Badger's Moon (7 page)

‘It is I who am the
dálaigh
, Lesren. I am come to ask some questions about your daughter.’

‘You?’ The tanner seemed amused. ‘A young woman?’

‘This is Fidelma of Cashel,’ put in Accobrán. ‘Sister to King Colgú,’ he added
sotto voce
.

The tanner blinked but his unfriendly expression did not change. ‘If you are here to ask me about Beccnat’s murder, I will tell you who killed her. It was Gabrán.’

Accobrán expressed his impatience. ‘We made inquiries, Lesren. You know that. Gabrán was nowhere near Rath Raithlen on the night your daughter died.’

‘So you say.’

‘I only say what the witnesses say. The fact is that he was staying twelve miles away.’ The tanist’s voice indicated that he had told the story a hundred times before. ‘Aolú, our late Brehon, agreed that he was innocent of your claim.’

‘If you claim that Gabrán slew your daughter,’ Fidelma added. ‘Are you also saying that he killed the other two girls as well?’

Lesren raised his chin stubbornly. ‘I say that he killed Beccnat. That is what I say. I told her to beware of him and his thieving family.’

‘Those words are harsh and have harshness in the saying of them,’ Fidelma reproved him. ‘I would caution you against calling people thieves. You know the law and the penalty that falls upon those who tell false tales about others. It could even lead to the loss of your honour price,
súdaire
.’ She laid a soft stress on his title as a means of reminding him of the standing in society he could lose.

Eadulf knew that everyone in the five kingdoms of Éireann, from the lowborn to the highest, was possessed of an honour price. The High King himself was rated at the value of sixty-three cows while a provincial king, such as Fidelma’s brother Colgú, held an honour price valued at forty-eight cows. In the time that he had been in this land Eadulf prided himself on having learned to judge the honour price of most people and concluded that a tanner would be valued at four cows. The cow was the basis of the currency, with a
séd
being the value of one cow while a
cumal
was that of three cows. Smaller coins like a silver
screpall
or a
sicil
were divisions of the value of a cow.

At first Eadulf had not been able to understand the honour price system and vainly tried to equate it with the caste system of his own people. He soon realised that there was a fairness in its structure that had much to do with the system of punishments for crimes. The whole basis of the law system was compensation and rehabilitation. To maintain a standard throughout the kingdoms, each person was ascribed an honour price that was based on the job they did, and not on who their parents were. Fines were assessed on the honour price of the one transgressed against. If a man killed a master builder then he would have to pay the master builder’s family compensation to the value of twenty cows, together with a fine to the court. If he could not afford it, and his own honour price was less than the value of twenty cows, then he would lose his honour price and all civil rights, and would have to work to compensate the family and the court. He became an ‘unfree’ man, a man without any rights – a
fuidhir
.

There were two types of ‘unfree’ person, depending on the seriousness of the crime. While a
daer-fuidhir
had no rights and could not bear arms, a
saer-fuidhir
was entitled to continue to work his own land or follow his own professional calling – within reason. He was expected to pay taxes. If, by the end of his life, he had not provided the required compensation and rehabilitated himself into society, then the punishment did not fall upon his wife or children. Every dead man kills his own liabilities, said the Brehons.

As a foreigner in Éireann, Eadulf was classed in law as a ‘grey dog’,
cú glas
, which actually meant one who was an exile from overseas. Thus Eadulf, no longer an emissary of the Archbishop of Canterbury, was without legal standing and had no honour price. Even married to Fidelma he would have remained without an honour price had not Colgú and Fidelma’s nearest relatives recognised the union and approved it. Being accepted by Fidelma’s family, Eadulf was also accepted as having an honour price that was half that of Fidelma’s. But there were restrictions that someone of his culture found onerous and almost offensive. He was not entitled to make legal contracts without Fidelma’s permission and she was responsible for any debts or fines that he might incur. Neither was he allowed to have any legal responsibility in the rearing of their son Alchú. That was Fidelma’s responsibility alone. For Eadulf, his position as a ‘grey dog’ was a bitter legal concept in spite of the fact that, in reality, Colgú treated Eadulf as both friend and equal.

