Fidelma would have liked to follow Brancheó immediately, just to see if she could question her. But etiquette dictated that she could not leave an official feast before the King left or gave her permission. And to do so before the guests started to leave was unthinkable. The musicians had entered the feasting hall by now and had begun to prepare themselves. Fidelma was shocked that some guests, on seeing the King’s condition, were not obeying protocol. Brother Mac Raith’s party, for instance, were having some trouble leaving because the young poet of the Uí Briúin Seóla also seemed to be in a hurry to pass through the door before them, forcing them to stand aside. It crossed her mind that Febal might have left in pursuit of Gormán and the prisoner.
Colgú now lay slumped with his head on the table. Princess Gelgéis smiled sadly at Fidelma.
‘Your brother has had enough entertainment for the evening,’ she said. ‘I know that he has been under some strain, for he seems to take this curse more seriously than I would have expected. I will get Dar Luga to find attendants to assist him to his chamber.’
Fidelma returned the girl’s smile with sympathy. ‘I can only say that this behaviour is not my brother’s usual way of dealing with such matters. I apologise.’
However, it was now the appropriate opportunity to leave the feasting hall for a while. She asked Eadulf to remain, saying that she would return shortly. As Fidema left the hall, she noted that Brother Mac Raith and two of his companions were still talking animatedly in the passage outside. With a nod to them she reached the line of cloaks hanging in the corridor and took her own woollen one, draping it around her shoulders. Then she hurried out into the chilly courtyard and peered round with the help of burning brand torches which lit the paved area with a flickering light. She could see no sign of Gormán or of Brancheó, although she spotted the figure of a religieux vanishing towards the chapel and presumed it was the third scholar in Brother Mac Raith’s group.
‘Your brother organises a good feast, lady,’ a voice said close by. She turned and found Febal leaning against the wall. She had the impression he was regarding her in amusement. ‘But it was too liquid in form for my taste. I must also say that music is fine and the contention of the poets is better entertainment than the one he provided.’
‘I apologise for the shortcomings of the feast, Febal,’ she replied quietly. ‘It is not often my brother takes more wine than is good for him. He, as are we all, is worried about recent events. You will forgive our lack of etiquette.’
Leaving him with dignity, she went across the courtyard. There was still no sign of Gormán or the woman as she hurried to the gates. Enda was on duty and he looked surprised when she asked him if Gormán had taken Brancheó to the cells set aside for prisoners.
‘Gormán has already left the fortress,’ Enda replied. ‘He did so only moments ago.’
‘He’s left?’ Fidelma was taken aback.
‘I think he was upset by something the King said to him. He told me that he felt the King no longer needed him. Dego is now in charge. So he has gone to be with his mother and wife at the big fire in the town square.’
Fidelma groaned inwardly. It was clear that Gormán had felt Colgú’s insult keenly.
‘And the woman he was escorting – she is back in the cells?’
‘Why, no, lady. Gormán released her at the gate.’
‘Released the woman?’ Fidelma tried to keep her amazement in check. ‘Wasn’t she taken to the guard room?’
Enda was bewildered. ‘Why should she be?’
‘Because I wanted to question her, that’s why.’ Fidelma felt her dismay give way to anger.
‘But Gormán thought she was to be released,’ Enda protested. ‘The King himself told the woman to go. Gormán took her to the gate and told her to be on her way. So she left first. Then he spoke to me to tell me that Dego had been left in charge. After that, he left.’
Fidelma groaned loudly.
‘What is it, lady?’
Fidelma realised that she could not blame Gormán. Her brother’s order was not specific, and due to his drunken state it was easy to mistake his meaning. This Gormán had done. ‘Tell the woman to be gone.’ He had simply been following orders.
‘It’s all right, Enda,’ she said, calming her thoughts. ‘It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.’
