Whispers of the Dead sf-15

by Peter Tremayne

  “But what destination?” demanded Brother Donngal.

  “If she came to Durrow, she would have come to the abbey,” Laisran pointed out. “She did not.”

  “True enough. We are left with two types of places she might have gone. The house of a noble, a chieftain, or, perhaps, a bruighean, an inn. I believe that we will find the place where she met her death within five or six kilometers of this abbey.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “A deduction. The corpse newly dead and the murderer wanting to dispose of it as quickly as possible. Whoever killed her reclothed her body and transported it to the spot where it was found. They could not have traveled far.”

  Abbot Laisran rubbed his chin.

  “Whoever it was, they took a risk in disposing of it in the woods so near this abbey.”

  “Perhaps not. If memory serves me right, those woods are the thickest stretch of forest in this area even though they are close to the abbey. Are they that frequented?”

  Abbot Laisran shrugged.

  “It is true that Brother Torcan does not often venture so far into the woods in search of fungi,” he admitted. “He came on the corpse purely by chance.”

  “So the proximity of the abbey was not necessarily a caution to our murderer. Well, are there such places as I described within the distance I have estimated?”

  “An inn or a chieftain’s house? North of here is Ballacolla, where there is an inn. South of here is Ballyconra where the Lord of Conra lives.”

  “Who is he? Describe him?”

  “A young man, newly come to office there. I know little about him, although he came here to pay his respects to me when he took office. When I came to Durrow as abbot the young man’s father was lord of Ballyconra but his son was away serving in the army of the High King. He is a bachelor newly returned from the wars against the Uí Néill.”

  “Then we shall have to learn more,” observed Fidelma dryly. She glanced through the window at the cloudy sky.

  “There is still an hour before sunset,” she reflected. “Have Brother Torcan meet me at the gates so that he may conduct me to the spot where he found the body.”

  “What use would that be?” demanded the abbot. “There was nothing in the clearing apart from the body.”

  Fidelma did not answer.

  With a sigh, the abbot went off to find the religieux.

  Half an hour later Brother Torcan was showing her the small clearing. Behind her, Abbot Laisran fretted with impatience. Fidelma was looking at a pathway which led into it. It was just wide enough to take a small cart. She noticed some indentations of hooves and ruts, undoubtedly caused by the passage of wheels.

  “Where does that track lead?” she asked, for they had entered the clearing by a different single path.

  It was the abbot who answered.

  “Eventually it would link to the main road south. South to Ballyconra,” he added significantly.

  The sky was darkening now and Fidelma sighed.

  “In the morning I shall want to see this young Lord of Conra. But it is pointless continuing on tonight. We’d best go back to the abbey.”

  The next morning, accompanied by the abbot, Fidelma rode south. Ballyconra itself was a large settlement. There were small farm-steads and a collection of dwellings for workers. In one nearby field, a root crop was being harvested and workers were loading the crop onto small carts pulled by single asses. The track twisted through the village and passed a stream where women were laying out clothes to dry on the banks while others stirred fabrics into a metal cauldron hanging over a fire. The pungent smell of dyes told Fidelma what process was taking place.

  Some paused in their work and called a greeting to the abbot, seeking a blessing, as they rode by. They ascended the track through another field toward a large building. It was an isolated structure which was built upon what must once have been a hillfort. A young man came cantering toward them from its direction, sitting easily astride a sleek black mare.

  “This is young Conri, Lord of Conra,” muttered Laisran as they halted and waited for the man to approach.

  Fidelma saw that the young man was handsome and dark-featured. It was clear from his dress and his bearing that he was a man of rank and action. A scar across his forehead indicated he had followed a military profession. It seemed to add to his personality rather than detract from it.

  “Good morning, Abbot.” He greeted Laisran pleasantly before turning to Fidelma. “Good morning, Sister. What brings you to Ballyconra?”

  Fidelma interrupted as Laisran was opening his mouth to explain.

  “I am a dálaigh. You would appear to be expecting visitors, Lord of Conra. I observed you watching our approach from the hill beyond the fortress before you rode swiftly down to meet us.”

  The young man’s eyes widened a little and then he smiled sadly.

  “You have a sharp eye, dálaigh. As a matter of fact, I have been expecting the arrival of my wife during these last few days. I saw only the shape of a woman on horseback and thought for a moment. .”

  “Your wife?” asked Fidelma quickly, glancing at Laisran.

  “She is Segnat, daughter of the lord of Tir Bui,” he said without disguising his pride.

  “You say you have been expecting her?”

  “Any day now. I thought you might have been her. We were married only three months ago in Tir Bui, but I had to return here immediately on matters pertaining to my people. Segnat was to come on after me but she has been delayed in starting out on her journey. I only had word a week ago that she was about to join me.”

  Fidelma looked at him thoughtfully.

  “What has delayed her for so long?”

  “Her father fell ill when we married and has only died recently. She was his only close kin and she stayed to nurse him.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  The young man nodded, frowning.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Indulge me for a moment, Lord of Conra.”

