Badger's Moon sf-13

by Peter Tremayne

  Becc, sitting easily on horseback, continued to appear relaxed, only his eyes now narrowed slightly.

  ‘Your voice is being heard, Brocc,’ the chieftain pointed out softly. Only those who knew him well could appreciate the dangerous tone in his voice.

  But Brocc did not know him so well. He turned to the crowd and appealed to those who had held their ground.

  ‘There have been deaths in this community. Violent, terrible deaths of young girls. Last night Ballgel, a cousin of mine who worked in the kitchens of our own chieftain’s fortress, was slaughtered on her way home. She is now the third young girl to be slaughtered at the time of the full moon. Did not Escrach, my brother’s only child, suffer this same terrible death last month? And when did these slaughters begin? They began at the time when Abbot Brogán first gave hospitality to the three dark strangers. Black is their colour and black are their deeds. We shall have justice. Bring them out to face punishment.’

  There was a murmur of approval, slightly more muted than previously in view of the armed warriors. But it was clear that Brocc had strong support among the local people.

  Becc leant forward a little in his saddle. ‘Where is your evidence, Brocc?’ His tone was reasonable, almost conversational.

  ‘Evidence was given to your Brehon Aolú,’ replied the man.

  ‘Which he found not to be any evidence at all.’

  ‘And now the old fool is dead. Bring forth a new Brehon and I will give my evidence again.’

  ‘Aolú told you that you had no evidence. What evidence do you now present against the strangers to charge them before a Brehon? Evidence is what is required under the law of this land.’

  Brocc laughed harshly. ‘Their very appearance is the evidence against them!’

  In spite of the growing mutters of approval, the chieftain sat back and smiled grimly.

  ‘So, you have no evidence save your own prejudice?’ he sneered. ‘It is as I have said. You do not want justice; you simply want a sacrifice to your own prejudice. I say again to you, Brocc, and to everyone who now remains before these gates, you stand under the shadow of the Cáin Chiréib. This is the second time that I have uttered this warning to you. I do not want to utter it a third time.’

  Brocc would not be put off. He stood immovable, shaking his head.

  ‘We will not be frightened away from our intention. We aim to enter the abbey and take the strangers and no one will stop us, neither clergy nor you, Becc, and your warriors, if you stand in the way.’

  He lifted his stout cudgel into a menacing position across his chest. He turned to the crowd and raised his voice. ‘Follow me and I will give you justice!’

  No one moved. They were looking beyond Brocc to where Becc and his warriors were seated on their horses. When Brocc turned back he found that Becc had taken his bow and now an arrow was drawn against its string and aimed at him. Brocc was no coward. He blinked in surprise for a moment and then he smiled in his defiance.

  ‘You cannot shoot me down, Becc. I am a céile, a free clansman.’ Becc had lifted the bow slightly in order to bring the arrow flights to the level of his eye. The bow was now fully drawn.

  ‘For the third time, Brocc, I warn you that you stand in the shadow of the Cáin Chiréib. I ask for the third and last time that you proceed to your home and no harm shall come to you. Stay and you will meet the consequences of your disobedience to the law.’

  ‘May you fester in your grave! You would not kill your own people, Becc,’ sneered Brocc. ‘You would not kill us to protect strangers.’ He raised his cudgel and called to the crowd. ‘Follow me! Let us have just-’

  His words ended in a scream of pain.

  Becc had released his arrow, and it had embedded itself in Brocc’s thigh. For a moment the man stood, his eyes wide, an aghast expression on his features. Then he collapsed and fell writhing to the ground, groaning in agony. No one else moved. No one spoke.

  Becc turned with an angry frown. ‘You have been warned three times. Now, disperse to your homes!’ His voice was harsh.

  With a quiet muttering but with alacrity, the mob vanished. Within a moment there was no one left out of the menacing crowd but the crumpled figure of Brocc.

  Becc swung down from his horse as Abbot Brogán came hurrying forward.

  ‘Thanks be to God that you came quickly, my lord Becc. I feared that the abbey would be violated.’

