Bloodmoon

by Peter Tremayne

  He stood staring at her with bright grey eyes, eyes that seemed to mirror the sea on a winter’s day like today.

  ‘Well?’ Fidelma demanded angrily as the man stood examining her for longer than was reasonable. ‘Do I meet with your approval?’

  Suddenly the captain of the warship began to chuckle.

  ‘Red hair, a haughty manner, used to being obeyed without question. Yes, you have the arrogance of the Eóganacht, right enough. You appear to be who you claim to be.’

  ‘And who do you claim to be?’ Fidelma asked coldly, trying to stop her rising anger.

  ‘I am Murchú, in the service of Artgal, Prince of the Cenél nÁeda,’ the man announced and Fidelma noticed a touch of pride in his tone.

  ‘Murchú?’ she replied grimly. ‘Well, you bear an appropriate-enough name.’ The name meant sea-hound. ‘Why am I greeted with this display of hostility? I am Fidelma of Cashel and therefore distant cousin to Artgal, whom you claim to serve?’

  ‘There is no hostility, lady. I am merely obeying orders to stop all shipping approaching this harbour until we have ascertained its purpose. Raiders are a constant menace. I am protecting my lord Artgal.’

  ‘Then I presume we shall be allowed to proceed to see my cousin?’ she asked sarcastically. She glanced upwards to the stockade above them. ‘I presume he is in the fortress there?’

  ‘Your presumption is correct, lady,’ confirmed Murchú. ‘I shall take you there once your horses have been disembarked.’ He turned to Fécho and issued instructions. The captain of the Tonn Cliodhna seemed hesitant.

  ‘I am often at this cove, Murchú,’ he said slowly. ‘I run my ferry and ship to most of the harbours here and know these settlements like the back of my hand. Yet I do not remember encountering either you or your warship before.’

  Murchú frowned with irritation at having his word questioned. ‘Come to that,’ he answered testily, ‘I have not encountered you before this day. However, I have only joined Prince Artgal here recently. My home port is Cionn tSéile, the harbour on the Bandan River, on the western borders of the Cenél mBécc.’

  Fécho hesitated, then seemed to decide not to press the point. He turned to Fidelma. ‘We’ll disembark the horses immediately, lady.’

  In fact, this did not take the crew as much time as it had taken them to load the horses onto the ship. Within moments Fidelma’s pony, Eadulf’s cob and Enda’s stallion were all stamping impatiently on the foreshore. Fidelma was left to settle with Fécho. As she did so, the boatman leant forward and said quietly, with a furtive glance at Murchú: ‘I wouldn’t trust that man if I were you.’

  ‘Why not?’ replied Fidelma.

  ‘Because I have lived in the West Passage of the river here all my life. Since I could hold an oar or the sheet of a sail, I have sailed these waters. I have had two coastal vessels for twice nine years; one of these is the Tonn Cliodhna. I have sailed to all the islands of the inner seas and all the fishing ports and settlements. I have even made it up the Sabrann as far as the Abbey of Finnbarr itself. And I have never seen that warship or that commander before.’

  ‘But that is understandable if he has only recently come to serve Artgal at Ard Nemed. He explained to you that he had come from the western borders of the Eóganacht Rathlind territory, down by the River Bandan.’

  ‘It is an easy explanation.’

  ‘Very well, but if Artgal is in the fortress above, then he will be able to confirm it.’

  ‘If not …?’ asked Fécho.

  ‘Then we will soon find out,’ Fidelma replied drily.

  The owner of the Tonn Cliodhna thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Your lives could be in danger, if they are really Uí Liatháin raiders,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Then they are already in danger.’

  ‘I could delay sailing from here until I know all is well.’

  Fidelma looked at him speculatively. ‘That might be a good thing. Indeed, we might need your ship to leave Ard Nemed. So it would be logical for you to wait until we have found out more.’

  Fécho agreed. ‘In that case we will wait here until we hear whether you need our services further.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fidelma said. ‘Now I see our escort growing restless.’

  She turned and made her way to where Eadulf and Enda were already mounted and waiting with the impatient Murchú.

  ‘What took you so long?’ demanded a disgruntled Eadulf.