What Eadulf found astonishing was that Fidelma’s people saw many matters that his culture would not even call transgressions worthy of severe punishment – if one could call fines and loss of rights a punishment. In Saxon society, death and mutilation and slavery were considered just punishment for the entire range of social and political transgressions, whereas in the
Bretha Nemed
the Brehons decreed that if a man kissed a woman against her will, he would have to pay her full honour price. If a man tried to indecently assault a woman, then the
Cáin Adomnáin
set the fine at the value of twenty-one cows.

Truth was taken seriously in law. The
Bretha Nemed
stated that if a person wrongfully accused another of theft, or publicised an untrue story that caused shame, it required the payment of the victim’s honour price. Hence he could understand why Fidelma was now giving the tanner a fair warning.

Lesren, however, would not be warned.

‘What I saw is the truth. Ask Goll, the woodcutter, if you do not believe me. Ask him why he had to pay me a fine of one
screpall
. I will say no more on the matter until you have done so.’

‘One
screpall
is no great sum to pay,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘A transgression of the law is great enough, no matter the outcome,’ snapped the tanner.

‘And what Brehon imposed this fine?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Aolú.’

‘And Aolú is dead,’ muttered Accobrán.

Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘Am I to believe that you disapproved of your daughter’s relationship with Gabrán because of his father, Goll, and this matter of the fine that you have mentioned?’

Again the chin came up aggressively. ‘It is reason enough.’

‘What did Beccnat have to say about your disapproval? She was seventeen and beyond the age of choice. She had the right to decide her own future.’

Lesren’s features wrinkled in a scowl. ‘She was my daughter. She refused to abide by my decision and look what happened to her. If only Escrach had not broken with Gabrán, he would not have pursued my daughter.’

‘Escrach?’ Fidelma glanced at him with quickened interest. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Gabrán was paying her attention until she made it clear that she was not interested in him. I warned my daughter not to encourage him.’

‘Daughters have rights once they reach the age of choice,’ Fidelma admonished him.

‘Daughters also have duties,’ replied the tanner angrily. ‘I had to chastise Beccnat when she spent nights away from home. Even to the end she refused to obey and those last three nights she spent away from home – well, I feared she would pay for it and she did. Gabrán was to blame.’

‘You are a stubborn man, Lesren,’ Accobrán broke in. ‘Gabrán was nowhere near here when your daughter died. No amount of accusations against Gabrán’s father will alter the fact that this can be proved by witnesses. And even with your prejudice, you cannot blame the deaths of Escrach and Ballgel on Gabrán. Why would he kill them and for what reason?’

‘To achieve what he has clearly done with you…to put you off his scent. To make it seem that there is a maniac at large here. I do not believe in maniacs. I will affirm it at every opportunity I am given. Gabrán killed my daughter.’

‘But why? For what reason would he have killed her? They were to marry.’ Fidelma’s voice was quiet but her question cut like a knife with its logic.

Lesren stared at her.

‘Why?’ he repeated slowly, as if the question were new to him.

Fidelma was firm. ‘He wanted to marry Beccnat. I have been told that your daughter was going to marry Gabrán in spite of your objections. What reason would he have to kill her?’

For a moment Lesren hesitated, seeming to gather his thoughts together.

‘Because,’ he said quietly, ‘some days before her body was found, she told me that she did not want to cause her mother and me any upset. She said that she was not going to many Gabrán. She said she had discovered that he was using her. She realised that he was not a suitable choice of husband. Then she went out and never came back. She went to tell Gabrán of her decision to break off her relationship. I know that he killed her because of it.’

Fidelma had become aware of a woman who had approached them during this conversation and now stood quietly at Lesren’s side. It was evident that she had been attractive in her youth. Although grey now streaked the blackness of her hair, her light-coloured eyes, the fairness of the skin and the comeliness of her features were not diminished by age. However, she carried herself with a careworn air. Although Lesren made no attempt to introduce her, Fidelma knew instinctively who she was.

