Dancing With Demons

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Perhaps it was well-kept from his advisers or even his tánaiste,’ Eadulf observed, ‘but it could hardly have been a secret from the servants who attended him. Perhaps we should speak with them?’

  Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘A good thought.’

  ‘I think I am beginning to see the reason for the assassination of the High King,’ Eadulf suddenly said with confidence.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘It is obvious that if Gormflaith had taken Dubh Duin as a lover, then the pair of them might have conspired to kill Sechnussach so that Gormflaith would be free.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Gormflaith would not be the first woman to conspire with a lover to murder her husband.’

  Fidelma simply shook her head. ‘Under the law, they had no need to recourse to that act. She could surely have divorced. However, we will see firstly what Gormflaith has to say.’

  Enquiries revealed that Gormflaith and her second daughter Murgain were out riding but were thought to be returning within the hour. The three of them left the Tech Laoghaire and began to walk back across the royal enclosure towards the guests’ hostel.

  ‘Perhaps Brehon Barrán would be able to contribute to this mystery about a second wife?’ Abbot Colmán suggested.

  ‘Is the Brehon still in Tara?’

  Abbot Colmán affirmed that he was, adding, ‘He has his own residence just outside the royal enclosure. But I think he is working at the hall of the Great Assembly.’

  Fidelma thought about it but then dismissed the idea.

  ‘It would be better to see Gormflaith first, without rousing ideas that might prove false,’ she decided.

  At that moment they saw Caol and Gormán approaching them. The men looked worried.

  ‘Lady.’ Caol halted.

  ‘What is the matter?’ asked Fidelma, gazing from him to Gormán.

  Caol looked anxiously at Abbot Colmán.

  ‘Come, speak up. There are no secrets among us here,’ urged Fidelma, not unkindly.

  ‘We have seen Badb again.’

  ‘The old woman?’ Fidelma was surprised.

  Gormán nodded rapidly. ‘She appeared out of nowhere as we were walking by the guesthouse. She shook her fist at us and told us to beware and return from whence we came – even as she did at the river.’

  ‘Lady,’ said Caol, ‘as you know, we of the Nasc Niadh are afraid of no mortal. She appeared and then she seemed to vanish again, and although we searched, being mindful of what you said before, we could not find her.’

  ‘Lady, we may be afraid of nothing in this world, but if there is the Otherworld to contend with, then we need to be told. Is it mortals with whom we deal, or might we be dancing with demons?’ added Gormán.

  Abbot Colmán looked taken aback by what the two warriors had to say and was about to speak when Eadulf cleared his throat nervously and turned to Fidelma.

  ‘I did not mention it before, but I too have seen the old woman again – as we were coming from the cells after speaking with Erc. I came out into the light and there she was, standing on the wall. She repeated this same warning and when I blinked again she had disappeared.’

  Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I wondered why you behaved so strangely. You ran to the wall to look for her?’

  ‘I did. And there was no sight of her. Is she mortal or demon? I have no liking for mysterious apparitions.’

  Caol and Gormán muttered their agreement but Fidelma was having none of it.

  ‘To all mysteries there is a rational explanation,’ she announced.

  ‘But,’ Caol protested, glancing at the abbot for support, ‘begging your pardon, there is nothing rational when dealing with that which is beyond mortal explanation.’

  ‘I would offer my counsel if I understood what it was that you are talking about,’ the Abbot said fretfully.

  He listened attentively while Fidelma told him of the meeting at the river crossing. He then asked for a closer description of the woman who called herself Badb. Finally, he allowed himself a sad chuckle.

  ‘Poor Mer,’ he said. ‘I suppose that she could alarm those not used to her and her odd ways.’

  ‘Mer?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘We call her Mer the Demented. She is old and crazy and always scavenging around Tara. She probably picked up the news that you had been sent for, to investigate the death of Sechnussach. Then she dressed it up in her own fashion. She clings to the Old Faith but there is no evil in her. She is crazy – but God blesses the insane and foolish, so we are told. She does no harm.’

  ‘No harm when she utters curses and warnings?’ Eadulf grunted, feeling a complete fool.