She walked slowly to the centre of the gates, with a puzzled Enda escorting her, and stood looking out across the township. She could see, across the darkness that separated the elevated limestone rock on which the fortress was built, the township silhouetted against the smoky orange glow which was arising from the great fire on the square. For a moment or two she was in half a mind to go down into the darkness herself, towards the fire in pursuit of the woman known as the raven-caller. Then the thought occurred to her that if anything were to happen to fulfil the woman’s prophecy, she should not go off alone and unprotected, that night of all nights. If any Otherworld vengeance was going to overtake her family, she should not put herself in harm’s way. She could not help the sudden violent shiver that ran through her.
‘It’s a cold night, lady,’ Enda observed sympathetically, misinterpreting the cause of the motion.
Fidelma smiled in the darkness, realising that she was almost as bad as her brother; making herself believe in this mysticism. ‘The great fire is dying now,’ she indicated the township with a nod of her head. ‘The moon will soon be descending and people will be going homeward.’
Enda chuckled. ‘Those that are capable of finding their way, lady. I’m sure that Rumann will make a good profit from his brewery this night.’
Fidelma agreed. ‘I suppose there is some escape from the shadows of the Otherworld in alcohol,’ she muttered. She glanced around the tall walls and towers of her brother’s palace and drew her cloak more protectively around her. It was suddenly very cold.
TWELVE
There was a distant sound of a voice calling and a muffled banging noise. Fidelma stirred in the warmth of the bed and opened her eyes. She became aware that it was daylight. Beside her, Eadulf was yawning in protest, still unwilling to wake. It took several moments for her to realise that it was well past dawn. It was the first day of the New Year. The Samhain festival had passed. It had passed and she had not been visited by any vengeful beings from the Otherworld! She breathed out in a long sigh of relief and began to smile.
But someone was still hammering on the door of their chamber.
‘What is it?’ she managed to mumble.
The door opened and Muirgen the nurse came in, looking anxious.
‘Forgive me, lady. That young warrior, Aidan, is outside. He demands to speak to you immediately.’
Fidelma blinked a moment. Eadulf was still half awake.
Muirgen repeated herself. ‘It is beyond first light and the warrior Aidan wants to speak with you both – urgently.’
Fidelma now came to her full senses and reached out to clutch her robe, swinging out of bed to draw it on. ‘All right, Muirgen; let him come in.’ Saying this, she went to a water jug and poured herself a drink. As she swallowed, Eadulf sat up and was massaging his forehead, groaning quietly now and then.
‘Why is it that we are continually pestered by people wanting to speak with us before we can finish a decent night’s sleep?’ he grumbled, in between attempts to massage away his discomfort.
‘Too much corma?’ reproved Fidelma, without sympathy. She returned to a little jug, removed its cork and poured some of the liquid into another cup before handing it to Eadulf. ‘Better take that to get rid of your headache. It’s Brother Conchobhar’s remedy; a distillation from willow leaves.’
‘It would have been insulting to refuse to drink the many toasts that your kindred kept proposing last night,’ Eadulf grunted between swallows of the liquid and screwing up his face as he did so at the taste. ‘Intoxicating liquor is always part of these wretched celebrations but I had to follow custom.’
‘You did not have to try to follow the exa
mple of my brother,’ she said. ‘His behaviour was unseemly for a leader of his people.’
‘I have never seen him in such a mood as last night,’ Eadulf admitted. ‘I almost think that he really believed in that woman with her prophecies and was expecting the worst and so drank to shut out the spiritual visitations.’
Fidelma gave a snort. ‘And I suppose your rendition of that pagan Saxon song was also to keep evil spirits at bay?’
Eadulf frowned. He seemed to recall singing something. ‘It would have been a song of the East Angles,’ he protested automatically, trying to remember what it had been.
‘It was a song about some goddess of your people called Eostre,’ sniffed Fidelma, ‘and something about fertility and the New Year.’