  ‘A little negotiation about the fees,’ she said dismissively, swinging up onto Aonbharr.

  ‘These boatmen are all alike,’ snapped Murchú. ‘All is well so long as you pay. Now, are you ready?’

  She confirmed that she was and he turned and led the way, moving slowly through the settlement and up the steep track towards the wooden fort which crowned the hill. The people of the fishing village cast them only brief glances as they went by. They did not seem at all bothered by the warriors moving through their midst, which made Fidelma feel that Fécho’s concerns were groundless. If there had been an attack and Murchú’s men were part of the Uí Liatháin raid, the people would have shown their antipathy, and there would also have been signs of conflict.

  They continued on at a slow walk, up the steep hill, having to lean far forward up the necks of the horses in order to maintain balance. The walls of Artgal’s wooden stockade dominated the skyline. The gates stood wide open, but several warriors stood watchfully both at the entrance and along the walls. Murchú led them into the compound and halted, swinging down from his mount. A man came hurrying up to exchange a nervous word, looking at the visitors with a frown. His eyes fell on Fidelma and widened – and he halted before her with obvious obeisance.

  ‘A thousand welcomes, lady.’

  The man looked familiar but she could not quite place him. He seemed a breathless, excitable man, with puffy red cheeks, and a look of perpetual worry, glancing this way and that as if never able to concentrate on what was in front of him for fear of other things. She made a guess as to his identity.

  ‘You are steward to Artgal?’

  ‘My name is Corbmac, lady, and I accompanied Lord Artgal to Cashel once to attend a feasting given by your brother. A thousand welcomes to Ard Nemed,’ he repeated, obviously pleased to have been recognised. ‘Please dismount. You and your companions all.’ He signalled to a couple of youths who were obviously stable boys for they came running forward to take charge of the horses. ‘I will take you to your cousin at once, lady. When we saw the boats come in, we wondered what ship Murchú was escorting. Who are your companions, lady?’

  ‘This is my husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the land of the South Folk of the East Angles.’ She indicated Eadulf.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ Corbmac bobbed his head up and down, almost birdlike in his greeting, then turned to Enda. ‘You wear the Golden Collar of the bodyguard to the Eóganacht of Cashel.’

  ‘I am Enda,’ the young warrior announced solemnly.

  ‘I will take you all straight away to Artgal. He has been expecting you.’

  Fidelma halted and stared at the steward as if she had not understood him. ‘He has been expecting me?’ she echoed.

  ‘Just so, just so.’ The steward ignored her surprise and turned towards one of the large buildings across the main courtyard. Fidelma shrugged and accepted that all would be explained when she saw her cousin.

  As she walked, Fidelma’s eyes quickly examined the building to which she was being led. As in the village below, there was no sign of any recent attack having taken place. She wondered if Fécho, and indeed Cogadháin the innkeeper, who had been the first to speak of fires and attacks at Ard Nemed, had been mistaken. She realised that Corbmac had been standing aside, indicating the open door. She entered and found herself in a feasting hall. True, it was built with skill, but it was of wood and not very imposing, typical of the accommodations of the lesser princes of the kingdom. She found herself coughing a little in the smoke that billowed from the great central fire. She r
ealised how dim and dark the room was. She was about to comment when a figure appeared out of the gloom.

  ‘Cousin Fidelma?’ The figure came forward, left hand outstretched in greeting. The other was held in a sling stained with blood.

  Even at a glance one could see there was a family relationship between Artgal and Fidelma. His hair had the same red tinge to it, and there was his tallness, together with something about his facial features and the curious grey-green eyes, even the humorous corners of the mouth.

  ‘You have been hurt, cousin,’ Fidelma observed. She took his good hand but her eyes dropped to his blood-specked sling.

  Artgal grimaced in an offhand manner. ‘An Uí Liatháin arrow. A flesh wound only. It could have been worse.’

  ‘Then there was an attack here by the Uí Liatháin?’ Fidelma declared in surprise. ‘I saw no evidence of damage either to the settlement or to the fort.’