  ‘No harm, Brother Saxon,’ the abbot insisted. ‘Here, we overlook her eccentricities. Her husband was killed at the great battle of Carn Conaill and that is what unhinged her mind.’

  ‘That took place a long time ago,’ Caol grumbled. ‘It was a battle in Connacht.’

  ‘You know your history well, warrior,’ affirmed the abbot. ‘No one knows what Mer’s real name was, for that is the name she has been called since then. She was a woman of Connacht. Her husband was a warrior in the army of Guaire, the King of Connacht. The story is that an argument rose between Guaire and Diarmait of Tara. When Diarmait moved an army against him, Guaire sent to ask for a truce. But the abbot of Cluain Mic Nois and all his clergy urged Diarmait on to slaughter Guaire’s army. The clerics of Cluain Mic Nois came to the field of the battle to pray and call upon God to support the victory.’

  ‘Why are you telling us this?’ Eadulf wanted to know.

  ‘Because, as I say, I think that is what deranged her and why she became Mer the Demented One. Her husband was killed and so she not only blamed Diarmait of Tara but all the priests of the New Faith. She came to Tara to haunt it, so it is said, and call down imprecations on it and its entire clergy in the name of the old gods and goddesses. No one knows where she dwells, but she has scavenged for food and been seen around the hills of Tara for many years.’

  ‘A tragic lady, then?’ Fidelma glanced to Caol and Gormán, who were looking embarrassed. ‘Not a demon but merely a mortal woman who feels life has treated her badly. One to be pitied and not to be feared.’

  ‘She is as God made her,’ added Abbot Colmán. ‘No worse nor better than many. She need not alarm you.’

  ‘She knew Fidelma’s name and why we were coming to Cashel,’ Eadulf said defensively. ‘That was alarming enough.’

  ‘She is mortal,’ the abbot replied. ‘Understand, she is old and sick.’

  ‘Well, there is one thing which I still do not understand,’ Eadulf replied stubbornly.

  ‘Which is?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘How did the old woman recognise you? She was sitting by the river as we rode by and accosted you by name and title. How could she do that?’

  For a moment Fidelma paused, thinking, and then: ‘Maybe she saw me on my last visit here,’ she suggested. ‘Don’t forget, many years ago I studied here at Brehon Morann’s school.’

  ‘Then this woman Mer must have a long memory for faces,’ muttered Eadulf.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma said, dismissing the subject. ‘But now we have other and more pressing matters to attend to.’ She turned to the abbot. ‘I have no wish to take up your time, Abbot Colmán. I am sure you have more important things to do in governing the royal household.’

  The abbot took the hint and was almost eager to do so.

  ‘Indeed, I do have tasks that need to be attended to,’ he said. ‘Let us meet up at the etar-shod, the middle-meal of the day, and you can tell me if you have been able to gather any further information.’ Then he went off about his duties.

  Eadulf cast a puzzled glance in Fidelma’s direction. ‘It seems to me that you almost wanted to be rid of him.’

  ‘Discerning as ever, Eadulf,’ she replied softly. ‘I do want to see Gormflaith on her own. And it is not wise to constantly have a witness to all one’s investigations.�
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  Fidelma and Eadulf, with Caol and Gormán following and still somewhat morose, continued their journey towards the guesthouse. A warrior emerged from a nearby building and Fidelma called his name.

  ‘Lugna! The very person!’

  The young warrior halted nervously. ‘You want me, lady?’

  ‘Indeed, I do. I would like you to come with us, if you will.’ She nodded towards the Tech Cormaic. ‘There is something I am not sure about.’

  The warrior fell in step with them. ‘I am only too happy to be of service. What can I help with?’ he ventured after some silence.

  ‘I think you are the only person who can help,’ Fidelma assured him as they halted outside the oak doors. The warrior on guard regarded them with unconcealed curiosity.

  Fidelma turned to Caol and Gormán and motioned them to follow her while telling Lugna to stay with Eadulf before the main doors.

  After halting at the corner of the building and apparently giving instructions to them, she returned, leaving Gormán in view while Caol disappeared to the back of the building. She smiled brightly at a puzzled Lugna.

