. Even if they cross the river in darkness, there is no way into the fortress.’
VIII
The sharp notes of a trumpet resounded from beyond the gates. They heard the challenge of a warrior on the walls, an answering call, and a moment later two horsemen rode through the gates. The sight of them sent the fleshy figure of the steward hurrying forward to greet them. Clearly it was the arrival of someone of importance.
The leading rider dismounted and, catching sight of Fidelma, seemed to brush aside the bowing form of Sranacháin to make his way directly to her.
He was a scholarly looking man who seemed to have something of Lúach’s looks about him. He came forward and held out both his hands in greeting. His hair was fair, almost the colour of ripening straw, and he had the same light blue eyes as Lúach’s. He would have been considered tall but there was a certain stoop and roundness of his shoulders which detracted from his full height.
‘You are Fidelma of Cashel, aren’t you?’ he greeted her eagerly. Not waiting for her answer, he went on: ‘The merchant who brought you here arrived at my fortress last night and told me about your arrival. My niece has often spoken of you. I am Mugrón of Fochard. When news came to me that you had arrived here, I rode here this morning with my steward, Beicc.’ He gestured with his head towards his companion who had now dismounted to join them. He was a tall, dark-haired young man with a full beard, who looked more like a warrior than someone who administered a household. ‘What news is there?’
‘Alas, Mugrón,’ Fidelma responded, ‘I have no information about Lúach’s disappearance. I did not even know she was missing until I arrived here. In fact I was thinking of coming to Fochard tomorrow, as I wanted to speak with you and reassure myself of what I have been told.’
The lord of Fochard was clearly disappointed for a moment before the disappointment was replaced by grief.
‘I suppose I did not really expect you to bring news because I am sure that we are too late to protect her. Her enemy has triumphed.’
‘Her enemy?’ Fidelma was mystified but tried not to show it.
Mugrón glanced about him as if to ensure he was not overheard. ‘That last time I saw her, the day before she disappeared, she told me that she feared for her freedom.’
Fidelma had been surprised too many times to react.
‘What did she mean by that?’ she demanded.
‘I thought she meant this proposal to get her married. However … Lúach has so often told me that you are possessed of a sharp intellect which is able to ferret out the answer to the most difficult conundrums. We need to talk alone…’
A voice hailed Mugrón from the other side of the courtyard.
Prince Ossen came hurrying towards them.
‘Mugrón! I heard the sound of your arrival.’ He glanced to Fidelma. ‘I see you have met Fidelma of Cashel – a friend of Lúach.’
The lord of Fochard nodded quickly. ‘I came to see if there was news of my niece, Ossen.’ His voice was cold, almost unfriendly.
Ossen spread his hands helplessly. ‘Had there been any I would have sent you word, you should know that.’ He paused and looked uncomfortable. ‘I would offer hospitality but Orla feels strongly about the accusations that are being whispered.’
‘I did not come here to see your woman, Ossen,’ he replied, causing Fidelma some astonishment at his tone of reference to the Prince’s wife. ‘Nor did I come to savour your hospitality. I would speak to Fidelma of Cashel. So instead of waiting in your courtyard like some servant, I shall take advantage of the sanctuary of your chapel and offer prayers for your enlightenment. I would ask Fidelma to accompany me there so that I may speak with her.’
Fidelma expected some angry response or admonition at Mugrón’s manner but, to her surprise, Ossen sighed deeply and his shoulders hunched like a man in defeat. ‘I hope you will also be enlightened through those prayers, Mugrón,’ he replied before he turned back towards the main building.
Mugrón watched him disappear and then said to Fidelma: ‘I do need to talk to you. Beicc, come and stand at the chapel door while I speak with Lúach’s friend and ensure we are not disturbed.’
He seemed to take Fidelma’s assent for granted for he turned for the chapel door.
‘I do not want to interfere in any discord that exists between you and Prince Ossen,’ she said cautiously.
Mugrón cast a quick glance at his steward and smiled thinly. ‘Lúach did say that she had a sharp mind, Beicc,’ he observed.
The tall steward of Fochard nodded. ‘The conflict is more between Orla and my lord Mugrón, lady. But I suggest that you had best speak of this matter in the confinement of the chapel.’ His eyes seemed to glance to where Sranacháin was standing nearby.
‘This is all very conspiratorial,’ Fidelma said disapprovingly.
‘Circumstances often make secrecy a necessity,’ Mugrón returned.
Beicc had turned towards Sranacháin. ‘See that our horses are watered and foddered. I do not think we shall be staying here any length of time.’
They began to walk towards the chapel in a corner of the fortress. There was, thankfully, no sign of the religieux, Brother Máranáin.
‘Do you have any idea where Lúach is or where she went?’ she asked Mugrón as they entered.
The lord of Fochard did not even glance at her. ‘I now know where I believe she might be,’ he said hollowly.
‘Which is?’ Fidelma pressed.
‘Tech Duinn.’
