‘You did not recognise the figure?’

  ‘A black shadow, that was all.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Some disjointed memories.’ He gave a grunt. ‘My back is painful.’

  ‘You have been burned. Try not to put pressure on it. I will treat it as soon as I have my salve.’

  ‘Burned?’ Then Celgaire gave a moan.

  ‘You remember something else?’

  ‘It is all so confusing,’ he said.

  ‘Tell us whatever you can recall.’

  ‘I think I was back in my wagon. The smell and shadows seemed the same. I thought I was dreaming. I realised my hands were tied behind my back. The wagon was moving and then … then I think I passed out again.’

  ‘Do you remember anything else?’

  ‘The burning. It doesn’t make any sense at all.’

  ‘Just tell us what you can,’ encouraged Fidelma.

  ‘I came to and was still on the wagon floor. I knew that. But my hands were no longer tied. There was smoke everywhere. I felt I could not breathe. And the heat … Although I couldn’t understand it, I knew that I had to get out. I had to escape. My head throbbed. I felt I was going to pass out but the fear in me made me strong; it told me that if I did so, I would die. I crawled towards the back of the wagon – by instinct more than anything else, and fell off onto the ground. I recall the ice-cold air, although I could still smell smoke. And then I was crawling through mud and grass. It was cold but the cold was like a balm. Then I blacked out again. And that is all – until I awoke just now.’

  Fidelma and Eadulf were silent as they absorbed his story. Then Fidelma stood up.

  ‘Try not to worry about anything. You are safe now and Eadulf will tend to your burns as soon as he is able.’

  ‘Where am I, lady?’ asked the man.

  ‘For the moment, you are in a safe place some way from the village.’

  ‘But my wife, my child … were they, were they in the wagon?’ There was a sudden shock in his voice as if he had just realised the possibility.

  ‘Your wife and child are still safe in the village and are being looked after. You were the only one taken in your wagon.’

  Celgaire let out a gasp of relief. Then another thought occurred to him.

  ‘My wagon, lady. Is it really burned? Is that memory a true one? Is it completely destroyed?’

  ‘It is,’ she confirmed.

  ‘It was our only home,’ Celgaire said dully. ‘Our only means of transport with all our belongings.’

  ‘Do not worry about that for the moment,’ Eadulf said gently. ‘Things can be replaced. Our concern is to get you better. So lie down and rest, but keep off your back for the time being.’

  Celgaire nodded wearily, his eyes closing and, stretched on his side, was immediately asleep.

  Fidelma turned to Gobánguss who had remained standing anxiously by.

  ‘Can you take a look to see if there is any sign of Fethmac returning?’

  The big smith nodded and left the mill. Fidelma went to a box at one side and sat down. Lost in thought, she absently watched Eadulf trying to make the injured man more comfortable. When he came to join her, she was looking perplexed.

  ‘This is getting complicated, Eadulf.’

  ‘It always was,’ he returned dryly. ‘But it confirms what you thought. That someone released Celgaire, took him as a prisoner in his own wagon, having rendered him unconscious with his hands tied behind him then, that same person brought him to the woodland across the river and set fire to the wagon.’

  ‘Having ensured he was still unconscious and removing the bonds, thinking he would be dead in a short time.’

  ‘Yes – and it was thought that, like fools, we would be lured into believing that Celgaire, our main suspect for the slaughter of Adnán’s family, had been released by a confederate and perished in a fire accident.’

  ‘Yes, we were taken for fools. Young Fethmac certainly was happy to follow that pattern of thought.’

  Eadulf raised a brow at the reference to the magistrate.

  ‘You still seem unhappy with the way Fethmac is conducting himself.’

  Fidelma shrugged. ‘I know he is immature and inexperienced, but he is responsible as a magistrate in this area. He should know better when evaluating certain things.’ She raised a hand. ‘I know, I know. You think I am too hard on him. But if I do not correct him or try to teach him, who else will he learn from? I do not want to have to report him to Fíthel.’

