Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Not a great deal. He had a flock near a place called the Hill of the Bullock, just as you said. It was his wife’s flock, for I gathered he had come to these parts as a penniless itinerant. I can’t vouch for it, lady, but I think he was of the class of sen-cleithe, who had fled from his clan territory without rights or capability to sustain him. He would have remained an itinerant had he not married.’ The shepherd snorted. ‘He did not seem to know a great deal about sheep.’

  ‘Marriage would not have altered his status,’ reflected Fidelma. ‘In law he would simply be deemed as working for his wife. Who was she? What is her name?’

  Nessan shook his head. ‘He never said.’

  ‘He never mentioned her name? Not once in passing?’

  ‘Not in my hearing. I always thought that it was odd, that he dwelled over at Cnoc Bológ. It is a long way to walk for a drink at Rumann’s tavern and an even longer way to walk back when the drink is upon you.’

  ‘That is a point well made, Nessan. Did you ever get any impression of where he came from originally?’

  ‘He talked once about the Sliabh Eibhlinn mountains.’

  ‘It is a long range, over forty kilometres from one end to the other, with many impassable areas,’ explained Fidelma, seeing that Eadulf did not recognise the name. ‘It is not a particularly good place. If he was of the sen-cleithe class, then he certainly did not have the legal right to leave his clan territory without the permission of his chieftain or without redeeming himself in the eyes of the clan. Do you have any idea at all of how long he had been absent from his home territory?’

  ‘No, lady.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Over a week ago, I think. He was drinking in the tavern as usual.’

  ‘How did he seem to you, that last time you saw him? That is, compared to his usual manner.’

  ‘No different to any other time. I was always surprised by the fact that he never had any trouble paying for his drinks. Four months ago, he was always worried about money.’

  ‘Why was that? Do you know?’

  ‘Earlier this year I gathered he had lost several sheep. Maybe it was because of cuili biasta, the fly infestation. I seemed to recall that he had once allowed them to wander in the marshes below the hills where he grazed them. That is where you would pick up the disease. That was careless – and no good shepherd would abandon his sheep to wander freely near marshland.’

  ‘So you did not think that he was a good shepherd?’

  ‘I will probably do him injustice, but no. He did not even know about the merits of finding good grazing land, such as the patches of the seamair dhearg.’

  ‘The what?’ Eadulf had not heard the term before.

  ‘Red clover. They have just ceased to flower now it is the end of summer. When the rams are among the ewes it is well known that the red clover helps the ewes conceive and ensures a good lambing season.’

  ‘So both you and Rumann seem to be of the opinion that he was a shepherd only because of his wife’s flock?’

  ‘So it seemed to me,’ agreed Nessan. ‘Anyway, he never mentioned sheep after the start of summer.’

  ‘He gave no reason?’

  Nessan thought a moment before answering. ‘Never. But as I said, he seemed to have no problems about paying for his ale. He even paid for others when he was shamed into doing so … though that did not happen very often. He was by nature a mean man.’

  Fidelma was disappointed. ‘Apart from these impressions, you learned nothing more about him?’

  Nessan thought deeply before giving a sigh. ‘I cannot think of anything else. Oh … there is one thing though. He once said he was going to set up home in the Comeraigh mountains.’

  ‘But those mountains are to the south of here. I thought you said he came from the north?’

  ‘I can only say what I remember, lady,’ Nessan replied.

  ‘Thank you, Nessan.’ Fidelma turned to Colgú. ‘I will interrupt no longer, brother.’

  The King was frowning as if trying to solve a puzzle.

  ‘I don’t understand, sister. Are you saying that the religieux in the bonfire was this shepherd?’

  ‘The body found dressed in the robes of a religieux was the shepherd called Spelán,’ she confirmed. ‘We are now on our way to Cnoc Bológ to find out more.’

  It appealed to her sense of the dramatic to quit the room at that moment, leaving her brother with a baffled expression on his features.

