The Second Death (Sister Fidelma Mysteries)

by Peter Tremayne

  There was a few moments’ silence while Colgú digested this. Then he said: ‘You mentioned two interesting points.’

  ‘At this moment, in Rumann’s tavern, a new guest has just arrived. His name is Cerball, Lord of Cairpre Gabra. That is the territory which owes allegiance to Tethbae.’

  ‘Both interesting points,’ conceded Colgú. ‘But what sense do they make? Do they help you to identify the girl and the dead man with whom she was travelling?’

  ‘Not directly,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘But it is a start. There is also something that Baodain said. The girl asked him if she could join his wagons as she was heading for Cashel. Our theory is that she was coming here to meet someone.’

  ‘You think it was Cerball of Cairpre Gabra? Then why not confront him?’

  ‘I don’t want to pre-empt the matter without knowing more,’ Fidelma explained. ‘He could merely deny it and we would have to accept his word. That is why we shall leave tomorrow at first light to see what we can discover along the marsh road.’

  ‘If the Lord of Cairpre Gabra has arrived in Cashel, and if he believes in protocol, then he will come to the palace to pay his respects to me,’ her brother said. The matter of besgnae, or protocol and custom, was not one to be disregarded lightly. ‘When he does, what shall I say?’

  ‘If he is concerned with the matter, he may well see the wagon in Rumann’s barn, which is where Aidan has it placed for safety. He might also recognise the oxen with the King of Tethbae’s brand on them. If so, he will certainly question Rumann, who will tell him how they came to be there. There is no hiding the events from him, but the warriors should prevent him from questioning Baodain and his performers. Whether he believes in protocol or not, he will come here to get further information. Tell him nothing, brother, but simply say that I am investigating matters and should be returning shortly.’

  ‘I presume that you have already made arrangements with Aidan and Enda to accompany you?’

  ‘I intend to do so right now,’ she replied. ‘We leave tomorrow at first light.’

  ‘Then I’ll place Luan in temporary command of the warriors.’ Colgú sighed. ‘I still wish Finguine was here …’

  ‘We have to play the fidchell pieces as they fall on the board,’ replied Fidelma testily, referring to the popular board game. ‘Neither your heir apparent, the Chief Brehon, nor Gormán are here. So you had best put up with me, brother.’

  Colgú glanced at Eadulf and pulled a face. Eadulf thought he saw a resigned humour in the King’s expression.

  ‘You continue to be a dálaigh, Fidelma, and I’ll continue to be King,’ he replied gravely. ‘We are both allowed our doubts and questions. So you will leave at first light. You’ve no idea when you will return?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘It will depend on what we find or what we don’t find.’

  ‘Very well. After you have spoken to Ferloga, can he get on with organising the Great Fair?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll have a quick word with him now and then send him to you. If we do not return before it is time for the Great Fair …’ She raised a calming hand as her brother’s brows started to knit together. ‘I am not saying that this will happen, but if it does, then Baodain and his party may perform but must remain in Cashel until I return.’

  ‘Understood,’ her brother acknowledged with a sigh.

  ‘There is another thing that I would like you to do,’ Fidelma went on.

  ‘Very well – within reason.’

  ‘Take Alchú riding when you can and also give him a game of brandubh or fidchell now and then.’

  Colgú laughed. ‘No need to ask that. I will make sure that my wise little nephew,’ he used the endearing term mo nia cétfadach, ‘is well looked after in your absence.’

  ‘Then we shall be content.’ Fidelma smiled and rose. ‘And now we shall go to have a few words with Ferloga.’

  Colgú rose as well. A slightly worried look crossed his features. ‘Look after yourself, little sister,’ he said gently as he embraced her. Then, turning to Eadulf with a quick smile, he added: ‘Ensure that she does nothing foolish, my friend.’