  ‘They did not reach this far,’ her cousin told her with a grin. ‘At least, not alive. When we heard that the raiders had landed in the salt marshes at Ross Liath – that’s on the north side of the island – we hastened to teach them a lesson. They attacked yesterday and set alight some of the farms and fishing settlements. We have been expecting such an attack since the old prince, Tolmanach, died. His son, Tomaltaid, is ambitious. We knew he would try to take the island.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘As soon as the news came, I mustered some warriors and headed north. The raiders were undisciplined and we drove them back but …’ He shrugged, gave a wry smile and touched his sling. ‘Unfortunately an arrow from one of the departing raiders caught me in the upper arm. It was my fault. I was too confident.’

  ‘Do you have a physician? Has it been looked at?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘I am here with most of my immediate household, Fidelma. So it has been treated. As I say, it is no more than a flesh wound.’

  ‘And where are the Uí Liatháin now?’

  ‘They have fled back to their own territory across the river … for the time being.’

  ‘I did not know this warfare existed. Does my brother know?’

  ‘It is not exactly warfare, cousin. There have always been cattle raids across this territory, and the Uí Liatháin have always claimed it was once theirs and should be again. Tolmanach at Caislean Liatháin used to distance himself from the raiders, even from any such claims. Not so young Tomaltaid. He is ambitious to the point that he has hired amasae. We captured some of them. One is a northerner, by his manner of speech.’

  Eadulf had recently learnt that amasae were mercenary warriors, who sold their swords to whoever paid them.

  ‘That is a bad sign,’ admitted Fidelma.

  Artgal gave a nod. ‘The Uí Liatháin are bad enough without bringing others along on their raids.’ He paused and then smiled apologetically. ‘But where are my manners? Where is the protocol of hospitality? Let me greet you and your companions properly, Fidelma. We have a feast to prepare and after that we must talk of the business that brings you here.’

  Fidelma frowned. ‘Yes, I was told you have been expecting me. How so?’

  ‘Later, cousin, later. First things first. Now, I recognise Eadulf …’

  Artgal greeted each of them and seemed to brighten with the ritual of being the perfect host. He waved them all to be seated and ordered his steward to arrange drinks. He then gave orders for food to be prepared for everyone, adding that Corbmac should ensure the needs of the crew of the vessel that had brought his guests were seen to as well.

  Fidelma was troubled but kept silent while her companions were being distracted by the attendants with a choice of dishes. It seemed an interminable age before she was able to broach the subject again and she leant towards Artgal. ‘How is it possible that you expected me?’ she insisted in a lowered voice.

  Artgal glanced round as if ensuring they could not be overheard, then he motioned her to follow him. He led the way to a corner of the hall that gave entrance to his private chamber. This was no more than a small room with walls built of polished yew wood. Had there been four people in it, it would have been crowded. There were no windows and the walls were hung with skins and tapestries. There was one ornately carved chair, which was occupied by Artgal, a table and two simple chairs. Fidelma sat in one of these. The only light in this enclosed space came from an oil lantern in a metal container, hanging from the centre of the ceiling. It also provided heat.

  Argali sat back and spoke without preamble. ‘Yesterday, while we were driving back the raiders, I was surprised to find my cousin Cairenn hiding from them. She had come from the Abbey of Finnbarr and crossed to the island to see me before continuing to a rendezvous at Cluain. She was forced to seek a hiding place from the raiders. My men came across her that morning and brought her to me.’

  ‘So Cairenn did come here?’

  ‘She did. She’s a clever girl. You must remember her?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘I saw her at the abbey but I did not recognise her.’

  Artgal shrugged and said: ‘She remembers you. She was a great-niece of old Abbot Nessán and became a companion to Princess Grella of the Uí Liatháin of Eochaill.’

  Fidelma started and there was sudden tension in her body. ‘Grella, who is now the wife of the High King?’ she almost whispered.

  ‘Some years ago, when Grella married Cenn Fáelad of the Uí Néill, Cairenn went with her to Tara to be her friend and companion.’

  Fidelma frowned reflectively. ‘I begin to see a little light now.’

  Her cousin looked puzzled. ‘To see light?’

  ‘Did Cairenn tell you what happened at Finnbarr’s Abbey?’ she asked, ignoring his question.