  “Of twenty years, golden hair and blue eyes. What is the meaning of these questions?”

  Fidelma did not reply directly.

  “The road from Tir Bui would bring a traveler from the north through Ballacolla and around the abbey, wouldn’t it?”

  Conri looked surprised.

  “It would,” he agreed irritably. “I say again, why these questions?”

  “I am a dálaigh,” repeated Fidelma gravely. “It is my nature to ask questions. But the body of a young woman has been found in the woods near the abbey and we are trying to identify her.”

  Conri blinked rapidly.

  “Are you saying that this might be Segnat?”

  Fidelma’s expression was sympathetic.

  “We are merely making inquiries of the surrounding habitations to see if anything is known of a missing young woman.”

  Conri raised his jaw defiantly.

  “Well, Segnat is not missing. I expect her arrival any time.”

  “But perhaps you would come to the abbey this afternoon and look at the body? This is merely a precaution to eliminate the possibility of it being Segnat.”

  The young man compressed his lips stubbornly.

  “It could not possibly be Segnat.”

  “Regretfully, all things are possible. It is merely that some are more unlikely than others. We would appreciate your help. A negative identification is equally as helpful as a positive one.”

  Abbot Laisran finally broke in.

  “The abbey would be grateful for your cooperation, Lord of Conra.”

  The young man hesitated and then shrugged.

  “This afternoon, you say? I shall be there.”

  He turned his horse sharply and cantered off.

  Laisran exchanged a glance with Fidelma.

  “Was this useful?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she replied.

  “We can now turn our attention to the inn which you tell me is north of the abbey Ballacolla.”


  Laisran’s face lightened.

  “Ah, I see what you are about.”

  Fidelma smiled at him.

  “You do?”

  “It is as you said, a negative is equally as important as a positive. You have produced a negative with young Conri, so now we will seek the identity of the murdered one in the only possible place.”

  Fidelma continued to smile as they turned northward back toward the abbey and beyond to Ballacolla.

  The inn stood at a crossroads, a sprawling dark building. They were turning into the yard when a muscular woman of middle age driving a small mule cart halted, almost blocking the entrance. The woman remained seated on her cart, glowering in displeasure at them.

  “Religious!” She almost spat the word.

  Fidelma regarded her with raised eyebrows.

  “You sound as if you are not pleased to see us,” she observed in amusement.

  “It is the free hospitality provided by religious houses that takes away the business from poor people such as myself,” grunted the woman.

  “Well, we might be here to purchase some refreshment,” placated Fidelma.

  “If you can pay for it, you will find my husband inside. Let him know your wants.”

  Fidelma made no effort to move out of her way.

  “I presume that you are the innkeeper?”

  “And if I am?”

  “I would like to ask you a few questions. Did a young woman pass this way two nights ago? A young woman who would have arrived along the northern road from Tir Bui.”

  The big woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “What is that to you?”

  “I am a dálaigh and my questions must be answered,” replied Fidelma firmly.

  “What is your name, innkeeper?”

  The woman blinked. She seemed ready to argue, but then she compressed her lips for a moment. To refuse to answer a dálaigh’s questions laid one open to fines for obstructing justice. A keeper of a public hostel had specific obligations before the law.

  “My name is Corbnait,” she conceded reluctantly.

  “And the answer to my first question?”

  Corbnait lifted her heavy shoulders and let them fall expressively.

  “There was a woman who came here three nights ago. She merely wanted a meal and fodder for her horse. She was from Tir Bui.”

  “Did she tell you her name?”

  “Not as I recall.”

  “Was she young, fair of skin with spun gold hair in a single braid?”

  The innkeeper nodded slowly.

  “That was her.” Suddenly an angry expression crossed the big woman’s face. “Is she complaining about my inn or of the service that she received here? Is she?”

  Fidelma shook her head.

  “She is beyond complaining, Corbnait. She is dead.”

  The woman blinked again and then said sullenly: “She did not die of any food that was served on my premises. I keep a good house here.”

  “I did not specify the manner of her death.” Fidelma paused.

  “I see you drive a small cart.”

  Corbnait looked surprised at the sudden switch of subject.

  “So do many people. I have to collect my supplies from the outlying farms. What is wrong with that?”

  “Do you also dye clothes at your inn?”

  “Dye clothes? What games are you playing with me, Sister?” Corbnait glanced from Abbot Laisran back to Fidelma as if she considered that she was dealing with dangerous lunatics. “Everyone dyes their own clothes unless they be a lord or lady.”

  “Please show me your hands and arms,” Fidelma pressed.

  The woman glanced again from one to another of them but seeing their impassive faces she decided not to argue. She sighed and held out her burly forearms. There was no sign of any dye stains on them.

  “Satisfied?” she snapped.

  “You keep your hands well cared for,” observed Fidelma.

  The woman sniffed.

  “What do I have a husband for if not to do the dirty work?”

  “But I presume you served the girl with her meal?”

  “That I did.”

  “Did she talk much?”