  Eadulf was surprised. ‘You’d report him to the Chief Brehon?’

  ‘I am doing my best for him. The judgement of compensation for this watermill is another thing. My opinion is that the compensation he felt Tadgán was entitled to was so derisory he might just as well have not given it. The value of one cow and free use of grinding corn – when it could be arranged and without a specific time given? That as compensation for the loss of water to irrigate his barley field? The laws are strict about those who change watercourses.’

  ‘But Fethmac said that it was impossible to say when the rocks were placed on the riverbed.’

  ‘Why, there are plenty of local people who would have known if the flow of the water had been changed!’

  ‘Perhaps – plenty of people who supported Tadgán and plenty of others who would have supported Adnán. What was it that you said? That this was a little Garden of Eden?’

  ‘I said it was like entering the Garden of Fand,’ she corrected. ‘I passed through it once in summer with the flowers and greenery and it seemed to me to be a place of Otherworldly beauty.’

  Eadulf sniffed. ‘If I recall aright, for all her Otherworldly beauty Fand was a weak and helpless person, intriguing with her lover against her husband. There was death and evil in Fand’s Garden, just as in this one. A Garden of Eden it is not.’

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Well, even the Garden of Eden had its evil serpent.’

  ‘I can’t say that this is the most pleasant place I have ever been in,’ Eadulf told her. ‘To my mind everyone seems to feel a degree of animosity towards everyone else.’

  ‘That is what makes our task hard but, on the other hand, it makes me more determined to discover the truth. It takes a diabolical mind to arrange the escape of the suspect when it must have become known that I had doubts about his guilt. A diabolical mind to plan Celgaire’s death so that he would perish during his escape in a burning wagon and thus everyone would be satisfied the guilty had been punished and further investigation would be stopped.’

  ‘Except that it would not have stopped,’ Eadulf demurred, ‘because the diabolical mind, as you put it, does not know your character. You could not have given up once you had that suspicion in your mind.’

  Fidelma grimaced without humour. ‘That’s just it, Eadulf. The murderer does not know my mind. And as I said, there are still people I want to question.’

  ‘I presume that you are thinking of that stranger’s arrival at the funeral. What was his name, Conmaol? He would make a good suspect for the killing of his cousin, especially if he has legitimate claim to the kin-land.’

  ‘At the moment we only have his word that he was not here when the event took place. He was certainly near enough to hear the news and be able to arrive at the funeral so quickly. So maybe he was near enough to have committed the actual murders.’

  ‘And there is Taithlech, whose name keeps appearing in almost every conversation,’ Eadulf said. ‘Taithlech, who suddenly had that urgent task for Gobánguss to perform last night after the funeral.’ He paused. ‘We may be overlooking the obvious,’ he added quietly.

  ‘The obvious?’ Fidelma queried. ‘What is being overlooked?’

  ‘Have you considered how big Celgaire’s wagon is? That it is heavy, a cumbersome vehicle.’

  ‘And your point?’

  ‘That to move it takes skill to harness and drive it quietly away.’

  ‘The sort of skill that would come to a merchant often used to driving heavy wagons of goods?’ smiled Fidelma. ‘I have already noted that this Taithlech was not seen at the funeral.’

  ‘I am sure Gobánguss’ wife heard more than she was letting on.’

  ‘It is one thing being sure but in law, Eadulf, you have to prove it. It is hard to believe that Gobánguss’ wife would become involved in this matter to the point of lying. The fact is that we have information but not enough facts to make any sense out of it all.’

  There came a moan from the injured man and Eadulf left Fidelma to go and tend to the man and wet his dry lips.

  ‘It shouldn’t be long now before we get that medication and your pain will be eased,’ he promised Celgaire with a comforting smile.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard Gobánguss cry out from outside the mill.

  ‘There’s a rider coming.’ There was a hesitation. ‘From the direction of the village but … but it is not Fethmac!’

  TEN

  The rider turned out to be Ballgel, Fethmac’s wife.

