Badger's Moon sf-13

by Peter Tremayne

  When the prayers and psalms were over, the bier was lifted by four men and carried out of the chapel. Fidelma and Eadulf followed the mourners as they moved behind the bier. Outside, a grave had been dug and the body was gently lowered into it while the women set up cries that, although Eadulf had heard them before, made his blood run cold.

  Then, to Eadulf’s surprise, a man came forward with an axe, and broke up the bier. The pieces were thrown into the grave. Seeing his puzzled look, Fidelma leant close and whispered: ‘It is the custom to destroy the bier, for if it is left whole then the evil demons, the fairy folk, might use it to carry off the corpse on their nightly excursions. The bier is destroyed so that the corpse might obtain peace.’

  Eadulf thought it not the time or place to comment disapprovingly on the continuance of a pagan ritual as part of a Christian ceremony. Then he saw that everyone was lining up before a Brother of the Faith who stood next to a great pile of broom. Each person was handed a branch of broom and took it to the grave and dropped it in.

  ‘This is just to protect the body from the clay,’ explained Fidelma. ‘But each person who drops the broom in does so as a sign of respect.’

  When this was done, the grave was closed. Bébháil’s sister held up her hands and the lamentations stilled.

  ‘The Amra — the elegy — will be spoken by my husband.’

  A man, looking every inch a farmer, came forward. He appeared very uncomfortable. It was clear that he was unhappy at the task he had been asked to perform. He spoke in a swift, mumbling tone.

  ‘We have interred the body of Lesren who was married to my wife’s sister.’ He hesitated and coughed. ‘Lesren was a tanner. He was a súdaire, a craftsman, whose worth was well known to all who are here today. He now lies beside his daughter, Beccnat.’ He paused again and sniffed. ‘Beccnat was killed, even as he was, and so this is the second time in as many months that the laithi na canti — the days of lamentation — have been visited on us who were related to Lesren. Sorrow is the load we must bear.’

  Yet again he paused and looked across to Bébháil who stood, dry-eyed and stony-faced, supported by her sister on one side and Tómma on the other. He set his jaw as though he had made up his mind to follow through an unpleasant task.

  ‘There is little I can say. I cannot pretend I liked Lesren or made him welcome at my threshold. But I suffered him for the sake of my sister-in-law. He was not a good father; he was not a good husband. But they are truly good who are faultless. I will not call praise on him, for that would be insincere, false and pretending. I will say only this — he was my wife’s sister’s husband and I am sorry that his passing has made her a widow.’

  Eadulf studied the faces of those around him with surprise, expecting some to react at this curious elegy. It seemed that no one wanted to articulate any criticism for what had been said. More important, Bébháil was standing with her face devoid of emotion. Eadulf realised that few people could have liked Lesren in the community. That fact caused him some consternation. He wondered how many had a motive to kill Lesren. He realised that it was not just Goll and his son. Lesren had made enemies of many people. He wondered if Fidelma was relying on this fact to defend Gabrán.

  The people had begun dispersing from the graveside. Accobrán was approaching them with a smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Have you heard the news, lady?’ he began, seeming pleased with himself. ‘The news about my capture of Gabrán?’

  Fidelma did not match his smile.

  ‘I shall go to see him shortly,’ she said. ‘While the boy was stupid to run away, I do not believe he was guilty of Lesren’s murder.’

  Accobran’s jaw dropped in surprise.

  ‘Not guilty…?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Well, I think he was, and guilty of Beccnat’s murder as well.’

  ‘Yet you were the one who found the evidence to prove otherwise,’ pointed out Eadulf quickly.

  Accobrán flushed. ‘Perhaps he fooled me. Perhaps he was not at the house of Molaga on that night of the full moon.’

  ‘I spoke to Brother Túan from the house of Molaga.’ Fidelma cut him short. ‘You were not mistaken. He was there at the night of the full moon.’

  The young tanist looked glum. ‘Well, at least he showed his guilt of Lesren’s death by running away.’

  ‘He showed his fear of being blamed for it,’ Fidelma pointed out. She turned and made her way across to where Bébháil was standing with her sister and Tómma.

