‘There are several grounds whereby married couples may divorce under our law, Eadulf,’ she explained for his benefit. She turned back to the chieftain. ‘What was the cause in this case? Was it one of the categories where no one is judged to be at fault? Where each went their separate ways without blame?’
Becc shook his head immediately. ‘The divorce of Lesren and Fínmed fell into the other category where blame was clearly judged by the Brehon. Fínmed left Lesren’s house with full compensation and her coibche.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘The coibche is the bride price which the husband may give to his wife or her family.’
‘I know about the coibche,’ replied Eadulf softly.
Becc had the goodness to blush. He had forgotten the relationship between Fidelma and Eadulf. In fact, Eadulf had spent some time studying the Cáin Lánamna, the laws of marriage, with Colgú’s Chief Brehon. He knew that if a wife left her husband, and the fault lay with her, then this coibche, or gift of goods or money, must be returned to the husband. However, if the wife was not at fault when the couple split up then she took the coibche with her and half of any wealth accrued during the period of the marriage.’
‘What was the cause of the divorce?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Lesren was a violent man,’ Becc explained. ‘He used to drink and beat Fínmed. As you know, the right of immediate divorce is allowed to a woman who is struck by her husband. Lesren had to pay a fine to her as well as her coibche. In spite of her entitlement to a marriage settlement as well, Fínmed refused to take anything more from him and left. Lesren was not even grateful that he had been let off lightly. He was angry and never forgave her. When she married Goll, the woodcutter, he was almost beside himself with rage.’
‘But he married again,’ pointed out Eadulf. To Eadulf, logic was logic.
‘He did,’ agreed Becc. ‘He married Bébháil. Although one hears rumours, they seem happy and she bore him the daughter Beccnat but no other child.’
‘What you are implying is that Lesren still harbours a grudge against his former wife and against Goll who married her?’
Becc sighed and inclined his head in a gesture of agreement. ‘That is true. Fínmed married Goll a year before Lesren remarried. They had a son, Gabrán. It became clear, over the years, that resentment still flared between Lesren and Goll.’
‘And what of this accusation by Lesren that Goll was a thief?’ asked Eadulf.
Becc grimaced indifferently. ‘That was a paltry affair. Merely spite. It seemed that Lesren found out that Goll had illegally felled a tree.’
‘Illegally?’ Eadulf frowned. ‘The man is a woodcutter. How would he fell a tree illegally?’
‘Woodcutters have to obey the law along with everyone else. Certain trees in certain areas cannot be cut down without the woodcutter’s seeking the proper permission. There are trees which we call “chieftain trees”, whose illegal felling causes fines to be imposed on the offender. It seems that Goll was under pressure to provide some ash wood. The ash is one of the chieftain trees. Unfortunately, he cut it down without seeking permission of my Brehon or myself.’
Fidelma glanced towards Eadulf.
‘Technically, this would have been considered tree theft,’ she explained before turning back to Becc. ‘But if the fine, as I was told, was a screpall, it was not considered as a theft with intent.’
The chieftain agreed. ‘Lesren discovered the act and reported Goll to Aolú. The Brehon had no option but to summon him before the court. The reason for Goll’s haste was that someone had commissioned a chair to be made as a present. It is a tradition that a chieftain should sit on a chair of ash. Had Goll sought permission then the surprise of the gift would have been negated. He decided to take a chance and cut down the tree. The act had been committed and could not be uncommitted. So Goll was fined the nominal sum of a screpall.’
‘Did Goll know that it was Lesren who reported him?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Of course. Lesren had to appear before Aolú to give evidence.’
‘So that fact did not endear Lesren to Goll?’
The chieftain grimaced with dry humour. ‘Within a week, Goll had his revenge. As you may know, the bark of the apple is used to help with the tanning process. But bark may not be removed from trees within certain months called “killing months”. That is when the removal of the bark may lead to the death of a tree. Goll saw Lesren removing the bark of an apple tree during a killing month. He reported him. Now Lesren had to appear before Aolú, charged on the witness of Goll. I had a word with Aolú and we both decided to even matters up by fining Lesren a screpall. Both sides were even and Aolú and I thought that would be an end of the matter.’
