Bloodmoon

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Lady?’ It was clear what Oengarb’s question was.

  ‘Well, it is obvious that the death of the abbot has no link with the matter that brought me here,’ she began.

  ‘Which was?’ Oengarb interposed quickly.

  Fidelma smiled. ‘Just a task for my brother. The King merely wanted to know the number of students that are now attending this abbey, especially the foreign ones.’

  Eadulf’s jaw clamped shut as Fidelma surprised him yet again. He knew from her reticence on the journey that this was clearly a lie.

  Oengarb was bewildered. ‘The steward could have given you those figures.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can ask him to give them to me in the morning before we leave?’

  ‘Leave, lady?’

  ‘I see no reason why I should delay since you are qualified and well able to carry out the investigation into the abbot’s death.’

  Oengarb paused and then smiled, a smile almost of self-satisfaction. ‘Well, that is so, lady. I am sure I can carry out this investigation. But are you sure that you want to release the matter to me?’

  ‘I am sure of it,’ Fidelma affirmed solemnly. ‘My duties now lie elsewhere.’

  ‘Then I will inform Brother Ruissine that, as of now, I have taken over this matter.’

  ‘I will see you and the steward in the morning, at the breaking of the fast.’

  Fidelma led the way out of the hut with a speechless Eadulf following. They left the young lawyer to douse the oil lantern. As soon as they had put distance between Oengarb and themselves, Eadulf turned to her with an accusatory manner.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you become uninterested in the investigation of a murder – and what of the abbot with whom you had such secret business?’

  ‘I am afraid the abbot’s death is not as important as the task I was given,’ she replied, almost without emotion. ‘Oengarb is well able to sort out the details, or those details that affect this situation. But I fear the answers pertinent to my mission are no longer to be found here, so any investigation will be superfluous.’

  Eadulf raised his brows. ‘You think the girl killed the old man and fled?’

  She did not answer but turned towards the stable.

  ‘So are we returning to Cashel in the morning?’ Eadulf pressed again.

  Eadulf had thought nothing more could surprise him but her next statement made him catch his breath.

  ‘Tomorrow we will have to continue our journey. It will take us south across the river, so we will need the services of a ferryman to take us and our horses across. We still have a long journey ahead of.’

  Eadulf tried to gather his thoughts at this unexpected news. ‘But your business with the abbot is concluded and …?’ he began. Then he bit his lip. ‘I knew that it was nonsense about seeking the student numbers for Colgú. He has never interested himself in such matters.’

  ‘If you wish to be so precise,’ Fidelma cut in, ‘then that part of my business involving the abbot is concluded by his death. I have to continue the business elsewhere.’

  Eadulf was thoughtful. ‘I believe that you are following the girl,’ he stated. ‘You believe she killed the abbot and you have left Oengarb to continue a fruitless investigation inside the abbey while you give chase to the real culprit. I do not see the logic of it. Why did you not tell Oengarb? He could have raised some men to give chase. The result would have been the same.’

  Eadulf waited a moment for her to answer but she did not. She continued to stride towards the stables. Eadulf was almost relieved to see the reassuring figure of Enda, stretched out at ease by the fire of the smithy. There was an air of normality about him compared with the strange behaviour of Fidelma. The smithy had stopped work and was relaxing over a drink with the visitor before the glowing charcoal brazier. Enda saw them approaching and rose to his feet.

  ‘We heard the news about the abbot, lady,’ he greeted them. ‘Some of the brethren have been here asking if we had seen a girl. Do you need us to join in the search for her?’

  ‘No, Enda. There is a dálaigh called Oengarb, who is in charge of the investigation into the abbot’s death.’ She paused, then said, ‘Walk with us a little.’ She led him out of earshot of the smithy. ‘I came here to ask you to get our horses ready to leave at first light. We are going south across the river. So ask about a ferry, and find one that will take us across the river or even through the islands.’

  Eadulf could see by the puzzled look that spread over the young warrior’s face that this news confounded him too.