‘The New Year?’ Eadulf stared at the light coming through the window. Then his mind jolted wide awake. ‘It’s morning!’ he exclaimed unnecessarily. ‘Samhain has come. Has anything happened? The first day is here and—’
‘And Donn, the god of death, has claimed his victim as it was predicted he would.’ Aidan’s hollow voice sounded from the doorway.
They swung round to the young warrior as he made his dramatic entrance.
‘I am sorry to disturb you thus, lady, and you, friend Eadulf,’ he went on apologetically. ‘I have just come from the town square below. A body has been found in front of the dead embers of the Samhain bonfire. From what I saw, it is another of those threefold deaths. The wounds were inflicted in the very same manner in which Spelán met his end. The body was laid out ready for burial and placed there for all to see this morning.’
Eadulf gave a sharp intake of breath but Fidelma controlled her reaction. ‘Has this body been identified?’ she asked quietly.
‘It has, lady.’
The pause was tantalising and more than Eadulf could bear. ‘Then for God’s sake, tell us. The curse was on the Eóghanacht! Whose body is it?’ he demanded.
‘It is that of the woman who called herself Brancheó.’
The town square was eerily silent. Apart from the two warriors standing guard by the burnt-out remains of the great bonfire, and the object that lay on the ground before it, there were just a few people gathered nervously before the tavern door, the figure of Rumann among them. They stood watching as Fidelma and Eadulf, accompanied by Aidan, came into the square and made towards the warriors.
No words were spoken as Fidelma bent down to the figure on the ground. A warrior’s cloak had been thrown across it. She drew it back.
‘Has anything been disturbed?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, lady,’ replied one of the warriors. ‘You see the body as we found it. I placed my cloak over it for decency’s sake.’
The body lay on its back, arms and legs straight, the face in repose with eyes closed. There was no mistaking the features of the woman who called herself Brancheó, the raven-caller.
‘Eadulf?’
Eadulf bent in obedience at the side of the corpse and started to make a quick observation.
‘A wound over the heart, the throat cut and …’ he raised the head slightly and turned it. ‘Yes, there has been a powerful blow to the back of the head.’
‘Just like Spelán?’ Aidan asked, standing behind them. There was some emotion in his voice.
‘Just like Spelán,’ echoed Eadulf softly.
‘Except for one thing.’
Eadulf frowned at Fidelma. ‘Which is?’ he asked, casting his eyes over the corpse.
‘There is no odour from the body.’
Eadulf sniffed. ‘Ah, true – the smell of lavender is lacking. Is that important?’
Fidelma rose to her feet without replying and looked at the warriors.
‘Who found the body?’
One of the men looked awkwardly at his companion and then decided he should be spokesman.
‘I believe it was the tavern-keeper, Rumann. He said that he discovered it at first light, lady. I am told that he did not move anything until he sent for us.’
‘I will question him in a moment. Presumably that body was put here after the Samhain celebration ceased. When would that have been – do you know?’
‘I know the festivities went on until late, lady,’ the warrior replied. ‘It is usual to wait until the Queen of the Night is waning in the sky before people return home on the Samhain feast. It is the hours of deep darkness when the dangers of the Otherworld are at their greatest …’
Fidelma stopped him with a motion of her hand. ‘I am well aware of it. So you are saying that people were here almost until first light?’
‘The tavern-keeper will know. All we know is that he sent his boy to fetch us, then we in turn sent for Aidan. He left us here while he went to alert you.’
‘Were either of you part of the celebrations here during the night?’
The warrior shook his head. ‘We were both on duty at the palace at first light so we were early to bed.’
‘Did you see this woman at the palace last night?’
‘We heard that she was a prisoner there. She was taken by Gormán to the King’s feasting hall and released soon after.’
The second warrior added: ‘As my comrade said, we retired early so we didn’t see her, but we were told she had been allowed to leave the palace and came down into the township at about midnight.’
Eadulf had been examining the ground. ‘I think she was slain elsewhere and the body dragged here and laid out in this fashion. The killer would have had ample time between the waning of the moon and first light to lay the corpse out as if for burial, just like Spelán who was also killed elsewhere.’
