Atonement of Blood (28 page)

Cúana seemed a little put out but gestured for her to continue.

‘I believe that there was once a ferryman here called Escmug. Did you know him or of him?’

‘Escmug?’ The steward seemed genuinely surprised for a moment. ‘He is long dead. He was not only a ferryman but a fisherman who plied his boat along the river here. He would try his hand at anything that made him a living … or rather paid for his liquor.’

‘He was a heavy drinker, then? Tell me something of him.’

‘He was not a nice man, if the stories are to be believed. There was a rumour that he killed his wife. At least, she disappeared. He claimed that she had run away.’

‘Do you recall the name of his wife?’

‘I think it was Liamuin.’

‘Do you remember any details of what happened?’

‘Liamuin simply disappeared one evening,’ the steward replied. ‘Escmug said she had gone off in his boat. He searched for her but never found her. That was when the rumours started that he probably killed her.’

‘Her body was never recovered?’

‘No. Liamuin was never seen again.’

‘And did Escmug and Liamuin have any children?’

‘There was a girl, as I recall. Liamuin abandoned her, which supported the idea that her husband killed her, for it takes a strange woman to abandon her daughter. For a short time the girl lived with Escmug. He was a brute of a man and worked the girl from morning to sunset until one day, she suddenly took off. Some time later, Escmug’s body was found upriver from here. Again, there were rumours and stories. No one ever saw the girl again.’

‘Was it thought that the daughter had murdered her father?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Who would have blamed her, if she had? Whoever did it had made a mess of his head, or so the locals say. The daughter vanished as surely as the mother.’

‘Does any of Escmug’s family remain here?’

‘None that I can recall. But I will ask around …’ A bell interrupted him and he smiled at them. ‘That signifies that the waters in the
dabach
have been heated for your baths. So we will continue this conversation at the evening meal.’

It was some while later that Fidelma and Eadulf sat in the guest chamber they had been allotted. They had both bathed and changed and were awaiting the bell that would summon them to the feasting hall for the evening meal.

Eadulf was reflective. ‘So far as I can see, we have not learned much more than we knew before we started out. The girl, Aibell, seems to have told us the truth – except that she could have killed her father.’

‘I don’t believe she did. The father seems to have been killed just after he had taken the girl to sell her to Fidaig of the Luachra. Therefore, she was not free to do so.’

Eadulf acknowledged the point. ‘Yet there is a curious pattern emerging. We have learned that Ledbán had two children. One was Brother Lennán and the other one was Liamuin. Someone calling themselves Lennán attempts to kill your brother, shouting, “Remember Liamuin!” – the name of the real Lennán’s sister. Then Aibell, the daughter of Liamuin, finds herself in the hut used by the so-called Brother Lennán. Then the father of the real Brother Lennán and Liamuin is, so we think, smothered to stop him talking to us about his daughter. Then there is the matter of Ordan the merchant and his activities with the mysterious Adamrae. I have never encountered such confusion before.’

‘It is a puzzle, right enough,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘There is a relationship between all these matters, of that I am sure. The question is finding the common thread.’

A distant bell sounded and Eadulf rose to his feet. ‘Let’s hope the quality of the food in this place is good.’

There was a tap on the door and it swung open to admit a female servant. She was young, not more than twenty years, with fair skin, dark hair and pretty features.

‘I am to escort you to the feasting hall,’ she announced.

Eadulf was about to remark that they could have found the way, unaided, but Fidelma interrupted.

‘What is your name?’

‘Ciarnat, lady.’

‘How long have you served here, Ciarnat?’

‘Since I reached the age of choice at fourteen years, but my mother was one of the
coic
of this household so I have known no other place but Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

A
coic
was one of the professional cooks who served in the households of the nobles.

‘So you know this township well?’

‘I do, lady. I was born and raised here.’

‘Do you remember a girl called Aibell, the daughter of Escmug? You look about the same age.’

A troubled look crossed the girl’s features. ‘I knew her,’ she said quietly. ‘She was my best friend, once.’

‘Once?’

‘She and her father left here and never came back. Her father was found murdered. I fear she might have killed him.’

‘What makes you think so?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Her father was a wicked man who used to beat her. He also beat her mother before she ran away. The local people say that he killed her mother.’

