Badger's Moon (13 page)

They soon came upon a large wooden building which appeared to be the home of Goll the woodcutter. Piles of logs and stacks of newly cut timber and and planking stood around the clearing in which the
bothán
was constructed. There would have been no need to ask the occupation of the person who dwelt there.

A woman appeared at the door and then called to someone behind her. She stood aside and a man took her place, bearing a strong resemblance to Gabrán. The youth swung down from Eadulf’s horse and walked swiftly towards them.

Fidelma and Accobrán dismounted. Eadulf followed and took the reins of all three horses, tying them to a stake set in the ground for just such a purpose, before joining them before the door of the
bothán
, where Gabrán had already explained who his companions were.

‘You are welcome here, lady. I am Goll, the
gerrthóir
. This is my wife, Fínmed. We have heard that you have come at the behest of our chieftain, Becc, and we have heard why you have come. Nevertheless, I believed that Lesren’s outrageous claims had long been disproved and that suspicion now lay with the strangers at the abbey.’

‘Lesren continues to voice his accusations against Gabrán,’ replied Fidelma calmly, ‘and it is my duty to hear and judge the merits of all accusations and the evidence for and against.’

‘But the Brehon Aolú said…’

Fínmed moved forward nervously with a warning glance at her husband to still his protest.

‘Will you and your companions come into the
bothán
, lady, and take a little mead with us? Then the facts may be discussed in more comfortable conditions than on the threshold.’

Fidelma gave her a look to show her appreciation. Fínmed had a pleasant face. She was still a handsome woman but what was more appealing than simple regularity of feature was the gentleness and kindness that could not be disguised in her eyes and around the corners of her mouth.

‘You are very kind, Fínmed. We are pleased to accept your hospitality.’

Goll’s wife conducted them inside and seated them before a pleasant log fire while she fetched the jugs of sweet honey mead.

‘Now, lady,’ she said, after they had all savoured the first mouthful, ‘how can we help? You must know that there is enmity between Lesren and our family. You must also know of what passed between us before Aolú gave judgement.’

‘I have heard the story and that is why I wanted to meet all of you to clarify matters,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I should like you to tell me how you perceive the causes of this enmity.’

‘Easy enough,’ Goll said roughly, trying to disguise his obvious irritation at being reminded of the events. ‘It goes back to the time when my wife Fínmed was wed to Lesren. The man was a beast. He beat her and she divorced him.’

Fínmed pursed her lips, glanced at Fidelma and nodded. ‘It is true. The man was drunk most of the time. He beat me and so I left him.’

‘I understand that you were awarded compensation and left the marriage with you
coibche
?’ Fidelma said.

‘That is so.’

‘My wife was also entitled to the
tinól
, which she took, and the
tinchor
which she refused to claim,’ Goll pointed out.

The
tinól
was a kind of wedding present to the bride from her friends, of which two thirds went to the bride and one third to her father. If the bride was at fault, the husband could claim the bride’s share. The
tinchor
was the bride’s wedding portion of household goods, considered as a joint property. These awards clearly demonstrated that the fault for the break-up of the marriage, at least in law, lay with Lesren.

‘You claim that Lesren has held a grudge ever since?’ asked Fidelma.

‘He has.’

‘So how did you feel when your son told you that he was in love with Lesren’s daughter?’

Goll and Fínmed exchanged a quick glance of embarrassment and then Fínmed replied.

‘It would be foolish,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, ‘to pretend that we approved – at first, that is. We disapproved on principle. Then we met the girl and she seemed untainted by her father’s moods. She was a pleasant enough girl who, in other circumstances, we would have been delighted to welcome into our house. We eventually accepted that Gabrán had the right to take his own path in life and so, for his sake, we made her welcome. Then, as I say, she was welcome for her own sake.’

Goll was in agreement. ‘It was Lesren who started this feud with me from the moment I married Fínmed. I avoided the man. However, when Gabrán announced his intentions, Lesren really became a nuisance to me.’

‘A nuisance?’ Eadulf asked quickly. ‘In what way?’

Gabrán had been standing silently by his mother. The matter was apparently painful to him. Now he spoke.

‘If anyone killed Beccnat, it was Lesren. She hated him and he used her like an animal in the same manner as he used her mother, Bébháil.’

