Badger's Moon

‘Liag told you the story. Are you sure?’ she insisted.

‘I am sure. I am sorry that I misled you, lady. I did it only to protect Bébháil.’

‘And did you tell Creoda to advise Gabrán to flee?’

‘I told Creoda that everyone thought Gabrán was the culprit. He took it on himself to advise Gabrán as he did.’

The woman moved forward eagerly. ‘Tómma has been my friend these many years. When I told him what I had done, he was afraid for me and tried to protect me. You must not blame him.’

Accobrán snorted indignantly. ‘The law is the law.’

Fidelma ignored him and smiled in gentle reassurance at the woman. ‘All things will be taken into account, Bébháil. You and Tómma must be in the Great Hall this evening and you must be judged accordingly. But remember, Tómma, that there is always a consequence to our actions. The Gospel of the Blessed James says “How great a matter a little fire kindles.” A word spoken in innocence can do great harm. Remember that.’

The assistant tanner nodded and, taking Bébháil by the arm, left the room.

Accobrán was angry at their departure. ‘They should be imprisoned. You are too lenient, lady. I do not understand. You are a dálaigh but do not follow the law as it is laid down.’

Fidelma regarded him coolly. ‘Sometimes it is better to follow the spirit of the law than the syntax of the law. What do you wish, tanist? An eye for an eye?’

‘The woman confessed to the murder, the man to being her accomplice — yet you have allowed them to go free!’

‘Hardly free. They must return here for judgement.’

Accobrán laughed scornfully. ‘Do you expect them to do so? What Gabrán did, so can they.’

Fidelma was serious, ‘Gabrán fled from fear. These two do not fear the consequences of what they have done. Why would you expect them to flee? It is our law and custom that truth is more important than action. Our laws were written for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘That is why I am the dálaigh and you are the tanist. You have much to learn before you take the chieftain’s oath.’

Accobrán glowered. His pride stung. ‘I accept that I am no lawyer. One thing I do not understand was why you seemed more concerned with the man’s lying to you than with the woman’s crime of murder.’

‘The woman killed from fear. I think it is obvious that she was telling the truth about her crime. The law makes allowances for that and though she will be judged to owe compensation and fine for the crime they will probably be cancelled out by the hurt committed by her husband Lesren upon her. But giving false evidence, telling a lie, is something that is abhorred by the law. Is there not an ancient saying that the gods love not a lying tongue? While truth may be bitter, nevertheless truth is great and must prevail.’

‘You seem concerned that Tómma misled you with this name Biobhal. Why would such a name mislead you?’

‘We thought Biobhal…’ began Eadulf, caught Fidelma’s eye, swallowed, and managed to regain his composure before the tanist turned to regard him questioningly. ‘We thought Biobhal was the name of the murderer,’ he ended lamely.

‘Well, it’s not a Cinél na Áeda name,’ replied Accobrán.

‘Probably not,’ Fidelma agreed, dismissing the subject. ‘Didn’t you say that Goll and his wife were also waiting to see me?’

The tanist gave a nod of assent and moved off to summon them. Eadulf waited until he had left.

‘I presume that you did not want him to know about your idea that there is some connection about gold?’

‘You presumed correctly,’ she replied quietly.

‘But with Tómma’s confession that he spoke the first name that came to mind which sounded like Bébháil, you must surely have to change your mind about any such connection?’

Fidelma was serious. ‘The more I think about it, the more I am not so sure. Let us keep this matter of the gold to ourselves for the moment, Eadulf. There are some things here that I find intriguing.’

‘You were not surprised that Lesren was killed by his wife.’

‘I suspected it. I suspected that it was a matter entirely unrelated to the deaths of the three young girls.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘I don’t see how.’

‘I felt instinctively that young Gabrán could not have had anything to do with Lesren’s death. It was obvious from the day we met Lesren and Bébháil that there was tension between them. But Liag’s chance appearance and the use of the name Biobhal distracted me. Those matters threw a doubt in my mind.’

‘You are too hard on yourself.’

‘I know when I am at fault.’

‘Having seen and recognised your fault, do you not always advise that one must move on without dwelling on it?’

Fidelma smiled benevolently at him, ‘That is true. Sometimes, Eadulf, you know when to say the right thing to help me.’

‘Then what is our next move?’ he replied brusquely.

‘As I planned before. I want to see this Thicket of Pigs before I do anything else.’

‘You can’t really think that there is some connection to the murders of the young girls other than the fact that the place provided the location where they were attacked?’

‘I can’t think so logically,’ replied Fidelma shortly. ‘But I will be honest and say that I have some instinct. It is like an itch and I fear that I must scratch it or go mad. Remember how we saw one of the strangers and the smith, Gobnuid, on the hill? I would like to speak more to Gobnuid but I do not think that he will be in much of a mind to reply to my questions until I have some information to give weight to my interrogation.’

Eadulf suppressed a sigh. He had seen Fidelma presented with many difficult cases but he had never seen her attempting to show confidence while being so ill at ease. He was reminded once again that Fidelma seemed to have become a different person from the self-assured, confident dálaigh he had fallen in love with. It had all changed with the birth of little Alchú. There was no denying that, even though he felt guilty in returning to those thoughts he had been turning over in his mind in recent days.

He had heard stories of women who had given birth to babies and then, by all accounts, seemingly altered their very personalities, becoming victims of moods of black despair or varying temperament. The apothecaries at Tuam Brecain, the great medical school he had attended, said it was one of those mysterious feminine conditions that was released by childbirth. He racked his memory to recall what else they had said.

The idea was that the condition was induced by a state of blood deficiency. The heart, according to the apothecaries, was the powerhouse of the mind and the heart governed the blood. When the heart’s blood became deficient then the mind had no sustenance and became anxious and depressed. This caused the woman’s mind to become filled with negative thoughts, so that she felt anxiety, depression and fatigue, and was unable to cope and mentally restless and agitated.

Eadulf compressed his lips tightly.

There was a treatment they prescribed. He wished that he could remember it. Even if he did recall it, he realised it would be difficult to get Fidelma to take any medication. His eyes brightened suddenly when he remembered what the treatment was.

At that moment, Accobrán came through the door with Goll the woodcutter and his tearful wife, Fínmed. Eadulf turned quickly with a muttered apology to Fidelma, begging to be excused, and made for the door, taking Accobrán by the arm.

‘Tell me, tanist, do you have a dyer in the fortress?’

Accobrán looked astonished.

‘A dathatóir?’ he murmured.