‘So be it. And you can tell me no more about Dubh Duin who, Gormflaith says, you introduced to her?’
‘As I say, I have no recollection of it.’ Barrán shrugged. ‘I introduce many people to each other. All I recall about Dubh Duin is that he was regarded as a capable man, a good chieftain and a strong advocate of the rights of his people while in the Great Assembly. I would say he was inclined to be conservative in all his dealings.’ He then added: ‘I suspect he was conservative in matters of the old religion as well.’
‘Why do you suggest that? Are you saying that he did not embrace the New Faith?’
‘I really don’t know. He raised a heated debate in the Great Assembly once, asking that people should have as much right to follow the Old Faith as follow the New Faith. I know harsh words were exchanged with Sechnussach, but I was not there so cannot give you the details.’
Fidelma was not happy. ‘Harsh words between Sechnussach and Dubh Duin? Is this another question of information that would help my investigation that has somehow been overlooked?’ she said indignantly.
‘You must ask Irél, who was attending the Great Assembly that day or, indeed, one of those nobles who were present at the debate. I am not the investigator of this matter.’ Brehon Barrán made a motion of his hand as if in dismissal. ‘For me, there was nothing to mark Dubh Duin out
significantly from the rest of the nobles of Midhe.’ He relaxed a little and grinned. ‘They are all egocentric with pretensions of high-minded morals. Dubh Duin liked to claim that the new religion was persecuting those who followed the old religion and that he was merely standing up for the rights of those who did so.’
Fidelma turned to the door, pausing with her hand about to open it. ‘It would be best if nothing else was concealed from me in the future, Barrán,’ she remarked tightly before she made her exit.
Outside, with the door closed, she exhaled deeply in exasperation. She was angry that the Chief Brehon had tried to conceal facts, claiming, in his defence, that it was good for the people. She returned along the corridor to the hallway of the
Tech Cormaic
, where she found Eadulf waiting for her.
‘There is no one at the hall of the Great Assembly at this time,’ he explained, ‘but I do have some information that might be useful. I had a word with Irél about Dubh Duin and an argument he had in the assembly.’
‘An argument with Sechnussach over religion?’ Fidelma said.
Eadulf’s face fell. ‘You already know about it?’
She reached forward and took his arm in companionable fashion. ‘In truth, I have only just heard that it took place. I have no details. Come, let us go into the fresh air and then tell me all you know.’
W
hen Eadulf had related his conversation with Irél, the commander of the Fianna, Fidelma merely commented: ‘It is background information that helps to paint a picture of our assassin, but not much else. There is still much to discover.’
‘What did Brehon Barrán have to say to you? Did Gormflaith tell the truth?’
‘I am afraid that both Gormflaith and Barrán tell stories that are impossible to reconcile. Barrán said that so far as he knew, no divorce was arranged and he was never asked to draw up a settlement to be agreed by them.’
She was about to speak further when the dowdy young woman who had been serving in the guesthouse, Cnucha, came hurrying by. Fidelma called to her and the girl, seeing who it was, came over immediately, her hands demurely folded before her.
‘May I help, lady?’ she asked, eyes downcast.
‘I am looking for Brother Rogallach. Would you know where he is?’
The girl indicated towards the back of the
Tech Cormaic.
‘At this hour you will find him in the kitchen, lady. The door at the back is open, so you may go through the house to the kitchen.’
Fidelma was about to thank the girl when the figure of Brónach appeared on the steps of the royal residence and glowered angrily at them.
‘Cnucha! What are you loitering there for? I sent you to help Báine in the guesthouse. Be off with you!’ The woman turned on her heel and went inside.
Cnucha, in an uncharacteristic show of temper, suddenly stuck out a tongue in her direction and then, realising that the others had seen her, she blushed and lowered her head.
‘I am sorry, lady. Sometimes it is difficult to put up with all the insults that have to be endured when people think you have no feelings and no ability to fight back. I am sure Brónach is usually a good person. Recently, however, she has become increasingly irritable. I think it is because her lover may have left her.’
Fidelma was disapproving. ‘It is not seemly to speak of such things, Cnucha.’
