Badger's Moon sf-13

by Peter Tremayne

  Brother Dangila gave a long sigh. ‘You are very astute, Sister.’

  ‘Leaving mining aside for the moment,’ Fidelma went on, much to the bewilderment of Eadulf, who was trying to follow her line of questions, ‘let me turn to another matter.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Brother Dangila in mild surprise.

  ‘Were you ever asked to instruct any pupils of Liag?’

  ‘You mean those young ones who went to hear his teachings on star lore?’

  ‘That is precisely what I mean.’

  ‘I think you already know the answer. One young one, a girl, came seeking knowledge.’

  ‘Her name?’

  ‘I find your native names impossible to remember.’

  ‘In what language did you communicate, then?’ Eadulf interrupted. ‘We are speaking to you in Greek since we share no other fluency.’

  ‘I have said that I have some imperfect knowledge of your tongue. When the girl made clear what it was she wanted I was able to make her understand that I could not help her. We had not sufficient vocabulary between us for anything further.’

  ‘In what language did you communicate with Liag?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘The old one knows Greek. You must have known that?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘I did not. Yet it does not surprise me. Tell me, does the name Escrach mean anything to you?’

  Brother Dangila shook his head.

  ‘Did you ever see the girl who came to you to ask about star lore later? Say, on the night of the full moon last month?’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘But that night of the full moon you were out on the hill.’ She gestured towards the Thicket of Pigs. ‘You were out with Accobrán.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Brother Dangila returned her gaze but did not say anything.

  ‘You realise that your involvement with Accobrán will have to be made public?’ she asked.

  ‘What is to be, must be. If I have transgressed your laws, then I am truly sorry, but I did not, nor did my companions, kill the girl or any other girl, as some of your people claim.’

  Fidelma rose to her feet. ‘I will inform you and your companions when the official hearing into this matter will be. Until then, I would once again advise — indeed, would urge — you not to leave the shelter of these abbey walls.’

  Riding through the woods towards the riverbank, Eadulf was still confused.

  ‘This mystery is getting beyond me. In the past, I could at least see the path that we had to tread. But this is one confusion after another.’

  Fidelma glanced at him and smiled quickly. ‘That is because we are faced with several mysteries rather than a single one. Yet, I believe, they intertwine one with another. I am confident that we are nearly at a solution.’

  Surprisingly, they found Liag seated on a rock by the river with a fishing line in his hand. He barely turned his head as they rode up, dismounted, and tethered their horses to a low branch of a tree.

  ‘Speak quietly, lest you disturb the fish,’ he said as they came near.

  ‘Are you seeking the Salmon of Knowledge, Liag?’ Fidelma asked mischievously as she walked down to the bank and seated herself on a nearby boulder.

  The old apothecary glanced up indifferently. ‘I will settle for a trout, for the salmon is a noble fish. Yet I fear that it is a certain dálaigh who is in need of the properties of Fintan.’

  Eadulf, nor understanding the meaning of this repartee, felt excluded and demanded to know what they meant. Liag glanced over his shoulder and saw his bewilderment.

  ‘A shared culture, my Saxon friend. That is all. Fintan was a great salmon who ate of the forbidden Hazelnuts of Knowledge before swimming into a pool in a great river to the north of here named after the cow goddess, Boann. The Druid Finegas eventually caught the salmon. By eating of the flesh of the fish he would imbibe all the knowledge of the world. So he began to cook it. But Finegas, being lazy, decided to have a nap and told his young assistant, a boy called Fionn, son of Cumal, to turn the spit but forbade him to eat of the fish. Fionn accidentally burnt his thumb on the flesh of the fish as he was turning the spit. He sucked his thumb and acquired great wisdom and grew up to be the most heroic leader of the Fianna, the bodyguard of the High Kings.’

  Eadulf greeted the tale with a sniff of disapproval.

  ‘It is no folk tale that we are interested in,’ he snapped.

  Liag glanced at Fidelma.

  ‘Is it not?’ he asked gently.

