Badger's Moon sf-13 Page 12

  ‘It is a shame that the Cinél na Áeda have fallen on lean times,’ she said. ‘But metal apart, this is a rich land and the people will not starve. You have trees in abundance, well-watered fertile soil, and some good grazing. Also you are only twelve miles from the seaport at the house of Molaga.’

  ‘True enough, lady,’ agreed the smith, replacing the metal on his shelf. ‘People have to adapt to new conditions, for nothing lasts for ever. We have a saying: even the road to Temhair has turnings and twists.’

  Fidelma smiled appreciatively. Then she became serious as she remembered the purpose of her exploration of the rath.

  ‘There is no need to tell you why I am here, smith.’

  ‘No need at all,’ agreed the smith. ‘Becc brought you here to investigate the strangers at the abbey.’

  The word he used for ‘strangers’ was actually a legal term — murchoirthe, which literally meant one thrown up by the sea. It was an interesting term for the smith to use as it also implied that the person so referred to was one who might have been a criminal beyond redemption who had been punished by being set adrift on the sea and subsequently washed ashore. Everyone had previously used the term deorad or outsider, which was also a legal term but implied that the outsider had a legal standing. Fidelma hid her interest at the smith’s choice of word.

  ‘So, do I take it that you believe Brocc is right when he accuses these strangers?’

  ‘Have you spoken with Brocc?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And have you seen the strangers?’

  ‘I have.’

  The smith shrugged indifferently as if he had made a case.

  ‘So what is your conclusion?’ prompted Fidelma.

  ‘They are not men as we know men. They are alien and ugly to us. Like the nocturnal animals, they are dangerous being let loose near our womenfolk at the full of the moon. Brocc’s word is good enough for me. They should be driven from our land or punished for what they have done. Only Becc’s interference saved them. Oh yes, lady, I admit that I was one of the crowd that went to the abbey to demand their punishment and visit it upon them if no one else would.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Then you must know, smith, that your action is not condoned in law. What if you had killed or injured the strangers?’

  The smith laughed and his prejudice was made clear.

  ‘A murchoirthe is without an honour price in law. Brocc told me that much. So there would be no fine or compensation to pay.’

  ‘Indeed? Brocc should have told you that the abbot had taken the strangers in and given them hospitality. In law, therefore, the strangers are judged as having half the honour price of the abbot.’ She glanced at his forge. ‘I doubt whether your forge would raise the amount of compensation.’

  She turned angrily away. Her anger was directed at the blind prejudice that the smith had displayed. She was about to storm away when she hesitated and turned back to the man. She realised that her anger was as destructive as the prejudice itself. She should be able to understand the origin of his prejudice and by that understanding seek to overcome it instead of allowing her anger to increase his righteous belief in his cause.

  ‘What is your name, smith?’

  ‘Gobnuid,’ he replied defiantly.

  She had begun to suspect this was his name, having remembered what the abbot had told her. It was ironic that she had met him when she merely wanted to ask any smith about the possibility of gold in the area.

  ‘Then heed some advice, Gobnuid. Let not fear of that which is different create hatred in your soul. Hatred is but a weak man’s vengeance for being intimidated and made fearful by what he does not understand.’

  She still felt anger but now controlled it and made an effort to keep her voice even. Anger was going to be no way to discover truth at Rath Raithlen, and there was enough anger, hate and prejudice here without adding to it. She remembered where she had first heard Gobnuid’s name. It had been from Sirin the cook.

  ‘I believe that you knew Sirin’s niece, Ballgel?’

  The smith shrugged.

  ‘Who did not know her in Rath Raithlen?’ he responded. ‘We are a small community.’

  ‘Indeed you are. I have heard that there was some friction between you.’

  Gobnuid stared at her in annoyance. ‘Who says this?’

  Fidelma’s eyes fell on his nervously clenching hand. ‘Is it not true then? You asked her to dance at the feast of the Blessed Finnbarr and she refused. You were angry and displayed your anger to all there.’

