T
he only sound that followed the girl’s statement was Abbot Colmán’s sharp exhalation of breath and her continued sobbing.
Fidelma remained impassive.
‘Are you saying that it was your mother, Gormflaith, Sechnussach’s own wife, who used to meet with his assassin at nights in the royal enclosure? ’ she asked slowly.
Muirgal tried to gather herself together. Then, as if she realised that, having admitted thus much, she had to confirm her statement, she replied between sniffs, ‘I have said as much.’
‘And when you took Dubh Duin to your mother, where did she receive him at such an hour?’
‘In this house, in her own chambers,’ the girl said. ‘Since the birth of my baby sister, Be Bhail, three years ago, my mother has had her own residence here. What better than this house, which was built by the great High King Laoghaire? We all live here.’
‘And you say that your only connection with Dubh Duin was to pass him through the gates to bring him to your mother?’
‘It was.’
‘The reason being so that no one would associate his coming with your mother?’ Eadulf queried.
‘Yes. No one was to know that it was my mother that Dubh Duin had come to see,’ agreed Muirgel quietly, wiping her eyes.
‘Why was that?’ asked Eadulf.
The girl turned on him with a pitying look. ‘Why do you think?’ she countered.
‘Is that speculation or are you stating that you knew positively that your mother was having an affair with Dubh Duin?’ Fidelma asked.
Muirgel turned back to her and shrugged. ‘I am old enough to make my own deductions. However, my role was simply to escort him to my mother’s chamber and there I left them together. You must ask my mother, should you want to know the details of the matter.’
‘Lady Muirgel, you continued as an intermediary, having guessed the purpose of Dubh Duin’s visits to your mother’s chambers. Surely you did not approve of this?’ Abbot Colmán said nervously. ‘How could she and you betray your father into cuckoldry?’
‘It was no business of mine,’ the girl said sulkily. ‘My mother made that clear to me. You must have known that she and my father had been estranged these last three years and that he had taken a
dormun
for his needs.’
The old abbot winced slightly. ‘I knew of no such thing,’ he protested.
Fidelma looked from the abbot to the girl and back again.
‘This is important information, Colmán,’ she said quietly. ‘If Sechnussach had taken a
dormun
, a second wife, then I should have been informed.’
‘I had no knowledge of it,’ the abbot insisted. ‘I am sure the Brehon Barrán had no knowledge of it either. If anyone would know about such a thing, it would have been him.’
‘You say that it is so?’ Fidelma looked the girl in the eye.
‘I do not know it for a fact,’ she said reluctantly. ‘No one admits to it, and no one has identified any particular woman. All I know is that when my mother was pregnant with my baby sister, she claimed that she had discovered that my father had taken another woman to share his bed. That was when she insisted on her own apartments.’
‘You speak of a
dormun
as a second wife,’ Eadulf said. ‘I am not sure that I understand this. I thought the word meant a mistress or a concubine.’
It was Abbot Colmán who enlightened him.
‘Under our old law system, men could take a second wife who had fewer rights than the
cétmuintir
or first wife. The second wife was called a
dormun
. The custom is dying out, although some of our powerful kings and nobles insist on continuing the practice.’
Eadulf had heard of polygamy among other peoples.
‘Such practices are condemned by Rome,’ he commented piously.
‘Rome’s judgements on this matter are offered as a counsel of perfection and not a rule,’ the abbot stated. ‘Second marriages are still accepted under our law system.’
‘There is currently a controversy among the Brehons on this matter,’ Fidelma informed them. ‘It is often argued whether monogamy or polygamy is the more proper form of marriage. At the moment, the judgement is that those who wish to take a second wife do not trespass against the teaching of the New Faith. The
Bretha Crólige
points out that God’s chosen people lived in a plurality of marriages – Solomon, David and Jacob had many wives – therefore it is not more difficult to condemn polygamy than it is to praise it. Even if Sechnussach had taken a second wife, he stands within the law.’
‘Monogamy is a counsel of perfection,’ muttered Abbot Colmán again.
‘However, unless there is evidence that Sechnussach took a
dormun,
according to law, then this remains speculation,’ added Fidelma.
‘My mother believed it,’ growled Muirgel.
‘Then we will question your mother,’ Fidelma assured her, rising from her chair. ‘For the moment, that will be all, Muirgel. However, I will want to talk with you again. I advise you to say nothing of this matter for the time being.’
The girl simply stared indifferently as they left her.
Outside, Fidelma turned to Abbot Colmán and said, ‘Surely there must have been some indication of what the girl has told us? An estrangement between Sechnussach and his wife – rumours of his taking a second wife? The royal enclosure of Tara is not so big that such matters would go unnoticed and unremarked.’
Abbot Colmán met her gaze with a serious expression.
‘Of the estrangement, perhaps we should have guessed,’ he said. ‘We knew that since the birth of little Be Bhail, the lady Gormflaith has kept to herself and only appeared at her husband’s side on those occasions where it was deemed necessary. Sometimes, though, after the birth of a child, a woman can take curious fancies into her mind. Be despondent and depressed. We merely thought that Gormflaith might have been experiencing such feelings.’
Fidelma coloured slightly for she knew exactly what Colmán meant. It had been her own experience after the birth of her son, Alchú.
‘But after three years … ?’ she pressed.
‘Well, all I can say is that during these past three years, if Sechnussach did take a second wife, it was a secret so well-kept that no one knew of her existence.’
‘Perhaps it was well-kept from his advisers or even his
tánaiste,’
Eadulf
observed, ‘but it could hardly have been a secret from the servants who attended him. Perhaps we should speak with them?’
Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘A good thought.’