  ‘I would have thought the abbey would be pleased to have you, as a senior dálaigh, to help them investigate the matter,’ Enda wondered aloud.

  Fidelma exhaled sharply. ‘It might be better if you kept your thoughts to yourself. I will tell you what we are doing.’

  The young warrior took a step back as if she had struck him across the cheek.

  ‘I only …’ he began.

  ‘Be ready with the horses at first light. Find out about a ferry to take us south of the river.’

  With that she twisted on her heel and moved off. Eadulf paused to give Enda an apologetic glance; he raised a shoulder and let it fall as a gesture expressing both surprise and puzzlement.

  ‘Wasn’t that uncalled for?’ Eadulf asked softly, as he caught up with Fidelma.

  ‘I have been charged with this mission,’ she snapped. ‘As I recall, you were not invited to come along. It was you who asked to accompany me.’

  Eadulf was shocked by her response but did not rise to her sharp tone. ‘I hope you have a reason for your behaviour, Fidelma. To be honest, I cannot think of any justification for it.’

  ‘My justification is the desire to fulfil the mission I have been set,’ she replied, unmoved.

  ‘A mission you keep secret and share with no one?’

  ‘That is what I am tasked with.’

  ‘I am beginning to believe that you already know why the abbot was murdered, and I want to know why you are now concerned about this girl but not sharing any knowledge about her with Oengarb, the lawyer. I want answers to such question, otherwise I think it behoves me to tell the steward some of what I know. His attitude seems to indicate that all is not as it appears to be.’

  They had reached their hut and Fidelma went in first. Inside, she lit some candles and then swung round to face Eadulf, taking a seat on the bed. She glared belligerently at him.

  ‘Shut the door,’ she ordered. ‘Now, apart from moral delicacies, what makes you think you have anything of worth to tell Brother Ruissine? Why do you think I am concerned about the girl?’

  ‘Because of the paper that you found in the girl’s comb bag.’

  Fidelma grimaced. ‘You are a good observer,’ she replied coldly.

  ‘There was a time when you would have complimented me on it and not treated me like a nuisance. Am I not your husband? Or do you still see me as a stranger, a foreigner, just the son of a hereditary gerefa, or lawgiver, who dared to wed the sister of an illustrious king of your people?’

  The words came tumbling out, the result of the pent-up resentment he had been feeling these last days since Fidelma had been keeping from him whatever it was that had sent her on this quest.

  Fidelma’s face had whitened; her mouth was a pinched red line.

  ‘You insult yourself, Eadulf, as well as me, if that is how you see our relationship,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Easy to say,’ replied Eadulf. His mind was suddenly filled with memories of the fears he had had before their official wedding day. Was it only a little less than four years ago? It seemed longer. True, he had first encountered Fidelma at the great Council of Streoneshalh, or Witebia, the White House, as Abbess Hilda’s abbey was called. After some years, having realised their lives seemed inextricably linked, they had decided on the traditional trial marriage in which, under Irish law, they had bound themselves together for a year and a day. During that time, Fidelma had become his bencharrthach, ‘loved woman’,
while he had been happy to be her fer comtha, with the rights of a husband. It was during this period that their son, Alchú, the ‘gentle hound’, had been born. Then, at the end of that trial period, they had confirmed their marriage vows at Cashel.

  It was a period of unease, for he was well aware that he was a stranger in a strange land who was to marry a princess of the Eóganacht, sister to Colgú, King of Muman and fifty-ninth generation descendant of Eibhear Fionn, who had brought his people to this island. He had talked over his concerns with old Brother Conchobhar of Cashel and confessed he had not envisaged the problems he would have to face in marrying into such a family. He was fearful for he knew that as an outsider he was technically without status, without an honour price that secured a place within the society. True, Colgú and others of the family had welcomed him into their midst, but was that simply for Fidelma’s sake? Many others were keen to remind him that he was a foreigner, a Saxon, as they called him, much to his annoyance. He had more recently found himself protesting against this, pointing out that he came from the kingdom of the East Angles. The trouble was that in Fidelma’s language the same word, Sagsanach, was applied to both Angles and Saxons. It seemed that these hidden fears about his status had been stirred up now that Fidelma no longer confided in him. His future had begun to seem bleak and dark.