For a moment Fidelma did not understand. Then, once again, cold grief gripped her. The House of Donn was believed to be the gathering place of the dead, a mysterious island to the south east, where the souls of the dead were taken by Donn the ancient god of the dead, before they commenced their journey to the Otherworld.
‘So you also think that she left this fortress, had a terrible accident and died before anyone could find her?’
Mugrón hesitated a moment. ‘Not exactly, lady.’
‘Then what… exactly?’ Fidelma demanded.
‘I believe that Lúach was dead before she left this fortress,’ he replied in a flat tone.
‘You think that Lúach died and her death was covered up?’ she asked slowly, trying to understand.
‘You misunderstand me, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Mugrón said coldly. ‘I believe that Lúach was murdered.’
IX
The chapel was dark and cool, in spite of the beeswax candles spluttering at strategic points in the dark limestone building. It was a tin
y chapel but it was impressive with its icons and wood carvings. Beicc had made a quick search to ensure they were alone and then left them to step outside, closing the heavy oak door behind him. Mugrón conducted Fidelma to a couple of ornately carved yew wood chairs, standing in one corner of the chapel. Even though there was no one else in the chapel, Mugrón said: ‘Let us speak softly so as not to be overheard.’ He gestured her to a chair and seated himself.
Fidelma came straight to the point. ‘Why do you believe that Lúach has been murdered?’
The elderly lord of Fochard’s features seemed to tighten for a moment. ‘It is not a conclusion that I have come to lightly,’ he said defensively.
‘What has made you come to this opinion?’
‘Because I believe Necht was also murdered.’
‘Necht? You mean your sister, Lúach’s mother?’
‘I do,’ Mugrón replied.
Fidelma sat back for a moment, regarding him thoughtfully. ‘Let us begin then with the death of Necht. I was told that she died in an accident while out riding.’
‘As it is now being claimed in order to explain Lúach’s disappearance. When that young dálaigh came to see me some days ago to ask if I had seen Lúach he came with Ibor who is one of the best trackers from Ossen’s men. I have known Ibor for some years. Ibor whispered to me that the strangest thing about the girl’s disappearance was that no horses from the fortress had gone missing. Lúach’s own horse was in the stable. So how had she managed to ride off to have this so-called accident?’
‘It has occurred to me, also,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Was there any similarity of these circumstances with the death of her mother?’
Mugrón made a quick, dismissive gesture. ‘Only that she went riding and was supposed to have had an accident that broke her neck.’
‘Tell me more about it. If Necht was murdered how was this accomplished and who do you blame?’
‘I blame Orla, who was out riding with her at the time.’
Fidelma had little need to disguise her surprise because she had been sure that such an accusation was coming. ‘Let us begin at the beginning then. Tell me about Orla. Lúach never mentioned her mother to me nor her stepmother.’
‘Orla was from across the river which we call “the rampart”; that is the peninsula of Cuailgne. She was raised on the lower slopes of the Foxes Rock, it’s one of the tall hills that runs along the peninsula; you can see those hills from the walls of this fortress. My informants tell me that her family were cattle thieves. Somehow she managed to arrive here and become one of the kitchen servants. She had ambition and soon inveigled herself to be Necht’s personal maid. That’s how she came to go riding with her.’
‘I have heard that she is a very determined and wilful lady so far as ambition is concerned.’
‘Ambition is, however, a polite word. I had occasions to warn my sister and Ossen about her. But Orla was good at ingratiation at that time and they rejected all of my warnings. I knew that Orla was flattering Ossen, dancing attendance on him, puffing up his ego. She was young compared to him and had some attractive quality, although Ossen did not see the harshness in her features.’
‘Do you mean that she sought to become his mistress?’
‘She wanted more than merely the role of mistress. Apparently, among the people of Cuailgne, they still used the ancient ideas of polygamy but even that would not have satisfied her. She wanted to be Ossen’s cétmuintir, his first and senior wife. There was no room for Necht or Lúach in her ambition. At least Ossen was a scrupulous follower of the new codes – he was satisfied with one wife. I believe that he might have accepted Orla as a mistress but not as a wife of equal partnership. Perhaps that is why the tragedy happened.’
‘The tragedy?’
‘In spite of my warnings about Orla, one day she and Necht went riding. They went up riding along the river eastwards to where it opens into the great bay to the sea—’
‘I am not familiar with the geography here,’ interposed Fidelma.
‘Well, the river you can see to the north of this fortress,’ explained Mugrón. ‘The great river is called “the rampart” as it has often protected this territory from raids from Cuailgne. There are a few watchtowers along the banks there, mainly deserted now but they were once bastions against potential raids.’
‘In that case, were Necht and Orla escorted by any warriors from the fortress?’