  ‘In a way, it is,’ said Fidelma. ‘I have been interested to hear about your classes on folklore, the lore of the moon and stars.’

  Liag nodded slowly. ‘I thought you might be. I have taught these things to many generations.’

  ‘Is it true that all three of the girls who were slaughtered attended your teachings?’

  ‘Many others also attended.’

  ‘Others such as Accobrán?’

  ‘Indeed, Accobrán, Menma, Creoda, Gabrán and even their fathers before them. Others too numerous to count.’

  ‘I believe that you shared a common interest with Brother Dangila? I had not realised that you spoke Greek.’

  ‘One of my calling has to speak many languages, Fidelma, as you yourself do.’

  ‘And your relationship with Brother Dangila?’

  ‘An intelligent man, a man of wisdom of his people. We meet and talk of the moon and stars, for these are the maps of civilisation. Man raised himself from the earth by looking at the sky and found that it could tell him many things. When to get up and work and when to go to bed and sleep. As he watched the rolling map of the heavens he saw that it could tell him how time passed, when the seasons came, when to sow his seed, when to harvest it, when to expect warmth and when to expect coldness, when the days were growing longer and when they were growing shorter…all these things are written irretrievably in the sky if we would but look up as our forefathers used to do.’

  It was a long speech for the old apothecary.

  ‘So you shared this knowledge with Brother Dangila?’

  ‘Our knowledge was different for our place in this world was different and our culture was different.’

  ‘Did you tell Escrach to seek him out?’

  Liag paused thoughtfully. ‘Escrach was a promising pupil. She must not be judged by a comparison with her uncle Brocc. I did not advise her to seek out Dangila but I mentioned some of the wondrous things he knew. She went of her own accord. I was hoping that one day she would go to one of the secular colleges and be taught by-’

  ‘By Druids?’ Eadulf broke in disapprovingly.

  Liag glanced at him with a smile. ‘One who holds my beliefs is not going to recommend a school of the New Faith where the mind is limited to that which is pleasing only to narrow teaching. Escrach needed to spread herself into the wider world.’

  ‘She could not communicate properly with Brother Dangila.’

  ‘I was surprised when she told me that she had attempted to talk to Dangila.’

  Fidelma looked quickly at him. ‘You mean that she saw him and then she saw you afterwards?’

  ‘Did I not make myself clear?’

  ‘In relation to the day she died, when was this?’

  ‘Several days before the full moon, if that is what you are asking. No, Dangila did not kill her. She told me that she had been walking and saw Brother Dangila. She took the opportunity to approach him and attempt to ask him if he could expound on her knowledge of the moon’s properties. Questions such as how the moon could move the great seas, the pounding tides along our coasts. She wanted to know. They had not sufficient common language to communicate such matters.’

  ‘And she came and told you this some days before she was found dead?’

  ‘That is so. I promised her that soon I would approach Dangila and bring him to our little group so that he might explain his views to all of us. I would be his translator.’

  ‘Did she agree?’

  ‘Of course. Some of the ot
hers were unhappy with the idea of inviting Dangila to our circle. They were afraid of him.’

  ‘Of whom was your group constituted then?’

  ‘Ballgel, Escrach, Gabrán and Creoda. I think I had made a mistake in overemphasising the power of knowledge to them. That our words for the moon and its manifestations as goddess and arbiter of our destinies belonged to us and not to outsiders. What I had meant was that the power to pronounce the names and contact the power directly belonged to the cognoscenti of all peoples. They had taken my meaning to be that it was a special preserve of the Cinél na Áeda. They voiced their resentment of any involvement in our group by Dangila.’

  ‘I believe that Accobrán had been one of your group? You do not mention him. What was his view?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Accobrán was-’

  The sound of a horn blast cut through the air in a long and almost plaintive tone. It came again, sounding more urgently. Puzzled, Fidelma raised her head.

  ‘The sound came from Rath Raithlen,’ muttered Eadulf apprehensively, glancing towards the hill which was obscured by the trees. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It is the sound of an alarm,’ old Liag said, rising calmly and hauling in his fishing line. ‘I have not heard it in many a year. Usually, it is blown to summon people to the fortress as the territory is under attack.’

