Fidelma rose slowly and reached out a hand. ‘I hear you, Conrí.’
The warlord rose and took her hand. They shook silently.
‘We have made a good start, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the man said as they emerged from the tent to face the waiting men. Eadulf and Adag stood with worried expressions on their faces while the Uí Fidgente were sulky and suspicious.
‘Then let us hope the finish is good also.’ Fidelma smiled.
On the way back to Rath Raithlen both Eadulf and Adag pressed her to reveal what had passed in Conrí’s tent. All she would do was smile gently and say: ‘The sun does not shine without shadows being cast.’
Chapter Seventeen
At Rath Raithlen Fidelma consulted with Becc and made her plans for a hearing to be arranged for the next day at the noon hour.
That evening, before the meal, she realised that she had one more person to question and slipped out of Becc’s guest hostel without consulting Eadulf. She made her way straight to Gobnuid’s forge and found the surly smith still bent over his anvil.
‘Well, Gobnuid, you are working late this night.’
The smith glanced up with a growl, but whether of annoyance or merely a greeting it was hard to discern.
‘Did you deliver your hides safely?’ Fidelma smiled.
The smith glared at her. There seemed to be some concern on his features.
‘Why do you ask me that?’ he demanded.
‘Because you returned early from your trip. You could not have reached the Bandan river and returned so soon.’ She perched herself on a small wooden stool that stood near the forge furnace and stretched comfortably in the heat.
Gobnuid scowled. ‘If you must know, the wheel of my wagon broke and I had to do a makeshift repair and leave it with a friend for safety while I returned here to get a replacement.’ He gestured to a wheel in the corner of his forge.
‘It is taking you some time to return to your wagon,’ observed Fidelma.
‘You know full well that the Uí Fidgente raided and everyone was needed. Now I am told by the tanist that I am required to attend this meeting you have called in the Great Hall tomorrow. My business will wait until afterwards.’
‘Do you often work for the tanist?’
The smith’s brows drew together. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘You mentioned you were transporting the hides for Accobrán. How often do you do that?’
Gobnuid stood uncertainly. ‘Well, I do jobs for him when I have time. Is there something wrong with that?’
Fidelma smiled sweetly at his defensive tone. ‘Not at all. It is just that transporting hides is not that rewarding for a talented craftsman.’
‘I often shoe his horse and now and then sharpen his weapons,’ replied Gobnuid.
‘The tanist seems to do a fair and regular trade in hides. I wonder where he gets the hides from in the first place?’
‘The question is best put to him. I suppose he buys them from farmers hereabout. It saves them having to do the business themselves.’
‘Yet I would have thought that Lesren the tanner was best equipped to conduct the trade in hides,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Still, I suppose there is not a great deal of metal working here these days. I mean, what with the mines closed down. Do you do jobs for the abbey, for the Aksumites who stay there, for example?’
She noticed Gobnuid stiffen.
‘What is it you want, lady?’ he demanded, turning and glaring pugnaciously at her.
‘This land used to be full of metal workings,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘Did you ever work in the mines?’
The smith turned from her and bent over his furnace, stirring the charcoal into a spitting display of sparks. ‘The mines closed when I was a young lad.’
‘Did you know that one of the Aksumites, Brother Dangila, worked in the gold mines of his country? You know Brother Dangila?’
Gobnuid was tight-lipped. ‘I have seen the man.’
Fidelma slowly stood up. She realised that Gobnuid was stubborn.
‘If you know Brother Dangila, I was wondering why you supported that cousin of yours, Brocc, in his attack on the Aksumites?’
The smith glowered at her. ‘Strangers are strangers, family is family. Anyway, I have already admitted that I took part in the attack on the abbey.’
‘I’ll bid you a good night, then, Gobnuid,’ Fidelma said in resignation. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’
She turned and began to walk away, feeling his curious gaze upon her. Gobnuid had an obstinate nature. It would be impossible to wring the truth from him but she felt that she had learnt enough.
The guest house of Becc lay on the far side of the great complex of buildings that made up Rath Raithlen and the way to it led through a collection of buildings from which the artisans and traders of the fortress conducted their businesses. Now the buildings were dark and deserted. Only Gobnuid had been working late this dark and chilly night.
Fidelma swung confidently down the darkened alley. It was not any great length and she could see some brand torches lighting its far end, which led into the squares constituting the stables at the back of the chieftain’s hall. It was only when she was halfway along the darkened alley that some sixth sense caused her to feel a tingling of the hairs at the nape of her neck. She was sure eyes were watching her. There was no logic to the feeling. But Fidelma had an acute sense of surroundings. An awareness of environment was essential to survival. Ever since she was a child Fidelma had trained herself to notice anything out of the ordinary. She rather admired old Liag, the apothecary, for while he might overdramatise his sense of environment in the woods, the basic concepts were right. Without that sense, a person was blind.
She did not show her concern by altering her step or turning her head but the feeling grew stronger. From the corner of her eye she identified a shadow in the darkness of the buildings, just a slight movement. Something, someone, was there. She continued her steady pace, head erect, but eyes alert to the dark. She was only a few yards from the lighted area by the stables when she was aware that the shadow was on the move, moving rapidly and moving towards her.