‘But the feud continued?’
‘It did. And then came the unforeseen circumstance. It seems that Goll’s son and Lesren’s daughter fell in love with one another. When Lesren was informed, there was nearly a battle here. Goll was more philosophical about the situation, although far from happy. My impression, however, was that all the hate emanated from Lesren.’
‘None from Goll?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It was Lesren who forbade Beccnat to marry Gabrán even though she was over the age of choice and there was no legal impediment to the marriage’s taking place.’
‘But Lesren claims that his daughter had changed her mind and, on the occasion of their last conversation, she told her father that she had decided not to marry Gabrán and was going to tell him,’ Eadulf pointed out.
Becc raised his eyebrows in a look of astonishment. ‘This is the first time that I have heard of it. Are you sure?’
‘We are sure only in that this is what Lesren told us,’ said Fidelma.
‘It provides Gabrán with a motive conceived out of the anger of rejection,’ explained Eadulf.
‘This might well be. But Aolú, my Brehon, was still alive, although infirm, when the accusation was made against Gabrán. Accobrán was asked to check where Gabrán was and discovered that he was at the coast some twelve miles or more away from here. There were plenty of witnesses to that fact. So, if the girl had changed her mind. she would not have been able to tell Gabrán before her murder.’
‘Lesren’s wife supported his version of events,’ murmured Eadulf.
‘The man is not merely a fool, he is a wicked one,’ replied Becc. ‘Why his wife continues to put up with his abuse, I do not know. As I have said, surely Lesren cannot accuse the boy after the evidence that was gathered by Accobrán? Then there are the other murders. Brocc has convinced everyone, except Lesren, that the strangers in the abbey are to blame for all of them.’
Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘There is much fear and distrust here, Becc. It is like peering into an impenetrable mist filled with swirling dark shadows. But it is early days yet. We still have many people to speak to and if Eadulf has finished eating, we should make another start.’
Eadulf hastily swallowed the remains of some fruit he was nibbling and sprang up. He did not notice that Fidelma was smiling at him.
‘That’s Seachlann’s mill, lady.’
Fidelma and Eadulf had been following the young tanist down a winding pathway towards the riverbank for the second time that day. This area was rather like the clearing in which the tanner’s buildings were placed except that the trees surrounding it were sparser than at Lesren’s place. Dominating the area was a round watermill with a series of large pedals powered into motion by the force of the river. A short distance from the mill, by the fast-flowing waters, they saw a man seated before a small open fire. He was middle-aged, thickset and muscular but rough-looking, with a shaggy black beard and woolly hair. He held a basket before him that he extended over the fire, turning it and tossing the contents with his two hands.
Fidelma caught Eadulf’s puzzled frown and smiled.
‘He is drying graddan, wholemeal, in the criather, that is the basket he holds over the fire,’ she explained. ‘The dry grain will then be taken to the miller to grind. Do they not process the grain
in similar fashion in your own land?’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘Not exactly in the same way. Surely you can dry only a little grain in that fashion?’
‘Oh, we also have a large oven, a kiln’ — the term she used was sorn-na-hátha — ‘in which we roast larger amounts of grain. The method this man is using is only for small amounts.’
‘Why doesn’t that little wooden sieve catch fire?’ asked Eadulf.
‘The bottom is made of bone, the fabra of a míl-mór or whale,’ she said with a smile. ‘The bone can scorch but not burn.’
The man at the fire heard their approach and now set aside his basket and rose slowly to his feet, a scowl on his unpleasant features. It did not imply that they were welcome.
Accobrán turned his head towards Fidelma and said quietly: ‘The man is Brocc, the brother of the miller. This is our local troublemaker.’
‘What do you seek here, Accobrán?’ came Brocc’s gruff voice before they had closed the five-or six-yard distance between them. He took a few paces from the fire and they saw he had a pronounced limp. Fidelma recalled that this was the man whom Becc had shot in the thigh with his arrow. ‘You have no cause to pester me with your presence unless you wish to imprison me again.’