The girl tried to appear contrite. ‘It just slipped out, lady. Brónach is a nice woman, very attractive, and it was sad when her husband was killed. I am surprised that she did not take another husband. Someone like her could have many suitors. I am sure she had a lover until a few weeks ago – not that she ever told us or that we knew – but she has been so miserable and snappy of late, and—’
The girl caught sight of Fidelma’s frown and stopped dead. ‘Sorry, it’s just … sorry.’ She moved off quickly on her errand.
Eadulf was smiling at Fidelma’s expression. ‘Well, if there was gossip or rumour to be had, which might help us, we know where to come to,’ he joked.
Fidelma pulled a face at him, indicating mock offence. ‘It is not gossip we look for, Eadulf, but evidence.’
Eadulf raised his eyes towards the sky for a moment and said piously: ‘Much truth in gossip, as your old saying goes.’
‘
Vir sapit qui pauca loquitor
,’ she quoted back. ‘That person is wise who talks little.’ Then she thought of something. ‘Or maybe it should be the reverse … ’She began to walk towards the kitchen of the royal house with Eadulf, puzzled, trailing in her wake.
It was the custom of the large wooden houses in the five kingdoms to have the
ircha
, or kitchen, constructed as a separate building at the back. This was because of the heat of the cooking fires and the dangers of sparks of heated oil causing a conflagration. There were still instances of such domestic fires destroying buildings and even entire families.
As they entered the big room, with its stifling heat emanating from two ovens, its pungent odours of herbs and heating foods, they found two people busy preparing the dishes. Fidelma could not see Brother Rogallach although one of the men, who was cutting joints of pork on a thick wooden table, looked up and, laying aside his large-bladed knife, took a step towards them.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked deferentially. ‘I am Torpach the cook.’
Fidelma explained who she was looking for.
‘Ah, Brother Rogallach is in the
seallad
. He is doing an inventory of the goods there. You’ll find him beyond that door.’
Eadulf recognised
seallad
as the word for a pantry where provisions were stored and was about to move off but Torpach halted them. ‘Excuse me, lady, but you are the
dálaigh
come to investigate Sechnussach’s death, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ she affirmed.
‘He was a good man,’ sighed Torpach. ‘A good cook, too. He was often down in this kitchen, trying out recipes. He was down here even at dawn on the day before his death. I got here early that day to prepare some dishes and surprised him. He told me he couldn’t sleep, poor man, and so came to get his own breakfast ready. Another lord would have roused his servants to do such a task. That was the last time I saw him. Why Dubh Duin wanted to kill him, I do not know.’
Fidelma smiled reassuringly at the cook’s expression of woe.
‘That is what I must discover, Torpach. Thank you for your concern. I hope to have the answers before long.’
The
seallad
was a separate building from the kitchen, a place without fire so that the heat of cooking would not ruin the foodstuffs that were stored there. Fidelma led the way out into what was a large yard. In one corner of the yard was a medium-sized kiln, an
aith,
which was used for the drying of corn or other grains to make bread. The large wooden storehouse opposite to it had no windows, although its one door was slightly ajar. This was clearly the
seallad
or the pantry.
‘Brother Rogallach?’ called Fidelma as they approached. There was no answer.
With a shrug, she moved to the door and pushed it open. The interior of the pantry was in darkness. Eadulf stood at her shoulder.
‘Brother Rogallach?’ She raised her voice a little. ‘Are you in there?’
They both heard it. As if in answer there came a soft moaning sound.
Fidelma stepped inside, trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom and clicked her tongue in frustration that she could not make out anything. It was Eadulf who noticed the extinguished candle on the ground almost at their feet. He had nearly trodden on it as he moved forward. He now bent down and picked it up.
‘Can you light it?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Stay there, don’t go inside,’ Eadulf instructed firmly and hurried back
to the kitchen where, without a word to the surprised cook and his assistant, he ignited the candle from one of the cooking fires. It was easier than spending time with flint and tinder trying to produce a flame. One hand cupped over the flickering flame of the tallow candle, he went as fast as he could back to the
seallad
where Fidelma was waiting impatiently on the threshold.
‘Let me go first,’ Eadulf insisted, and so she stood aside to let him pass within.
The single room of the pantry building was stacked with barrels and sacks in the centre, while all around the walls was wooden shelving on which were placed various items of foodstuffs. Eadulf stood looking round, seeing no sign of anyone.
There came another moan.
Raising his candle high he stepped in the direction of the sound and saw a sandalled foot sticking out from behind one of the barrels.
