Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘He is as you found him among the branches of the bonfire, Aidan?’ she asked. ‘There was nothing else with him save what he has on him now?’

  The warrior gave a nod of confirmation. ‘I had a look because it is odd that a religieux doesn’t have a belt or cord as a means of fixing his robe. I searched the bonfire thoroughly.’ The latter words were slightly raised in protest because Fidelma had walked to the stacked wood and peered in herself.

  ‘Do not worry,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘It is in the nature of a dálaigh to observe for themselves so that they might see all at first hand.’ Then she turned back, and said, ‘I would have been surprised if I had found anything else.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Eadulf said.

  Fidelma returned to the corpse and knelt down again, motioning them both to follow her example.

  ‘Observe the body,’ she invited. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  It fell to Eadulf to do so.

  ‘Rough, weatherbeaten skin. A man more used to being in the open in all sorts of weather than in the dark cloisters of some community. The hands are callused and used to hard work. Ah …’

  ‘What else do you see?’ prompted Fidelma.

  ‘I see marks on the wrists and,’ Eadulf moved swiftly to the feet and came back again, ‘also on the ankles. The poor devil has been tied up and very recently. The burn marks of where the ropes cut into his wrists and ankles are unmistakable.’

  ‘Perhaps he was abducted from his community for this vile sacrifice,’ offered Aidan. ‘A victim of someone who maintains the evil pagan practices associated with this time of the year. A member of the religious would be a natural target, being one who is considered to have overthrown the Old Faith.’

  Fidelma waited a moment or two before prompting them again: ‘Nothing else? Eadulf has mentioned the texture of the man’s skin – as if he had spent all his time in the countryside. Does that suggest anything?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. Most of the self-sustaining religious communities have brethren who work the land. Not all religious are scribes and copyists or into booklearning,’ Aidan pointed out.

  Fidelma smiled in approval. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘The man has shaved himself badly, at least the last time he shaved,’ Eadulf noted.

  ‘A good point,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And from the unevenness of the stubble and the tufts that are left, this man had a thick beard before he shaved it off.’

  ‘So do a lot of members of the religious in this kingdom,’ Aidan said. ‘He wears the tonsure of the Blessed John, not that of a Roman religieux – so that indicates he was from one of the local churches or abbeys.’

  Fidelma tutted. ‘He only recently shaved off his beard,’ she corrected him. ‘And in making that point, Aidan, you have missed the most important point of all.’

  Aidan exchanged a puzzled look with Eadulf but saw no enlightenment on his face.

  ‘What have we missed?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘You have said that the man’s beard was badly shaved?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Now look at the cut of his tonsure.’

  Eadulf bent forward. ‘You mean that it is also badly cut? The shaving has not been done by a steady hand. There are several deep cuts and scratches, some stubble left and even a few tufts of hair.’

  ‘You do not remark on the paleness of the skin where the tonsure has been cut? It is soft and almost baby-like in texture against the dark weathering of the man’s face.’

  ‘You mean that he has only recently become a religieux,’ Aidan suggested eagerly, ‘and so that is why the tonsure is newly cut? Well, that might help us track him down the more quickly.’

  Fidelma had a faint smile on her lips as she shook her head. ‘It could also mean something entirely different,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Aidan confessed.

  Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the face of the corpse. ‘Tell me, Aidan,’ she said, ‘how closely did Rumann look upon the face of this man?’

  The warrior was puzzled by the question. ‘Not that closely, as I remember. I shouted across to him to bring sacking to shield the body when I saw people becoming interested and moving across the square. When he did so, I took the sacking from him and laid it over the body. So he did not see the face.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am. Why?’

  ‘Is that important?’ Eadulf added.

  ‘I am sure that Rumann would have recognised the man even without his beard,’ she replied firmly. ‘You both said that the corpse looked familiar?’

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Aidan. ‘But then I find a lot of people do.’

  Eadulf bent to gaze down at the features of the man again. ‘I do feel that I have seen him before,’ he repeated.