Unperturbed by the man’s surliness, the tanist laughed easily.
‘I shall not pester you, Brocc…just so long as you are not stirring up trouble. We are here only to see your brother, Seachlann the miller.’
At the sound of their voices another man had emerged from the mill and stood before the door with his leather miller’s apron covering his slightly corpulent figure. He stood, legs apart and hands on his hips. The resemblance between the newcomer and Brocc left one in no doubt that he was a brother. He was obviously older than Brocc and of a less muscular build.
‘What do you seek of me?’ he demanded, raising his voice without leaving the door of the mill. He was gazing at Fidelma and Eadulf as he spoke. ‘I have little need of visits by religious with my daughter’s murderers being harboured in the abbey.’
Accobrán introduced Fidelma and Eadulf. Brocc responded with a sarcastic chuckle.
‘So you are the dálaigh whom our chieftain went to Cashel to fetch?’ he demanded of Fidelma. ‘A religieuse! And you have come here to protect the abbey?’
Fidelma turned a brittle expression on him. ‘I am a dálaigh and uphold the law no matter who transgresses it. If you cannot remember that fact, Brocc, I suggest that you at least remember that I am sister to Colgú your king. I would also remind you that you have your freedom only on good behaviour.’
Brocc opened his mouth slightly as if to reply, saw the cold steel of her eyes, shrugged and remained silent.
‘What do you want of us, lady,’ the miller asked in a slightly more respectful tone.
‘To learn more about your daughter, Seachlann, and the circumstances of her death so that I can resolve the matter of her killers.’
The miller waved them forward towards the mill. ‘We can be seated more comfortably inside.’ He paused and glanced towards his brother. ‘That grain still needs to be prepared for the grinding,’ he added sharply.
Without demur, Brocc limped back to the fire and his unfinished task.
Seachlann stood aside as they entered the mill. It was surprisingly light inside, the sun streaming through the apertures which served as windows.
He motioned them to sit on sacks that were presumably filled with grain or flour and took a similar seat himself.
‘Careful, my friend,’ he said suddenly as Eadulf made to seat himself. ‘That sack is too near the shaft and I would not like you to have an accident.’ Eadulf moved away to another sack and the miller smiled towards Fidelma. ‘You see, lady, I know the “Rights of Water” from the Book of Acaill.’
‘I hear that your brother is not so aware of the law, Seachlann.’ replied Fidelma. Then she turned to Eadulf who had been puzzled by this exchange. ‘Seachlann refers to a law relating to the fines and compensation for accidental damage or injury to persons in a mill,’ she explained. ‘It is the section we call “Eight Parts of a Mill”, areas where accidents can happen and for which the miller is responsible in law. Each area is where the machinery of a watermill can damage the unwary.’ She glanced back to Seachlann. ‘It seems that you are a conscientious miller.’
In spite of being seated, Seachlann seemed to draw himself up with an air of momentary pride.
‘I am a saer-muilinn,’ he said.
Eadulf realised that a millwright was of higher professional status than a muilleóir or miller, which had been the title used by Fidelma. A millwright also designed and constructed the mill and did not simply operate it. Fidelma now inclined her head in acknowledgement.
‘So let us return to the reason why we have come to you, Seachlann.’
The millwright’s brows came together in a wary frown. ‘Are you really here to learn the truth or merely to protect those of the cloth which you share?’
Fidelma decided to make allowance for Seachlann as the father of one of the slaughtered victims.
‘My oath is to serve truth and justice, Seachlann. Truth must prevail though the sky falls on our heads or the oceans rise to engulf us.’
For a moment or two the millwright sat gazing at her as if measuring the value of the words in the expression of her face.
‘What do you want to know, lady?’
‘Tell me about Escrach and what happened on the night of her death,’ invited Fidelma.
There was a pause and then Seachlann sighed.
‘Escrach was the youngest of our children. She was only seventeen years of age. She was young and in the bloom of her youth. We knew how she would blossom for that is why we named her so.’
