“I did not say that I was his friend, only that we grew up together, as most people here of my age did.”
“Does that mean that you did not like him?” Fidelma asked quickly.
“One does not have to like everyone one knows or grows up with.”
“There is truth in that. Why didn’t you like him?”
The young man grimaced.
“He was arrogant and thought himself superior to. . to. .”
“A poet?” supplied Fidelma.
Tadhg looked quickly at her and then lowered his gaze as if in agreement.
“He was a farmer and thought strength and looks were everything. He called me a weak parasite fit for nothing, not even to clean his pigsty. Most people knew how arrogant he was.”
“Yet I am told that Ernán was well-liked and had no enemies in the world.”
“Then you were told wrong.”
“I was told by Blinne.”
“Blinne?” The young man’s head jerked up and again came an uncontrollable rush of blood to his cheeks.
Fidelma made an intuitive leap forward.
“You like Blinne very much, don’t you?”
There was a slightly sullen expression which now molded the young poet’s features.
“Did she tell you that? Well, we grew up together, too.”
“Nothing more than an old friendship?”
“What are you saying?”
“Saying? I am asking a question. If you disliked Ernán so much, you must surely not have approved of Blinne being married to him.”
“You would soon find that out from anyone in the community,” admitted Tadhg sullenly. “I do not deny it. Poor Blinne. She did not have the courage to leave him. He dominated her.”
“Are you saying that she did not love him?”
“How could she? He was a brute.”
“If she disliked the marriage, there are nine reasons in law why she could have divorced him and more why she could have separated from him.”
“I tell you that she did not have the courage. He was a powerful, controlling man and it is poetic justice that he was taken by the Banshee, whether you call it Banshee or wolf. That he was a beast and the stronger beast of the night attacked him and tore out his throat was poetic justice.”
The young man finished his speech with defiance.
“Poetic?” Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at him. “Where were you the night before last? Where were you when Ernán was killed?”
“In my house. Asleep.”
“Where is your house?”
“Up on that hillside.” He raised an arm to gesture in the direction.
“Was anyone with you?”
The young man looked outraged.
“Of course not!”
“A pity,” Fidelma said softly.
“What do you mean?” Tadhg blinked, disconcerted.
“Just that I would like to eliminate you from the vicinity of Ernán’s farmstead. He was murdered, his throat cut, and you have just given me a very good reason why you might be suspected of it.”
Now Tadhg’s face was suddenly drained of blood.
“I was told that he had his throat ripped out,” he said quietly. “I presumed that it was by a wolf, although many superstitious people are talking about the Banshee.”
“Who told you that this was how he died?”
“It is common talk. You say that he was murdered? How can you be so sure?”
Fidelma did not bother to answer.
“Well, I did not do it. I was in my bed, asleep.”
“If that is the truth then you have presented me with another suspect,” she said reflectively. “Blinne.”
Tadhg swallowed rapidly.
“She would never. . that is not possible. She had not enough courage to divorce Ernán. She was too gentle to strike him down.”
“Human beings react in peculiar ways. If not Blinne or you, then who also had cause to hate Ernán-a man who was supposed to have no enemies?”
Tadgh raised his hands in a helpless, negative gesture.
“I will want to see you again later, Tadhg.”
Fidelma turned and resumed her progress along the path, her brow furrowed in thought.
Bláth had already left Glass’s mill when Fidelma reached it.
The miller was a genial, round-faced man of middle age with twinkling gray-blue eyes, which might well have been the reason for his name, which indicated such a coloring. He was a stocky man, clad with a leather apron and open shirt, his muscles bulging as he heaved a sack of flour onto a cart.
“A bad thing, Sister, a bad thing,” he said, when Fidelma introduced herself.
“You were a close neighbor of Ernán, I believe.”
The miller turned and pointed. From where they stood the ground began to descend slightly toward the broad river across some fields to where an elm grove stood.
“That is Ernán’s farmhouse, the building among those trees. We are scarcely ten minutes walk away from each other.”
“And were you a friend of his?”
“I saw young Ernán grow to manhood. I was a friend of his father and mother. They were killed when Crundmáel of Laighin came raiding along the Siúr in his battle boats in search of booty. Only Ernán survived out of his entire family and so took over the farm and continued to make it prosperous. Blinne, his wife, is my niece.” He grinned briefly. “So is Bláth, of course.”
“And Ernán was well-liked?”
“Not an enemy in the world,” Glass replied immediately.
“He and Blinne were happy?”
“Never happier.”
“And Bláth lived with them?”
“She could have come here to live but Blinne and Bláth were always close. There is only a year between them and they are almost like twins. Blinne wanted her sister to be with her and Ernán did not mind for she helped with the farm work. But why do you ask me these questions?”
Fidelma did not answer.
“Tell me about the Banshee?” she said.
Glass smiled briefly.
“I heard the sound only too well.”
“When did you first hear it?”
“I would not want to hear that sound more than once.” Fidelma frowned.
“You heard it once?”
“Yesterday morning about dawn.”
“Not before, not before the morning Ernán was found dead?”
“No. Only that one morning. That was enough. It wailed like a soul in torment.”
“What did you do?”
“Do? Nothing at all.”
“You weren’t curious?”
“Such curiosity about the Banshee can endanger your immortal soul,” replied Glass solemnly.
“When did you realize that Ernán was dead?”