‘I presume that when you say Lesren killed Beccnat you are not making the claim literally?’ demanded Accobrh, astonished.

‘He killed her spirit. He killed her childhood and youth. That is what I mean,’ replied Gabrán defiantly.

‘Let us come to that later, Gabrán,’ Fidelma said. ‘In what way did Lesren became a nuisance to you, Goll?’

‘He began to spy on me and reported me to Aolú, the Brehon at Rath Raithlen, for felling the ash tree. I know. I was in the wrong. I was fined a
screpall
for the illegal act. I have no complaints as to the judgement. It was the pettiness of Lesren that I felt anger over. That’s when my thoughts turned to revenge; I just wanted Lesren to know that two could play at that game. I had heard he was bark-stripping at the wrong time. I set to watch him in the woods and that’s when I saw him stripping apple-tree bark during the killing month.’

‘And he, too, was fined before the Brehon. Did that bring an end to this childish feuding?’

Goll shook his head. ‘Lesren went insane with anger. He tried everything to turn Beccnat from my son. He told appalling stories about my wife.’

‘Did you report this to the Brehon Aolú?’

‘Of course, I did. Aolú told me to forget it.’

Fidelma looked shocked. ‘Aolú, a Brehon, told you to forget that someone was spreading lies about you?’ There was an incredulous tone in her voice.

Eadulf was again reminded that verbal assaults on a person were treated with the utmost seriousness under the law. That a judge would advise such assualts to be ignored was the reason for Fidelma’s shock. She had already warned Lesren the previous day that his words might be seriously interpreted. A victim’s entire honour price might be the fine involved against the person who spread such tales.

‘Aolú, the Brehon, told me not to pursue this matter. He said that he would have a quiet word with Lesren and put a stop to it.’

‘Did it stop?’

Goll grimaced. ‘Lesren lost no opportunity to spread lies and rumours about us.’

‘Beccnat was very upset,’ interposed Gabrán, who had been quiet since his outburst. ‘She told me that life was becoming unbearable with her father, and her mother was too weak to do anything about the situation. Lesren dominated Bébháil. We decided that we would elope.’

Fínmed nodded quickly. ‘We supported our son in this matter. It was not illegal.’

‘I know,’ agreed Fidelma. There were two forms of legal marriage that involved a girl’s eloping with a man without the consent of her kin. ‘So when was this elopement to be?’

Gabrán looked pained for a moment or so. ‘As soon as I returned from the coast.’

‘You were at the coast when Beccnat was killed?’ enquired Eadulf.

‘He was staying at the house of Molaga,’ Fínmed said swiftly.

‘And Beccnat was in total agreement with this plan?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘She did not tell you that she had changed her mind? That she no longer wanted to marry you?’

‘You have been listening to Lesren.’ snapped Gabrán angrily.

‘I just want to clarify all the facts,’ Fidelma was unperturbed by his anger.

‘Everything was well when I last saw Beccnat,’ Gabrán said with quiet vehemence.

‘And when was that?’

‘About two days before the full moon.’

‘Why did you go to the coast?’

It was Goll who replied. ‘There was a wagon of holly wood that had been bought by the abbot at the house of Molaga. It was specially cut for the new altar that was being constructed in the chapel there. I was going to take it but there was much work to be done here. So Gabrán said he would drive the wagon to the coast. Rather than returning with an empty wagon and the payment from the abbey, he decided to return with some goods that we needed to purchase. The ship with these goods had not arrived and so my son waited a few days until it put into the port. By the time he returned, it was a few days after the full moon.’

‘Is that so?’ Fidelma demanded sharply of Gabrán.

The young man nodded.

‘So you returned – when?’

‘Two days after…after…’

The boy had a catch in his throat and his mother rose from her chair to put an arm round his shoulders.

‘And, of course, this was checked when Lesren made his accusation against you?’ Fidelma went on, as if ignoring the boy’s emotion.

Her matter-of-fact voice seemed to quieten the boy. He nodded slowly.

‘Ask Accobrán there,’ he replied. ‘Aolú asked him to confirm my story.’

‘Which I did, as I have already told you, lady,’ the tanist pointed out. ‘Gabrán was at the house of Molaga over the period of the full moon. Aolú accepted that.’