  Tómma greeted her with a grim smile. ‘The tanist has told us that young Gabrán has been caught and imprisoned for Lesren’s death.’

  Fidelma examined the downcast features of Bébháil for a moment before replying.

  ‘He has been captured because he was running away. If he were guilty, it would be stupid to run away and draw attention to himself. There has been too much innocent blood shed in this place for another innocent to have his life destroyed.’

  Tómma frowned and cast a nervous glance at Bébháil. ‘But the tanist said…’

  ‘I am returning to the fortress to question Gabrán. I am hoping that the innocent will go free and that the guilty may come forward.’

  She returned to Eadulf, aware that Bébháil had taken an involuntary step after her and that Tómma had reached out a hand to stay her.

  Accobrán accompanied them as they rode back to the fortress. Fidelma and Eadulf went immediately to the place where Gabrán had been confined. Fidelma gently declined the tanist’s offer to attend the questioning of the youth. She wanted to speak with Gabrán without Accobrán there.

  The young woodcutter rose as they entered the dark stone cell in which he had been confined. He had a cut across one eye and a bruise on his cheek.

  ‘You have done a stupid thing,’ Fidelma told him after a moment or two.

  The boy shrugged, trying to be indifferent. It was clear that he was nervous.

  ‘I did not kill Lesren,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Is running away designed to make us believe that?’ she asked, motioning Eadulf to shut the door so that they would not be overheard. He did so.

  ‘What else could I do? No one here appeared to believe that I did not exact revenge for what Lesren was saying about me.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Why, Creoda said-’

  ‘Creoda? And he said — what?’

  ‘That everyone believed that I had killed Lesren because he accused me of murdering Beccnat. I knew I had to leave.’

  ‘You should place your trust in the law.’

  ‘Law and injustice are often the same thing,’ the boy replied quickly. ‘I often heard old Aolú say as much before he died.’

  ‘That may be true, but it is the interpretation of the law which balances the account.’ Fidelma indicated that the boy should reseat himself on the wooden bench that served as a bed. Then she took a chair while Eadulf stood by the door. ‘When did you first hear of Lesren’s death?’

  ‘I was returning home from cutting wood.’

  ‘And Creoda told you?’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Is Creoda a friend of yours?’

  ‘I know him.’

  ‘Did he tell you to run away?’

  ‘He advised it.’

  ‘So you ran away at Creoda’s behest. Did you not think that you were doing a foolish thing, if you were innocent?’

  Gabrán was regarding her thoughtfully.

  ‘You do not think that I am guilty?’ he whispered. There was no disguising the sudden hope in his voice.

  ‘I think that you were panicked into flight to make you appear guilty.’

  ‘Then you think Creoda is guilty?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘However, first we must demonstrate that you are not.’

  There came a rap on the door and Accobrán came in. Fidelma glanced up with a frown of irritation.

  ‘I am in the middle of questioning Gabrán,’ she began.

  ‘It is Bébháil and Tómma come to see y
ou, lady. They insist on seeing you immediately. Also,’ he glanced at Gabrán, bent close to Fidelma’s ear and whispered, ‘the boy’s parents have arrived.’

  Fidelma sighed in resignation. ‘Very well. Tell them that I will join them in a moment.’

  She waited until he departed and the door was closed again before she glanced back to Gabrán.

  ‘You do not like Accobrán, do you?’

  The boy raised a hand to his bruised face. He returned her gaze levelly for a moment or two and then shrugged.

  ‘I have reason not to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The answer is simple. Knowing Beccnat to be in love with me, he tried to separate us.’

  ‘You will have to explain that.’

  ‘A month or so before Beccnat was murdered, there was a féis at the chieftain’s hall. Accobrán insisted on dancing with Beccnat.’

  ‘Insisted?’ Fidelma picked up on the word. ‘He was forcing his attentions on her?’

  Gabrán sniffed and nodded quickly.

  ‘How did Beccnat respond to that?’

  The corner of the boy’s mouth drooped. He said nothing.

