Whispers of the Dead

admonition from an adult.

“Abaoth’s claim is without foundation,” interrupted the second man, who stood at his side.

Sister Fidelma did not like this thin, wiry individual. His voice grated in her ears with its high-pitched, almost whining note. He was richly, almost ostentatiously, dressed and wore too much jewelery. Rich clothes ill became his physical appearance. She suddenly smiled to herself as she realized that his name suited his cunning looks. Olcán, the very name meant a wolf. He had the appearance of a scavenger.

Fidelma had been staying in the abbey established by Molena on Dair Inis, the island of oaks, standing in the waters of Abhainn Mór, the great river, not far from the trading settlement known as Eochaill, the yew wood, which guarded the estuary of the river. It was a busy port and Fidelma had often passed through it. She had only been in the abbey one night, when Abbot Accobrán had succumbed to a fever, which caused him to retire to his bed. He had requested that Fidelma, being duly qualified in law, take his place as Brehon and deliver the judgments during the court proceedings, which were due the next day.

Now Fidelma sat, trying to suppress her prejudice, as she viewed the two merchants from Eochaill making claim and counter-claim before the court.

“I seek compensation for the loss of my goods,” repeated Abaoth stubbornly.

“And I reject it,” replied Olcán with vehemence.

“The scriptor has already informed me of the nature of your claims,” replied Fidelma sharply. “However, I am lacking in details. Let us begin with you, Abaoth. You are a merchant in Eochaill?”

The round-faced man jerked his head in assertion.

“That I am, learned ollamh,” he replied in an obsequious manner.

“I am not an ollamh,” retorted Fidelma. She was sure that the man knew that fact. “I am a dálaigh but still qualified to hear your case. Proceed with the details.”

“Most learned dálaigh, I trade with the lands of the Britons, Saxons and Franks. I have a small fleet of trading vessels that take leather goods and the skins of otters and squirrels especially to the lands of the Franks and they return laden with corn and wine. My ships off-load their cargoes at Eochaill where I hire the barges of Olcán to transport them along the Abhainn Mór to Lios Mór.”

“So you sell your goods to the abbey there?”

Fidelma was acquainted with the abbey founded thirty years before by Carthach and which was now a prominent center attracting religious from all five kingdoms of Éireann.

“Some portion of the goods are sold to the abbey,” nodded the merchant, “but most of the wine is purchased by the Prince of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

“Learned dálaigh, on the last two occasions, Olcán claims that he has lost my cargoes. He refuses to pay me for that loss. I am not so rich that I can sustain the loss of two cargoes. The goods were lost while being transported by his barges. He is responsible for compensating me.”

Fidelma turned to the wiry-faced man with a frown.

“In what manner have the cargoes been lost?” she demanded.

Olcán made a gesture as if dismissing the matter.

“On two occasions my vessels have set off up-river for Lios Mór and disappeared,” Olcán replied. “My loss has been greater than Abaoth’s loss.”

Fidelma raised her head in surprise to study the man’s face. He was serious.

“Disappeared?” she echoed. “In what way did they disappear?”

“Having taken Abaoth’s cargoes onto my barges-these are the rivergoing vessels crewed by three men-the type known as ethur. .”

“I am acquainted with such vessels,” Fidelma intervened with weary tone.

“Of course,” the man acknowledged. “The cargo was loaded into the barges. They set off up the river to Lios Mór and did not arrive. This has happened twice. The barges have disappeared. If anyone should be compensated it is I.”

Abaoth broke in with almost a whimper in his voice.

“It is not so. The Prince of Glandamnach is refusing to trade further with me because I do not deliver the goods he contracts for. I am not a rich man, learned dálaigh. Two cargoes lost in as many months. It is clear that thieves are at work and I must seek restitution.”

“What of the crews on these barges? What do they say?”

Again the thin-faced merchant shrugged eloquently.

“They have disappeared as well.”

This time Fidelma could not conceal her surprise.

“Six of your men have disappeared. Why was this not reported before?”

The merchant shuffled his feet in response to her sharp tone.

“I do so now in my counterclaim for compensation for my lost barges and. .”

“These men might be dead,” she broke in. “I presume that you are looking after their dependants?”

Olcán grimaced irritably.

“I am a merchant not a charity. . ”

“The law is specific,” snapped Fidelma. “You should know that you are responsible for all those who work for you, especially their medical expenses if injured in your employ. It is clearly stated in the Leabhar Acaill. I can only think that you are more concerned with your lost barges than the disappearance of your boatmen.”

Olcán regarded her with a sour expression.

“Without my barges and trade I cannot pay my boatmen.”

“When did these cargoes disappear?” she asked Abaoth.

“The last cargo disappeared two weeks ago. The first was almost exactly four weeks before that.”

“And why haven’t you reported this before now?”

“I have. I reported it to the master of the port. I was told to bring the matter before the Brehon at the next session of the court here on Dair Inis.”

Fidelma was irritated.

“It is a long time that has passed. The matter should have been investigated before this. Before any decision on whether you merit compensation in this matter, or whether Olcán’s counterclaim is valid, it must be investigated. I will consult Bretha im Gata, the law of thefts. You will give the details to the scriptor of this court and return here when summoned to do so to hear my decision.”

Abaoth inclined his head turning as if eager to be away from the court. Olcán, however, glowered at her obviously dissatisfied, hesitated a moment but left the court after his fellow merchant. At a gesture from Fidelma, the scriptor followed them out.

That afternoon, Fidelma found herself wandering along the quay in Eochaill, looking at the ocean going boats loading and unloading. Her mind was turning over the problem of the disappearance of the barges. A figure was standing blocking her path. It was familiar. She halted and focussed and a mischievous grin spread on her features.

The man was elderly. A short, stocky man with greying close cropped hair. His skin was tanned by sea and wind almost to the color of nut. His stance and appearance marked him out as a grizzled veteran of seafaring.

“Ross? Is it you?”

She knew him of old as the captain of a coastal bark sailing the waters around her brother’s kingdom.

“Lady,” grinned the old seaman, touching his forehead in salutation. Ross never forgot that Fidelma was sister to Colgú, King of Muman.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and then chuckled as she realized it was a foolish question to ask of a sailor in a coastal port. She gestured toward a nearby bruiden, a tavern, which stood nearby. “Let us slake our thirst and talk of old times, Ross, and. .” she suddenly had a thought, “and perhaps you