  The smith’s mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘It was not anger at the girl. It was anger at those silly youths with whom she consorted. They decided to mock my age and looks because I dared asked her to dance with me. My anger was aimed at them.’

  ‘So you felt no animosity to the girl when she refused?’

  ‘I was upset to hear of her death. I had warned her that the night sky could be treacherous.’

  Fidelma stared at him.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Ballgel and the others, they were all going to Liag who filled their minds with silly tales of the moon and the stars. Brocc told me that Escrach was so full of Liag’s silly stories that she was going to consult with the strangers.’

  Fidelma tried to hide her amazement. ‘Consult them about what?’

  ‘About the powers of the moon. Liag told Escrach that the strangers had the power of knowledge and knew many things of the moon’s properties. That is why I believe the strangers should be driven from here.’

  Fidelma swallowed hard. So Liag knew about the Aksumites’ interest in star lore?

  ‘Tell me, Gobnuid. You say that Liag taught star lore to Ballgel and to Escrach. Who else did he teach it to?’

  ‘To many over the years. Even I often went to sit and listen to his stories.’

  ‘So boys went as well?’

  ‘Even Accobrán our tanist,’ agreed the other. ‘But remember that the strangers had the power of knowledge and knew many secrets of the moon. That is evidence enough for me that there was evil afoot in the abbey.’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘Not evidence at all. Remember that, Gobnuid the smith. Remember, I am concerned only in getting to the truth. Let no one try to pre-empt the decision of my investigation, otherwise the law will be made clear to them and the punishment will fit their transgression of it.’

  She had walked a short distance from the forge when some instinct made her glance back. Gobnuid was apparently examining something in his hand with a frown of concentration. It sparkled in the glinting light of the forge fire. It was the nugget that he had told her was iron pyrites. Fidelma turned and hurried away.

  Eadulf glanced up as Fidelma entered the guestroom. He had already bathed and dressed ready to attend the evening meal in Becc’s feasting hall.

  ‘You’ll have to hurry,’ he began and then saw her expression. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘I have just had an interesting conversation with a smith called Gobnuid. There is certainly fear and prejudice against the strangers in this community. I fear that it will not be enough to exonerate them to say that there is no evidence that they are guilty. It must be demonstrated that they are innocent.’

  ‘Do you really think that they are innocent?’ Eadulf demanded. Fidelma looked sharply at him. ‘Thought has nothing to do with it. Where is the evidence?’

  Eadulf’s eyebrows rose at her sharp tone. ‘I would reserve my judgement on their innocence or guilt until I have heard all the evidence. So far there are many questions that remain unasked, let alone unanswered.’

  Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment and then slumped on the bed, realising that, perhaps, she was being too sensitive. Of course, Eadulf was right. Was she now beginning to see prejudice where there was none?

  ‘The Aksumites as good as admitted that one of them was on the hillside that night,’ went on Eadulf. ‘The fact that Brocc could not identify which one of
the three is no absolution of guilt. It is, however, an admission of lying and why do people lie? Only when they have something to hide.’

  Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘You are right, Eadulf. I am sorry if I was sharp. It is a matter that we must deal with in our search for the truth. But blind prejudice is something I cannot deal with.’ She rose suddenly as she realised the growing lateness of the hour. ‘I must bathe. Go to Becc’s hall and tend my apologies. Say that I shall be there directly.’

  Chapter Eight

  It was after they had broken their fast on the next day that Fidelma decided that they should find Goll and his family. This time she told Accobrán that they would travel by horse because the previous day’s walking had been quite exhausting. While the distances had been short, the hilly terrain and small woodland paths had been tiring. The young tanist went off to arrange for their horses to be saddled. While he was doing so, Fidelma and Eadulf took the opportunity to examine the high watchtowers that marked the gates in the triple ramparts of the fortress.

  ‘Impressive,’ Eadulf commented as he peered up at the constructions.

  Impulsively, Fidelma suddenly made for the doorway to one of the towers.