  Outside, Eadulf shook his head in disapproval. ‘You should not irritate your brother as you do. After all, he is the King.’

  Fidelma gave her husband one of her rare mischievous grins. ‘But he is still my brother, just the same.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Eadulf dismissed the subject, ‘we did not learn much from Nessan. This shepherd Spelán seems an odd sort.’

  ‘On the contrary, I thought we learned quite a lot about him. Obviously, we will find out even more from his wife.’

  ‘I was thinking,’ Eadulf mused, ‘if he never spoke of sheep, of his flock, after the start of summer, perhaps he sold them? That would explain why he suddenly had funds.’

  ‘Just because he was married, if the flock was his wife’s, it does not mean to say that he had rights over it or over any of her property. From what Nessan told us, Spelán’s marriage was one of a woman with a man who contributed nothing to their joint wealth. The marriage is specified in law as lánamnus fir thathigtheo and, even more specific, Spelán was from another clan area. Therefore, if a man is from another tuath or clan and has brought no property into the marriage, the wife retains all the rights to the property and, even if she is dead, that property remains with her kin unless a contract has been agreed allowing some payment to the husband. It would seem, on the surface, until we verify the situation, that Spelán’s flock would not have been his to sell. So either the new wealth came from his wife or somewhere else.’

  She walked on along the passage towards the main doors of the King’s quarters and failed to notice the troubled look on Eadulf’s face.

  It had struck him that he was exactly in Spelán’s position in terms of marriage to Fidelma. He remembered how he had talked over the matter with old Brother Conchobhar on the eve of his marriage. He had struggled to come to terms with the fact that he was marrying a princess of the Eóghanacht; sister of Colgú, fifty-ninth generation descendant of Eibhear Fionn, son of Milidh, who brought the Children of the Gael to the island of the goddesses Éire, Banba and Fodla; a princess whose brother was lord of Deas Muman, Tuad Muman, Oir Muman and Iar Muman, King of All Muman. He unconsciously found himself reciting the titles to himself before coming to the root of his troubled thought … who was he?

  Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the land of the South Folk of the kingdom of East Anglia. True, he was an hereditary gerefa or law-giver of his people, but he was no noble; only a wandering religieux without wealth and a stranger in a strange land. He shivered, for he had often found himself wondering what would happen to him if, and God forbid it, anything happened to Fidelma. He was welcomed and accepted by Colgú, even being accorded an honour price to reflect his rank as Fidelma’s husband and father to her son. Others of the Eóghanacht princes and clerics also accepted him, with only the clerics designating him ‘Brother’ Eadulf because of his religious calling. But to most, he had become ‘friend Eadulf’. He knew Fidelma would rebuke him if he voiced these concerns to her. But there were times when his secret fears and his knowledge of the ancient laws of this land came foremost in his thoughts. He could easily become an itinerant without position or land if …

  He realised Fidelma was waiting for him at the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Have you thought of something?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ His mind raced for a moment, not wishing to reveal the truth. ‘I can’t help thinking that the fact the body was put into the base of the Samhain bonfire might be significant.’

&nbs
p; ‘Other than to get rid of it? Surely that was as good a reason as any?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Eadulf replied determinedly. ‘If he was from this Hill of the Bullock, why bring the body all the way into the town square and risk discovery? The killers would then have had to lay the body down while they spent time making a hole in the woodpile. If that was not done with some care and patience, it might have led to the whole bonfire collapsing, people hearing the noise and rushing out to see what was amiss. The space they made to put the body in wasn’t quite big enough, was it? So maybe they wanted the body to be found?’

  Fidelma pondered this new idea for a moment before saying approvingly: ‘Now that is good logic, Eadulf.’

  He pointed across the courtyard towards the gates. ‘Look – there’s Aidan returning. He seems excited about something.’

  It was true. The young warrior had burst into the courtyard as if in a great hurry. Catching sight of Fidelma and Eadulf, he ignored a surprised Dego, on guard at the gates, and hastened towards them.

