Fidelma leaned forward encouragingly. ‘Let me be the judge.’
‘Well, it was at a feasting a month ago.’ He glanced at Becc. ‘It was the feast day of the Blessed Finnbarr who founded our little abbey here,’ he said, as if feeling a need to explain.
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing really. Gobnuid wanted to dance with Ballgel and she refused and Gobnuid seemed mortified. Ballgel was with some of her young friends and, frankly, Gobnuid is old enough to be her father. I am afraid that the young lads mocked him and he turned away with a few angry words. That’s all.’
‘I see. So, returning to the night she died, I understand that she left the fortress at midnight or soon after on that night?’
‘She did.’
‘When was her body discovered?’
‘Early next morning by one of the villagers gathering mushrooms.’
‘And the abbey was immediately attacked. Why was that?’
‘I did not attack the abbey.’ Sirin’s voice was unexpectedly harsh. ‘I was in grief and so was my sister Berrach. It was my cousin Brocc who roused the people to that action. Brocc had already lost his own niece to this evil.’
Becc intervened. ‘It is true that Sirin was not among those who threatened the abbey. He and Berrach were certainly not there.’
Fidelma nodded but continued to address herself to Sirin.
‘Do you believe that the strangers at the abbey could have done this?’
Sirin looked blank. ‘I do not know. Many claim that they did. I have yet to see proof of Brocc’s assertions.’
‘Did your cousin share his suspicions with you?’
‘He does not like the strangers because they are strangers.’
‘You do not appear to share that view,’ she observed.
‘I want the guilty punished, but let us first know that they are guilty,’ replied the man.
‘Do you suspect them or anyone else? Do you have any thoughts as to why Ballgel was killed?’
Sirin screwed up his face in a negative gesture. ‘I believe only some beast or madman could have done this terrible thing. I can offer you nothing else. But I tell you this, Sister: once I know who is guilty it is vengeance that I want in return. Do not tell me about justice. I am of the Faith and did not Paul of Tarsus write to the Galatians that whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap? Whoever has done this terrible deed has planted a thorn in my heart. He must not expect to pluck a rose from it.’
Fidelma was sympathetic but returned his look with disapproval. ‘Blood will not wash out blood, Sirin.’
‘Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot…’
Fidelma sighed. ‘Very well, Sirin.’
The man was about to turn away, realising that she had finished her questions, when Eadulf suddenly leant forward.
‘You say that Brocc is your cousin, Sirin. Are you also related to Adag?’
Sirin thrust out his lower lip in a sullen expression.
‘I am not,’ he snapped. ‘May I go now?’
‘You may return to your kitchen,’ Fidelma assured him in some amusement. It was true that the steward and the cook might be taken for brothers, for they did look alike.
When Sirin had gone, Fidelma turned to Becc with a sad smile.
‘Heraclitus said that it is difficult to fight against anger, for a man will buy revenge with his soul. It seems that Brocc is not the only one out for vengeance at this place, Becc.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Fidelma turned to the steward who had been waiting patiently by the door.
‘I am told that the abbot was the first to leave the feasting on the night of which we are talking. What time did the abbot depart from the fortress?’ she asked.
Adag frowned and glanced to his chieftain as if in unspoken question.
Fidelma exhaled in exasperation. ‘Adag, mark me well. When I ask you a question, you do not have to seek permission of Becc or anyone else before you answer me. If you do not respect the fact that I am a dálaigh, although you should obey the law, then respect the fact that I am sister to your king who sits at Cashel. Even your chieftain, Becc, my cousin, defers to me in this matter.’
Becc looked embarrassed.
‘I apologise for my steward, Fidelma. He has a quaint idea of loyalty,’ he said, before turning with a glance of wrath at the man. ‘You will obey my cousin, Fidelma, with the same alacrity as you obey me, Adag, otherwise I shall be looking for a new steward.’
The steward flushed and gave a nervous grimace.
‘What was your question, lady?’ he asked in an apologetic tone.
‘I asked, at what time did the abbot depart from the fortress on the night Ballgel was killed?’
‘A little after midnight, I think,’ he answered.
‘And was that before or after Ballgel left?’
He stared at her in surprise and hesitated before replying. ‘The abbot left afterwards, I think.’
‘You think?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp. ‘Is there anyone else who would know exactly?’
Adag coloured in annoyance. ‘I was at the gate and bade good night to Ballgel. She left before the abbot. I am sure of it.’
‘So you were the last person to see her alive?’ intervened Eadulf, who had been silent for some time.
Adag sniffed contemptuously. ‘Her killer would be the last person to do so, Brother Saxon.’
Fidelma decided to let the insult to Eadulf go unchallenged for the moment.
‘How long was it between Ballgel’s leaving and when the abbot left?’ she pressed. ‘Moments later or a longer period?’
‘It was some time later…perhaps half an hour or so.’
‘And the path to the abbey lies in the same direction as the woods where she was found?’
‘At the bottom of the hill you would have to turn right to the abbey, while the place where Ballgel was found was to the left, away from the abbey. The abbot could not have caught up with her.’
Fidelma regarded him with some amusement.
‘Why do you think that extra information is of importance?’ she asked softly.
Adag’s mouth thinned in annoyance. ‘I thought that you were accusing-’
‘When I accuse anyone,’ interrupted Fidelma, still speaking softly, ‘I shall say so directly. At the moment, I am still looking for information. I am asking questions and I expect answers and not opinions or prevarication. Questions must be answered with courtesy and respect. Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, who is my fer comtha, is also worthy of a respectful response, for he was a lawyer among his own people.’
Adag hung his head in mortification. His cheeks were crimson.
‘I only meant that-’
‘I know perfectly well what you meant,’ Fidelma replied shortly. ‘Now, as to that last exchange of words that you had with Ballgel…’
Adag looked startled for a moment. ‘Last exchange?’
‘Your conversation at the gates of the fortress when she went home that night. I presume you did exchange some words?’
‘As I said, I merely bade her good night,’ acknowledged Adag hurriedly. ‘She responded. She left and that was the last I saw of her.’
Fidelma paused in reflection for a moment.
‘The moon was full that night. It was bright. Was Ballgel nervous of going home alone? She was aware that two other young girls had been killed in those woods, wasn’t she?’
Adag sighed and nodded. ‘Ballgel was a very stubborn and self-willed girl. Nothing seemed to make her nervous. But I suppose that it was not until after her death that most of us generally realised the significance of the full moon.’
‘Significance?’ Eadulf interposed.
‘That the three killings had happened on the night of the full moon.’ The steward spoke to him with a little more courtesy than before. ‘I think it was young Gabrán, the woodsman, who first realised this and told our late Brehon Aolú…’
‘He did,’ intervened Becc in confirmation. ‘But he was not taken seriously until Liag pointed it out. That was after the second body was discovered. But the fact that he felt it was significant was no secret. Liag knows about these things. He teaches our young about the stars and the moon. Though what Adag says is true. In spite of young Gabrán, and then Liag, the fact that the killer struck at the full of the moon only became generally realised after the body of Ballgel was found.’