‘Here!’ he called to Fidelma. Behind the barrels was stretched the figure of a stocky religieux, face downwards, one arm under his body, the other stretched out. A little distance from the open hand was an empty candle-holder. Eadulf bent down and touched the pulse in the man’s neck. It beat regularly and steadily, but the back of his head was covered in blood. Carefully, he turned the man on his side, away from the injury.
‘Rogallach!’ exclaimed Fidelma, standing above him and peering down at the semi-conscious moonfaced man. ‘I thought I knew his name. I met him once before when I was here in Tara. Is he badly hurt?’
‘He has taken a blow on the back of the head. I’ll shift him out into the light where I can have a better look.’
Giving the candle to Fidelma, Eadulf put his forearms under the man’s shoulders, then dragged him backward out of the pantry and into the light beyond. By this time, the moonfaced man was blinking and coming around.
‘Lie still,’ instructed Eadulf gently, as he began to examine him. Finally he sat back. ‘You have a nasty gash on the back of the head, Brother. How did you come by it?’
The man stared up at him. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, even though his voice was still weak.
‘I am Eadulf.’
Fidelma bent across his shoulder. ‘You remember me, Brother Rogallach? I am Fidelma of Cashel.’
The man’s eyes flickered past Eadulf to her. ‘Fidelma the
dálaigh?
’ he asked hesitantly.
‘The same.’
Brother Rogallach closed his eyes as if tired for the moment and then he tried to sit up but Eadulf pressed him back.
‘Stay still for the moment, my friend. I do not know what damage might have been caused. Did you hit your head on something?’
‘I was struck from behind.’
Eadulf glanced back to Fidelma and then to the man once more. ‘Deliberately struck, do you mean?’
‘I do. I had just opened the trap door which leads down to the
uaimha
where we store the meats and butter and other foodstuffs that require the cold to keep them … ’
‘Yes, I know what it is,’ replied Eadulf, having but recently learned the word for the souterrain.
‘I opened the trap door and turned to fasten it before descending to get some butter for the kitchen. I had my back to the entrance and was still holding my candle ready to descend when someone hit me.’
Fidelma looked concerned. ‘You are certain it was a blow deliberately struck?’
The moonfaced Brother Rogallach looked at her indignantly. ‘I have not abandoned my senses that I do not know when someone has attacked me,’ he replied.
‘We should take you to an apothecary to get that wound dressed,’ Eadulf suggested.
Fidelma ignored him and addressed the rotund
bollscari
again.
‘Do you have any idea of the passing of time? How long ago was this?’
Brother Rogallach said shakily, ‘I have been in blackness. I do not know.’
At that moment Torpach, the cook, came out of the kitchen door and paused, seeing Rogallach stretched on the ground and the others bending over him.
‘What is happening?’ he demanded.
‘Brother Rogallach has met with a mishap,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Do you know when he left the kitchen to go to the pantry?’
The man looked slightly bewildered. ‘Only moments before you came into the kitchen asking for him, lady. Why, did he slip?’
‘Moments?’ Fidelma did not answer the question. ‘Then if the blow
was deliberately struck, the culprit might still be hiding in the souterrain. Stay with Brother Rogallach,’ she instructed the cook.
Rising, she motioned Eadulf to follow her. She had left the candle alight on a shelf inside the door of the pantry. She picked it up but again Eadulf held out his hand and stayed her impetuous movement forward. He moved in front of her, leading the way forward towards the gaping black hole down which some stone steps led into the souterrain. The trap door had indeed been opened and secured so that it would not fall back, as Brother Rogallach said. Eadulf hesitated a moment and then, holding the candle up and slightly in front of him, he moved carefully down the steps.
A figure was sitting at the far end of the stone-lined vault, resting with its back against one of the wooden pillars that reinforced the roof, legs stretched out in front of it. The eyes were wide open, staring at him as he crouched in the low underground room. The lips were drawn back in a merciless smile.
‘
Deus misereatur
!’ exclaimed Eadulf, starting back.
He had no trouble recognising the malignant features of the crone who had identified herself as Badb, the spirit of death and battles. What he did not realise for several moments, as he felt that his blood had turned to ice, was the fact that she was dead. A long-bladed dagger had entered the centre of the old woman’s frail chest, pinning her to the wooden post against which she was leaning.