Fidelma felt disappointed. However, she was not so egocentric that she refused to admit that she had, perhaps, made an error in trying to find the location of the metal workings without anyone to guide them. She halted her horse and gazed around. There was a chill in the air now and the skies were darkening in the east. She let out a sigh of irritation.
Eadulf knew better than to state the obvious but it seemed his diplomatic silence agitated her just as much.
‘You can observe that I was too enthusiastic, Eadulf,’ she said sharply.
Eadulf lifted a hand in a gesture of peace and let it fall.
‘A search is always the better for a guide when it is made in a strange land,’ he quoted quietly.
Fidelma pressed her lips together in annoyance. ‘Then we’d best return to the fortress and when we come back it will be with a guide.’
She was about to turn back along the track when they heard a loud whistling sound and a moment later a dog came bounding out of a thicket close by. It was a small hunting hound, not a wolfhound but a short, bristle-haired dog. It skidded to a halt, placing its paws apart and uttering a growl before letting loose a series of yapping barks.
The whistle came sharply. Then they heard a voice calling.
A moment later a young man appeared out of the cover on the slope just below them. He came to a halt as he caught sight of them. It was quite easy to see what the man was. On his broad shoulders he carried the carcass of a dead boar. He balanced it with one hand while his other held a bow of yew. His quiver of arrows hung from his belt alongside a great hunting knife. His clothes were of finely worked buckskin. His hair was auburn and fell to his shoulders though fastened by a band around the forehead. He had fair features and a ready smile.
He stood for a moment in indecision and then snapped sharply to his still barking hound. ‘Quiet, Luchóc!’
The dog immediately sat down, looking contrite.
‘God be with you, Sister, and with you, Brother,’ the young hunter greeted them. ‘Pay no mind to my dog. He is more bark than bite.’
Fidelma responded with a smile.
‘A strange name for a hunting dog, master huntsman,’ she replied.
The young man nodded. ‘Good mouser? Aye, I’ll grant you that it is an odd name for a working dog. But, in truth, the poor hound is better at catching mice than catching game.’
‘But you do not appear to have done too badly,’ Eadulf pointed out, indicating the boar slung on the man’s shoulders.
To the huntsman smiles seemed to come naturally.
‘A family will not go wanting for the next several days,’ he agreed. ‘You are obviously strangers in this district.’ The words were a statement, not a question.
‘Indeed we are,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you know this area, the Thicket of Pigs?’
‘I live on the far side of the hill there. I have done so all my life. But if you seek anyone other than myself, the place has been deserted these many years. They say the place was populated even in my grandfather’s time, but it is so no longer.’
‘They tell me there are metal workings there,’ Fidelma said.
The huntsman chuckled. ‘It is not in search of precious metals that two religious have come to this countryside, is it? I heard talk of a dálaigh and her companion staying with our chieftain, Becc. I suppose that you are that dálaigh?’
‘It is because of our investigation that I want to know about this hill and its mines.’
‘Well, there are deserted metal workings a-plenty, and some caves, but they are dangerous, Sister. It is not a place to go without fore-knowledge.’
‘You say that you dwell near here?’
A slight cast of suspicion came into the young man’s eye. ‘I do say so, Sister. And I pay allegiance to Becc, my chieftain.’
‘And your name is…?’
The quiet authority of Fidelma’s voice caused the young man to respond, even unwillingly, to her questions.
‘I am Menma the hunter. And, as I have told you my name, pray, what are your names and from what place do you come?’
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, Menma. This is my companion. Brother Eadulf.’
The young hunter sighed. ‘Then the talk among the Cinél na Áeda is true — the king of Cashel has a sister who is a famous dálaigh.’
‘We are proof of it, Menma,’ Fidelma assured him.
The young man dropped the carcass of the boar on the ground and bowed respectfully. ‘I am sorry for any discourtesy, lady.’