  ‘My husband is delayed,’ she explained as she swung down from her horse. ‘A dispute in the village has required his attention.’

  ‘A dispute?’ frowned Fidelma. ‘To do with this matter?’

  The magistrate’s wife shook her head. ‘No, it was not related to the murders. It was some sort of dispute about sharing honey between two neighbours. A simple matter but one that needed arbitration from Fethmac.’

  Bees were considered of high value and important, and the law texts were full of the regulations pertaining to both wild and domestic hives. An individual keeping hives for honey had to share the honey with neighbours, on the basis that the bees gathered their nectar from neighbouring lands as well as the land where the hives were situated.

  Ballgel took down her saddlebag and turned to Eadulf.

  ‘I have brought the items you requested. I have a jar of a salve made from elder blossoms, and yellow clover which has been simmered in wheatgerm. I made this last year and it can be applied directly. Does the man have a headache or fever? I have brought dried elderberry, nettle and valerian, any of which I could use to make an infusion.’

  Eadulf nodded approvingly. ‘That is good. So you know something of the healing arts?’

  Ballgel explained, ‘I learned things from my mother, who learned from her mother. You know that we have no permanent physician in the village, so I am often called upon to use what knowledge I have to help in these matters. Is there anything more I can do?’

  Eadulf thanked her, and added: ‘I think I can do everything that needs to be done now.’

  He disappeared inside the mill to attend to Celgaire while Fidelma asked if Fethmac would be following after he had resolved the dispute.

  ‘He said he would come as soon as possible,’ Ballgel answered. ‘He told me that the problem for you will be to return the murderer to the village without anyone knowing.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows at the woman’s use of the word.

  ‘Don’t forget the man is yet to be judged,’ she reminded her sharply. Then, before Ballgel could respond she turned to Gobánguss who had joined them, saying, ‘You had better resume your watch on the road.’ Then she gestured for Ballgel to follow her into the slightly warmer atmosphere of the mill house.

  Fidelma was glad of the opportunity to speak to Ballgel without her husband’s presence. There were questions on her mind but she decided that she should approach them carefully.

  ‘I suppose you have lived here all your life?’ she opened, as they seated themselves on the far side of the mill from where Eadulf was now bending over the distraught figure of Celgaire and applying the medications.

  Ballgel loosened her riding cloak, a little annoyed at Fidelma’s rebuke.

  ‘I have. My mother was an étidach, a professional dressmaker, and my father was a merchant, taking the clothing that she made to Árd Fhionáin, or to Cathair and even to Cashel itself.’

  ‘And do they live in the village here?’

  A look of sadness crossed the girl’s features. She shook her head. ‘No, they were taken off by the Yellow Plague. That was some years before I met Fethmac, when he returned from his law studies.’

  ‘So you know most people in the area?’

  ‘I know that the only deaths that have occurred within living memory have been natural ones or those visited on us by the Yellow Plague or other pestilences. The murders of Adnán and his family are the first of their kind. We once had a physician who was also carried off by the plague and, as I said, now we have no permanent physician here. There are few ills so serious that I cannot handle them.’

  ‘That is not what I asked,’ Fidelma said mildly.

  ‘I think I understand your meaning. Violence has only come to us in the form of outsiders. We were a peaceful community until the vagrants came.’

  Fidelma sighed impatiently.

  ‘Married to a magistrate, you should know something of the law, Ballgel. The matter of the murders must be proved beyond question. I have several questions. I presume your views reflect those of Fethmac? Otherwise, not being privy to the investigation, you would merely be expressing a personal prejudice without knowledge.’

  The girl’s jaw tightened.

  ‘Everyone knows that it could only have been the vagrant who slaughtered Adnán and Aoife and their boys.’

  ‘The knowledge of everyone is often not entirely correct,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘Fethmac believes in the guilt of the vagrant. It’s just that he has become confused by …’

  ‘Let us hope his confusion has merely come about as he has learned more from the evidence and not because he is unwilling to follow my guidance on how an investigation should be properly run.’