She spun round on her heel towards the oncoming shadow, which grew into the shape of a burly man. One hand was upraised and the faint light from the burning brand torch at the end of the street glinted on something in that hand which reflected and shone for a moment.
The learned ones of Éireann, both in pre-Christian times and now that they were the repositories of the New Faith, used often to journey far and wide. Travellers were frequently the object of attacks by thieves and bandits. But those learned ones believed it was wrong to carry weapons even to protect themselves from attack. Violence was abhorrent to them and against their teachings. They were therefore forced to develop a technique which they called troid-sciathagid — battle through defence. Fidelma, like other members of the religious who journeyed abroad, was taught the method of defending herself without the use of weapons.
In a split second, she saw the danger. She stood, waiting for the man’s assault as he bore down on her. As he reached her, her two hands shot out to take the raised arm and she grasped the wrist, swaying backwards and allowing the momentum of the man’s assault to carry him stumbling forward. He went crashing to the ground, unable to stop that forward movement, while Fidelma heaved on the wrist holding the knife.
The man was strong and he managed to retain hold of the knife. When it became apparent that she could not break his grip, Fidelma let go of his wrist for fear that she would be dragged down with him. She skipped backwards and shouted: ‘Guards! Guards! Help!’
The figure on the floor scrambled up and had turned and was facing her once more, wielding the knife. He was moving forward again.
But two warriors had suddenly appeared at the end of the alley and one gave a shout as they bore down on Fidelma, swords in hand.
The attacker was disconcerted for a moment, glancing behind him.
Fidelma moved forward, turning slightly sideways,
and aimed a swift kick, using the flat of her foot in a jabbing motion, at the attacker’s genitalia. There came a scream and the figure dropped to its knees. In another second the two guards had reached them and one rested his sword point lightly on the figure’s neck.
‘Move and you are a dead man,’ he said curtly.
The second guard, whose eyes seemed well used to the dark, had obviously recognised Fidelma. ‘Are you harmed, lady?’
‘I am not. But let us see who it is that would wish me harm.’
The first guard had disarmed the man and he and his companion took an arm each and dragged the still moaning figure out of the darkness into the light of the brand torch.
Fidelma was aware of a babble of voices as people, disturbed by the commotion, now came forward. She saw Eadulf, his face pale, pushing through them.
‘Fidelma! Are you all right?’
She nodded briefly.
Accobrán had also come forward.
‘Is it the moon killer?’ he demanded.
The two warriors pulled their captive forward so that the light fell on his face.
‘Brocc!’
There was a gasp from the crowd.
The tanist stared at the burly man, who glowered with hatred at them.
‘So you were the moon killer? Even when you tried to stir up the people against the strangers it was you all the time!’
Brocc scowled. Fidelma moved forward and returned Brocc’s glare with a slight smile.
‘It is true that you tried to kill me in that dark alley, Brocc, but I doubt whether you are the moon killer.’
‘You know I am not!’ snapped Brocc.
‘Why did you attempt to kill me?’
‘Because you are protecting the real murderers.’
‘How do you make that out?’ she said with a frown.
‘I knew it when you first came to Rath Raithlen. You religious are all the same, protecting one another. It was obvious that the strangers killed Escrach, killed Beccnat and Ballgel. Yet I have seen you meeting them and being friendly with them. You are protecting them and therefore you must accept the guilt with them.’
Fidelma looked at the man with an expression of astonishment, which dissolved into sadness. Then she shook her head.
‘How anyone can become as confused as you are is beyond me, Brocc. And it saddens me. I do not know how to answer you. But you must know that what you have done is a serious crime. You have attempted to murder a dálaigh-’
‘Worse still,’ interrupted Becc, who had joined her, the crowd having parted respectfully to allow the chieftain to come forward, ‘worse still, you have attempted to kill the sister of the king.’
Fidelma grimaced, dismissing the fact. ‘It is more important to consider the law above all things and what this man has done is not an affront to me but to the law that I represent. That is the more serious of his crimes. There is a fixed penalty for homicide and attempted homicide, which is seven cumals irrespective of rank. But this matter goes deeper-’
‘It does go deeper,’ interrupted Brocc, his temper not yet controlled. ‘It goes deeper in that you are the guilty one in preventing the truth coming out and blame being laid where it should be. At least I struck a blow for the truth!’
Fidelma sighed and shook her head sadly. ‘You struck a blow for your own prejudice, which is eating your very soul, Brocc, so that it blinds you to the truth. The most serious offence one can commit against another person is to deprive them of their life. In some lands it is called justice to balance the taking of a life by taking another. Even those of the New Faith are beginning to say that we should adopt the way which demands “life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth”. But we are an old and wise people and we allow a killer to atone for his crime by compensation and entry into a process of rehabilitation. We have an ancient system of law that says that evidence must be gathered against a person first, then the person is allowed to answer in public and counter that evidence. Only when it is judged that the evidence is overwhelming is the person convicted.