The bell rang again with more persistence and the girl raised her head with a fearful look.

‘The evening meal, lady. I will get into trouble unless I take you there at once.’

‘That’s all right, Ciarnat,’ Fidelma reassured her. ‘We will come with you. But tell me, is there any of Aibell’s family still living in these parts?’

The girl hesitated then said, ‘Her uncle is Marban – he is a
saer-muilinn
.’

‘A millwright?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Where would we find him?’

‘He has a cornmill upriver,’ she confirmed, lowering her voice and giving an anxious glance over her shoulder as if looking for an eavesdropper. ‘It is a place called An Cregáin. You turn west before the Mháigh passes a tributary called the Lúbach. There is a fast-flowing smaller stream that joins the river from the west. Go upstream along it. That stream is still known as the Mháigh. You follow it through a forest and that is where Marban lives. Now, please, we must go.’

‘Just tell me what relation this millwright is to the family of Aibell? Is he brother to her mother or to her father?’

‘Brother to Escmug, but people say that he hated him. Marban rarely came to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

Then the girl turned and hurriedly led the way along the corridors towards the feasting hall with Fidelma and Eadulf hastening in her wake.

Cúana and Conrí were waiting before a large fire in the central hearth. They had been joined by Socht and Gormán. A table was already prepared.

Fidelma immediately apologised for keeping them waiting. ‘I am afraid I needed some adjustments to my hair and this young girl helped me.’

Cúana nodded, as if understanding, and gestured to the table.

‘Pray, seat yourselves. I have asked Donennach’s harpist to attend and provide us with some distraction.’

Fidelma looked and saw an old man seated in a corner with his
clarsach
in front of him; at a sign from the young steward, he started to pluck at the instrument with agile fingers. It was the custom for musicians to play while nobles ate, and Cúana obviously did not believe in stinting on the rituals simply because his Prince was absent. As steward, he first ensured that everyone was seated in the appropriate order of priority. In attendance was a
deochbhaire
or cup-bearer to see that each guest’s goblet was filled, and a
dáilemain
who would carve and serve the meat dishes.

The meal was impressive. It was mainly composed of meat dishes: spit-roasted venison joints, basted with honey and salt, sausages made of pork and lamb, and a dish of hard-boiled eggs which, by custom, were eaten cold. There was also fish, and Fidelma observed that these had been cooked on an
indeoin
or griddle; nearby were complementary dishes of
craobhraic
or samphire, and a braised pottage of herbs. There were other vegetables such as onions and watercress, and kale spiced with wild garlic. Later, there would be platters of nuts and apples. The knife was used in the right hand and the left was used to pick up the food. When needed, an attendant came forward with a basin of water to wash the fingers and a
lámbrat
, or small linen cloth to dry them on. Throughout, the
deochbhaire
continued to keep all the goblets filled with ale. If Cúana was trying to impress them, he was succeeding.

Cúana took an opportunity presented by a pause in the harpist’s repertoire to report to Fidelma. ‘I have made enquiries about the matter you were interested in, and I am told no one exists these days who was connected with the family of Escmug or Liamuin.’

Eadulf’s brow creased; he was just about to say something when Fidelma said quickly, ‘That is a shame. It would seem that our enquiries here have come to nothing.’

Conrí nodded absently. ‘So what do you intend to do now, lady?’

‘I intend to take the road south to the territory of the Luachra,’ Fidelma announced.

Cúana was astonished. ‘The Luachra, lady? That is a dangerous country to travel.’

‘Have no fear. I have met Fidaig before.’

‘But why go there?’ It seemed even Conrí was surprised.

‘A few more enquiries, that is all.’

‘You mean the Luachra might be involved in this affair at Cashel?’ asked Cúana.

‘That is what I intend to discover. In the meantime, I know I can leave this territory in the safe hands of Conrí and yourself, Cúana. But I would urge you both to be vigilant.’

Eadulf tried to hide his surprise. It was unlike Fidelma to give up so easily, especially now they had already learned that there was some relative of Aibell dwelling not far away. He realised that she was up to something.

‘Of course,’ Conrí replied at once. ‘When will you leave Dún Eochair Mháigh?’