Fidelma knew that the name Escrach meant ‘blooming’ or ‘blossoming’ but made no comment.
‘My wife and I had great hopes for her. Having reached the age of choice we had hoped that she would marry and…’
‘I believe that Escrach and Gabrán were serious about each other at one point?’
The miller looked surprised for the moment and then shook his head. ‘They were childhood friends, that’s all I know. Escrach was friendly with many of the local boys and girls. Beccnat and Ballgel for example. They all went to the old one to learn of the ancient wisdom. A lot of our youth used to go to hear the tales. Gabrán and Creoda for example.’
‘The old one?’ queried Eadulf.
‘Liag the apothecary. He teaches star lore.’
‘Ah yes. Who is Creoda?’
‘A youth who works at Lesren’s tannery.’
‘So Escrach was not a girlfriend of Gabrán?’
‘It was Beccnat he was to marry. We are a small community. I do not think Escrach was friendly with anyone at Rath Raithlen in that way. We were going to send her to my brother, who is a miller at the seaport that is called the Stone of the Woods. He had told us that he could make a desirable match for Escrach.’ There was a sudden catch in his voice and he hesitated. Then his voice resumed in a harsh tone. ‘Whoever killed our child, killed my wife that day.’
Fidelma was startled by the statement and glanced towards Accobrán.
‘You did not tell me that…’ she began.
‘But this is not so,’ admonished the tanist defensively. ‘Your wife is alive, miller.’
Seachlann laughed angrily. ‘I do not mean a physical death. Since Escrach’s death, my wife sits in front of the fire. She does not move. Her mind is dead to the world about her. The shock has reduced her to a living death. If you must have proof, I will take you and show you the shell of my wife.’
‘Can you tell us the circumstances of Escrach’s death as you know them?’ intervened Fidelma gently.
‘I can never forget them. It was the night of the full moon of last month. Escrach should never have been out on her own. But she had been visiting my mother’s sister, her great-aunt, who lives just a short distance away along this river, beyond that hill you see to the sout
h.’
‘The hill which you call the Thicket of Pigs?’ interrupted Eadulf.
‘Just so. She should have returned earlier but I knew that the old woman was not well and supposed that Escrach had stayed as late as she could. The next morning, when she had not returned, I immediately took the route across the Thicket of Pigs to my aunt’s bothán and found no trace of her along the path. When my aunt told me that Escrach had not even been there, I could not understand it. Had she lied to me? I retraced my steps down through the woods. Along the path I met Goll, the woodcutter. He was looking shocked and told me to prepare myself. I knew what he meant. He had been going into the woods about his day’s work and not far from the path, near the stone circle…’
‘Which you call the Ring of Pigs?’ Eadulf intervened.
This time the millwright did not acknowledge him. ‘…Goll had found Escrach’s mutilated form.’ Seachlann swallowed hard. ‘It was either a madman or wild beasts that destroyed her young life, lady. After Liag had made his examination, we brought home her poor body for burial and since then her mother has not moved nor spoken.’
There was a silence.
‘Why is it that you believe the religious strangers in the abbey are responsible?’ queried Eadulf, returning to practical matters.
Seachlann raised his head to stare at him with a hostile gaze. ‘You seek to protect them? You are one of them yourself. You speak our language but your accent is foreign.’
‘Brother Eadulf is my companion, an emissary at the court of Cashel. He is here to help me uncover the truth, not to hide it,’ interrupted Fidelma snappishly. ‘What he asks is a valid question. He asks it in my name.’
Seachlann stood up, moving to the door of the mill. ‘Brocc! Come here and answer this dálaigh’s question.’
A moment later, Brocc entered and glanced about him.
‘What question must I answer?’ he demanded in surly tone.
‘We have heard what your brother has to say about what he knows of the circumstances of the death of Escrach,’ Eadulf said. ‘What we have not heard is why you are convinced, and have convinced him, that the murder was carried out by one of the brethren visiting the abbey.’
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