‘Are you the mother of Beccnat?’

‘I am Bébháil, Sister.’

Lesren turned with a sarcastic sneer towards his wife. ‘This is the king’s sister, woman. A
dálaigh
, come to snoop about Beccnat’s death.’

The woman blinked and hung her head. The thought crossed Fidelma’s mind that it was in shame at her husband’s boorishness.

‘You have heard your husband state that Beccnat had changed her mind about marrying Gabrán and went out a few nights before she was found dead with the intention of telling him so. Were you a witness to your daughter’s change of mind?’

The woman glanced nervously at her husband and then nodded hurriedly. Her eyes were suddenly tear-filled and she was clearly still distraught at the return of the memories.

‘So the girl told you both of her intention and then left?’

‘It is as my husband has said. I can say no more.’ The woman called Bébháil moved hurriedly to the
bothán
, closing the door behind her.

Lesren smiled bitterly.

‘Are you satisfied now,
dálaigh
?’ he sneered.

Fidelma returned his gaze with a stony expression. ‘Far from it. You are still forgetting one thing. Whether your daughter changed her mind or not, whether Gabrán had motive or not, Accobrán has stated that Gabrán was proved to have been twelve miles from here on the night of her death. But do not be concerned; I shall check that out. I shall satisfy myself of the facts.’

‘Do so,
dálaigh
. I am waiting for justice.’

‘Have no fear. Your wait for justice may not be long. I shall be returning here.’

Once they were out of earshot, Eadulf said quietly: ‘He was lying, I am sure of it. Lying ahout his daughter changing her mind. The wife was clearly frightened to say anything in front of him.’

‘I have no doubt that there was some tension between them,’ agreed Fidelma. She glanced at Accobrán in curiosity. ‘Does he really have such a hatred of Gabrán and his family? What about this fine imposed by Aolú on the boy’s father – Goll?’

The young tanist shrugged. It seemed a normal appendage to his speech.

‘There has been some enmity between Lesren and Goll for years. I would not have thought there was sufficient cause to bring it to this. Accusations of stealing are one thing, but of murder – triple murder – are something else.’

‘What do you know of this accusation that Gabrán’s father is a thief? Presumably this was the reason why a fine was imposed?’

Accobrán shrugged, ‘I know little about that. I have heard stories. For the truth you must consult Becc, for he was sitting in judgement with Brehon Aolú at the time.’

Fidelma paused thoughtfully. Then she said: ‘If we have time now, I would like a word with this Gabrán and his father.’

Accobrán glanced up at the sky. ‘It is past noon, Sister. I would advise that we return to the rath for refreshment. I understood that you also want to see Seachlann, the father of the victim Escrach, and go to the abbey too today. Becc told me that you wanted to meet the strangers there. Goll and Gabrán work the woods on the far side of the river. I doubt whether we will find them before nightfall if we are to fulfil all your wishes.’

Fidelma did not seem perturbed. ‘There is no immediate hurry. We will continue with the plan and if we cannot see Gabrán and Goll today, we will see them tomorrow. But since you remind me – what of Escrach? Was it true that Gabrán was having a relationship with her?’

Accobrán smiled easily. ‘She was an attractive girl. The Cinél na Áeda have a reputation for the attractiveness of their women. He was a healthy youth. It would not be surprising in this community. Marriage and children come along before youth is lost for ever.’

‘Yet you, I believe, are not married, tanist of the Cinél na Áeda,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Once again the young man’s features broke into a disarming smile. ‘Alas, I have spent many years away following the gods of war. A warrior would be wrong to take a wife, for many a widow is the outcome. I have only recently settled down to learn the duties that my cousin and our
derbfhine
have bestowed on me.’ The young tanist was suddenly thoughtful. ‘I suppose that you are not expecting anything serious to happen until the next full moon?’

Fidelma regarded him speculatively. ‘Do you believe that there will be another attack then?’

Accobrán’s handsome features twisted in a grimace. ‘What has happened three times can surely happen a fourth.’