‘Except there is a notable difference. Brancheó’s body was laid out with the feet pointing west.’
‘Is that significant?’
‘The New Faith wishes corpses to be laid out with their feet towards the east, towards the risen Christ. The Old Faith points the feet on the path to Otherworld, which is west.’
‘So indications are that the perpetrator is one of the Old Faith?’
‘Or someone wants us to believe so. Very well – you may remove the body to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary. Ask him to check for the Tau-Rho mark and we will talk to him later.’
The warriors looked puzzled and she had to repeat the words ‘Tau-Rho’ distinctly.
‘What now?’ Aidan asked.
‘We will talk to Rumann first and then we will find Gormán and see what he can tell us of what happened after he escorted Brancheó from the feasting hall last night.’
Rumann watched them anxiously as they approached him. The few onlookers who were with him slowly faded into the background. The tavern-keeper’s eyes were darting hither and thither as if seeking something to focus on other than Fidelma.
‘A bad business, lady,’ he muttered in greeting. ‘A very bad business.’
‘When did you find the body, Rumann?’ Fidelma began without preamble.
The innkeeper made a slight motion of his shoulder. ‘I don’t know if it could be described as finding, exactly,’ he prevaricated.
‘Then describe it in your own words. But first, tell me when you did so.’
‘It was before first light.’
‘While it was still dark?’ she enquired. ‘Why were you astir so early? Or was it that you had not gone to bed? I would have imagined the celebrations carried on here most of the night.’
‘This year the feasting was more subdued on account of the death of the shepherd and the threats about the destruction of Cashel by the old gods.’
‘So when did it end?’
‘The moon was in the last cadar of her journey, pale and low. I had several guests who stayed on, of course. They are still asleep even now – the ale had circulated well. However, animals do not tend to themselves and neither do the duties of an innkeeper. So I started my chores early. It was not first light; the darkness was still with us. I came out of the door and glanced across to the remains of the bonfire.’
‘You could still see in the darkness?’ Ead
ulf queried. ‘Was the bonfire still alight?’
‘It had reduced to a glowing pile and it was by that glimmering light that I saw the dark outline of a figure stretched on the ground before it. At first I thought it was merely someone who had taken a little more drink than was good for them and had fallen asleep there. I was about to attend to my own business when I suddenly remembered the laws on drunkenness and the harm that could come to one so incapable, especially so close to the embers of our fire. I knew my responsibilities under the law as a tavern-keeper and while it might be argued that the person had not collapsed and fallen asleep in my tavern, the figure was near enough to it. I did not want to get into trouble with the law.’
‘So you went to examine the figure?’
‘I did so, lady. I took my lantern and went over. It was then I realised that it was the pagan witch; the woman Brancheó who had been cursing Cashel.’
‘How was she lying?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Exactly as she is now; stretched out as if ready to be placed on the fuat, the funeral bier, and taken to her grave.’ He shivered.
‘Nothing was touched?’ enquired Eadulf. ‘You did not move anything?’
‘Nothing at all. I bent over her with the lantern and when I saw the blood glistening at her throat, I realised that she was dead.’
Eadulf looked at him sharply. ‘The blood was glistening, you say?’
‘I saw that her throat had been cut,’ the innkeeper confirmed, and swallowed noisily.
Eadulf addressed Fidelma. ‘If the blood was glistening, it means that it was still moist – not dry. That would indicate that she had been killed only a short time before Rumann found her.’
Fidelma acknowledged the point before turning again to Rumann. ‘So, what did you do next?’
‘I went back to the inn, roused my son and sent him up to the palace to inform the guard. Two warriors came and then Aidan arrived. He went to fetch you and Eadulf. It is a bad, bad business. Maybe there is something to this curse on Cashel? I have an inn to run, lady, and what if it was known that these deaths occurred right outside my door? I would lose my livelihood!’
Night of the Lightbringer Page 20