Atonement of Blood (30 page)

Marban stood regarding Eadulf as he spoke. Eventually he said, ‘I can understand how you must feel. But an injustice faced by an injustice does not equate to justice.’

‘A good philosophical argument, Miller.’ Fidelma’s tone was distant. ‘But a discussion on the ethics of the conflict is not why we have come here.’

The burly miller sniffed. ‘I was wondering if your visit had a purpose.’

‘I am told that you are related to a ferryman, sometime fisherman, called Escmug.’

The miller’s eyes widened for the first time and he seemed about to make an involuntary movement backwards but straightened himself.

‘Escmug? He is dead.’ The words came out emphatically.

‘Then you will not object to telling us something about him?’

Suspicion was shaping Marban’s features. ‘Why?’

A fine, misty rain had started to spread, almost indiscernibly at first, like settling dew. Fidelma drew her cloak more tightly across her shoulders.

‘Perhaps we could find a more comfortable place to talk, or is the custom of hospitality absent in this part of the world?’

Marban stared angrily at her for a moment and then pointed to some large sheds to which some of the workers were hurrying as the misty rain turned into heavier drops.

‘Your … escort,’ he indicated Gormán, ‘can shelter your horses in the stable there. We can speak in the mill.’

Eadulf turned and hurried back to Gormán with the instruction before rejoining Fidelma and the miller in the interior of the mill. It was gloomy but warm and the atmosphere was heavy with the dust of ground corn. The miller indicated a bench for them to be seated on before he perched himself on the bottom of a stairway that led to an upper floor.

‘Escmug is dead,’ he repeated heavily. ‘What would you want to know about him?’

‘You were related to him, so I am told.’

‘Since you know, why ask?’

‘I ask in order to confirm it. We can either make this easy or spend the day, longer if you like, extracting replies.’ Suddenly Fidelma’s voice had grown brittle, threatening. ‘You know the penalties for not answering the questions of a
dálaigh
or for not answering them truthfully? Now, is it so?’

The miller shifted his body uncomfortably. ‘It is. He was my elder brother. I was not close to him, nor did I ever want to be. If you must know, I hated him. He only saw me when he needed help, and I grew tired of giving it to him.’

‘Didn’t he have a good business on the river?’

‘When he was sober enough, which was hardly ever. He was a brute of a man. He beat his wife and his child and neglected them both. When they were alive, it was the only reason that I offered to help him – for their sakes.’

‘You speak of his wife and child as dead.’

‘They are all dead now. Escmug’s body was found in the river.’

‘And his wife?’

‘Liamuin? She had run away from his ill-treatment and was reported dead. Why she ever consented to wed him, I don’t know.’

‘Tell me something about her.’

‘Her father was Ledbán, who was the stableman to the lord Codlata at the Ford of Flagstones which is just north of here. When Ledbán’s wife died of the Yellow Plague he entered the Abbey of Mungairit where his son was the physician.’

‘So Brother Lennán was brother to Liamuin?’

It was now Marban’s turn to look surprised. ‘You know the story?’

‘We were at Mungairit a few days ago. We saw Ledbán. He died while we were there.’

Marban let out a long sigh. ‘He was old and made older by the fate of his family. His wife died of the Yellow Plague, his son was slain at Cnoc Áine while nursing the wounded, and his daughter … his daughter married a beast like Escmug. No wonder Ledbán sought tranquillity in Mungairit. If gossip is to be believed, I think his lord, Codlata, also sought refuge there.’

‘Why would Codlata seek refuge in Mungairit?’ asked Eadulf, intrigued.

‘He was a nephew and steward to Prince Eoganán, and commanded a company of his warriors at Cnoc Áine,’ replied the miller. ‘Many of Eoganán’s family sought ways of protecting themselves after the defeat.’

Eadulf cast a thoughtful glance at Fidelma but she was concentrating on other matters.

‘Tell me more about Liamuin.’

‘She was an attractive girl. I could not believe that she would be fascinated by such a beast as Escmug, even though he was my own brother.’

‘The attraction between a man and woman is one of the great mysteries of the world,’ Eadulf remarked.