  ‘Easy to say,’ he repeated. ‘I saw you take the paper from the comb bag. Then you suddenly decided to allow Oengarb to take over the mystery of the abbot’s murder and to leave the abbey and head southwards.’

  Fidelma’s face was immobile for a moment, and then she inclined her head. ‘I should never underestimate you, Eadulf. There is truth in what you say.’

  ‘And you are following this girl. What’s her name … Cairenn?’

  Fidelma once again took refuge in silence.

  ‘Am I not permitted to join your thoughts?’ Eadulf demanded harshly.

  ‘I am afraid that you cannot join these thoughts,’ she returned bluntly.

  ‘Is it because I am a stranger from over the seas that I can’t even share the thoughts of my wife?’

  Fidelma hesitated. ‘That is not how it is,’ she replied.

  ‘Then how is it … exactly?’

  ‘Are you going to continue to press this matter?’ Fidelma said coldly.

  Eadulf frowned and then shook his head. ‘I need to know what this is about. I shall press it until an answer makes sense, until I see some logic in it,’ he affirmed stubbornly.

  Fidelma uttered a long, deep sigh. Her shoulders hunched, as if what he said were painful to her. Then she raised her head to meet his challenging gaze with a sorrowful expression.

  ‘You want an answer as to why I cannot tell you?’

  ‘It would help,’ Eadulf agreed diffidently.

  ‘I cannot tell you. I have sworn by a sacred oath to tell no one,’ she said simply.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For several long moments Eadulf stood staring at her, astounded. Of all the answers he had been expecting, this had not been one of them.

  ‘A sacred oath?’ His voice dropped to a whisper of astonishment. ‘To whom did you make this sacred oath? I don’t believe it. Making secret oaths, sacred or not, is not in your nature. To whom would you make a secret oath that would exclude me?’

  ‘It was necessary, Eadulf.’ She acknowledged the hurt in his eyes.

  ‘Then explain to me why, even if you can’t explain what,’ Eadulf insisted.

  ‘I would like to share all my knowledge with you just as much as you wish me to, Eadulf. But all I can tell you is that I have been put under a geis not to reveal what I have been told.’

  Eadulf was puzzled. ‘A geis?’ He had not heard the word before. ‘What is a geis?’

  She glanced at him in genuine surprise. ‘You do not know the term?’

  Eadulf shook his head. Fidelma suddenly realised that such an old and sacred term might not have been generally encountered by a stranger to the country, even if, like Eadulf, they had lived in the Five Kingdoms for many years. It was also true that the old ways, the ancient oaths, were changing as the New Faith spread, so it was certainly possible that he had never heard of the old prohibition before.

  ‘It is an injunction that has been placed on me not to reveal the nature of this matter until I am released from the oath. It is a very serious undertaking, which I am honour-bound to observe. Indeed, before the coming of the New Faith, only the Druids could impose the geis, and when the Druids began to vanish, those of the royal blood took over the custom. It is the ultimate way to ensure authority.’

  Eadulf’s eyes widened a little; his expression became a little cynical. ‘And this prohibition prevents you speaking of it even to me?’

  Her expression softened. ‘Even to you,’ she conceded.

  ‘And what if you broke it?’

  She remained serious. ‘In the days of the Old Faith it was said that the breaking of a geis merited instant punishment, rejection by society. It was even thought that the old gods and goddesses would cause the death of someone who broke the geis – a hideous death. One story goes that when the High King Conaire Mór was placed under a geis and broke it, the Mórrígán, the triune goddess of death and battles, appeared to him and told him of his doom. It came to pass that he perished exactly as the goddess had foretold, when his head was severed from his body.’

  Eadulf shivered slightly, because he had been raised with tales of the pagan gods and goddesses of his own people, the strange deities who had ruled before the coming of the New Faith and his conversion to it as a youth. Then he pulled himself together.