  ‘She said that old Nessán had been murdered and that you were there. She also said she had to leave the abbey in secret as some suspected she was involved in the murder. Before she left, she placed a message for you in the hope you would follow to Ard Nemed.’

  ‘She did.’ Fidelma nodded in agreement. ‘Is that why you were expecting me?’

  ‘That is so. I hoped that you would not come by the northern route, otherwise you would have encountered the Uí Liatháin raiders just as she did.’

  ‘What did she tell you about what she was doing at Finnbarr’s Abbey?’

  ‘Nothing much. Only that she went there to see our cousin Abbot Nessán. She refused to say anything except that she insisted that she did not kill him and that she was running from the real murderer. What is it all about?’

  ‘I cannot say. I suspect that she is telling the truth about not killing Nessán and that she is innocent. I am following her to find the real murderer,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Where is she? Why does she not join us?’

  ‘Simple,’ Artgal said with a shrug. ‘She is no longer here at Ard Nemed.’

  Fidelma tried to hide her surprise. ‘She has left?’

  Artgal leant forward and shrugged again. ‘I would keep Fécho and his ship here until you are ready to leave.’

  She stared at him uncertainly. ‘Why?’

  ‘You will have need of his ship to take you further, if you are following Cairenn.’

  ‘Where has she gone?’

  ‘She left the island almost immediately in a small fishing craft. She travels east to meet up with the lady Grella at Cluain.’

  Once again Fidelma was disconcerted at the news. ‘So Grella is not in Tara?’

  ‘She is in Uí Liatháin territory, to the east,’ Artgal confirmed. ‘That is where Cairenn said she would go. She persuaded a fisherman to take her across to the Uí Liatháin mainland. What I am trying to say is, if you went to follow her, I cannot spare Murchú and his ship. The only other warship I had at my command was burnt during the Uí Liatháin attack on the north shore.’

  Fidelma was frowning. ‘You appear to know many things that I do not. What is Grella doing in Cluain?’

  ‘All I know is what Cairenn told me, and she did not say.’

  ‘So what did she tell you?’


  ‘She told me that she had accompanied the lady Grella to Uí Liatháin territory, where Grella was to visit the Abbot of Cluain. That’s in the south. Apparently, her cousin is abbot there.’

  ‘I thought that the abbey there had been abandoned half a century ago?’ queried Fidelma in surprise.

  ‘So I thought, too, but Cairenn said that Grella had told her she would stay there while Cairenn went to see her great-uncle. He had some information for her. When she had done that, she was to rejoin Grella in Cluain.’

  ‘What was this information about?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. If it involved Grella, then it might have been something to do with the Uí Liatháin. Her family were minor nobles in Eochaill.’

  Fidelma frowned. ‘Cairenn did not elaborate on why she was sent to see Abbot Nessán?

  ‘She either did not know or was not willing to tell. She was anxious to be on her way, to get back to Grella. So it did not seem important to pursue the matter.’

  ‘She was to join Grella at Cluain, you say? Why did she come here then? From Finnbarr’s Abbey she could have taken the northern route on the mainland rather than cross to this island and then have to recross to the mainland. Why leave me the message identifying this island?’

  ‘Because she believed that you would follow her here before you followed her to the east. Perhaps she wanted you to avoid the dangerous northern route,’ suggested Artgal.

  ‘But Grella is of the Uí Liatháin, as you say, and Cluain is in their territory. So I can’t see the problem.’

  Artgal raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Unless there is some difficulty among Grella’s family?’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘I do not believe Cairenn killed Nessán. If she did, or if she was an unwilling participant in his murder, I think there must be more to it. There is something strange about this.’

  ‘But why was the abbot killed? After all, he was a relative of Cairenn.’

  Fidelma felt she could answer that question, in part. ‘It seemed that he had some information for me. Someone did not want him to reveal it. My suspicion is, if I am right that Cairenn is innocent, that whoever killed Nessán laid the blame on her by design. She had to flee the abbey immediately. I am not sure whether she even knew who the killer was, otherwise she might have indicated that to me when she left her message. But then why tell me to come here and not to go straight to Cluain?’