‘So you share the belief of Liag that there is a lunatic abroad? That the killer is motivated to his deeds by the full of the moon?’

Accobrán pursed his lips in a cynical smile. ‘It is a more logical explanation than the story Lesren would have you believe. To be honest, I confess that I have little liking for Gabrán. He can be an arrogant youth at times. I do believe, however, that old Liag is right. What other explanation can there be?’

‘We have yet to hear Brocc’s reasons for accusing the strangers and have yet to hear what the strangers say in answer to them,’ pointed out Eadulf. ‘It is best not to draw a conclusion until we have gathered in all the evidence.’

He felt Fidelma’s eyes on him and coloured a little, knowing that he was paraphrasing the words with which she had often reproved him.

‘That is true,’ agreed the young tanist. ‘And the sooner we return to the rath to eat, the sooner we can start out again to get answers to those questions.’

He lost little time in leading the way back up the hill on a steep path to the towering walls of Rath Raithlen.

At the midday meal Becc joined them. The chieftain smiled wryly when the subject of Lesren and Goll was raised.

‘Maybe I should have warned you about Lesren and Goll.’

‘Is this feud so serious, then?’ Fidelma asked.

‘It depends how you define the term serious. If, as Accobrán tells me, that idiot Lesren is still accusing Goll’s son of the murder of his daughter and, thereby, of the other murders, then it may turn out to be serious for Lesren. I am aware of the law against spreading malicious falsehoods.’

‘Tell me, how did this quarrel start?’

Becc reflected for a moment or two. ‘I supposed it started many years ago. Lesren was married before he married Bébháil, you know.’

‘He had a wife before her?’ Eadulf asked unnecessarily.

‘Indeed he did. She divorced him. The woman was called Fínmed.’ He paused to make the next sentence significant. ‘Fínmed is now the wife of Goll, the mother of Gabrán.’

Eadulf sat back with a faint hissing sound as he tried to stifle the whistle of surprise, which would have been considered bad manners for a guest at table. Fidelma glanced at him in reproof.

‘There are several grounds whereby married couples may divorce under our law, Eadulf,’ she explained for his benefit. She turned back to the chieftain. ‘What was the cause in this case? Was it one of the categories where no one is judged to be at fault? Where each went their separate ways without blame?’

Becc shook his head immediately. ‘The divorce of Lesren and Fínmed fell into the other category where blame was clearly judged by the Brehon. Fínmed left Lesren’s house with full compensation and her
coibche
.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘The
coibche
is the bride price which the husband may give to his wife or her family.’

‘I know about the
coibche
,’ replied Eadulf softly.

Becc had the goodness to blush. He had forgotten the relationship between Fidelma and Eadulf. In fact, Eadulf had spent some time studying the
Cáin Lánamna
, the laws of marriage, with Colgú’s Chief Brehon. He knew that if a wife left her husband, and the fault lay with her, then this
coibche
, or gift of goods or money, must be returned to the husband. However, if the wife was not at fault when the couple split up then she took the
coibche
with her and half of any wealth accrued during the period of the marriage.’

‘What was the cause of the divorce?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Lesren was a violent man,’ Becc explained. ‘He used to drink and beat Fínmed. As you know, the right of immediate divorce is allowed to a woman who is struck by her husband. Lesren had to pay a fine to her as well as her
coibche
. In spite of her entitlement to a marriage settlement as well, Fínmed refused to take anything more from him and left. Lesren was not even grateful that he had been let off lightly. He was angry and never forgave her. When she married Goll, the woodcutter, he was almost beside himself with rage.’

‘But he married again,’ pointed out Eadulf. To Eadulf, logic was logic.

‘He did,’ agreed Becc. ‘He married Bébháil. Although one hears rumours, they seem happy and she bore him the daughter Beccnat but no other child.’

‘What you are implying is that Lesren still harbours a grudge against his former wife and against Goll who married her?’

Becc sighed and inclined his head in a gesture of agreement. ‘That is true. Fínmed married Goll a year before Lesren remarried. They had a son, Gabrán. It became clear, over the years, that resentment still flared between Lesren and Goll.’