‘There has been none,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You are right to be suspicious of us in view of what has transpired in this place in recent months.’
The hunter grimaced in agreement. ‘The lands of the Cinél na Áeda are not so large that I did not know those three girls. My wife was a friend to Escrach. It is a bad business.’
‘A bad business, indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Tell me, Menma, do you know the mine and caves on this hill?’
‘Well enough, lady.’
She glanced up at the sky. ‘The hour grows late and it will soon be dark. However, should we want to go exploring there, would you be willing to serve as our guide?’
‘Willingly, lady. But the Thicket of Pigs is quite deserted. The mines are long closed.’
‘It is not people that I go in search of,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I want to see something of the area, of the deserted mines. Are there mines near a spot called the Ring of Pigs?’
To her disappointment, he shook his head. ‘None near. But there is a cave above the Ring that used to be worked for gold. That is deserted and dangerous.’
‘If we wished to go exploring that cave, say tomorrow or the next day, how might we find you?’
The young man pointed to the far side of the track. ‘There is a path through those trees. A short distance along the path you will come across my bothán, lady. If I am out at the hunt, my woman will be there. She will show you how to find me by blowing three times on the horn that is hung by the hearth. When I hear its call, I will return. It is a signal that my wife and I have long arranged in case of need.’
‘You are a thoughtful man, Menma,’ observed Fidelma.
‘I would rather worry without need, lady, than live without heed. They have an old saying in these parts, that one should never test the depth of a river with both feet.’
‘There is wisdom in that,’ Fidelma agreed.
The young man bent and picked up the dead boar and flung it across his broad shoulders as if it weighed nothing. He smiled up at them, each in turn.
‘I will await your call then. Safe journey back to the fortress of the chief.’
He raised the hand that held his bow in farewell and turned with a sharp call to his dog, which bounded swiftly after him. Within a moment he had disappeared through the trees in the direction of his home.
‘Now we shall return to Rath Raithlen,’ Fidelma said, turning her horse back along the track.
Eadulf turned with her. ‘I still cannot understand what you expect to find among the deserted metal workings, even with a guide such as Menma.’
He was expecting some caustic response but Fidelma’s features softened a little.
‘In truth, Eadulf, I am not sure what I expect to find. Maybe nothing at all. It’s just that I have this nagging thought that there is some mystery that is mixed up with gold. Remember the ladder in the tower of the fortress, which had been damaged so that one of us might have fallen to injure or kill ourselves?’
‘You suspected that Gobnuid the smith was responsible.’
Fidelma looked at him in surprise. Sometimes she felt that she underestimated Eadulf’s perceptive qualities.
‘I did. Gobnuid had tried to tell me that the piece of real gold which Síoda found here was simply fool’s gold. Why?’
Eadulf pulled a wry face. ‘What makes you sure that it has something to do with the death of the three women? Have you not considered that this is but a wild goose chase?’
‘Their bodies w
ere found near here,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘But does that signify anything? There are lots of places near here. The abbey, for example. The place of the apothecary, Liag.’
‘And there is Lesren’s last word…’
‘A name…which could be anything. It was a name that certainly did not strike a chord in the mind of Liag when you questioned him. I think that you should-’
‘Hush!’ Fidelma suddenly snapped, holding up her hand, while hauling on the bridle with the other. Her horse snorted in protest.
‘What…’ began Eadulf.
Fidelma was pointing down the hill to the oncoming gloom.
They had followed the track where it passed over the brow of the hill, overlooking the valley where, below and to the left of them, lay the buildings that constituted the abbey of Finnbarr. Some distance below was a clearing among the trees. Eadulf could just make out two small figures hurrying across this clearing. One was more obvious than the other for it was a tall figure and it was clear that it was clad in long white robes. They were visible for no more than a few moments before they vanished into the darkness of the trees beyond the clearing.
Eadulf cast a puzzled glance at Fidelma.
‘What was that all about?’ he demanded.