  The couple left Colgú and walked to the great kitchen of the royal house. A few people were there preparing the evening meal while Dar Luga fussed over them, tasting one dish and then another, adding advice or scolding for some mistake. In a corner, sipping at a mug of ale, sat the man they were looking for. Ferloga was the innkeeper from Rath na Drinne – and they knew him of old. The inn itself lay by the great ring whose name meant Place of Contentions, for it was here the townsfolk came to witness contests in athletics and other sports, and where the fairs were usually held. Ferloga had been an innkeeper most of his adult life, and Fidelma and Eadulf had often spent time at his inn for it lay on the road from Cashel across the plain to the Cluain Meala and beyond the mountains of Mhaoldomhnaigh to Lios Mhór. It was only two years ago that Fidelma had been involved in discovering the truth behind the mysterious death of a guest in Ferloga’s inn.

  As they entered the kitchen, Ferloga caught sight of them and sprang to his feet, setting down his mug on a nearby table. Out of the familiar surroundings of his inn, Ferloga looked awkward and slightly nervous. This was unusual, for during his years as a host, he had had dealings with kings and chieftains, religious of all descriptions and ranks, rich merchants, travelling players passing on their way to market, and even beggars desperate for shelter. He had taken them all in his stride. But here in this royal kitchen, he felt out of place.

  ‘Good day, lady. Good day, Brother Eadulf.’

  Fidelma returned his greeting. ‘Be at ease, Ferloga,’ she ordered. ‘I am told you have come to report to my brother about the arrangements for the Great Fair.’

  Ferloga nodded jerkily. ‘I trust nothing is amiss, lady? I had to leave Lassar in charge of the inn and came as soon as I received the King’s summons. He said he needed to discuss the preparations which he usually did with his steward.’

  ‘It is late and already the light has faded.’ Fidelma nodded towards the window. ‘It was unthinking of my brother to ask you to come here at this time of the day.’

  ‘That’s all right, lady. Whenever I am here, Rumann offers me a bed so that I don’t have to journey back in the dark. Rumann is a kinsman of mine,’ he added, but the look of anxiety did not leave his face.

  ‘Well, there is nothing wrong, Ferloga,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I know that my brother is a little anxious about the arrangements of the Great Fair but I know that matters are safe in your hands.’

  Ferloga seemed to relax. ‘Well, he has no cause for concern. I have been involved in the running of the Great Fair for many years, and have lost count of the times that I have had to help the King’s stewards with making the arrangements, especially Beccan. He was always so worried about getting the details right that he often overlooked the wider picture.’

  Fidelma remembered how punctilious the late steward of Cashel had been. Punctilious, but weak – and that weakness had allowed him to be drawn into the plot that eventually led to his own murder.

  ‘That is good to hear, Ferloga,’ she said kindly. ‘It was about the Great Fair that I wanted to talk to you.’

  Ferloga’s expression was serious. ‘Is it about Baodain and his performers?’ he said immediately. ‘Rumann told me the story when I arrived, or such as he knew it. I saw Baodain and his troupe encamped on the far side of the town square – and under guard.’

  Fidelma inclined her head. ‘I wanted to ask you what you knew about Baodain, as he has been a performer at previous fairs.’

  Ferloga considered for a moment. ‘I know precious little, I am afraid. It is true that he and his performers frequent most of the great fairs. Baodain is rather arrogant but not as arrogant as his wife Escrach. In spite of that, he somehow attracts good performers into his troupe.’

  ‘Do you know where Baodain comes from?’

  This was met by a quick shake of the head. ‘He has the accents of Midhe, the Middle
Kingdom. So does she, but whether he has ever called Midhe his home or not, that I cannot say. Oh, he and Escrach play their instruments well enough and have a good repertoire of songs and stories but, begging your pardon lady, they are of a lower class of songs and stories than you would be used to. It is entertainment fit for the likes of farmers and cowherds when drink has been taken. He is certainly not the main attraction at any fair that he attends.’

  ‘But he does get work at the Great Fairs?’

  ‘Oh, that he does surely. I am told he has performed at Tailltenn, Tlachtga, Uisneach, Carman in Laigin, even at Aenach Macha, the ancient fair at Emain in the north country.’