‘And what of this accusation by Lesren that Goll was a thief?’ asked Eadulf.

Becc grimaced indifferently. ‘That was a paltry affair. Merely spite. It seemed that Lesren found out that Goll had illegally felled a tree.’

‘Illegally?’ Eadulf frowned. ‘The man is a woodcutter. How would he fell a tree illegally?’

‘Woodcutters have to obey the law along with everyone else. Certain trees in certain areas cannot be cut down without the woodcutter’s seeking the proper permission. There are trees which we call “chieftain trees”, whose illegal felling causes fines to be imposed on the offender. It seems that Goll was under pressure to provide some ash wood. The ash is one of the chieftain trees. Unfortunately, he cut it down without seeking permission of my Brehon or myself.’

Fidelma glanced towards Eadulf.

‘Technically, this would have been considered tree theft,’ she explained before turning back to Becc. ‘But if the fine, as I was told, was a
screpall
, it was not considered as a theft with intent.’

The chieftain agreed. ‘Lesren discovered the act and reported Goll to Aolú. The Brehon had no option but to summon him before the court. The reason for Goll’s haste was that someone had commissioned a chair to be made as a present. It is a tradition that a chieftain should sit on a chair of ash. Had Goll sought permission then the surprise of the gift would have been negated. He decided to take a chance and cut down the tree. The act had been committed and could not be uncommitted. So Goll was fined the nominal sum of a
screpall
.’

‘Did Goll know that it was Lesren who reported him?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Of course. Lesren had to appear before Aolú to give evidence.’

‘So that fact did not endear Lesren to Goll?’

The chieftain grimaced with dry humour. ‘Within a week, Goll had his revenge. As you may know, the bark of the apple is used to help with the tanning process. But bark may not be removed from trees within certain months called “killing months”. That is when the removal of the bark may lead to the death of a tree. Goll saw Lesren removing the bark of an apple tree during a killing month. He reported him. Now Lesren had to appear before Aolú, charged on the witness of Goll. I had a word with Aolú and we both decided to even matters up by fining Lesren a
screpall
. Both sides were even and Aolú and I thought that would be an end of the matter.’

‘But the feud continued?’

‘It did. And then came the unforeseen circumstance. It seems that Goll’s son and Lesren’s daughter fell in love with one another. When Lesren was informed, there was nearly a battle here. Goll was more philosophical about the situation, although far from happy. My impression, however, was that all the hate emanated from Lesren.’

‘None from Goll?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Are you sure?’

‘It was Lesren who forbade Beccnat to marry Gabrán even though she was over the age of choice and there was no legal impediment to the marriage’s taking place.’

‘But Lesren claims that his daughter had changed her mind and, on the occasion of their last conversation, she told her father that she had decided not to marry Gabrán and was going to tell him,’ Eadulf pointed out.

Becc raised his eyebrows in a look of astonishment. ‘This is the first time that I have heard of it. Are you sure?’

‘We are sure only in that this is what Lesren told us,’ said Fidelma.

‘It provides Gabrán with a motive conceived out of the anger of rejection,’ explained Eadulf.

‘This might well be. But Aolú, my Brehon, was still alive, although infirm, when the accusation was made against Gabrán. Accobrán was asked to check where Gabrán was and discovered that he was at the coast some twelve miles or more away from here. There were plenty of witnesses to that fact. So, if the girl had changed her mind. she would not have been able to tell Gabrán before her murder.’

‘Lesren’s wife supported his version of events,’ murmured Eadulf.

‘The man is not merely a fool, he is a wicked one,’ replied Becc. ‘Why his wife continues to put up with his abuse, I do not know. As I have said, surely Lesren cannot accuse the boy after the evidence that was gathered by Accobrán? Then there are the other murders. Brocc has convinced everyone, except Lesren, that the strangers in the abbey are to blame for all of them.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘There is much fear and distrust here, Becc. It is like peering into an impenetrable mist filled with swirling dark shadows. But it is early days yet. We still have many people to speak to and if Eadulf has finished eating, we should make another start.’