  Eadulf sprang to his feet. ‘Uí Fidgente. I wager a screpall on it.’

  Liag’s face was grim as he turned towards his bothán. ‘I fear that you will find no takers for that wager. After the raid of yesterday, retribution for Accobrán’s enthusiasm may well be the result.’

  Fidelma was already mounting her horse with Eadulf following her example.

  ‘We’ll return to the rath. An attack by the Uí Fidgente might well be an opportune event for some here,’ she said to the old apothecary.

  ‘Let us hope that it is not a barrier to the course of truth,’ he called in reply as they rode off.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Our sentinels report a sluaghadh of the Uí Fidgente encamped on our borders,’ Becc explained as Fidelma, followed by Eadulf, burst into the great hall and asked the reason for the sounding horn. The harassed chieftain was surrounded by several of his retinue. There was no sign of Accobrán among them.

  ‘A sluaghadh?’ Eadulf was not familiar with military terms and asked what was meant by the word.

  ‘A war band,’ explained Fidelma quickly. ‘Is it reported how big this hosting is?’ she asked, turning to Becc.

  ‘Not large, but too large for us in our present circumstances. The sentinels report that it looks like a lucht-tighe, a house company of no more than four score warriors. However, I doubt whether we can muster a score of fighting men at this moment. I’ve sent for Accobrán and ordered the alarm to be sounded.’

  ‘He did a foolish thing in not finding out whether the raiding party was an advance guard of a larger band,’ Fidelma muttered. ‘Now we know. Doubtless they are here to avenge their dead.’

  Becc was clearly worried. ‘What can we do? We are mostly farmers and woodsmen, with very few warriors left among us. If they are professional warriors then we are outnumbered.’

  At that moment, Accobrán entered noisily. He had a grim look.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ Becc demanded of him.

  The tanist nodded curtly. ‘I can probably raise thirty-five men to face them but of that number only a dozen have been under arms before. Perhaps we can delay them until we have sent out to other parts of our territory and raised more men.’

  ‘Where are the Uí Fidgente now?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘No more than a mile from here, perhaps less,’ replied Becc.

  ‘We can find a place to ambush them,’ Accobrán said. ‘We can cut them down before they know it.’

  ‘And if you don’t surprise them?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Are you prepared to take the risk that you will leave your people defenceless? That is not a good decision for a tanist to make.’

  ‘What is your proposal, Fidelma?’ Becc asked quietly.

  ‘Let us go and talk to them and discover what brings them here and what, if any, are their demands. Then we may see if there is any means of ending this matter by talking rather than bloodshed.’

  Accobrán laughed harshly. ‘That is a woman’s answer and not a warrior’s way.’

  Becc wheeled round on his tanist, his face grim. ‘Remember to whom you are talking, Accobrán. And remember also that some of our great warriors were women. Scáthach was the one who instructed Cúchullain in the martial arts at her academy — was she not a woman? Was not Creidne a woman, one of the most relentless warriors of the Fianna? Did not Medb of Connacht choose a female champion, Erni, to guard her treasures? Here, among the Eóghanacht, was not Mugháin Mhór our greatest warrior queen? Shame on you, Accobrán, that you can forget your inheritance so quickly that you insult your own people by your thoughtless words!’

  The tanist flushed angrily but was silent.

  Becc turned back with an apologetic look to Fidelma. ‘You are right, cousin. We should first seek the way of peace before resorting to the way of sorrow and bloodshed.’

  ‘Good. Then perhaps-’

  The door burst opened and Adag the steward came in breathlessly.

  ‘Becc!’ he gasped, without apologising for his entrance which contravened the etiquette of a chieftain’s house. ‘A rider has come to the gates of the fortress. He rides under the méirge, the banner of the Uí Fidgente.’

  Accobrán had clasped his hand to his sword hilt and was moving to the door.

  ‘I’ll deal with this,’ he shouted. ‘Sound the alarm!’