‘Lesren is a beast,’ Fínmed interrupted in a slightly shrill tone. ‘An evil beast that he would descend so low as to suggest…’

Gabrán patted his mother’s hand for she was not able to finish. Her voice had choked with emotion.

‘Aolú has pronounced that I could not have…have done what Lesren claimed I did,’ he insisted.

‘Nevertheless,’ Goll added, ‘this evil beast Lesren has continued to spread his lies. Aolú is dead and as you are now acting as our Brehon, I want his mouth closed and compensation paid to me for his wickedness.’

‘I am only a
dálaigh
, not a Brehon,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Nevertheless, I hear you. When this investigation is concluded, then action shall be taken against all who have not told the truth.’ She turned to Gabrán again. ‘I believe that you knew the other girls who were killed – Escrach and Ballgel?’

The youth nodded sadly. ‘The Cinél na Áeda is not such a large population that there are strangers among them, lady. I knew Escrach. We were childhood friends and more recently I would often take grain to her father, the miller, for grinding. Ballgel I did not know so well.’

‘We knew all the girls and their families,’ Fínmed added, a little defensively. ‘As my son says, we are not such a large community. Why do you ask?’

‘I am wondering if there was some common factor between them as to why they should become victims,’ replied Fidelma.

Goll rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘If you were to ask me, lady, the common factor was that they were alone in the woods at night when the moon was full,’ he replied quietly.

‘All the mothers of the Cinél na Áeda have instructed their daughters to remain inside their homes during the hours of darkness,’ Fínmed said.

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. ‘A difficult policy when the feast of Samhain is fast approaching and the hours of darkness are getting longer.’

‘Apparently, people believe a maniac stalks the woods.’ Eadulf addressed himself to Goll. ‘Who do you think is responsible for the tragic deaths in these last few months?’

The woodcutter hesitated, staring at the floor.

‘You suspect the strangers?’ pressed Eadulf quickly. ‘Those at the abbey?’

Goll sighed and shook his head. ‘I have no knowledge of those strangers. I have heard that Brocc favours the idea that they are responsible. He has been able to persuade others.’

‘Others such as Gobnuid, the smith at Rath Raithlen?’

‘Such as Gobnuid,’ agreed Goll.

‘And you?’

‘All I know is that there is someone who is…’

It took Eadulf a moment to translate the phrase
do bhíodh tinn lé goin an ré
as someone suffering from lunacy; someone affected by the power of the full moon.

‘And that someone not being one of the Cinél na Áeda?’ suggested Fidelma. ‘We are back to the strangers.’

To her surprise, Goll shook his head.

‘You have a suspicion who it is?’

‘I am not like Lesren. I would not spread a story for the sake of spreading a story. All I know is that it is easy to find a person who forsakes the New Faith, who lives a life following the old ways and thus knows the forbidden names of the sun and the moon. I objected when my son went with the others to learn of such things.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful and when Eadulf, who was puzzled by the woodcutter’s words, opened his mouth, she turned and frowned quickly at him. He shut his mouth.

‘I understand you, Goll,’ she said quietly.

She rose from her seat and the others followed her example.

‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ Fidelma smiled at Fínmed. ‘I am hoping that we will soon clear up this mystery and end the misery that you and your family must be suffering from the stories that Lesren has spread.’

The woman returned her smile sadly, ‘I am afraid my son has suffered much for my first mistake.’

‘Your first mistake?’ Fidelma frowned.

‘The mistake was that I ever married Lesren. My excuse was that I was young and innocent and did not realise that youthful handsomeness could disguise a personality that was selfish and brutal. I feel sorrow – not so much for myself, for I have discovered a loving husband now and have a loving son – but for Bébháil. She has to suffer marriage to Lesren and, as an additional curse, she now has to bear the loss of her only child, her daughter Beccnat.’

Fidelma laid a hand on the woman’s arm in a gesture of sympathy. ‘You have a great heart, Fínmed, that you are able to allow a corner of it to feel sympathy for the suffering of Bébháil. But remember that if life was unbearable for her, she could have done as you did. Divorce is within her power also. So perhaps she is content with her lot with Lesren, for they have been seventeen or eighteen years as man and wife. But, truly, the loss of a child is a great tragedy for any mother, and in feeling sorrow for her on that account I would join you.’