‘I see it.’
‘That is the woman Deog’s cabin; the cabin that Abbess Fainder and Bishop Forbassach visited.’
‘Very well. Let us see what Deog has to contribute to our enquiries.’ Fidelma nudged her horse forward and, with Enda following, she rode directly for the cabin that he had indicated.
The occupant of the cabin obviously heard their arrival, for as they were dismounting and hitching their horses to a small fence which marked the boundaries of a vegetable garden in front of the building, the door opened and a woman came out. She was preceded by a large hound who ran towards them but was checked by a sharp command from the woman. She was not yet of middle age but her face seemed so etched with lines of worry and concern that at first glance she seemed older than her years. Her eyes were pale, probably grey rather than blue. She was dressed simply, as a countrywoman, and her appearance was that of someone hardened to the elements. To Fidelma there seemed something curiously familiar about the features. But Fidelma’s scrutiny was swift and also encompassed the dog who, she discerned, was elderly but keen to defend his mistress.
The woman came forward in concern as her eyes fell on Fidelma.
‘Have you come from Fainder?’ she demanded without preamble, obviously taking in the fact that Fidelma wore the robes of a religieuse.
Fidelma was surprised at the anxiety in her voice.
‘Why would you imagine that?’ she parried.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are a religieuse. If Fainder has not sent you here, who are you?’
‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’
The woman’s features visibly hardened and her mouth tightened. ‘So?’
‘It seems that you have heard my name,’ observed Fidelma, interpreting the other’s reactions correctly.
‘I have heard your name spoken.’
‘Then you know that I am a dálaigh.’
‘That I know.’
‘It is growing dark and cold. May we come into your cabin and speak with you for a while?’
The woman was hesitant but finally inclined her head in invitation to the cabin door.
‘Come in then, though I am not sure what we can speak about.’
She led the way into the large single living room of the cabin. The hound, seeing no danger threatened, went quickly before them. A log fire snapped and crackled in the hearth at the far corner of the room. The old hound spread himself before it, head resting on his paws, but a half-closed eye was still fixed warily on them.
‘Sit yourselves down,’ invited the woman.
They waited until she had chosen a seat by the fire and then Fidelma sat opposite her while Enda perched uncomfortably on a stool near the door.
‘Well now, what do you wish to talk about?’
‘I am told that your name is Deog?’ Fidelma began.
‘I will not deny it for that is the truth of it,’ replied the woman.
‘And was Daig the name of your husband?’
‘May the good Lord be merciful to his soul, but that was his name. What business had you with him?’
‘He was one of the watch on the quays in Fearna, I believe?’
‘Captain of the watch, he was, after Mel received promotion to the royal guard of the King. Captain of the watch, though he did not live long to enjoy it.’ Her voice caught and she let out a sniff.
‘I am sorry for your trouble, Deog, but I need to have some answers to my questions.’
The woman controlled herself with an effort. ‘I have heard that you have been asking questions. You are a friend of the Saxon, I am told.’
‘What do you know about … about the Saxon?’
‘I know only that he was tried and sentenced for killing a poor young child.’
‘Nothing else? Not whether he be guilty or innocent?’
‘Would he be innocent when he has been condemned by the Brehon of Laigin?’
‘He was innocent,’ Fidelma replied shortly. ‘And there seem to be too many deaths on the quays by the abbey to be a coincidence. Tell me about the death of your husband, for example.’
The woman’s face was immobile for a moment or two and her paleeyes searched Fidelma for some hidden meaning to her words. Then she said: ‘He was a good man.’
‘I do not question it,’ replied Fidelma.
‘They told me that he had drowned.’
‘They?’
‘Bishop Forbassach.’
‘Forbassach told you, in person? You move in illustrious circles, Deog. Exactly what did Bishop Forbassach say?’
‘That during the night watch, Daig slipped off the wooden quay and fell into the river, catching his head on one of the piers and knocking himself unconscious. He was found next morning by a boatman from the Cág. They said that he …’ her voice caught and then she went on, ‘that he drowned while he was unconscious.’
Fidelma leaned forward a little. ‘And were there witnesses to this?’
Deog regarded her in bewilderment. ‘Witnesses? Had anyone been nearby, then he would not have drowned.’
‘So how are these details known?’
‘Bishop Forbassach told me that it must have been that way, for that is the only way it could have happened consistent with the facts.’ She said the words as a formula and it was clear that she was repeating what the Brehon had told her.
‘But what do you think?’
‘It must have been so.’
‘Did Daig ever talk with you about what happened on the quays? For example, about the death of the boatman?’
‘Fainder told me that they executed poor Ibar for that crime.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Poor Ibar? Did you know the Brother then?’
She shook her head. ‘I know his family. They are blacksmiths on the lower slopes of the Yellow Mountain. Daig told me how he had found him out.’
‘How was that? What exactly did Daig tell you?’ Fidelma asked eagerly.
‘Why do you want me to tell you what Daig told me about the killing?’ Deog looked at Fidelma nonplussed. ‘Didn’t Fainder tell you? Not even Bishop Forbassach wanted to know the exact details.’
‘Indulge me,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘I would like to hear and if you can manage to, keep the words as close to your husband’s own as possible.’
‘Well, Daig told me that he had been patrolling along the quay near the abbey around midnight, when he heard a cry. Daig was carrying abrand torch and raising it, he gave an answering shout, beginning to move forward in the direction of the sound. Then he heard some footsteps running across the boards of the quay. He came upon a huddled form. It was the body of a man, a boatman. Daig recognised him as one of the crew of Gabrán’s boat which was even then tied up alongside the quay. The man’s head had been smashed in and there was a wooden club lying nearby.’
‘A club?’
‘Daig told me that he thought it was one of those wooden sticks used on boats.’
‘A belaying pin?’
Deog shrugged. ‘I am not acquainted with them but I think that was the term he used.’
‘Go on.’
‘He told me that the boatman was clearly dead and so he left the body and ran on in the direction of the running steps. But he soon realised that the night had concealed the culprit and so he returned to the body …’
‘Did he tell you in which direction the sound of the steps went? Was it, for example, in the direction of the abbey gates?’
Deog considered the question thoughtfully.
‘I do not think that it was in the direction of the abbey gates for he said the sound of the footsteps was swallowed up into the night. There are usually two torches lit at the gates of the abbey during the night. If the culprit ran to the gates, Daig would have seen him illuminated by them.’
‘Two lit torches?’ Fidelma was silent for a moment digesting this information. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Fainder told me.’
Fidelma hesitated a moment and then decided not to be side-tracked.
‘We will come back to that later. Continue with the story Daig told you.’
‘Well, he returned to the body of the boatman and raised the alarm. Another sailor from Gabrán’s boat, roused from his sleep, told Daig that Gabrán was at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain and the last time he had seen the dead man, he was also there. The man had apparently gone to the inn to collect some money Gabrán owed him.