Blinne’s face had become a tight mask.
“He had no enemies,” she said firmly.
Instinctively, Fidelma knew that she was lying.
“Did you love your husband?” she asked abruptly.
A red flush spread swiftly over Blinne’s features.
“I loved him very much!” came the emphatic response.
“You had no problems between you? Nothing Ernán said that might have led you to think that he nurtured some problem and tried to hide it from you?”
Blinne was frowning suspiciously.
“It is the truth that I tell you when I say that there were no problems between us and that I loved him very much. Are you accusing me of. . of murdering my own husband?”
Her voice rose sharply, vehemently.
Fidelma smiled disarmingly.
“Calm yourself. I am required to ask certain questions and must do so. It is facts that I am after not accusations.”
Blinne’s mouth formed a thin line and still stared belligerently at Fidelma.
“So,” Fidelma continued after a moment or two of silence, “you are telling me that he had no problems, no enemies, that your relationship was good.”
“I have said as much.”
“Tell me what happened on the night that he died.”
Blinne shrugged.
“We went to bed as usual. When I awoke it was dawn and I heard Bláth screaming outside the house. I think that was what actually awoke me. I rushed out and found Bláth crouching on the threshold with Ernán’s body. I cannot remember much after that. Bláth went for Brother Abán who is also the apothecary in the community. I know he came but could do nothing. It is all a blur.”
“Very well. Let me take you back to the time you went to bed. You say, ‘we went to bed’? Both of you at the same time?”
“Of course.”
“So, as far as you know, you both went to bed and fell asleep together?”
“I have said so.”
“You were not disturbed by Ernán getting up either in the night or at dawn?”
“I must have been very tired for I remember that I had been feeling sleepy after the evening meal and was almost asleep by the time I reached the bed. I think we have been working hard on the farm in recent days as I have been feeling increasingly tired.”
“You heard no disturbances during the night nor during the previous nights?”
“None.”
Fidelma paused thoughtfully.
“How was your sleep last night?”
Blinne was scornful.
“How do you think? My husband had been killed yesterday. Do you think I slept at all last night?”
“I can understand that,” agreed Fidelma. “Perhaps you should have had Brother Abán mix you a sleeping draught.”
Blinne sniffed.
“If there was need for that, I would not have needed bother him. My sister and I were raised knowing how to mix our own herbal remedies.”
“Of course. How do you feel now-physically, I mean?”
“As can be expected. I am not feeling well. I feel nauseous and have a headache.”
Fidelma smiled softly and rose.
“Then I have taxed you too long.”
Blinne followed her example.
“Where would I find your sister, Bláth?”
“I think she went to see Glass the miller.”
“Good, for I have need to see him as well.”
Blinne stood frowning at the door.
“You have been told that Glass is claiming that he heard this wailing in the night?”
“I have been told.”
Blinne extended her front teeth over her lower lip for a moment, pressing down hard.
“I did not hear any noises in the night. But. .”
Fidelma waited. Then she prompted: “But. .?”
“Could it have been true? Bláth said. . people believe. . I. . I don’t know what to believe. Many people believe in the Banshee.”
Fidelma reached out a hand and laid it on the young woman’s arm.
“If the wailing woman of the hills exists, it is said her task is to be the harbinger of death, lamenting the passing of a soul from this world to the Otherworld. The belief is that the Banshee merely warns but is never the instrument of death. Whether you believe that is your own affair. Personally, I believe that the Banshee-indeed, all the ghostly visitations that I have encountered-is merely a visible manifestation of our own fears, fears whose images we cannot contain within the boundaries of our dreams.”
“And yet. .”
“I tell you this, Blinne,” Fidelma interrupted in a cold voice, “that your husband was killed neither by a Banshee, nor by an animal agency. . A human hand killed him. Before this day is out, the culprit will stand before me.”
Brother Abán had directed her along the path toward Glass’s mill. The path ran alongside a small stream, which twisted itself down to feed the broad river, the Siúr. As she followed the path through a copse of birch trees she heard a strong masculine voice. It was raised in a recitation.
Fidelma came upon a young man, sitting on a rock by the stream. He heard the snap of a twig beneath her feet and swung ’round, his face flushing crimson as if he had been caught in a guilty deed.
“Greetings, Tadhg,” Fidelma said, recognizing him.
He frowned, and the crimson on his cheeks deepened.
“You know me?”
Fidelma did not answer, for that much was obvious.
“I am Sister. .”
“Fidelma,” broke in the young man. “News of your arrival has spread. We are a small community.”
“Of course. How well did you know Ernán?” she went on without further preamble.
The young man grimaced.
“I knew him,” he said, defensively.
“That’s not what I asked. I said, how well? I already presume that everyone in this community knew each other.”
Tadhg shrugged indifferently.
“We grew up together until I went to the bardic school which has now been displaced by the monastery founded by Finnan the Leper.”
“The place called Finnan’s Height? I knew of the old school there. When did you return here?”
“About a year ago.”
“And presumably you renewed your friendship with Ernán then?”