  ‘Cast your mind back to last winter, Eadulf. Remember the attempt on my brother’s life? And remember how we found Aibell, who is now Gormán’s wife, and had to seek confirmation of her story of how she came to Cashel?’

  ‘I do remember that.’

  ‘Do you also recall how we questioned a shepherd who kept a flock on the far side of the Road of Rocks to the west of the township?’

  Eadulf was frowning. ‘The shepherd who confirmed that he had seen that traitorous merchant, Ordan, giving a lift to Aibell on his cart from the Ford of the Ass? I can’t recall much about the shepherd; he was not an important witness.’

  ‘All witnesses are important,’ Fidelma rebuked sternly. ‘Now look at the face of the corpse again. Do you recognise him now?’

  Eadulf peered closer. ‘It is a year ago,’ he protested. ‘I cannot be certain. He wears a tonsure and the robes of the religious.’

  ‘I told you that the tonsure was recently and badly cut,’ replied Fidelma patiently. ‘The body that is lying there is that of the shepherd we questioned, one who, as I recall, often drank in Rumann’s tavern. He is certainly no religieux. As you originally said, Eadulf, the man has been murdered. But why would anyone want to murder a shepherd with this pagan ritual, try to disguise him as a religieux and then hide the body in a bonfire? There is something very wrong here; something that smacks of evil.’

  THREE

  Eadulf stared at Fidelma in surprise. He knew that his wife was not beyond giving way to dramatic moments when presenting cases before the Dál, the courts of the Brehons, but, as he recalled, she had never done it just for his benefit.

  She was saying to Aidan: ‘Go and fetch Rumann. Don’t mention anything to him about the identity of the corpse. I merely want him to come here and independently confirm what my memory has told me.’

  Aidan trotted off to the tavern and returned shortly afterwards with the innkeeper, who was told to look on the face of the corpse.

  Rumann’s astonishment showed immediately on his features but he did not speak at once. He examined the dead man’s features carefully, peering at him from different angles before he gave a sigh and said, ‘Even without his beard, lady, I would recognise Spelán, the shepherd. I don’t understand. He was no religieux – the fellow was in my tavern drinking only a week ago.’

  ‘You have no doubt that this is Spelán?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘No doubt at all,’ affirmed the bewildered man. ‘If the truth was known, he was often in my tavern during the summer and usually getting drunk. Why is he wearing a tonsure?’

  ‘If my memory serves me well, this man Spelán had a flock of sheep to the west of the township?’ Fidelma asked Rumann, ignoring the question.

  ‘That’s so,’ the tavern-keeper confirmed. ‘I think he had a flock on the slopes of the Cnoc Bológ. But how on earth did he come to be wearing that robe and to have a tonsure? I would describe him in many ways but never as one interested in religion. Not at all.’

  ‘Tell me what you know about him,’ invited Fidelma.

  ‘I know precious little,’ conceded the tavern-keeper. ‘Like most shepherds, he was tight mouthed. And it was only recently, during these summer months, tha
t he came to my tavern more frequently to drink. I think his flock must have been bringing him a good return as he was never without funds. He met other shepherds but didn’t seem to be particularly interested in matters relating to sheep. But then, I never heard him discussing religion either.’

  ‘Where did he live, did you say?’

  ‘I was told he kept his flock in the hills to the south-west, exactly as you recall, lady; well to the west beyond the Road of Rocks.’

  ‘You said the place was called Cnoc Bológ?’

  Rumann rubbed the back of his neck reflectively. ‘That’s it. The Hill of the Bullock – yes, I am sure that was the name of the place. But there was one person with whom he usually spoke a word or two when he was in the tavern, and he should be able to confirm that.’

  ‘What is the name of that person?’

  ‘The husband of your nurse.’

  ‘Nessan?’ Eadulf queried.

  ‘Yes, Nessan, who looks after King Colgú’s flock,’ confirmed Rumann.

  Fidelma suddenly remembered that it had been Nessan, the husband of Alchú’s nurse, Muirgen, who had identified Spelán a year ago when she was trying to trace the shepherd as a witness.