  ‘Stop!’ cried Fidelma harshly. ‘Have all your senses left you, Accobrán?’ Having caught their attention, she turned to Adag. ‘I presume this rider is a herald from the Uí Fidgente?’

  Adag nodded swiftly. ‘He is indeed a techtaire bearing a message to our chieftain.’

  Fidelma looked at Becc with grim satisfaction. ‘This saves us having to ride out and find the Uí Fidgente. Let us go and speak to this techtaire and find out what it is that his hosting seeks here.’

  They left the chieftain’s hall and moved to the courtyard, where a couple of Becc’s warriors stood nervously, arms at the ready, before a horseman. The man was still seated in his saddle and carried nothing more lethal than a banner of red silk on which was a design of a ravening wolf. It was the symbol of his people. He wore his hair long and had a bushy sandy beard. His close-set bright eyes watched them approach impassively.

  ‘I am Becc, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda,’ Becc announced as he came to a halt before the techfaire.

  ‘I see you, Becc,’ intoned the herald ritually. ‘I am here as a voice of Conrí, King of Wolves, war chieftain of the Uí Fidgente.’

  ‘I see you, herald of the Uí Fidgente,’ replied Becc in return ritual. ‘Why are you so far from your own lands?’

  ‘I am told to say these words to you — Conrí enters this country with a sluaghadh, a hosting, more in sorrow than in anger. He has encamped at the place you call the Marsh of the Birch and will await you or your representatives there to discuss why he should leave the land of the Cinél na Áeda without spilling the blood of its people.’

  Becc inclined his head. ‘Why would your chieftain contemplate spilling that blood?’

  ‘I have been told to say, should you ask that question, that our sluaghadh was on its way to the lands of the prince of the Corco Loígde, where we were invited to take part in the games.’

  Fidelma knew that most of the larger principalities held annual games to prepare themselves for the three great festivals at Tailltenn, Tlachtga and Uísneach. It would not be unheard of for the ruler of the Corco Loígde to invite a band of young men from the Uí Fidgente to participate in the local games there. The herald was continuing.

  ‘While we were passing near the borders of your land, a small foraging party from our sluaghadh went missing. We sent out scouts and they found the
bodies of our men — all had been slaughtered. The arrows we found bore the marks of the Cinél na Áeda. Some of the party had been cut down by sword blows: many had wounds in their backs that spoke plainly of how they came by their deaths. Thus, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda, was it decided that our sluaghadh would turn from its path to the Corco Loígde and enter your territory to demand an explanation. We will see whether that explanation allows us to continue in peace or whether it forces us to invoke the law which demands dígal — blood vengeance.’

  Fidelma frowned. She tried to hide the fact that she was appalled that Accobrán had not even buried the slain Uí Fidgente but had abandoned the bodies to the elements and ravering beasts. She drew herself together.

  ‘The futility of vengeance has been censured by the New Faith,’ she pointed out in a sharp voice.

  The techfaire glanced at her as if to dismiss her. ‘Those of your cloth would say so. However, it is written in the Crith Gablach that the blood feud has legal standing and that a party of avengers may pursue such a feud in the territory of those who have wronged them.’

  Fidelma smiled grimly at being lectured on the law.

  ‘However, that law says that the dígal can only be carried out a month after the collapse of any attempt to negotiate compensation if culpability is proved,’ she replied quickly.

  The herald’s features twisted in a sneer. He was about to speak when Becc said gruffly: ‘Have a care, techtaire. It is a dálaigh of the courts who addresses you.’

  The man blinked and hesitated for a moment. ‘I am not here to debate points of law but to tell you the intentions of my lord, Conrí. He awaits you, Becc, or your representatives, at the Marsh of the Birch. Tell me, chieftain of the Cinél na Áeda, will he wait in vain?’

  Becc shook his head immediately. ‘You can tell your war chieftain that while it is improper for the chieftain of any tuath or tribe to come to him at his demand, nevertheless I shall send representatives to demand his withdrawal from our lands without the spilling of blood on either side.’