  ‘It is just a little experiment,’ she assured him. ‘You see, I am puzzled by the noise you heard in the kitchen area and why it did not rouse the rest of the house.’

  ‘I have told you all I know,’ Lugna replied with suddenly set features.

  ‘Of course you have. But, alas, I have to envision it for myself. What we will do is make the noise so that I can be sure of the detail. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

  Lugna shrugged but he seemed worried.

  ‘Eadulf, stand here and when I signal to you, wave to Gormán and then he will make a sign to Caol to go into the kitchen and make a noise. Then we can see exactly how much sound resonates through the house.’

  She turned to the doors. ‘Come, Lugna. I believe that you and your comrade were standing in the hallway at your guard post when you heard the noise. Then you came out and went round the side of the house to investigate as the back door was locked – isn’t that right?’

  Lugna was clearly unhappy. He seemed to be struggling with his conscience before finally mumbling, ‘It is not right, lady. Forgive me. I have not told the truth.’

  ‘I thought not,’ Fidelma said. ‘I think, Lugna, it is time you told us what really happened.’

  ‘We were standing outside the doors here. As I said, we had not gone into the hall.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You see, lady, it was a cold night. As I told you, I had just returned with Cuan from checking the guards. We came back to the doors and we would have taken up our position in the hall but it was so cold … there was hot corma in the kitchen and we felt a drink would help keep out the chill air before we settled to our watch.’ His expression was guilt-ridden as he turned haunted eyes from one to another of them. ‘Nothing had ever happened before. Year after year, watch after watch, nothing had ever disturbed the peace of the royal enclosure. It was too well-guarded. How were we to know that … that … ’

  Fidelma was in no mood to reassure this man who had tried to cover his own failure by lying.

  ‘So you deserted your post to obtain a drink,’ she said flatly. ‘As a result, the High King is dead. You realise there must be consequences? Irél, your commander, must be informed.’

  The young man hung his head unhappily. ‘It has been hard to live with the knowledge, lady,’ he muttered. ‘I am glad that I have told you.’

  ‘But you have not told me all, Lugna.’

  She turned and waved to Gormán to return and soon he and Caol had rejoined them.

  ‘So we can dispense with any noises in the kitchen. You and Cuan went there for a drink. What then?’

  ‘I swear, lady, that all else happened as I said. The kitchen area is overlooked from the apartment of the High King. You have seen that stairs lead from nearby the kitchen up to the back door from which the servants take his bathing water and empty the privy … but the door is always shut and bolted from inside at night. There is no entrance that way. Anyway, we were taking our drink when we heard a scream – exactly as I said. Cuan ran straight up the stairs to the back door. That was locked. I knew that the ground-floor door into the back of the house was also locked, so I raced around the side of the house and went up the stairs as I said. It was a few moments afterwards when Cuan joined me.’

  ‘Thank you, Lugna,’ Fidelma said. ‘Things begin to make more sense now. Tell me, you say that you have served in the Fianna for many years and you are a toisech cóicat, a commander of fifty warriors. Even accepting that the night was chill and the watch was boring, a warrior of your experience must have realised how serious it was to leave your post to take a drink?’

  The young man was contrite. ‘Yes, I do realise it and have no excuses. I wish I hadn’t listened to—’ He hesitated. ‘I was the guard commander. Mine is the fault.’

  Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You wish you had not listened … to whom? I want the truth, Lugna.’ Then, when he did not reply: ‘Was it Cuan who suggested the drink?’

  Lugna bit his lip and did not reply.

  ‘Were you persuaded by your comrade Cuan to leave your post and go for the drink? Was it Cuan who knew where this drink was to be found?’ Her voice was sharp.

  Lugna bowed his head and nodded. ‘It was.’

  ‘Very well, Lugna.’ Fidelma exhaled softly. ‘You may return to your quarters – but do not speak of this to anyone, especially to Cuan. I am afraid this story must be told to Irél, the commander of the Fianna. Your only defence lies in the truth, and I want to be assured that you have told the truth.’