  Becc turned to his steward, Adag, who was also dismounting. ‘Take Brocc to the forus tuaithe and have them tend his wound. It is only a flesh wound, painful but not debilitating. Ensure that he is confined there to await a hearing before a Brehon for his violation of the law.’

  The forus tuaithe was, literally, ‘the house of the territory’, which served as the clan hospital. Each territory had such hospitals, either secular ones governed under the direct cognisance of the Brehons or monastic charitable institutions under the direction and management of the local abbot.

  Adag hauled Brocc to his feet, perhaps a little too roughly. The burly man groaned and clutched at him for support. Blood was spurting from his wound.

  ‘May a great choking come on you,’ Brocc groaned, his eyes smouldering with hate at Becc. ‘May you die roaring!’

  Becc smiled back into the man’s malignant features. ‘Your curses are not harmful to me, Brocc. And remember, when you pronounce your maledictions, that it is said that under a tree falls its own foliage.’

  He glanced at Adag and nodded slightly. The steward began to drag the wounded man away in none too gentle a fashion.

  ‘In case you don’t know the old saying, Brocc,’ Adag, the steward, whispered in cheerful explanation, ‘it means that if you invoke a curse and it does not harm the person against whom you have aimed it, it will fall on your own head. I would seek an act of contrition before the abbot to avoid its consequence.’

  Behind them, Becc had turned back to the old abbot.

  ‘This is a bad business, Abbot Brogán,’ the chieftain was saying as he unstrung his bow and hooked it onto his saddle.

  The old religieux nodded. ‘I fear that the people are terror-stricken. If it was not Brocc, then someone else would put their terror to some ill use. Three young girls have been butchered and each one at the full of the moon.’ He shivered, crossed himself and mumbled, ‘Absit omen!’

  ‘What do the strangers have to say about their whereabouts last night?’

  ‘They each swear that they did not stir from the abbey and, in this matter, I do not know what to do. Should I tell them to be gone from the sanctuary of the abbey? That I can no longer give them protection and hospitality?’

  Becc shook his head quickly. ‘If they are not guilty that would be an injustice and we would be guilty of a great crime for violating the law of hospitality. If they are guilty, then, equally, it would be wrong, for we would have dispersed them into the world without trial and, perhaps, to perpetuate their crimes elsewhere.’

  ‘Then what must we do?’ queried the abbot. ‘I can see no solution.’

  Becc stood rubbing his chin as though deep in thought. In fact, he had been considering the problem ever since Brother Solam had brought him the news a short while before, and his plan was already in place. But Becc was not one who wished it to appear that his decisions were arbitrary. Aolú had been Brehon of the Cinél na Áeda for forty years when, three weeks previously, the old man had taken sick and died. Becc had been contemplating how he could replace the old judge. Within the Cinél na Áeda there were several minor judges but none of the rank and authority to replace Aolú as the senior judge of the clan.

  ‘I believe that we should call in the services of a Brehon from outside our temtory. The local Brehons, upright and honourable justices though they may be, might not carry the influence and potency to quell the panic that is growing among the villagers.’

  The abbot nodded slowly. ‘I agree, my lord Becc. We must first calm the fears of the people and then find out who is behind these senseless killings.’


  Becc pulled a face.

  ‘No killing is without a kind of sense to the person who commits it,’ he rejoined. ‘However, we must find a Brehon of authority.’

  ‘Where would you find such a Brehon, my lord Becc?’ demanded the abbot dubiously.

  ‘I am going to take one of my men and we shall ride to the king’s court at Cashel. King Colgú will advise us, for we can appeal to no higher authority in the land than our king.’

  ‘Cashel?’ Abbot Brogán’s eyes widened a little. ‘But that will mean that you will be away for several days upon your journey. It is a long road between here and Cashel.’

  ‘Have no fear. I will leave Accobrán, my tanist, in command with strict orders for your protection and that of the strangers.’ Accobrán had been the tanist, or heir apparent, to the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda for less than a year. He was a young warrior, who had proved his courage in the recent wars against the rebellious Uí Fidgente. Becc smiled complacently. ‘I doubt whether anyone will attempt to attack the abbey again in view of the manner in which I have dealt with Brocc. The people will think twice about noting having seen the consequences of their disobedience.’