  ‘Let’s climb up and see what view we can gain of the terrain,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It will help us get a good perspective of the countryside about.’

  With a suppressed groan, Eadulf followed, for he was the first to admit that he had no head for heights. Inside the wooden tower, ladders ran from floor to floor, and Eadulf counted five levels before they emerged on a flat roof. It was bathed in the soft October sun. Eadulf blinked nervously at the scene that unfolded below him. The woods spread like vast carpets of green in all directions, criss-crossed by silver lines that marked the run of rivers through the valleys. And faintly to the north and west he could make out the distant shadows of mountains.

  ‘A beautiful countryside,’ Fidelma was saying, stretching languorously in the early morning sunlight. Although it was autumn, the sun was growing quite warm. Eadulf could feel it through his clothing. He stood nervously near the hatch through which they had ascended rather than venture to the edge of the tower where Fidelma stood looking down towards the territory they had traversed yesterday. Whether he looked down or whether he looked outwards across the hills from this high point, Eadulf felt an uncomfortable sensation. It was a sense of losing his balance; that he would fall off the earth into the void of the sky. He felt the sweat stand out on his brow.

  Fidelma had not noticed his discomfort and appeared to be making calculations of distance as she surveyed the wooded countryside.

  ‘Come and see, Eadulf,’ she urged. ‘No wonder there are so many names of places in this area with the word garran in them.’

  Eadulf tried to concentrate, to focus on what she was saying rather than the dizzy view beyond.

  ‘Garran? What does that mean?’ he asked absently, knowing full well its translation.

  ‘A wood of small size or an avenue through trees,’ replied a male voice at his feet. It was a thin, wiry man with a thatch of sandy hair, whose head and shoulders had appeared through the hatch.

  Fidelma swung round and her eyes widened a fraction as she recognised the smith named Gobnuid.

  ‘Exactly so. In your own Saxon tongue, Eadulf, you have the word gráf, I think.’ She pronounced it ‘grove’. ‘It means the same thing.’

  Eadulf, nodding, was attuned to the hostile glance that she gave the newcomer.

  ‘The land of groves. It seems appropriate.’

  ‘I have been sent to tell you that your horses are ready, lady,’ Gobnuid announced, having climbed onto the roof to join them. ‘Accobrán the tanist is waiting below for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fidelma said, her voice distant. ‘We were admiring the beautiful countryside around here. It certainly is best seen from this high vantage point.’

  ‘None finer,’ the smith agreed, glancing around as if examining the landscape for the first time.

  ‘In what direction is the bothán of Goll the woodcutter?’

  ‘To the south-west, beyond the Thicket of Pigs and across the river.’

  Fidelma glanced towards the dark green of the treetops that spread across the hills in the direction Gobnuid had indicated.

  ‘It appears that it will be a pleasant ride,’ she observed.

  The smith nodded absently.

  ‘Perhaps it is time you should be leaving, lady? Accobrán is waiting below,’ he repeated.

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ replied Fidelma softly.

  ‘After you, lady.’ The smith stood aside from the hatch.

  Eadulf said quickly: ‘I’ll go first.’ In truth, he was glad to leave this high, unprotected place. Without awaiting a reply, he climbed onto the ladder, hoping that Fidelma would not observe his haste to be gone, and began to descend. Fidelma followed him with the smith bringing up the rear.

  Eadulf was halfway down the first ladder when he felt the rung on which he had placed his foot give way with a sudden crack. Had his fear not been making him hold the ladder so tightly, the surprise of the breaking rung might have precipitated him off the ladder and could have sent him tumbling the five floors down the ladder well. For an eternity he hung by his arms, his feet waving into space as they sought for a support.

  He lowered himself a rung by his arms, and his foot finally found the support of the rung below the one that had snapped.

  ‘Are you all right, Eadulf?’ came Fidelma’s concerned voice from above him.

  ‘I’ve been better,’ Eadulf breathed after he felt secure. ‘One of the rungs snapped under my foot. Come down carefully, I’ll guide you over it.’