  “A little. She told me she was on the way to join her husband. He lives some way to the south of the abbey.”

  “She didn’t stay here for the night?”

  “She was anxious to reach her husband. Young love!” The woman snorted in disgust.

  “It’s a sickness you grow out of. The handsome prince you thought you married turns out to be a lazy good-for-nothing! Take my husband-”

  “You had the impression that she was in love with her husband?” cut in Fidelma.

  “Oh yes.”

  “She mentioned no problems, no concerns?”

  “None at all.”

  Fidelma paused, thinking hard.

  “Was she alone during the time she was at the inn? No one else spoke to her? Were there any other guests?”

  “There was only my husband and myself. My husband tended to her horse. She was particular about its welfare. The girl was obviously the daughter of a chieftain for she had a valuable black mare and her clothes were of fine quality.”

  “What time did she leave here?”

  “Immediately after her meal, just two hours to sunset. She said she could reach her destination before nightfall. What happened to her? Was she attacked by a highway robber?”

  “That we have yet to discover,” replied Fidelma. She did not mention that a highway robber could be discounted simply by the means of the poor girl’s death. The manner of her death was, in fact, her most important clue. “I want to have a word with your husband now.”

  Corbnait frowned.

  “Why do you want to speak with Echen? He can tell you nothing.”

  Fidelma’s brows drew together sternly.

  “I will be the judge of that.”

  Corbnait opened her mouth, saw a look of steadfast determination on Fidelma’s face, and then shrugged. She suddenly raised her voice in a shrill cry.

  “Echen!”

  It startled the patient ass and Fidelma’s and Abbot Laisran’s horses. They shied and were skittish for a few moments before they were brought under control.

  A thin, ferret-faced man came scuttling out of the barn.

  “You called, my dear?” he asked mildly. Then he saw Abbot Laisran, whom he obviously recognized, and bobbed servilely before him, rubbing his hands together. “You are welcome, noble Laisran,” before turning to Fidelma and adding, “You are welcome, also, Sister. You bless our house by your presence. . ”

  “Peace, man!” snapped his burly wife. “The dálaigh wants to ask you some questions.”

  The little man’s eyes widened.

  “Dálaigh?”

  “I am Fidelma of Cashel.” Fidelma’s gaze fell on his twisted hands.

  “I see that you have blue dye on your hands, Echen.”

  The man looked at his hands in bewilderment.

  “I have just been mixing some dyes, Sister. I am trying to perfect a certain shade of blue from glaisin and dubh-poill. . there is a sediment of intense blackness which is found in the bottom of pools in bogs which I mix with the glaisin to produce a dark blue. .”

  “Quiet! The sister does not want to listen to your prattling!” admonished Corbnait.

  “On the contrary,” snapped Fidelma, irritated by the bullying woman, “I would like to know if Echen was at his dye work when the young woman was here the other night.”

  Echen frowned.

  “The young woman who stayed only for a meal and to fodder her horse,” explained his wife. “The black mare.”

  The man’s face cleared.

  “I only started this work today. I remember the girl. She was anxious to press on to her destination.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “Only to exchange words about her instructions for her horse, and then she went into the inn for a meal. She was there an hour or so, isn�
��t that correct, dearest? Then she rode on.”

  “She rode away alone,” added Corbnait, “just as I have told you.”

  Echen opened his mouth, caught his wife’s eye, and then snapped it shut again.

  Fidelma did not miss the action.

  “Did you want to add something, Echen?” she prompted.

  Echen hesitated.

  “Come, if you have something to add, you must speak up!” Fidelma said sharply.

  “It’s just. . well, the girl did not ride away entirely alone.”

  His wife turned with a scowl.

  “There was no one else at the inn that night. What do you mean, man?”

  “I helped her onto her horse and she left the inn but as she rode toward the south I saw someone driving a small donkey cart join her on the brow of the hill.”

  “Someone joined her? Male or female?” demanded Fidelma. “Did you see?”

  “Male.”

  Abbot Laisran spoke for the first time.

  “That must be our murderer then,” he said with a sigh.

  “A highway robber, after all. Now we shall never know who the culprit was.”

  “Highway robbers do not drive donkey carts,” Fidelma pointed out.

  “It was no highway robber,” confirmed Echen.

  They swung ’round on the little man in surprise.

  “Then tell them who it was, you stupid man!” yelled Corbnait at her unfortunate spouse.

  “It was young Finn,” explained Echen, hurt by the rebuke he had received. “He herds sheep on Slieve Nuada, just a mile from here.”

  “Ah, a strange one that!” Corbnait said, as if all was explained to her satisfaction. “Both his parents died three years ago. He’s been a recluse ever since. Unnatural, I call it.”

  Fidelma looked from Corbnait to Echen and then said, “I want one of you to ride to the abbey and look at the corpse so we can be absolutely sure that this was the girl who visited here. It is important that we are sure of her identity.”

  “Echen can do it. I am busy,” grumbled Corbnait.

  “Then I want directions to where this shepherd Finn dwells.”