‘I see little need to tarry here now. We’ll be on our way tomorrow morning.’

‘We can supply you with an escort to the borders of the Luachra territory,’ offered Conrí, and Cúana immediately agreed.

Fidelma said politely, ‘Thank you, but there is no need. We will not be long in their territory for we have already been away from Cashel too long. You forget that when I left, my brother was barely surviving his wound. I need to return as soon as possible.’

‘Of course, lady,’ Conrí replied. ‘We would hope that, should the worst happen, it will be understood that whoever the assassin was, it was not a member of the Uí Fidgente loyal to Prince Donennach.’

‘We know how the Uí Fidgente are regarded in some parts of this kingdom,’ Cúana added. ‘And perhaps this assassin tried to mislead you, making it seem that it was an Uí Fidgente plot while it was something that arose closer to home.’

‘Closer to home?’ Eadulf was puzzled.

‘Why not?’ Cúana replied with a thin smile. ‘The Eóghanacht Áíne dwell on our eastern borders. Isn’t Colgú’s heir apparent Finguine of that same clan?’

Fidelma remained surprisingly calm in the face of his outrageous suggestion. ‘You have made an interesting point and I shall bear that in mind,’ she replied coolly.

Gormán and Eadulf exchanged a look, for both of them knew that Finguine was greatly trusted at Cashel and had frequently shown himself to be a very worthy heir apparent to Colgú.

Fidelma suddenly smothered a yawn. ‘Well, it has been a long day today and it may be an even longer one tomorrow. If we are to leave in the morning, then we should be a-bed now.’

She rose and they followed suit. Eadulf and Gormán declined an invitation to continue to sit longer before the fire and thus left the others in the feasting hall with jugs of
corma
and ale.

Outside, Fidelma grimaced in disapproval. ‘We shall be well away from here before they are stirring,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is good.’ She turned to Gormán. ‘Are you comfortable for the night?’

The young warrior grinned. ‘I have had worse accommodation, lady. I have a good cot in a corner of the
laochtech
.’

‘Then I want you to have our horses ready in the courtyard just before first light.’

‘Very well, lady. Anything else?’

‘For the time being, nothing. There is something that troubles me about Cúana. So have a care and sleep with one eye open.’

Gormán raised a hand to his forehead before turning towards the
laochtech
– the House of Heroes where the warriors slept.

As Fidelma and Eadulf made their way to the guest chamber, Fidelma saw that Eadulf was about to speak and quickly placed a finger on her lips, indicating that she felt it better to reach their chamber first.

Once inside, Eadulf said with a frown, ‘I am missing something here.’

‘I am afraid that we are both missing something – but I am not sure what,’ Fidelma replied, sitting down on the bed, her brow furrowed in thought.

‘The girl said that Escmug had a relative who ran a cornmill nearby. That would surely be known to Cúana, yet he denied knowledge of such a relative. A cornmill and its owner is not of insignificance in this sort of community.’

‘Well observed, Eadulf. So what was Cúana’s reason?’

‘That he did not want us to know?’

‘But why? That is the more important question.’

‘And that is also the mystery.’

‘There is a conspiracy here, but what is it? It is strange that Cúana attempted to place suspicion on Finguine. He may be my brother’s heir apparent but he has demonstrated himself to be trustworthy many times. When Colgú was about to be betrayed by his then heir apparent, Donndubháin, it was Finguine who helped save the day and that was why he was elected
tánaiste
instead. Since then he has been loyal. Look how he dealt with the recent Osraige conspiracy.’

‘However, you could ask how long Donndubháin was loyal to your brother as former heir apparent before he decided that he wanted to become King.’ Eadulf felt he should play the devil’s advocate.

‘That is true,’ agreed Fidelma quietly. ‘Do not worry, Eadulf. I am not totally blind to treachery. But I cannot find any motive for our cousin Finguine to be involved in a conspiracy. The other credible motive would be jealousy, and jealousy is not in Finguine’s nature. He is quite happy being my brother’s administrator. He enjoys ensuring that the nobles pay their tribute, that the chieftains fulfil their obligations by taking care of the roads, the hostels and the hospitals. He is happy seeing that no one wants in any part of the kingdom. This, of course, may present a reason for enmity against him rather than from him.’