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ he told her, though without conviction. ‘You have always been too logical to believe in supernatural curses. You have always said you do not believe in evil spirits.’

  Fidelma shrugged indifferently. ‘Make of it what you will. I merely describe an old tradition that my people still respect. It is still thought that ill fortune will befall whoever breaks the prohibition. It is still the most sacred oath for any person of this land – so sacred that it is not even allowed to be pronounced before the Brehon courts of law.’

  ‘But you surely don’t believe in that sort of thing?’

  ‘Whether I believe in the evil supernatural or not, I do believe in honour, and I am honour-bound by the oath, for it invokes the honour of my family stretching back into the time beyond time.’

  ‘Is this matter somehow connected to your family?’ Eadulf asked. His mind turned to the events before they had left Cashel. ‘I remember that you did not even discuss anything with your brother, Colgú, before we left.’

  Fidelma’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘How do you work that out, Eadulf?’

  ‘I have eyes and the ability to observe. I remember what prompted our leaving. Old Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary, came with a message for you. It was after receipt of that message that you decided you had an important matter to discuss with Abbot Nessán. Where did the message come from? It was written on a scrap such as is attached to carrier pigeons. As I say, we left before you even consulted your brother. You did not want me to accompany you, and when you chose Enda to accompany you, you would not even tell him what for, although he is of your brother’s elite bodyguard …’

  ‘As a dálaigh and sister to the King, I have a right to request to be accompanied by a bodyguard,’ snapped Fidelma icily.

  Eadulf nodded. ‘That message caused you much concern. I saw that in your eyes. But you would not speak of it to either of us. It does not need a superior mind to work out that something very important is amiss. That something, it seems, is the very reason why you have come here, and why you did not want me to accompany you. Were you expecting Abbot Nessán to be murdered? Even after that, you are still excluding me and Enda from your confidence.’

  ‘I am under a geis not to tell. That still stands, Eadulf,’ Fidelma replied, but now her tone was almost apologetic.

  ‘I am trying to understand who made you take this silly oath? You sa
y that only a Druid of the Old Faith or a person of the blood royal could make you accept such a thing.’ Eadulf could not keep the sneer from his voice.

  For a moment Fidelma’s green eyes flashed. ‘No one forces me to take an oath – and let me not hear you say the geis is silly.’

  ‘It was not your brother, so who else could make you accept this prohibition?’

  ‘I have already explained to you more than I should,’ she replied defensively.

  ‘But not enough, for I am your husband. Or don’t I have rights?’

  ‘Eadulf.’ Her voice was suddenly sad. ‘You are my husband and father to our son. But under our laws you do not have total control of me as you would in your country. Let us not go into the rights of husband and wife.’

  ‘I know I have few rights as a foreigner here.’ Eadulf’s voice was tight at this reminder of his status.

  ‘In the matter of the geis you have exactly the same rights as anyone else in the Five Kingdoms,’ she countered. ‘You cannot demand that the oath be broken.’

  ‘I think,’ Eadulf said, thoughtfully, ‘if it was not your brother, then there is only one person who could put this geis on you.’ When she did not respond, he went on reflectively: ‘Old Brother Conchobhar keeps a pigeon loft for your brother, for he uses them, as do many others, to communicate with other kings and important princes. The message that troubled you came that way … by way of the trained rock doves that old Conchobhar keeps. You are no longer of the religious so the Chief Brehon of Muman has no influence over you. Therefore I suspect it came from none other than the High King himself.’

  Fidelma stood up, dismissing the subject. ‘We need some rest because we must be stirring at first light.’

  ‘You still mean to cross the river at first light without sharing any information with us? The reason that brought you to this place? No explanation as to why we are pursuing this girl and misdirecting the lawyer Oengarb?’

  ‘I have said that we will cross the river south.’ Then it seemed her steadfastness relented a little. ‘I’ll make you one promise, Eadulf. As soon as I am permitted to tell you, I will.’