  ‘But you also talked to him?’ Eadulf said to Rumann. ‘You surely know most of the people in this vicinity.’

  Rumann shrugged. ‘In the township – yes, I know most people. But this man came from the countryside. He was, as I have said, not given to gossip. I recall that he had a bad lambing season earlier in the year. Yet during the summer his visits to the tavern were more frequent, not less – and as I mentioned before, he did not lack funds for ale.’

  ‘Are you sure that he never talked about religious matters?’

  ‘Never in my hearing. He was not the kind of man that you asked for details of his life.’

  ‘Can you tell me nothing then, of Spélan’s family, of his wife, of his home or his background?’

  ‘Nothing at all. He kept quiet when it came to his background, family or other connections … although, come to think of it, I realised that he was not originally from these parts.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Rumann raised a shoulder and let it fall. ‘He spoke with the accent of the north-western lands. I once heard that he had married a local woman who originally owned the sheep flock, and it was her flock he looked after.’

  ‘I thought you said that you didn’t know about his wife?’ Fidelma did her best to control her exasperation.

  ‘I do not,’ returned the tavern-keeper. ‘He hardly ever mentioned her. I don’t think anyone even knew where his cabin was. Often he would consume so much liquor that I feared he would have no hope of finding his way home, but he never let anyone accompany him or tell them where his home was.’

  ‘So he was a drunkard?’ Eadulf was disapproving.

  ‘He drank to excess by my reckoning, but without losing control.’

  ‘So, without knowing anything of the man’s background, you have told us several important facts,’ Fidelma concluded. ‘He was a shepherd named Spelán. He probably came from a north-west territory. He married a local woman who lived at the Hill of the Bullock, so you think. You thought his flock was not doing well back during the lambing season yet despite that, he recently had more than enough coin in his pocket. He came to town and drank frequently and to excess in your tavern. He occasionally talked with other shepherds, most notably with Nessan. Now, is there anything else you don’t know about him?’

  Rumann did not catch her irony as he shook his head, saying, ‘I know nothing more about the man, lady. Truly, I am sorry.’

  Fidelma glanced around the square. It would not be long before the curious townsfolk would be filtering back in large numbers to discover what had happened.

  ‘Rumann, I want you and Aidan to take the body into the shelter of your tavern for the time being. I presume you can place it in an outhouse?’ Before he could object, she went on: ‘I will arrange for it to be removed to the fortress as soon as possible.’ She glanced apologetically at Eadulf. ‘I would like old Brother Conchobhar to make a further examination of the corpse.’ Then she turned back to the tavern-keeper. ‘I want your solemn oath, Rumann, that you will discuss none of this with anyone; say nothing about who this man was. Do you understand?’

  ‘My lips are sealed, lady,’ the tavern-keeper promised almost indignantly.

  ‘That is good and should be no hardship.’ Fidelma knew that Rumann liked to gossip. Then she added to Aidan: ‘When you have helped Rumann with the body, I want you to join us at the stables of the fortress. I will need you to accompany us to Cnoc Bológ, to this Hill of the Bullock.’

  They watched as Aidan and Rumann lifted the body, still covered by the sackcloth, and started to carry it towards the tavern. Fidelma signalled to Eadulf and they began to make their way back up the steep track towards the gates of the fortress.

  ‘What now?’ he asked breathlessly.

  ‘As I said, I’ll send men to bring the body into Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary away from curious eyes and comments. I shall also seek out Nessan to see if he can add anything else to what Rumann has told us. We will need to make a trip to Cnoc Bológ to find the man’s wife and discover more about this shepherd.’

  Eadulf’s expression showed some reluctance. ‘I know there are hills in that direction but no one ever seems to venture into them. Gormán once told me it was an area of bleak hills and forests all the way to the great river and on no main track at all. We don’t want to venture anywhere that is inaccessible and get stuck there. Don’t forget that tomorrow evening will be the feast of Samhain.’