The lord of Fochard shook his head. ‘Orla claimed there was no need for escorts on their rides because they never went far away from the fortress.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The day it happened Orla returned, blood on her clothes. She was dishevelled. She said that Necht’s horse had been startled by some animal. She claimed it had reared up throwing Necht backwards from her saddle. As she fell, she hit the back of her head on a rock at the side of the pathway. Orla said she had tried to help her but Necht was dead. She could do nothing more than return to the fortress and raise the alarm. Some warriors, with Ossen and his old Brehon, who was then still alive, and a physician, all rode to the spot identified by Orla and found Necht’s body.’
‘I presume an investigation was held?’
‘At my insistence.’
‘Why at your insistence’
‘Because the fools concluded it was an accident. They accepted Orla’s word about what happened. Initially she played the distressed friend of Necht and even asked Ossen to allow her to be granted possession of the watchtower near where the accident happened and there establish a shrine to Necht. I found it disgusting. I could not call it a shrine. I called it “The Lair of the White Fox” for she came from a race of scavenging foxes from The Foxes Rock.’
‘I suppose there was some investigation into Necht’s death. I gather it did not support your view?’
‘Both the Brehon and the physician were old and past their prime. They did what they were told.’
‘No one discovered anything that would have supported your contention that Orla killed Necht?’
‘No one,’ declared Mugrón angrily. ‘And it was not long before she moved into Ossen’s bed as cétmuintir. Ossen did not even have to give Orla’s father a coibche, the principal dowry. The tinnscra, the wedding portion to the bride was indulgence enough.’
‘You mean that Ossen did not have to pay a dowry to her father being, as you say, an itinerant thief from a lawless territory?’
‘I doubt that Orla’s father was ever identified,’ Mugrón remarked cynically.
‘In the few years Lúach has been a student at Brehon Morann’s college, she has never mentioned her mother or her stepmother or indeed the tragedy of her mother’s death,’ Fidelma reflected sadly, wondering how the girl could have kept such a melancholy background to herself.
‘I believe my poor niece was ashamed and, while she loved her father, she would often come to me with her concerns rather than to him. Certainly she held contempt for Orla.’
Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘I did wonder why she took a more than average interest in the laws pertaining to marriage and divorce,’ she reflected. Then she came back to the matter in hand.
‘Did you speak to Lúach about your suspicions?’
‘Suspicions?’ snapped Mugrón. ‘I know my sister was murdered so that Orla could move into her place.’
‘I beg your pardon but I must speak as a dálaigh. You may suspect something but you must have unquestionable proof before you can say it is so. You say the matter was investigated by a Brehon who attended with a physician. You admit that they found nothing that contradicted Orla’s story?’
‘That does not mean to say that they are right and I am wrong.’
‘Perhaps not. But unless you have evidence to support your claim, unless you made an appeal against their judgment, then we must accept their decision in law. However, this was now several years ago. Let us move on to why you accuse Orla of murdering Lúach. You say the circumstances are similar.’ She raised a hand to stop him as he wa
s about to speak. ‘I am speaking here as a dálaigh so I hope you will understand that neither my friendship for Lúach, nor a dislike of Orla as a person, which I must admit, should bias me as to who is right or wrong. Only the facts must remain to establish the truth.’
Mugrón gave a dismissive motion with his hand. ‘I understand that,’ he replied in a tone of frustrated anger. ‘I can only articulate what all my senses tell me whether I have proof of it or not. I believe that Orla killed my sister and now she has killed my sister’s daughter.’
‘What would be her motive?’
‘Malice, that is her sole motive. She killed Necht to get into Ossen’s bed in order to manipulate him and achieve the power of his position. I believe that Lúach was killed because she discovered some proof of her duplicity or because of her refusal to obey Orla’s wishes to marry Suibhne.’
‘As I say, belief is not proof,’ returned Fidelma. ‘That Orla wished Lúach to marry this Prince of the Uí Thuirti was to use Lúach to form a link between Dún Dealgan and Tulach Oc. That I can understand. Lúach did not want this marriage. But I can’t see Orla giving up her ambition so easily. Why kill the very instrument of a path to more power – that instrument being Lúach? Orla had already persuaded Ossen to support her. She is arrogant enough to have believed that she could force Lúach to her will. She would not give up the possibility of forging an alliance even against Lúach’s will.’
‘Lúach would never consent to it.’
‘I don’t doubt it but I am talking from Orla’s perception. However, at the moment there is, regrettably, no proof of anything that supports this. No one knows the circumstances of her vanishing.’
There came a discreet tap on the door and Beicc came in. ‘Lord Ossen is crossing the courtyard towards us,’ he warned.
Mugrón rose to his feet swiftly. ‘Bear in mind what I have said, Fidelma,’ he said as he strode to the door.
Beicc hesitated and came across to Fidelma, leaning forward slightly. Quickly, in a low voice, he said: ‘If you want to see Suibhne, while I was outside, two guards were passing and one said that his brother had just arrived from Droim Ineasclainn. Suibhne is encamped by its walls.’
The Lair of the White Fox (e-novella) (Kindle Single) Page 7