  ‘Then if he and his wife are not good performers, how is he able to entertain at all these fairs?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘He must have some reputation.’

  ‘Baodain has one great ability,’ conceded Ferloga. ‘He is able to spot talented performers and recruit them to his troupe. Because he has connections with all the organisers of the Great Fairs, he can assure these performers of work. It is curious … because of the talents of his performers, he gets the work and all the glory for the achievement. He is esteemed because of those whose talents he exploits.’

  Eadulf chuckled. ‘A symbiotic relationship.’ When Ferloga looked puzzled he added: ‘There is an old conundrum, which comes first – the chicken or the egg?’

  Ferloga smiled appreciatively. ‘It is true that he provides some pleasing eggs among his performers.’

  ‘Are you saying that he does not always have the same group of players with him?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

  ‘I think it is fair to say that he hardly appears more than two or three times with the same performers. But then we only see him once a year or every other year. I would say,’ Ferloga learned forward with a confidential attitude, ‘I would say that once his performers have done the rounds of the fairs with him, and made their own contacts for work, they are off on their own if they are any good. I myself would dislike it intensely if I had to be beholden to Baodain for any length of time.’

  ‘He has no regular members of his troupe?’

  Ferloga rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is the Strong Man in his troupe … what was his name? Barrán. He is getting on in years for a Strong Man these days. One can’t go on lifting great weights all one’s life without damaging oneself. But he and his wife Dub Lemna have half a dozen kids to feed, as I recall.’

  ‘Five, I was told,’ Fidelma corrected him pedantically. ‘So Barrán is one of the performers that he has brought with him this time. Can you remember anyone else?’

  Ferloga mentioned some names which did not fit in with the ones they had been given for the current troupe, apart from those of the tumbler and jugglers.

  ‘So Corbach and her tumblers were also here last year,’ Fidelma noted.

  ‘Yes – and Corbach too is past her prime. Her entire family take part in the act. They are about six adults and three children, as I remember. Probably some of the children are of the age to perform this year.’

  ‘I see.’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘But I was told that only a few of Baodain’s performers were new – namely, Maolán and Mealla, the contortionists. But as far as you know, most of them are new.’

  Ferloga was watching her with a question on his face. ‘Is there some significance in this, lady?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I am just thinking aloud. How are the performers usually chosen for these fairs? Are they engaged from year to year, or do they just turn up, and if there is space, they are given it to entertain the crowds?’

  ‘You have it exactly right, lady,’ agreed Ferloga. ‘It is impossible to know the situation from one year to the next. Impossible to know who is available. Indeed, one cannot know the health of the performers and the strength of their acts to be certain they will arrive and be of sufficient standard to perform. Then there is the weather, which can cancel the entire fair. So the players turn up and, as you say, if there is room, they are allotted the land, for which they will pay a tax from the profits that they make. That tax goes to the King to divide among those he has appointed to organise and oversee the fair.’

  After a few more moments of polite conversation, Fidelma bade farewell to the innkeeper and left, followed by Eadulf. They still had to advise Aidan and Enda about the next day.

  The couple made their way in silence across the courtyard to the Laochtech, the Hall of Heroes, which were the quarters of the King’s Bodyguard.

  ‘What is on your mind?’ asked Eadulf, observing his wife’s thoughtful expression.

  She smiled at him. ‘I was thinking that Baodain’s performers have a good reputation, according to Ferloga, in spite of Baodain’s own, less than excellent contributions. And yet they were turned down by the Fair Master at Uisneach, weeks before the fair was even due to start. So on what grounds were they refused a performance? That is what is bothering me.’

  ‘Baodain says the fair had too many acts.’