  ‘There is that, of course,’ the abbot agreed. ‘But I was thinking of the potential harm coming to any more of our young women.’

  Becc fingered his beard thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I would have thought that observation would discount such a fear, abbot.’

  The old man frowned. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘The three young women were all slaughtered on the full of the moon. A ritual and gruesome death. We now lack an entire month until the next full of the moon. Our young women should be safe until then.’

  The abbot’s face was grave. Becc had articulated the very fear that he had been trying to drive from his mind since the news of the second slaughter had been brought to him and had now been reinforced by the third killing.

  ‘The full of the moon,’ he sighed. ‘Then you agree, Becc, we are dealing with some madman…someone who needs to perform his or her killing ritual by the light of the full moon?’

  ‘That much is self-evident, Abbot Brogán. I will leave for Cashel this afternoon in search of a Brehon of reputation. We have until the next full of the moon before evil strikes at us once again.’

  Chapter Two

  Eadulf entered the chamber where Fidelma was stretched out in a chair in front of a fire. There was an autumnal chill in the early evening air which permeated the great grey stone halls of the palace of Cashel in spite of the woollen tapestries that covered the walls and the rugs that cushioned the flags of the floors and were supposed to give warmth to the rooms. Eadulf wore a scowl of annoyance on his face and he swung the heavy oak door shut behind him none too gently.

  Fidelma glanced up from the book that she was reading with a frown of irritation. Her book was one of the small satchel books, called a tiag liubhair, intended to be carried easily on pilgrimages and missions to far-off countries. She liked to read beside the fire and such small books could be held in the hand and were ideal for the purpose.

  ‘Hush! You’ll wake Alchú,’ she said reprovingly. ‘He’s only just gone to sleep.’

  Eadulf’s scowl deepened as he crossed the room to the fire.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ enquired Fidlema, suppressing a sudden yawn and laying aside the book. She could recognise the signs when Eadulf was annoyed.

  ‘I have just encountered that old fool, Bishop Petrán,’ Eadulf said tersely, dropping into a chair opposite her. ‘He started giving me a lecture on the benefits of celibacy.’

  Fidelma gave a tired smile. ‘He would, wouldn’t he? Bishop Petrán is a leading advocate of the idea that all members of the religious should be celibate. He holds that celibacy is the ideal of the Christian victory over the evil of worldly things.’

  Eadulf’s expression was moody.

  ‘Such an ideal victory would see humankind disappear from the earth within a few generations.’

  ‘But why did you get involved in argument with old Petrán?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Everyone knows that he is a woman hater and that is probably the cause of his own celibacy. No woman would look at him anyway,’ she added uncharitably.

  ‘He does not approve of our marriage, Fidelma.’

  ‘That is his personal choice. Thanks be to God that there is no law which demands celibacy among the religious…not even among those who give their allegiance, like Petrán, to the rules and philosophies now accepted in Rome. There are certain groups in the New Faith who argue that those who serve and give their love to the Christ cannot give their love to a single, fellow human being as well. They are misguided. If there were laws telling us to put our natural emotions in chains, the world would be so much the poorer.’

  Eadulf grimaced dourly. ‘Bishop Petrán claims that Paul of Tarsus demanded the practice of celibacy among his followers.’

  Fidelma sniffed in disapproval. ‘Then you should have quoted to him Paul’s letter to Timothy — “Some will desert from the Faith and give their minds to subversive doctrines inspired by devils, through the specious falsehoods of men whose own conscience is branded with the devil’s sign. They forbid marriage and inculcate abstinence from certain foods, though God created them to be enjoyed with thanksgiving by believers who have inward knowledge of the truth. For everything that God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected when it is taken with thanksgiving, since it is hallowed by God’s own word and by prayer.” Ask Petrán if he denies that God created man and woman and whether marriage is made an honourable estate by him.’

  ‘I don’t think Petrán was disposed to discuss the finer points of the matter with me.’