  ‘Did she raise objections? Accobrán is a handsome man,’ she added.

  Gabrán looked up angrily. ‘She was flattered at being asked to dance with the tanist. That was all. I suspect that after the féis he tried to see her again. But, as I told you before, Beccnat and I were in love…we were going to marry in spite of the story Lesren was spreading around.’

  ‘But you suspected Accobrán tried to meet with Beccnat secretly?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Tried or succeeded?’ she added sharply.

  ‘Tried,’ the boy responded immediately. ‘I trusted Beccnat. I did not trust Accobrán.’

  ‘Very well.’ Fidelma rose to her feet. ‘I’d better see what Lesren’s widow wants. We will continue this shortly.’

  Bébháil and Tómma were waiting for them in the chieftain’s hall with Accobrán. Becc was out hunting and not expected back before evening. Accobrán rose quickly and came to her. In a low voice he explained that Goll and his wife had been taken to an antechamber to await them so that they should not confront Bébháil.

  The tanner’s widow and Tómma had risen awkwardly as they entered and Fidelma, having acknowledged Accobrán’s arrangements, walked across to them and motioned them to be seated again.

  ‘I have little time,’ she began, feigning irritation. ‘Tell me what brings you here. I presume that you have something to tell me about Lesren’s death, Bébháil? Have you persuaded Tómma that he should let you tell me the truth now?’

  Tómma half rose from his seat, his eyes wide.

  ‘How could you-’ he began.

  Fidelma motioned him to silence with a cutting gesture of her hand.

  ‘It is no trick. I saw that Bébháil wanted to speak to me at the funeral but you prevented her. I will not put words in your mouth. I now presume that you are persuaded to tell me the truth of what happened between Lesren and yourself.’

  Tómma sunk back again, his face grim. He lowered his head as if resigned to what was to follow. Fidelma turned to Bébháil with an expectant expression. The woman was dry-eyed and in firm control of her faculties.

  ‘What I did was wrong,’ she began. Then she fell silent again. Fidelma did not say anything but continued to wait patiently until she continued. ‘I could not stand the life any more. I did love him once. But love departed even before Beccnat was born.’

  Fidelma regarded her with sympathy.

  ‘And what did you do that was wrong?’ she said encouragingly.

  ‘I killed him,’ she said simply.

  Eadulf let out a noisy exhalation of breath and Accobrán gave a little moan of astonishment. Fidelma did not glance in their direction, keeping her eyes on Bébháil. She turned to Tómma.

  ‘It was stupid to lie to me.’

  The tanner shrugged helplessly. ‘I had to. I could not tell you that Lesren was telling me that Bébháil had struck the blow that killed him.’

  ‘The name he spoke was Bébháil and not Biobhal. How did you think of such a name? Biobhal, I mean.’

  ‘It was the only thing that came into my head. You see, while Lesren was mumbling away about Bébháil, Creoda was standing at my side. I could not gamble on the fact that he might have heard what Lesren was saying. I turned to him and pretended that I had heard the name Biobhal just in case. I could pretend that he had misheard the name, as it was so similar. He readily accepted that Biobhal was the name he had heard.’

  Fidelma’s lips were pressed firmly together to hide her annoyance. ‘I swear, Tómma, that your false information led me astray for a while. You chose a name that could have had some pertinence.’ She turned back to Bébháil. ‘What you have to confess is very serious, Bébháil. The most serious offence under our law is to deprive another person of his life. You are confessing to a killing. You had best tell me the story from the very beginning.’

  The widow appeared calm and implacable. ‘It is a simple story, lady. It is one that is as old as the relationship between men and women. I was young. I was beguiled. Lesren was an attractive man. An artisan. A súdaire — a tanner. I knew he had been married before but he had told me all manner of bad stories about Fínmed. I married him.’ She paused and gave a quick, meaningless smile. ‘His stories were untrue, as I soon found out. My life has not been happy.’

  ‘There was a redress for your situation in law,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘The law allows for separation and divorce.’