‘Did you recognise anyone?’ she asked.
‘I did not.’
‘I did. It was Gobnuid the smith. Back rather early from his trip. Did you not recognise the other, Eadulf?’
‘How could I recognise anyone?’
‘Think, Eadulf! The tall figure with white robes!’
Eadulf knew what she was getting at. ‘It could have been one of the three strangers at the monastery, I suppose. But which one? I have no idea. They were too far away.’
Fidelma was in agreement. ‘Yet it was one of them. But why would Gobnuid and one of the Aksumites be out together on this desolate hill at dusk?’
Eadulf gave a negative shake of his head. ‘To be honest, I can understand nothing of this. Never have I been so totally baffled by a mystery…by a series of mysteries, in fact.’
Fidelma was defiant. ‘The more the mystery deepens, the greater the challenge, Eadulf. I am determined not to let this overcome me. The Brehon Morann, my mentor, once said that no object nor puzzle is mysterious. The mystery is the eyes and what they perceive. So when the eyes see a mystery do not use the eyes to understand it.’
Eadulf smiled somewhat sceptically. ‘The heart always sees before the head can see?’
‘Exactly so. We will solve this mystery yet.’
It was growing dusk when they finally reached the gates of Rath Raithlen. A stable boy came running forward as they rode in and took charge of their horses as soon as they had dismounted. They noticed that there was some movement in the fortress. Brand torches were being lit to dispel the darkness and suddenly Becc appeared at the doorway of his great hall and came forward to greet them.
‘I am glad to see you back safely, Fidelma. Accobrán was worried that you had gone off by yourself.’
‘I had Eadulf with me,’ she replied shortly, glancing around. ‘What is the excitement about? Where is your tanist?’
‘Gone,’ replied Becc with satisfaction. ‘He’s gone in chase of Lesren’s killer.’
Chapter Twelve
Fidelma stood for a moment, staring at the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda as if she had not heard him.
‘Lesren’s killer? Does that mean that the identity of the killer has been discovered?’
‘A farmer came into the rath not so long ago and said that he had encountered Gabrán on the road. The young man was heading for the coast and told the man that he was going to find a ship and sign on as one of the crew.’
Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf, her face a mixture of surprise and irritation. Then she turned back to Becc.
‘Did this farmer say any more?’
Becc nodded. ‘The young man as good as admitted that he was fleeing from justice. Anyway, Accobrán has taken some warriors and will take the road to the coast. They should be able to overtake him soon enough and bring him back for trial. At least we have solved one murder. Maybe Gabrán will be the means of solving the others. Perhaps Lesren was right after all?’
‘The boy may be stupid,’ replied Fidelma in an exasperated tone, ‘but to run away does not mean to say he is responsible for any deaths.’
Becc regarded in her astonishment. ‘But the very act of running away proclaims his guilt.’
‘A stupid act, I warrant you, but not a proclamation of guilt,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It can also imply fear. Let me know immediately Accobrán returns.’
Then, motioning Eadulf to follow, she led the way to their chambers. Once inside the room, she closed the door with a sharp thud behind her.
‘The stupid, stupid boy!’ she exploded.
Eadulf stood observing the anger on her features as she began to pace the room. ‘You really think that he is innocent?’
Fidelma did not even bother to answer the question.
‘I fear for the boy’s life now,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember there is enmity between him and Accobrán.’
‘But that is all on the part of Gabrán,’ replied Eadulf. ‘A silly suspicion that Accobrán was trying to seduce his betrothed.’
Fidelma did not say anything for a moment. Then she said softly: ‘Let us hope that if Accobrán and the boy meet up on the road, they may come back to us living and not as corpses.’
There was no further news of the tanist and his pursuit by the time they retired for the night.