The miller nodded. ‘Is it not an old saying that the three most incomprehensible things in the world are the labour of bees, the ebb and flow of the tide and the mind of a woman – begging your pardon, lady.’

‘So the wedding did not meet with the approval of Liamuin’s family?’

‘Everyone was unhappy. They all hated Escmug.’

‘But Escmug was your own brother.’

‘In every litter there is usually one who turns out bad.’

‘And that was Escmug? But he and Liamuin had a child.’

‘Aibell? A sad child, indeed. When Liamuin left Escmug, and not before time, the poor girl had to endure her father’s wrath until finally, she too disappeared.’

‘So what happened to Escmug?’

‘His body was found lodged in a beaver dam on the river.’

‘We have heard that he might have been murdered,’ Eadulf said.

Marban gave another of his eloquent shrugs. ‘Some thought that being the man he was, perhaps he was helped to depart to the Otherworld,’ he said. ‘If so, no one mourned his passing.’

‘The story we heard was that some people thought he had killed his wife,’ Eadulf put in.

The miller was silent.

‘You said both his wife and child were dead,’ Fidelma went on. ‘Do you know that as a fact? Did Escmug find and kill them?’

‘Escmug never did anything unless there was something to gain. Why kill his wife who had become a virtual slave in his household?’

‘Even the lowliest slave can rebel,’ Eadulf murmured.

‘Liamuin left him,’ said Marban, his voice hollow. ‘I heard sometime later that she had died.’

‘So she ran away, leaving her young daughter?’

‘Liamuin could not stand her life any more. She would have taken the child with her, but the opportunity did not arise. She had to seize her own chance, and so she fled.’

Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the miller and an idea came to her.

‘Did she come here?’ she asked.

For a moment the miller stared at her as if he would deny it – and then he shrugged. ‘Where else would she go? Her brother had just been killed at Cnoc Áine and her father was serving in the Abbey of Mungairit. There was no one to protect her. Yes, she came here.’

‘Were you in love with her?’ This was Eadulf.

‘Perhaps I was. But she was never in love with me.’

‘When did she die? What happened? Did Escmug catch up with her?’

Even in the gloom, they saw a look of grief spread over the miller’s face. ‘As I say, she came here first. She could no longer bear life with Escmug but circumstances dictated that she had to leave young Aibell behind when she made her bid for freedom. When she arrived here, she and I both knew it would not be long before Escmug followed her. I suggested that she should seek refuge at a place in the hills further south. You see, I had a patron there who owned a fortified house just where the river rises. I felt she would be safe there as there was nothing to connect the place with Liamuin.’

‘Obviously, since she is dead, it was
not
safe,’ Eadulf commented.

‘But not for the reasons you are supposing,’ snapped Marban.

‘Tell us then, who was your patron?’

‘Menma. He was a
bó-aire
who sent his corn to me to be dried and ground. His rath lay on the side of the hills at what was called the Old Ridge, at the spot where one of the springs rises that come down to feed the river. That is An Mháigh. I was worried that Escmug was close behind her, so I took her to Menma myself and he promised me that he would protect her. When I returned here, I found Escmug. He was in a rage. He had a horse-whip in his hand and was threatening what he would do once he caught up with Liamuin. I denied all knowledge of anything to do with her, and eventually he returned to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

‘And then?’

‘Some weeks passed.’ The miller sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Then I heard that Aibell had also disappeared. I hoped she had run away – but she never came here to me.’

‘Was nothing done to rescue the child and reunite her with her mother?’

‘I had discussed the matter with Liamuin once she was safe. Unfortunately, Escmug must have suspected such an idea, for he kept the child within sight almost the whole time.’

‘But you said she was dead?’

‘One day Escmug arrived here. He was smiling, calm and cold of temper. I feared the worst.’

‘Which was?’

‘I felt he had killed the girl. He then said that he knew I had helped to hide Liamuin. Someone had told him that she had been seen with me, and he said he was going to find her and make her pay. I had the choice to tell him where she was, or suffer the consequences. And then he boasted that he had taken his daughter Aibell and sold her in bondage to Fidaig. I protested that she was at the age of choice. He merely laughed. Said her bondage would be something for Liamuin to reflect on when he caught up with her.’ Marban suddenly fell silent. ‘I could not let him find her.’