  The girl said disdainfully, ‘It is up to my husband to tell you what he thinks. I speak for myself.’

  ‘Quite rightly so,’ agreed Fidelma, not without irony. ‘Belief out of loyalty to your husband is certainly not conclusive. However, it is of you that I wish to ask some questions.’

  ‘Such as?’ The girl’s tone was suspicious.

  ‘About your views of people in the village. People that you obviously know. For example, I am sure that you know the woman Blinne.’

  ‘Íonait’s mother? Of course – I know them both. But I thought my husband took you to see Blinne?’

  ‘That is so. I was interested in her situation and her relationship with Tadgán, Adnán’s cousin.’

  Ballgel snorted, ‘You mean the lack of it! It was her husband Broc who worked for Tadgán and when he was gored to death, Tadgán refused to pay compensation on the grounds that Broc was in debt to him.’

  ‘Your husband told me of the case and said that evidence was presented which he could not dispute.’

  ‘There was a witness to the debt,’ Ballgel agreed.

  ‘The merchant Taithlech? He seems a prominent inhabitant of this village, though I have not met him yet. He was the witness to that debt. I understand he is a merchant like your father was, so—’

  Ballgel’s jaw raised a fraction. ‘Not like my father was!’ she retorted. ‘No one likes Taithlech. He’s a mean-minded man in spite of being successful in his trade. He deals in corn, oats and wheat, selling mostly to the mountain folk.’ She gestured with her head to the southern peaks. Fidelma knew that growing sustainable grain crops in the high peaks was not an option so an enterprising merchant could trade for the produce of the hills.

  ‘It seems odd that Taithlech, being a merchant, claimed to be a close friend of Broc, who was a worker on Tadgán’s farm, as well as Lúbaigh, a worker on Adnán’s farm,’ reflected Fidelma.

  ‘No,’ Ballgel disagreed. ‘It’s not so unusual in a small rural hamlet like this. Everyone knows everyone to a greater or lesser extent. However, he was more a friend of Tadgán. It was the grain crops that he bought from Tadgán that he took and sold in the mountains. You must have been told that Taithlech’s daughter, Flannat, married Tadgán’s son, Díoma, who is now dead. Flannat and her baby live at Tadgán’s farm as is their right.’

  Fidelma acknowledged the fact. She mentally reminded herself that she had promised to speak with Taithlech about his witness to Broc’s statement. However, she was more concerned with the murders at the moment.

  ‘How does Tadgán get on with the father of his late son’s wife?’ she asked. ‘Could his witness have been biased?’

  Ballgel’s shrugged. ‘One cannot choose one’s relatives.’

  ‘He doesn’t like him? But he does business with him?’

  ‘I doubt you will find many in the village who would own to liking Taithlech,’ she responded. ‘Probably not even his own daughter.’

  ‘Yet it was considered that his witness to Tadgán’s claim against Broc was valid?’

  ‘My husband judged it so,’ the girl said defensively.

  Fidelma waited a moment and then asked: ‘Do you know Íonait, Blinne’s daughter?’

  ‘Of course. Poor girl.’

  ‘Why do you refer to Íonait as “poor”? Because of her mother’s position after Broc was killed?’

  ‘Blinne manages well enough. No, it’s because I felt that Íonait was a vulnerable girl, even though she has now passed the age of choice. She seems to need protection.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing specific. It is just something I feel. A few days ago I met her returning home from Adnán’s farm. She was dishevelled and crying.’

  ‘Did you ask her what the matter was?’

  ‘I did. All I could get out of her was that she had decided to quit the farm.’

  ‘Did she tell you why?’

  ‘She did not.’

  ‘Yet because she decided to stop working there, you say she was vulnerable? I do not understand.’

  ‘I felt there was more to it.’

  ‘What more?’

  Ballgel sighed. ‘Well, if you must know, that young brother of Lúbaigh might have the mind of a child, but he is at the onset of manhood. I am sure you know what I mean.’

  ‘You think something happened with Íonait?’