The next day, as the early grey October light filtered through the windows, Fidelma was already at her morning ablutions. In the distance she could hear the tolling of a bell, presumably from the abbey of the Blessed Finnbarr. She found Eadulf waiting for her in the kitchen of Becc’s great hall where they normally broke their fast. He had been up and washed before her.
Becc came in while they were finishing their meal and looked uneasy.
‘Accobrán came back in the middle of the night,’ he announced without preamble. ‘He overtook Gabrán.’
Fidelma was immediately concerned.
‘I asked you to inform me immediately Accobrán returned,’ she replied sharply. ‘Is the boy alive?’
Becc blinked in surprise at the abruptness of her tone.
‘Accobrán brought him back for trial, cousin. Not for execution,’ he said defensively.
‘So the boy is in good health?’ she insisted.
‘He may be bruised a little but he should not have resisted his capture.’
Fidelma’s features were immobile. ‘No, he should not — especially when he is innocent of the murder of Lesren.’
Becc showed his irritability. ‘You will have to present the evidence to prove it then.’
‘That I shall do,’ Fidelma replied. She made to rise, and paused. The distant bell from the abbey was still tolling. ‘What is that bell sounding for?’
The chieftain looked surprised, as if hearing the bell for the first time. ‘It will be for Lesren’s funeral.’
Fidelma sprang to her feet with an exclamation. ‘I had forgotten the funeral in all that has transpired. Eadulf, come. We must attend it.’
Eadulf grabbed a piece of cold meat and some bread and went quickly after her as she headed for the door. On the threshold she halted with such abruptness that Eadulf bumped into her. She was looking back at Becc.
‘Are you not coming?’ she demanded.
The chieftain had seated himself at the vacated table.
‘I was never a friend of Lesren or of his family. He was a good tanner, that is all. Accobrán has gone there to ensure all is as it should be. But it would be insincere should I attend.’
Fidelma had not waited for the chieftain to finish. She was through the door and instructing their horses be saddled and brought without delay.
‘I don’t understand why you want to attend this funeral,’ Eadulf protested, trying to finish his bread and meat.
‘At funerals one may gather information,’ she replied mysteriously.
It did not take them long to reach the abbey. A few other stragglers were hurrying in answer to the bell’s summons and it was still tolling as the gatekeeper admitted them and pointed to the chapel.
Lesren’s body had been taken to the abbey chapel and it was here that the funeral obsequies were to take place. As Fidelma and Eadulf entered the chapel, they found it surprisingly crowded with many from Rath Raithlen. They immediately saw Accobrán, and by his side Adag the steward. Fidelma nudged Eadulf and indicated that Gobnuid the smith was also there. There were many others who had probably traded with the tanner or were relatives of Lesren and Bébháil. Bébháil herself sat at the front of the chapel with a woman who looked remarkably like her. Fidelma remembered that the widow of Lesren had a sister who was to have been summoned to look after matters. There was Tómma close by. Even a frightened-looking Creoda was standing just behind Tómma. Among the religious, however, the three strangers were not present. There was no reason why they should be and, indeed, Abbot Brogán told Fidelma afterwards that he had thought it wise that they should not attend in case of trouble.
The congregation was subdued by the ominous tones of a new bell. The solemn baritone of the clog-estechtae, or death bell, which was always rung to mark the death of a Christian, replaced the tenor of the summoning bell. The religious who were gathered began to sing their requiem, the écnairc, an intercession for the soul’s repose. Members of Bébháil’s household had probably watched over Lesren’s body for the entire night. Eadulf knew all about the custom. In some cases, he knew, the relatives and their guests indulged in the cluiche cainrech or funeral games that preceded the fled cro-lige, the feast of the deathbed.
The body had been wrapped in a recholl, a winding sheet, and placed on a guat or wooden bier. Eadulf wondered whether the body had been accompanied to the chapel by the wailing cries of the relatives, and hired mourners who wept aloud in a strange fashion called the caoidneadh accompanied by the slow clapping of hands, said to emphasise despair.
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