Fidelma leaned slightly towards him.

‘Before you consider what you have to tell me, Marban, I should explain that in law there is what we recognise as
colainnéraic
– the existence of circumstances in which the killing of another person is justified and entails no penalty. This is when the killing occurs as an act of self-defence.’

The miller stared at her, his face pale.

‘You knew all along that I had killed Escmug?’ he said heavily. ‘Is that why you came here?’

‘We knew nothing, until you began to tell us. Did you kill Escmug and then put the body in a beaver dam?’

The miller shuddered violently. ‘I killed him right enough. And yes, it was in self-defence. When I refused to tell him where Liamuin was and said I would tell the local Brehon how he had placed his daughter in bondage, he went berserk. He grabbed an axe. There was a wooden stave nearby and I seized it. I caught him on the side of the head and he went down. It was a chance blow and he did not move afterwards. When I examined him, I found he was dead. I carried the body to the main river and heaved it in, thinking it would float downstream so that he would be found. But the current took him into the dam where his corpse lodged for a while. It was found sometime later.’

‘And no one helped you? You did this alone?’

‘It happened as I said. He was shouting and raving. His anger grew murderous as he realised that I had been helping Liamuin the whole time. No one else was involved.’

Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘So his death was in self-defence,’ she murmured.

‘But what of Liamuin?’ Eadulf wanted to know. ‘You said that she was dead?’

‘So I have been told.’

‘You must know more. Explain.’

‘All of this happened after the war against Cashel. With the defeat and death of our Prince, warriors of Cashel came to occupy certain places to ensure our people were pacified. It was not a good time for any of us.’

‘Go on,’ prompted Fidelma when he paused.

‘Menma told me that a warrior came to his rath and demanded to stay.’

‘Who was this warrior?’

‘I do not know. Only that he was of Cashel and wore the same golden circlet around his neck as you wear.’

‘Then he was a member of my brother’s bodyguard?’

‘Whoever he was, lady, my friend Menma was forced to give him hospitality. It seemed his task was to ensure there were no threatening disturbances in the foothills that border the territory of our lands with those of the Luachra.’

Even Eadulf had to chuckle at this. ‘One warrior?’

‘He was the commander of a troop that encamped in those hills between Sliabh Luachra and the Uí Fidgente territory. He would go and consult with them from time to time to ensure there were no rumblings of discontent while the peace negotiations were continuing.’

The miller stopped and wiped his brow with a piece of cloth before going on.

‘As I said earlier, the mind of a woman is beyond understanding. Within a short space of time Liamuin and this Cashel warrior grew close; even though her own brother had been killed at Cnoc Áine, she and this warrior became lovers. Menma tried to warn her. He even sent for me to come and try to speak with her.’

‘And did you?’

Marban sighed deeply. ‘When I reached Menma’s fortress, it was a burned-out shell. Menma, my good friend, was dead, along with his wife and sons and almost his entire household. Liamuin was also dead.’

‘And this Cashel warrior?’

‘I found out from neighbours that one day, after it was thought this warrior had gone into the hills, he and his men suddenly returned and without warning they attacked Menma’s fortified house. I was told that Liamuin was struck down by one of his bowmen. The place was put to the torch. The folk from a neighbouring farmstead buried them.’

‘And could anyone identify the warrior who had done this terrible deed?’ Fidelma’s voice had gone dry. When Marban silently shook his head, she went on: ‘What of these neighbours? Did they not learn anything at all about him?’

‘Only that he was from Cashel and wore the golden collar. It is some years now, but I think there was a survivor who reached the safety of the forest during the attack. I am not sure, but that is what I was told. A name might be known among those neighbouring farmsteads.’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘Do you mean that Menma’s farmstead was the only one torched? That the other farmsteads were left alone?’

‘It seemed so. But such things were what we of the Uí Fidgente had to endure in those months after the defeat at Cnoc Áine,’ the miller added bitterly.

There was a silence and then Fidelma said: ‘I can assure you, Marban, that I will do all in my power to find out who that warrior and his men were. There is surely a way of tracking him down. When we do, he will find himself answerable to the law.’