‘I think I am beginning to see the reason for the assassination of the High King,’ Eadulf suddenly said with confidence.
‘You are?’
‘It is obvious that if Gormflaith had taken Dubh Duin as a lover, then the pair of them might have conspired to kill Sechnussach so that Gormflaith would be free.’
Fidelma pursed her lips. ‘You think so?’
‘Gormflaith would not be the first woman to conspire with a lover to murder her husband.’
Fidelma simply shook her head. ‘Under the law, they had no need to recourse to that act. She could surely have divorced. However, we will see firstly what Gormflaith has to say.’
Enquiries revealed that Gormflaith and her second daughter Murgain were out riding but were thought to be returning within the hour. The three of them left the
Tech Laoghaire
and began to walk back across the royal enclosure towards the guests’ hostel.
‘Perhaps Brehon Barrán would be able to contribute to this mystery about a second wife?’ Abbot Colmán suggested.
‘Is the Brehon still in Tara?’
Abbot Colmán affirmed that he was, adding, ‘He has his own residence just outside the royal enclosure. But I think he is working at the hall of the Great Assembly.’
Fidelma thought about it but then dismissed the idea.
‘It would be better to see Gormflaith first, without rousing ideas that might prove false,’ she decided.
At that moment they saw Caol and Gormán approaching them. The men looked worried.
‘Lady.’ Caol halted.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Fidelma, gazing from him to Gormán.
Caol looked anxiously at Abbot Colmán.
‘Come, speak up. There are no secrets among us here,’ urged Fidelma, not unkindly.
‘We have seen Badb again.’
‘The old woman?’ Fidelma was surprised.
Gormán nodded rapidly. ‘She appeared out of nowhere as we were
walking by the guesthouse. She shook her fist at us and told us to beware and return from whence we came – even as she did at the river.’
‘Lady,’ said Caol, ‘as you know, we of the Nasc Niadh are afraid of no mortal. She appeared and then she seemed to vanish again, and although we searched, being mindful of what you said before, we could not find her.’
‘Lady, we may be afraid of nothing in this world, but if there is the Otherworld to contend with, then we need to be told. Is it mortals with whom we deal, or might we be dancing with demons?’ added Gormán.
Abbot Colmán looked taken aback by what the two warriors had to say and was about to speak when Eadulf cleared his throat nervously and turned to Fidelma.
‘I did not mention it before, but I too have seen the old woman again – as we were coming from the cells after speaking with Erc. I came out into the light and there she was, standing on the wall. She repeated this same warning and when I blinked again she had disappeared.’
Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I wondered why you behaved so strangely. You ran to the wall to look for her?’
‘I did. And there was no sight of her. Is she mortal or demon? I have no liking for mysterious apparitions.’
Caol and Gormán muttered their agreement but Fidelma was having none of it.
‘To all mysteries there is a rational explanation,’ she announced.
‘But,’ Caol protested, glancing at the abbot for support, ‘begging your pardon, there is nothing rational when dealing with that which is beyond mortal explanation.’
‘I would offer my counsel if I understood what it was that you are talking about,’ the Abbot said fretfully.
He listened attentively while Fidelma told him of the meeting at the river crossing. He then asked for a closer description of the woman who called herself Badb. Finally, he allowed himself a sad chuckle.
‘Poor Mer,’ he said. ‘I suppose that she could alarm those not used to her and her odd ways.’
‘Mer?’ queried Fidelma.
‘We call her Mer the Demented. She is old and crazy and always scavenging around Tara. She probably picked up the news that you had been sent for, to investigate the death of Sechnussach. Then she dressed it up in her own fashion. She clings to the Old Faith but there is no evil in her.
She is crazy – but God blesses the insane and foolish, so we are told. She does no harm.’
‘No harm when she utters curses and warnings?’ Eadulf grunted, feeling a complete fool.
‘No harm, Brother Saxon,’ the abbot insisted. ‘Here, we overlook her eccentricities. Her husband was killed at the great battle of Carn Conaill and that is what unhinged her mind.’
‘That took place a long time ago,’ Caol grumbled. ‘It was a battle in Connacht.’
‘You know your history well, warrior,’ affirmed the abbot. ‘No one knows what Mer’s real name was, for that is the name she has been called since then. She was a woman of Connacht. Her husband was a warrior in the army of Guaire, the King of Connacht. The story is that an argument rose between Guaire and Diarmait of Tara. When Diarmait moved an army against him, Guaire sent to ask for a truce. But the abbot of Cluain Mic Nois and all his clergy urged Diarmait on to slaughter Guaire’s army. The clerics of Cluain Mic Nois came to the field of the battle to pray and call upon God to support the victory.’
‘Why are you telling us this?’ Eadulf wanted to know.
‘Because, as I say, I think that is what deranged her and why she became Mer the Demented One. Her husband was killed and so she not only blamed Diarmait of Tara but all the priests of the New Faith. She came to Tara to haunt it, so it is said, and call down imprecations on it and its entire clergy in the name of the old gods and goddesses. No one knows where she dwells, but she has scavenged for food and been seen around the hills of Tara for many years.’
‘A tragic lady, then?’ Fidelma glanced to Caol and Gormán, who were looking embarrassed. ‘Not a demon but merely a mortal woman who feels life has treated her badly. One to be pitied and not to be feared.’
‘She is as God made her,’ added Abbot Colmán. ‘No worse nor better than many. She need not alarm you.’
‘She knew Fidelma’s name and why we were coming to Cashel,’ Eadulf said defensively. ‘That was alarming enough.’
‘She is mortal,’ the abbot replied. ‘Understand, she is old and sick.’
‘Well, there is one thing which I still do not understand,’ Eadulf replied stubbornly.