  ‘Yet no fair is that crowded so far in advance that the organisers would turn down a troupe which has a decent reputation,’ she repeated. ‘We can also discount the weather, for no seer could predict the conditions of the ground so far in advance; let alone the health of the performers or the strength of their acts …’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘Maybe the new acts did not measure up to the troupe’s reputation? They had just performed before the Prince of Tethbae. Perhaps he did not like them and said so.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Fidelma said slowly. ‘We know from Ferloga that Baodain was lying to us about the length of time his performers have been with him. Why would he do that? As Ferloga said: is there some significance in this?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day had dawned bright and sunny although there was still a chill in the air. Isolated patches of white cloud hung high and motionless and, even though the marshes spread flat on either side of the great highway of Slíge Dála, the countryside seem verdant, interspersed by patches of bright yellow flowers. They had left Cashel at first light with Fidelma leading the way on her favourite horse, Aonbharr, ‘the Supreme One’, named after the magical horse of the ancient God of the Oceans, Manannán mac Lir. Aidan rode at her side and behind them came Eadulf on his placid cob with Enda alongside him.

  It was not long before Aidan was pointing along the road before them.

  ‘That is where Baodain’s wagons halted, where they were fighting the fire. Isn’t it so, friend Eadulf?’

  ‘Not much has passed along this way since then,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘You can still see the tracks and marks where they halted.’

  Fidelma paused but remained seated on her horse, surveying the area closely. Looking across the dark, brooding patches of bogland, Eadulf could not rid himself of visions of the ése, the water spirits of his own pagan culture, who could shape-shift and appear and disappear at will. It was in just such areas as this that the impossible could happen.

  He glanced around the low marshlands with their stagnant pools and low-flying cuili condae, the ‘fierce fliers’ as they were called, the biting insects and midges that spread disease if one was not careful. As a former student of the healing arts, Eadulf always carried his lés, a small leather bag containing some medical equipment, and to which he frequently had recourse. The bag contained surgical instruments and soithech or containers for ointments or salves; on crossing marshland, he always ensured that some honey and a container of apple-cider were among them. He had found that some solace from the biting midges could be obtained by their application.

  He realised that Fidelma was looking round at him curiously.

  ‘There are a lot of midges around here,’ he said feebly, to explain his woebegone expression.

  ‘You are right, there are. Come, there is nothing to be learned here. We should not tarry.’

  They rode on until Aidan interrupted the silence by pointing towards the part of the highway where the ground started to rise into the hills.

  ‘It was
from those hilltops that Eadulf and I first noticed the wagons of Baodain,’ he announced.

  ‘Therefore it will not be far before the road from Durlus Éile joins this one from the north,’ Fidelma replied. She used the word ramut, which indicated a smaller road than the great slíge or highway, of which there were only five connecting the capitals of the Five Kingdoms with Tara, the seat of the High Kings.

  They passed the main highway that led off to the fortress and township of Gelgéis, the Princess of the Éile. Some distance beyond, at the righthand side of the road, they heard the gurgling of a stream, splashing down the hills over moss-covered roads and into a large pool that eventually seeped away, dispersing into the low-lying bogland through which they had ridden. There were signs in the surrounding mud of wagons, and of horses and other animals using it as a watering-hole.

  ‘This must be where the girl met up with Baodain’s troupe. We’ll take the opportunity to rest briefly and water our horses here,’ Fidelma instructed.

  Before long Fidelma ordered them to resume their journey. Only moments later, Aidan spotted a track leading through the treeline to their left, between high bushes into the marshlands. The warrior took the lead now. They had been riding along it for some time when Eadulf began to have doubts: could a wagon, such as the one driven by the girl, have comfortably traversed this route? The path had become narrow and muddy and the horses were getting fretful at the increased attention of the midges and the sudden appearance and disappearance of small mammals among the swampy sedges.

  He decided to voice his concerns. ‘This doesn’t look like the sort of route that the girl would take with a wagon of that size,’ he said mildly.

  Aidan was immediately defensive. ‘Well, Baodain said that she came from a track from the north, and that it was before the spring and pool, and certainly before the main roadway to Durlus. Where else could it have been?’

  ‘Perhaps there is another path?’ Eadulf suggested. ‘There is no sign of wheel-tracks here.’