  ‘What now …?’ began Eadulf, but the young man did not wait.

  ‘A stranger. A stranger arrived in the town square while we were in Rumann’s tavern,’ he said breathlessly. ‘It was a woman. She demanded to see Spelán’s body. Spoke of him by name. Neither Rumann nor I could prevent it. The woman stood a moment, staring down at the corpse, refused to answer my questions but walked back to the woodpile and stood there muttering to herself. Do you think it is the killer returned?’

  Fidelma said patiently, ‘Now if you had killed someone and hidden them in the wood pyre, would you really return the next morning, in broad daylight, to announce the fact? Calm yourself and tell us about this stranger anyway. You have left so many details out. Think carefully and describe this person.’

  But Aidan was not to be calmed. ‘It’s a woman,’ he repeated. ‘A strange woman.’

  ‘Do you mean that she is a stranger, or that there is something strange in her behaviour or appearance?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Did you ask her who she was and how she knew Spelán or had heard of his death? Was she Spelán’s wife?’

  ‘I don’t think so. As I said, she would not speak to me. There was something sinister about her. I felt, if anyone questioned her more vigorously, then it should be with the authority of a dálaigh.’

  ‘Did you hear what she was muttering when she stood at the Samhain bonfire?’

  ‘I followed her to try to get some answers. I heard her say that Spelán’s death would not be the only one. That he would be avenged. Finally, she turned to me and spoke clearly. She had noticed my golden torc and realised that I was of the Nasc Niadh. Then she said that she would come again to remind people that the Rock on which the Eóghanacht had built their capital was a portal to the Otherworld and that Samhain is tomorrow. She cursed all who dwelled under the shadow of Cashel and said that they would be made to regret the death of Spelán. Tomorrow, she said, Donn would come to claim his vengeance.’

  Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘What then?’

  ‘No more, lady. With that she turned and strode off and I could think of no reason to prevent her.’

  ‘I would have thought both her actions and her words would be sufficient grounds to apprehend her,’ Eadulf pointed out in disapproval. ‘It seems that this woman wants to put fear in the people about Spelán’s death and Samhain.’

  ‘I maintain, as I always have, there is no speculation without information. And I am afraid, Aidan, you have brought us little information about this stranger. I agree with Eadulf that you should have detained her and brought her to me. You should have sought her name or at least whence she came.’

  Aidan looked indignant. ‘Oh, but I did. As she strode away, I called after her, to demand who she was, to threaten the Eóghanacht.’

  ‘Did she actually give her name and where she came from?’

  ‘She said that she came from Tech Duinn.’

  Fidelma’s reaction was a slight step backward and then she started to laugh. Aidan stared at her with an expression of surprise. Eadulf was trying to remember where and what he had heard about Tech Duinn and finally asked.

  ‘It is the House of Donn,’ Fidelma replied, still chuckling, ‘the place where the dead assemble. It is said to be an island to the south-west; the gathering place of the dead, presided over by the ancient god of the dead, Donn. From there, Donn transports them on their journey to the Otherworld.’

  Aidan was trying to control his growing consternation as he was reminded what the name meant.

  ‘I see nothing of humour in the fact, lady,’ he protested.

  Fidelma immediately recovered her composure. ‘Come, Aidan. Do you expect me to take seriously anyone who claims that they have come from the Otherworld? Did she look like some ephemeral spirit when you spoke with her?’

  Aidan did not look reassured. ‘I told you she was a strange woman. She was not young nor, I would say, handsome. Her features were so sharp that she looked as if she had hardly any flesh to cover the bones. The skin so white, the eyes so dark and piercing …’ He halted when he noticed the smile spreading on Fidelma’s features again.

  ‘I can only repeat what I saw,’ he added in a hurt tone.

  ‘I don’t doubt your observation,’ Fidelma said kindly. ‘It is only your sense of humour that I think is missing.’