‘I have been sent to gather the evidence and, until tonight, I have still been gathering that evidence. That you think you can stand above the law and its process, and even assassinate the appointed representative of the law system, is something I have never encountered before. All I can say is that you must be suffering from a loss of sanity — whether permanent or temporary needs to be judged at a later time.’
Brocc continued to scowl in defiance. ‘Your words are designed to disguise the truth, lawyer. All lawyers have lying tongues.’
Fidelma was sarcastic. ‘I thought it was the fact that I am a member of the religious that caused you to think I was hiding the truth?’
‘Lawyers! Religious! Black dog and white dog, both are dogs,’ snapped Brocc.
Becc looked towards Fidelma in a troubled fashion. ‘What shall we do with him, cousin?’
‘There is little to do but to confine him until tomorrow. Then we can bring a resolution to the case of the moon killings.’
The chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda sighed unhappily and motioned for Brocc to be led away. As the crowd began to disperse he said quietly: ‘We are approaching the feast of Samhain, Fidelma. It lacks only a few days. Are you sure all will be resolved tomorrow? It would certainly be best if we could see a resolution before Samhain. I would hate bad luck to be visited on our people.’
Fidelma turned towards the entrance of the chieftain’s hall. Becc and Eadulf followed her inside and Fidelma took a seat before the fire.
Becc was regarding her anxiously.
‘Are you recovered from the attack?’ he asked nervously. ‘Are you sure that you were not hurt?’
She made a negative gesture with her hand.
‘I have survived worse things,’ she said. ‘Brocc’s attack was very clumsy. However, he is a very stupid man and his stupidity makes him dangerous.’
‘What is the concern about this feast of Samhain?’ Eadulf demanded.
Becc regarded him for a moment or two and then decided to explain. ‘The significance of the feast of Samhain is that it is the one time of the year when the Otherworld becomes visible to this world. From sunset until sunrise those who have departed to the Otherworld in the preceding year can return to this one and wreak their vengeance on those who have wronged them.’
‘But that is an old pagan belief,’ said Eadulf dismissively.
‘So it might be,’ intervened Fidelma. ‘but a change in religion does not necessarily mean that people have ceased to believe in the ways of their fathers. In Rome, fifty or so years ago, Pope Boniface decreed that the old pre-Christian Roman feast of the dead, Lemuria, held in May, should be sanctified as a festival to commemorate all the martyred saints. So even Rome clings to its pagan past.’
‘It is true that the people of the Cinél na Áeda continue to celebrate the feast of Samhain with full rigour,’ added Becc. ‘They believe that the wraiths of Beccnat, Escrach and Ballgel will return and seek revenge on all the people here until justice is given to them.’
Eadulf shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Surely if such ghosts existed they would come back seeking only their killer.’
‘The belief is that the whole clan is responsible if the killer is not caught and punished. The clan is the kin and the entire kin is responsible for what one of its members does. So unless the killer is caught and punishment announced, then, on Samhain, any one or all of us might be visited by the vengeful wraiths.’
‘Well, have no fear, Becc.’ Fidelma smiled.
The chieftain looked at her expectantly.
‘When we meet at noon tomorrow in this hall, then I shall reveal the guilty to you.’
Eadulf and Fidelma had retired to their room and were preparing for bed. Eadulf was very quiet. From time to time, Fidelma glanced across at him with a worried expression.
‘You appear pensive tonight, Eadulf,’ she finally remarked. ‘Is it about tomorrow?’
He responded with a troubled sigh
.
‘I have been through many such hearings, Fidelma. I have little doubt that you will be successful in this matter as you have been in the past.’
‘I fear you take too much for granted,’ she replied seriously. ‘Don’t we have a saying — the end of the day is a good prophet? You are usually interested to know how I plan to approach a hearing,’ she continued when he did not respond. ‘Yet tonight you have scarcely asked me any questions about who is the guilty party and how I will set about demonstrating it.’
Eadulf turned to her with a quick movement, his gaze fixed on her face as if examining her expression closely.
‘Have you thought any more about our discussion involving little Alchú?’ he asked brutally.
Fidelma’s face altered slightly, becoming an impassive mask.
‘Of course I have thought about it,’ she replied, terseness in her tone.
‘And?’ Eadulf delivered the word like a blow.
‘I would have thought that we had other matters to consider as of this moment,’ she responded. ‘Once we have finished, then we can…’
Eadulf rose from where he had been sitting with a shake of his head. He strode across the room and back again, his movements demonstrating his agitation. When he spoke again his voice was tense.
‘Each time I have raised the matter, you have tried to put it off. What has happened since you had our child, Fidelma? You have become almost a different person.’
Fidelma was about to launch into a scathing attack on his insensitivity at this particular time when she suddenly realised that such an outburst would be no more than camouflage on her part. She was prevaricating. She was putting off the time when she had to deal with the matter.
‘You are right, Eadulf. I do feel a different person,’ she replied quietly.
Eadulf stood still for a moment, her words suddenly deflating him, and then he reseated himself. She sounded so vulnerable.
‘Is it something I have done?’ he asked.
Fidelma shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know. Since we returned to Cashel and I gave birth to Alchú, it seems that things have changed.’
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