she observed a small burnt area on the floor close by and she realised that it was this that smelled more acerbically than the remains in the fireplace. Nearby this was a stain. It was not a blood stain. She placed a finger on the still damp area and sniffed. It was oil.
‘Was anything lying here?’ she asked.
‘A broken oil lamp,’ Dubán recalled after a pause for thought. ‘It has been tidied away, I think.’
‘Did you get the impression that Teafa had been holding it when she was struck down?’
‘I did not think much about it. But now that you mention it, it does seem likely that she was holding the lamp in her hand and dropped it when she was struck down. It must have fallen to the floor causing a small fire to start which, God be praised, did not spread and soon extinguished itself.’
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the burnt patch.
‘It would have been fierce enough to have burnt this entire cabin had it not been extinguished. And there is still unburnt oil here.’ She held out her finger with the tell-tale oil stain on the tip. ‘What could have caused it to be quenched?’
‘Well, it was out when I arrived here,’ Dubán shrugged.
Fidelma was about to rise when she saw a piece of unburnt stick in the fireplace. There was nothing extraordinary about it apart from a few notchings. It was about three inches long and was a piece of hazel. She picked it out of the ashes and examined it carefully.
‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘An Ogam wand which has nearly burnt away completely.’
Something had prevented this piece of the hazel from burning, perhaps the way it had fallen from the fire. A few letters remained which made no sense at all. Between the burnt ends she could make out ‘ …
Fidelma gave a final glance around the cabin. As with Eber’s rooms, it was tidy. There was nothing left in any real disorder. It was obvious that robbery was not a motive here.
‘Dubán, you indicated that Eber’s wife was not well disposed to Teafa. Did Teafa have a close relationship with her brother?’
‘To Eber?’ Dubán was evasive. ‘She was his sister and we all live in this small community.’
‘There was no animosity, no friction, as you claim with Eber’s wife, Cranat?’
Dubán spread his hands as if he had decided to give in to a greater force.
‘There was … I cannot explain it very well … a distance between brother and sister. I have a sister of whom I am fond. And even though she is married and with children, I eat often with her family and take her children hunting. Teafa never had a warm relationship with Eber. It might well be that there was someanimosity over her adoption of Móen but I could not speak authoritatively.’
‘I think that it is time that I spoke with this lady, Cranat,’ Fidelma murmured.
‘How about the relationship between Teafa and Eber’s daughter Crón?’ interrupted Eadulf.
‘They were polite and there were no harsh words between them. That is about all.’
‘Incidentally, how was Móen generally treated in this community?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘Most people treated him with tolerance; with pity. They had known him since the time Teafa brought him to the community. The lady Teafa was very respected by the people. Eber had time for the boy. But not so Cranat, who refused to have the boy near her. Also Father Gormán forbade the boy to enter his chapel. Crón seemed indifferent to him.’
‘In a Saxon community, he would have been killed at birth.’ Eadulf was unable to stop the comment which sprang to his lips.
Fidelma drew her brows together.
‘A fine Christian attitude to take, no doubt?’
Eadulf flushed and Fidelma felt a pang of regret for the sharpness of her tongue for she had no doubt that Eadulf would have no part in such attitudes.
‘People who have physical disabilities may be ineligible for office, may not be king or chieftain, but they are members of the community,’ Fidelma explained patiently to Eadulf. ‘All other rights are theirs to enjoy, only the person’s legal capacity or responsibility is changed depending on their disability. For example, an epileptic is legally competent if they are of sound mind. But a person who is deaf and dumb cannot be subjected to distraint — the plaintiff must take action against their guardian in law.’
‘So Móen was not subjected to any inferior position?’ Eadulf observed wonderingly.
‘Not at all,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I have already told you that if hewere, then Teafa could have taken action under the law, for a heavy fine is levied on anyone who mocks or denigrates the disability of a person be he epileptic, a leper, lame or blind or one who is deaf and dumb.’
‘It appears that I have now learnt some law of the five kingdoms,’ Eadulf said penitently.
‘These are not the laws that our Father Gormán would have us follow,’ observed Dubán impassively.
Fidelma turned to him with interest.
‘Perhaps you would explain that?’
‘Father Gormán preaches the rules of Rome in his church. What he calls the Penitentials.’
Fidelma knew that many of the new ideas from Rome were entering the five kingdoms and some pro- Roman clerics were even attempting to make these new philosophies part of the laws of the kingdoms. A new system of Roman ecclesiastical law was springing up alongside the native civil and criminal laws.
She remembered the comment of Abbot Cathal of Lios Mhór. Father Gormán was a strong advocate of Roman customs and had even built another chapel at Ard Mór from money raised by the supporters of the pro-Roman camp. The conflict among the clerics of the churches in the five kingdoms was becoming bitter. The Council of Witebia, in Oswy’s kingdom, where she had first met Eadulf two years ago, had only been a means of making the differences deeper. Oswy had asked the council to debate the differences between the ideas of the church of Rome and those of the churches of the five kingdoms. In spite of the fine arguments, Oswy had decided in favour of Rome which had given support to those clerics in the five kingdoms who wanted to see Rome’s authority established there. It was well known that Ultan, the archbishop of Ard Macha, Primate of all five kingdoms, favoured Rome. But not everyone accepted Ultán’s authority anyway. There were factions and cliques each arguing for their interpretation of the new Faith.
‘And are you saying that Father Gormán disapproved of Teafa’s care of Móen?’
‘Yes.’
‘You said that you thought Teafa was able to communicate with Móen. Could anyone else communicate with him?’
Dubán shook his head.
‘No one else, as far as I know, seemed to have any contact with him at all. Just Teafa.’
‘So how was Teafa able to make contact with him?’
‘Truly, that I do not know.’
‘It is a small community, as you say. Surely someone must know what means she used?’
Dubán raised his shoulder and let it fall in an explicit gesture.
A thought then occurred to Fidelma, one she cursed herself for not having thought of before. The idea made her feel cold.
‘Are you telling me that Móen does not know what he is supposed to have done, or why he is being held?’
Dubán stared at her for a few seconds and then chuckled sourly.
‘Of course he must realise that. He had just killed Teafa and Eber. Why else would he think he was taken and shackled?’
‘If, indeed, he had killed Teafa and Eber,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what if he had not? He would not know why or who constrained him. If you cannot communicate with him, how could he know what he is supposed to have done? Has he made efforts to communicate with you?’
Dubán was still smiling, not taking her seriously.
‘I suppose he has tried, in his animal-like way, that is.’
‘What way is that?’