  ‘But consider it, lady,’ Aidan countered. ‘The threefold death, the ritual of the ancient religion. Now this stranger arrives with curses on this place and claims to be from the House of Donn.’

  ‘Well, if that is what the woman claimed,’ Eadulf put in, his tone revealing nothing of the dread that he secretly felt, ‘then her intention was to get herself noticed. I would say that she has succeeded.’

  ‘She has succeeded very well,’ Fidelma added, ‘cleverly timing her visit to make her claims when the feast of Samhain starts tomorrow night – and with all the ancient beliefs about what could happen that night.’

  FOUR

  By the time they returned to the town square, no longer on foot but on horseback, the place was thronged with people. Several men were rebuilding the damaged pile of logs and stacking more. They were being directed by a burly, red-faced fellow, whose instructions to his helpers showed his impatience. Some merchants had now set up their daily stalls with goods they had brought in from the surrounding farms, including cuts of meat and fresh fish. For Cashel, the ordinary trading day had started, perhaps a little late but there was no sign now that anything had been amiss. Fidelma was busily scanning the crowd.

  ‘There is no sign of your ghostly woman from the House of Donn,’ she remarked lightly to Aidan, who rode behind them.

  Aidan ignored her gibe. He had also been searching among the groups milling about. In fact, he had called out to one or two people that he recognised and asked if they had seen a female stranger but received only negative answers.

  They made their way across the square towards the growing pile of logs. The muscular, red-faced man paused in supervising the others and raised his hand in salutation.

  ‘A bad business this, lady,’ he greeted her in a low voice, as she halted before him. ‘I am Curnan, the woodsman whose task was to prepare the Samhain bonfire this year.’

  ‘I see that you are working hard to repair the damage,’ she commented, indicating the woodpile.

  ‘There was not much to repair,’ admitted the man. ‘Whoever put the body into the pile knew how to adjust the lower branches so that it did not cause the rest to collapse.’

  Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully. The man appeared to support what Eadulf had already observed. ‘You mean some care was given to hiding the body?’ she asked for clarification. ‘It was not just pushed into the pile?’

  Curnan rubbed a hand across his sweating brow. ‘Lady, there is an art to building bonfires. You could dislodge everything if you did not know what you were doing. Remove a centre strut and the entire pile would come crashing down. That is why it has become the
tradition of woodsmen such as me to build the Samhain bonfires here in Cashel for generation after generation.’

  ‘But,’ Aidan intervened, ‘from what we have been told, the deed was done during the night. How could that be, if things were so delicately balanced and liable to topple if the wrong piece of wood was touched?’

  ‘Doesn’t that just prove what I said?’ countered Curnan. ‘Whoever did this was knowledgeable about fires and how to build them. Any idea who it was and why? Tomorrow night is Samhain and I would not like to find other bodies hidden in this pile before then.’

  Fidelma replied honestly, ‘At the moment, Curnan, I have little information to give.’ She hesitated. ‘You work in the western forests, don’t you?’

  Curnan nodded slowly. ‘I work in the forests between here and the great river.’

  ‘Did you know the murdered man?’ was her next question.

  ‘I am told it was Spelán. I would have thought most people who drank at Rumann’s tavern knew him by sight.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about the man?’

  ‘Ah, apart from his drinking? He once ran a flock of sheep on the Hill of the Bullock, or did until the start of the summer. Few people liked him so there is not much to tell. He was secretive and discouraged questions.’

  ‘I heard that he was married?’

  ‘That is so.’ Curnan scowled. ‘She was a member of my own tuath, the Sítae. Our clan dwells on those hills and in the forests. Her name was Caoimhe.’

  ‘Was?’ Fidelma caught the past tense.

  ‘She died of a fever earlier this year, so I was told.’

  ‘So she’s dead?’ Fidelma hid her disappointment. ‘I am sorry. Did Spelán take over the flock?’

  Curnan shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t seen sheep on the Hill of the Bullock in many months. He would never speak to me anyway.’