  ‘I stayed for many reasons. I suppose my daughter was the chief reason but perhaps I am only making excuses. I should have left after poor Beccnat was murdered. Yesterday, he began abusing me again. It was then that something seemed to snap within me. I grabbed a kitchen knife and-’ She broke off and gave a helpless sob.

  ‘Are you pleading self-defence?’ demanded Accobrán harshly. He seemed to be trying to take command of the situation, perhaps in an attempt to make up for his treatment of Gabrán.

  ‘Of course she is!’ snapped Tómma, moving closer to Bébháil and putting an arm protectively around her shoulders. ‘Can’t you see how ill this woman has been treated by that beast? If you want proof, lady,’ he added, turning to Fidelma, ‘ask her to go with you into the next room and show the blemishes that Lesren made on her body.’

  ‘Is this true, Bébháil?’ Fidelma asked gently.

  The woman did not raise her eyes but merely nodded. Fidelma was quiet for a moment or two.

  ‘This crime of fingal, kin slaying, is the most horrendous in our laws,’ she reflected.

  ‘Heavy sanctions are made against the perpetrators,’ added the tanist sharply. ‘You will have to face a harsh punishment.’

  ‘But,’ Fidelma’s voice suddenly snapped like a whip, irritated at being interrupted by the young man who knew little of the law, ‘the law recognises that there are circumstances in which the killing of another person is justified. It is not a crime in kill in battle, no crime to kill a thief caught breaking into your house with the intent to steal or render harm to you. The Cairde text also shows that it is permitted to kill in self-defence. Had you brought this matter before me while Lesren still lived, you would have received an immediate divorce and not only half his property but also a considerable recompense. The laws are clear on the protection of women from men, even husbands, and abuse, whether physical or verbal, is treated seriously. You should have pursued that course in law. You did not and your suffering coalesced into a point where you struck back. I cannot pretend that it was correct to kill him but that you did it in self-protection is a defence that must be taken account of.’

  They waited in silence while she pondered the matter.

  ‘It is clear that there has to be a hearing. I must sit in judgement on this matter with the chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda and the abbot. Come back to the Great Hall when you hear the evening Angelus bell striking at the abbey.’

  Tómma seemed unhappy but Bébháil inclined
her head in agreement.

  ‘It shall be as you say, lady,’ she said.

  Fidelma gave her a brief smile of encouragement. ‘That you have come forward voluntarily with this confession, Bébháil, also stands you in good stead before judgement. Had you not done so, I might have been tempted to waste many days pursuing a wrong path.’

  She swung round on Tómma with a frown.

  ‘You stand in greater peril than Bébháil,’ she said sternly.

  The assistant tanner shuffled his feet uneasily but did not reply.

  ‘The Din Techtugad says that to give false witness is one of the three great crimes that God avenges most severely. A person who is a gúfiadnaise loses his honour price.’

  Eadulf was not sure of the legal word she had used and he was glad when Tómma asked her to explain.

  ‘A person who bears false witness. What made you pick on the name Biobhal?’

  Tómma shrugged. ‘As I told you, it was the only name I knew which sounded like Bébháil. I had to think of something to confuse Creoda in case he had heard Bébháil’s name.’

  ‘But where had you come across this name before? It is unusual, not one that a tanner might readily know.’

  Eadulf realised she was stating a simple fact, and not being condescending. There was a purpose behind the question.

  Tómma thought for a moment, as if trying to remember in order to answer Fidelma’s question. ‘It was old Liag who told me some story. I can’t remember what about but Biobhal was in it somewhere.’

  Fidelma could not help meeting Eadulf’s eye.

  ‘Liag told you the story. Are you sure?’ she insisted.

  ‘I am sure. I am sorry that I misled you, lady. I did it only to protect Bébháil.’

  ‘And did you tell Creoda to advise Gabrán to flee?’

  ‘I told Creoda that everyone thought Gabrán was the culprit. He took it on himself to advise Gabrán as he did.’

  The woman moved forward eagerly. ‘Tómma has been my friend these many years. When I told him what I had done, he was afraid for me and tried to protect me. You must not blame him.’