  He waited until she came further down the ladder.

  ‘Right,’ he called. ‘The next rung is now missing. Lower yourself by your hands and feel for the next rung.’ He paused as she did so. ‘That’s it. Your foot is on the rung. Come on down.’

  Fidelma did not do so at once. As she passed over the broken rung, reaching it at eye level, she paused and examined it carefully while Eadulf stood impatiently on the landing. As she came down level with him, she asked anxiously: ‘Are you sure that you are all right?’

  He nodded. ‘I’d better lead the way down again.’ He smiled. ‘There could have been a nasty accident. The wood snapped.’

  Gobnuid came down quickly to join them. He looked nervous.

  ‘Accident?’ He picked up on the word. ‘I think you are right. Some of the wood is rotten and in need of replacing.’

  Eadulf glanced from Gobnuid to Fidelma with silent curiosity. He could sense something of the tension between them. Accobrán was waiting outside the tower when they emerged. He saw that something was amiss.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

  ‘One of the rungs was rotten,’ replied the smith almost defensively. ‘No one is hurt.’

  ‘Eadulf was lucky that he had a good grip,’ added Fidelma, ‘otherwise things might have been different.’

  Gobnuid vanished towards his forge and Fidelma saw the look of anger on Accobrán’s face as he looked after the smith. It seemed that he was on the point of following him, but a stable lad brought forward their horses.

  ‘What made you send Gobnuid up to fetch us?’ Fidelma asked the tanist. ‘A smith has more important things to do than act as a messenger. The stable lad could have summoned us.’

  The young tanist shrugged.

  ‘Gobnuid was here. He had to shoe my mare this morning, lady,’ he replied almost defensively. ‘He volunteered to run up to get you.’

  Accobrán dismissed the stable lad and began to mount his horse. ‘Fidelma and Eadulf followed his example and they were soon trotting out of the gates of Rath Raithlen.

  It was a pleasant ride along the forest tracks and, as if by mutual agreement, they rode in silence for most of the way. Eadulf was bursting with questions but he knew Fidelma well enough to remain silent when he saw her preoccupied features.

  They passed over th
e wooded hill, the strangely named Thicket of Pigs, and crossed the River Tuath by a ford where the water gushed over a bed of pebbles. Suddenly, in mid-stream, Accobráh halted and pointed to the hills that rose before them. Solemnly, he intoned: ‘A forest in full colour. The sigh of myriad leaves whispering to the listening heavens. Even great cities appear as muddy hovels to the venerable shady groves that were old before the first brick was placed on brick.’

  Fidelma was startled out of her silence because the verse Accobrán had just recited was in Greek.

  ‘I did not know you spoke Greek.’ she commented.

  The young tanist shrugged. ‘A little of Greek, Hebrew and Latin, for I spent some years at the house of Molaga thinking to become one of the religious before I realised that my hand was better suited to hold a sword than a stylus. I spent some time serving my uncle Becc in the campaigns to prevent the Uí Fidgente raids on our territory.’

  ‘And thus you were elected tanist, Becc’s successor?’

  ‘Ten months ago,’ confirmed Accobrán with a smile. ‘Now, while Becc enjoys the prestige of chieftainship, I enjoy the hard work of riding through the territory to ensure that order is kept and no one has cause to complain.’

  Fidelma glanced at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘Do you resent that?’

  ‘Resent? Accobrán seemed surprised at the idea. ‘Of course not. That is the task I undertook. When I am elderly, and I am chieftain with a tanist, it will be his task to do as I do and my reward to do as Becc does. That is in the way of things. Brother Eadulf, there’ — he indicated Eadulf with a nod of his head — ‘does not resent the tonsure he wears. He would not have become a religious if he did not want to wear the garb and perform the duties that go with the job, would he? No more do I resent the duties that are incumbent on me as tanist.’

  They continued on their way through the dark woods, climbing steadily along the forest pathway through the thickly growing trees.

  A loud shout from nearby caused them to abruptly rein in their horses.