Whispers of the Dead

“This is the territory of Cumscrad, Prince of the Fir Maige Féne.”

Fidelma suddenly shuddered.

“They are a non-Eóghanacht people whose prince claims that he descended from Mogh Ruith, a sinister Druid who was a disciple of Simon Magus, the magician who opposed the Blessed Peter, the disciple of Christ.”

Ross grimaced but without concern.

“If it is a villain that you are seeing, you may seek no further that Cumscrad,” he said.

“There is a local chieftain here who acts in his name, Conna.”

“I have not heard of him.”

“He has a small fortress on a rock above the river but it is some way further on. We have to come to the main settlement first.”

“That’s called Tealach an Iarainn, the hill of iron, isn’t it? I have heard of that because it is famous for its wealth.”

“That’s the place, lady. The people extract iron ore and smelt it and trade it. In fact, Olcán trades for iron cargoes here.”

“Does he now?” Fidelma asked reflectively.

They had come nearly three kilometers along the winding river when Ross, glancing over his shoulder, indicated the settlement on the south bank of the river. There were several barges and small boats moored along the riverbank where wooden quays showed that a trade was carried on here.

“We’ll stop here and make some inquiries,” Fidelma instructed, and Ross pulled in looking for a mooring.

On firm land, Fidelma took a moment or two to recover her balance, having been for some hours seated in the curragh. She looked about along the line of vessels. Tealach an Iarainn was certainly a busy little settlement. There were a lot of people about. By their appearance it seemed that they were mainly merchants or boatmen. There were a large number of blacksmith forges along the quays as well.

“What now, lady?” asked Ross. “Where do we make our inquiries?”

“Let’s take a stroll along the quay first.”

She was surprised at how busy the settlement was. In the hills behind she realized that people were mining and extracting iron ore. She could see wagons bringing it down to the forges where she presumed the iron was extracted and then sent in the barges to be sold at various destinations. It suddenly came to her memory that the plains beyond this settlement were called Magh Méine, the Plain of Minerals.

“Lady!”

Ross’s urgent whisper made her turn her head.

They had been walking by a series of barges that were being filled with cargoes of iron ore. It was the end one by which Ross had paused. There was no one on board and he had halted and was staring at the bow.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Take a look at the bow, lady.”

Fidelma looked.

The wooden planking of the vessel seemed to have been recently tarred and for a moment she could not see what he was trying to indicate. Then she saw the slight indentations on the wood. Only by looking at them in a certain way, the way the sunlight glinted and formed shadows, could she make out the deep lines that had been seared into the wood.

She turned excitedly to Ross.

“I make out the head of a wolf.”

Ross nodded grimly.

“This was one of Olcán’s barges. They did their best to remove the outward signs and paint over the brand mark with tar. . but not quite.”

A sailor was passing nearby.

“Excuse me,” called Fidelma.

The sailor halted and took in her religieuse robes.

“You want me, Sister?”

“Can you tell me whose barge that is?”

“That one? The end one there? Surely I can.”

Fidelma smiled to hide her impatience.

“And to whom does it belong?”

“That is the barge of the merchant Ségán.”

“Ségán, eh? And where might I find this man?”

“Across in that tavern there, I’ll warrant. He’s just loaded a cargo and is probably having a last drink before going downriver.”

She thanked the man and turned for the tavern with Ross in her wake.

Inside, the room was packed mainly with boatmen. Several heads turned as she entered. The landlord, or such she presumed him to be, came across to her immediately.

“God be with you, Sister. We do not often have ladies of your cloth in this poor place. We mainly serve the river boatmen. There is a tavern not far away that I can recommend that is better suited. .”

“I am told that I might find a merchant named Ségán here,” she cut him short.

The landlord blinked and then he pointed to a corner where a fat-looking individual was seated before a plate on which the remains of what had obviously been a small joint reposed. He was sipping at a great pottery mug of a liquid, which he was obviously savoring.

With a curt nod to the landlord, Fidelma moved across and took a vacant seat opposite the merchant.

“Your name is Ségán, I believe?”

The fleshy-faced man paused, the mug halfway to his lips and stared at her.

“Why would a religieuse know my name?” he said, a little surprised.

“I am a dálaigh and I am here on official business.”

The man set down the mug with a bang, closed his eyes and groaned.

“I knew it. I knew it.” He shuddered.

Fidelma stared at him speculatively.

“Perhaps you will share your knowledge with me, then?” she asked, a little sarcastically.

“It’s my wife, isn’t it? She is seeking a divorce and. .”

Fidelma gave an impatient gesture of her hand.

“It’s not about your wife. It’s about your boat.”

At once a look of suspicion crossed the man’s features.

“My boat? You mean the barge? What of it?”

“When did you acquire it?”

Ségán was still frowning.

“I bought it legally. Two weeks ago.”

“From whom?”

“What is this? What are you implying?”

“From whom?” she insisted.

“A man at Conna’s Fortress.”

“Does he have a name?”

“No more questions until you tell me what this is about.”

Two burly boatmen had risen and made their way over to where Ségán was sitting.

“Something wrong, master?”

“Tell them nothing is wrong unless they are also to be charged as parties to theft,” Fidelma said calmly without taking her eyes from the merchant.

The fleshy-faced man’s eyes widened.

“Theft?”

“Your barge and its cargo and crew disappeared two weeks ago. It was then in the ownership of a merchant in Eochaill named Olcán.”