  Fidelma’s eyes twinkled at the anxiety in his tone. ‘True, those hills are infrequently visited, but they are not at the ends of the earth.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘Providing we can find Nessan shortly, we could be on our way and reach there before the sun is even near its zenith.’

  ‘Nessan will be with your brother’s flock in the northern fields,’ pointed out Eadulf as they resumed their climb towards the gates of the fortress.

  ‘Not so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I was speaking to Muirgen this morning and her husband is due to see my brother this morning to go over some accounting of the condition of the sheep flock now it is the end of summer.’

  ‘Condition? I thought the King’s flocks were fairly strong.’

  ‘So they are. The ewes started early breeding several months ago. So they could be lambing as early as Dubh Luacrán, the month of the dark days. It is Nessan’s task to report on their condition and prospects.’

  They paused at the gate and requested Dego to inform a couple of his warriors to make ready to accompany Brother Conchobhar, the chief apothecary of the palace, to Rumann’s tavern. Fidelma placed her full confidence in the old man’s unerring eye and knowledge. A friend of her father, Fáilbhe Flann, Conchobhar had been one of the most trustworthy mentors in the lives of her brother and herself when they were children.

  Stopping only to instruct the stable master to prepare their horses, the couple crossed the courtyard by the chapel and went over to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.

  The elderly man was at his door and his eyes lit up when he saw them approaching. Then he saw the expression on Fidelma’s face, and his smile died.

  ‘Is there something the matter?’ he asked immediately.

  ‘I need your expertise, old friend.’ Quickly explaining the situation, Fidelma told him that two warriors would accompany him down to Rumann’s tavern to bring back the body. He was to examine it and prepare it for burial, for it was the ancient custom to bury or cremate bodies as quickly as possible, usually at midnight on the day following the death.

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head slowly to express his bewilderment.

  ‘You say that he is a shepherd but dressed as a Brother of the Faith? Who do I notify of the death and burial? Should this not be reported to a priest so that all ritual observances can be made at the funeral? I presume, in the absence of Breh
on Fíthel, you will take all legal responsibility?’

  Fidelma hesitated a moment. ‘He was not a religieux,’ she finally told him. ‘The trouble is that at this time we know nothing of the man except that he is, or was, married and possibly dwelling in the south-west hills at Cnoc Bológ. We mean to ride there immediately and discover what we can. If I am able to do so, I will inform his wife and bring back what I have learned.’

  ‘Cnoc Bológ? Then you might well be back before nightfall. The funeral will now have to be the day after tomorrow, as no funeral can take place on the night of Samhain,’ Brother Conchobhar added by way of explanation.

  ‘As to any legal responsibility, that is mine,’ Fidelma assured him.

  ‘It shall be done as you wish,’ he assented.

  They turned away in search of Muirgen the nurse, who told them that her husband was still making his report to the King. Fidelma immediately led the way to her brother’s council chamber, waving aside the warrior who stood guard outside and who raised a half-hearted protest that the King was engaged in business. Inside the chamber Colgú raised his head with an angry look at being disturbed while Nessan, his shepherd, turned awkwardly and rose on seeing who had caused the interruption.

  ‘I need to ask some urgent questions of Nessan, brother,’ Fidelma explained. ‘We must leave for Cnoc Bológ at once, otherwise I would not have intruded.’

  Colgú did not proceed to chide her, aware that his sister would not interrupt like this unless it was important. ‘I presume it has to do with the body of the religieux that Eadulf found?’ he said.

  ‘A religieux, who is not a religieux,’ she confirmed quietly.

  Nessan stared at her, eyes wide. ‘But what has this to do with me, lady?’

  ‘I will explain. I am told that you used to drink with a shepherd called Spelán in Rumann’s tavern.’

  The man inclined his head in agreement. ‘I did not see him that often, lady. Certainly during these past summer months he would come to the tavern and drink his fill, and more, but liquor did not make him loquacious. He was not an easy man to talk to. I would often find him sitting alone over his ale. I sometimes took pity on his isolation.’