  ‘That I have, lady, by the Holy Family. I swear that is the truth.’

  Fidelma waved her hand in dismissal. When he had gone, she turned to Eadulf with a grim look.

  ‘I begin to see that luck may not have played so great a part in this matter after all.’

  Eadulf was in agreement. ‘It seems that Cuan deliberately enticed Lugna away from his post at that particular time. But what of Erc? Surely it was luck that he let the assassin in the main gate.’

  ‘He had been … ’She paused for the right word. ‘He had been prepared in such a way that he would not challenge Erc. The conspirators knew that Erc would be on duty that night, and because Dubh Duin had frequently been admitted into the royal enclosure after dark, they knew that he would not challenge him.’

  ‘Conspirators?’ echoed Eadulf.

  ‘I see conspiracy in this, not a single assassin. I keep thinking about the key. Who stole it and had a copy made for the assassin?’

  ‘Whatever the answer to that, we must find Cuan, as he is certainly an integral part of this plot.’

  ‘Exactly so.’ She turned and approached the solitary guard who remained outside the royal residence. ‘Where is Irél, your commander?’

  The man drew himself up respectfully. ‘I think he may be at the stables, lady.’

  Fidelma thanked him and gestured to Eadulf. Once again, the couple set off across the royal enclosure, with Caol and Gormán trailing behind.

  Irél, the commander of the Fianna, was indeed at the stables. He turned as they approached.

  ‘You want me again, lady?’ He saluted as they came up.

  ‘Do you know where your man Cuan is?’

  Irél shook his head. ‘You need to question him again?’

  ‘I do. Can you make a search for him and hold him securely until I am sent for?’

  Irél looked surprised. ‘Hold him? Why is that necessary, lady?’

  ‘Because a dálaigh says it is necessary,’ she replied impatiently.

  Irél flushed. ‘It shall be as you order, of course.’ His tone indicated his sense of pique.

  Fidelma immediately regretted her curtness. ‘I apologise. As commander you have a right to know. Both Lugna and Cuan have committed a grave disregard of their duty. I have spoken with Lugna and told him to confine himself to his quarters and await a hearing. After that, it will be up to
you, as his commander, to decide how to discipline him. I have little knowledge of the law as it applies in the military service.’

  Irél was clearly concerned. ‘If it is as serious as that, then loss of rank and fines must follow. Can you give me details?’

  ‘We will wait for full explanations until I sum up my findings. But it is essential that we find Cuan.’

  ‘I will instigate a search for him at once, lady. It will be as you say.’ Yet he still appeared hesitant.

  ‘You have something that you wish to tell me, Irél?’

  ‘Apart from a neglect of duty, is it that you suspect Cuan had some involvement with Dubh Duin?’

  ‘Exactly that.’ .

  ‘Then you should know that Cuan was originally of the Uí Beccon, a small clan who pay fealty to the Cinél Cairpre Gabra. Their territory is on the northern borders of Cinél Cairpre.’

  Only Eadulf, who knew Fidelma’s features well, could see the surprise on her face and knew how well she controlled it.

  ‘No one told me this,’ she said slowly.

  Irél shrugged. ‘The Fianna are recruited from many clans of Midhe and they all take oath to serve the High King. Once they take the oath, any service to their own clans must take second place to that of the High King. It makes no difference where a man comes from. But if you suspect Cuan, it might be wise to know that he was of the Ui Beccon.’

  ‘Tell me of the Uí Beccon.’

  ‘Little to tell. They are a small tributary clan in the far north of Midhe next to the lands of Cinél Cairpre. They keep themselves to themselves. I have never known them to create trouble.’

  ‘And Cuan came to Tara to enlist in the ranks of the Fianna?’

  ‘We do not take just anyone,’ Irél replied. ‘The men must be warriors of above average ability. Their training is hard. They must prove themselves in physical and mental stamina.’

  ‘I am well aware of what is demanded from the warrior elite, Irél,’ Fidelma said patiently. ‘You may rest assured that I am interested in Cuan for matters other than his place of origin.’

  Fidelma was about to leave the stable when she remembered her previous task.