  Fidelma stretched slightly in her chair. ‘I suspect that Petrán also disapproves of many things that we of Éireann do since he has spent some years in a Frankish monastery among those advocating and practising celibacy. The only chaste men and women are those who are unable to find love with their fellows and so they wrap themselves in cloaks of chastity and pretend they love the intangible, shying away from people of real flesh and blood. If people are forced to suppress the emotion of love for their fellow human beings then they certainly can’t have love for anything else, including God. Anyway, it probably does not matter to us what Petrán thinks as he is shortly to leave on a pilgrimage to the city of Lucca, which is north of Rome, where the Blessed Fridian of Éireann was bishop about a hundred years ago.’

  Eadulf was torn a little between admiration for her philosophical arguments and a feeling of inadequacy. He wished he had the retentive knowledge to quote entire sections of the scriptures, as Fidelma was able to do. The scholars of Éireann had, for centuries, practised the art of memorising entire passages of learning. Indeed, Fidelma had told him that in the times before the New Faith had come to the country, it was traditional that no philosophies of the old religious should be written down. Men and women would spend as many as twenty years learning the ancient codes and practices solely by memory.

  ‘I suppose we are twice damned in Bishop Petrán’s eyes,’ Eadulf said, rising and moving to the corner of the room where a crib stood.

  ‘Don’t wake him,’ Fidelma instructed sharply.

  ‘I won’t,’ Eadulf assured her. He gazed down at the baby that lay asleep there. There were fine strands of red hair across its forehead. Eadulf’s features lightened in a smile of paternal pride. ‘It is still difficult to realise that we have a son,’ he said softly, half to himself.

  Fidelma rose swiftly to join him, laying a hand on his arm. ‘You’ve had four months to grow used to the fact of little Alchú’s arrival in this world.’

  ‘Gentle hound.’ Eadulf translated the name softly as he gazed down at the baby. ‘I wonder what he will grow up to be?’

  Fidelma’s mouth turned down almost in disapproval. ‘There is a great deal of growing ahead of him before we can begin to ask that question, Eadulf.’ She turned back to the fire and sat down again. ‘Sárait should be here soon to loo
k after him for we have been asked to attend a feasting in my brother’s hall this evening.’

  Eadulf rejoined her at the fire. Sárait was Fidelma’s servant, who also occupied the position of nursemaid to little Alchú. While living in her brother’s palace of Cashel, Fidelma was not treated as a religieuse of the Faith but, according to her right, as an Eóghanacht princess, sister to the king of Muman.

  ‘What is the occasion for this feasting?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘I am told that the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda arrived this afternoon and is seeking my brother’s help. Colgú has asked us to join him at the meal.’

  ‘Help? What sort of help?’

  Fidelma shrugged indifferently. ‘I do not know, and have been wondering what brings him to Cashel at this time. Doubtless, our curiosity will be assuaged at the feasting.’

  ‘And who are the Cinél na Áeda? I thought I knew most peoples of your kingdom but I cannot recall hearing of them.’

  ‘They dwell in the hills south of the River Bride. That’s an easy two-day ride to the south-west of here. The chieftain’s fortress is a place called Rath Raithlen. The chieftain is called Becc and he is a distant cousin of mine, for his people are a sept of the Eóghanacht. Becc’s grandfather Fedelmid was king of Cashel some four score years ago. I haven’t seen Becc or been in his territory since I was a little girl.’

  ‘So, it is not often that he visits Cashel?’

  ‘He visits rarely,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Except for important convocations of the assembly of the kingdom, Becc never comes here on social visits.’

  In fact, Fidelma was more curious about the reason for her distant cousin’s visit than Eadulf. She was still turning the matter over in her mind when she and Eadulf made their way to the private chambers of Colgú, king of Muman. The king’s steward had informed them that Colgú wanted to see them in his private chambers before going into the feasting hall. The young king was waiting alone to receive them. There was no doubt as to the relationship of Colgú and Fidelma for both had the same tall build, the same red hair and changeable green eyes. They shared the same facial structure and the same indefinable quality of movement.