Maxim Jakubowski - The Best British Mysteries III

Fidelma dropped her gaze and tried to contain her smile. Obviously, Brother Abán was steeped in the old ways and superstitions. ‘Let us return to the case of Ernán,’ she suggested gently. ‘Are you saying that his sister-in-law, Bláth, heard this wailing and did so on three consecutive nights?’

‘The third night was when Ernán was found dead.’

‘And Blinne had heard this wailing as well?’

‘I only spoke to Glass the miller who confirmed that he had heard it also.’

‘So you have not spoken to Blinne, Ernán’s wife.’

‘She has not been well enough to speak with me, as you can imagine.’

‘Very well. Who discovered the body?’

‘Bláth was up in the morning to milk the goats and found Ernán outside the house. He had been dead some hours. Bláth believes that -’

Fidelma held up her hand. ‘I will see what she believes when I speak with her. At this point, she came to you?’

‘That is right. I went to see the body while she went inside to comfort Blinne.’

‘Where is the body now?’

‘In the chapel. We shall bury it tonight.’

‘I would like to examine this wound of which you speak.’

Brother Abán stirred uncomfortably. ‘Is that necessary? After all, you are -’

‘I am a dálaigh and used to such sights as the corpses of people who have died in violent ways.’

The old monk shrugged. ‘It is not often that you would see the corpse of one who has been taken by the Banshee,’ he muttered.

‘Has there been much wolf activity in these parts recently?’

The question was innocent enough, but Brother Abán realised what she was implying and pulled a sour face. ‘You will not be able to pass off this death as a wolf attack, Sister,’ he said. ‘I know the marks made by a wolf when it is driven to attack a human. A wolf rarely attacks a full-grown man, a strong and muscular man. And the wailing was certainly not that of a wolf. You will have to think again if you want to dismiss this death as having a rational cause.’

‘I want to find the truth, that is all,’ Fidelma replied evenly. ‘Now let us inspect the corpse.’

The old monk had been right and Ernán had been young and handsome in life. He was obviously well muscled and strong. The only disfigurement on his body was the jagged wound beneath his chin, which severed his windpipe and arteries. Fidelma bent forward and saw immediately that no teeth marks could have made the wound. It had been made by something sharp, although it had been drawn across the throat, tearing the flesh rather than cutting cleanly.

She straightened up after her inspection.

‘Well?’ demanded the old man.

‘Ernán was certainly attacked, but not by some Otherworld entity,’ she said softly.

She led the way out of the small chapel and stood in the sunshine looking down through the collection of buildings to where the broad expanse of river was pushing sedately along, glistening and flickering in the bright light. There were several dwellings clustered around, including a blacksmith’s forge and grain stores. The main part of the community dwelt in outlying farmsteads and would probably be in the fields at this time. However, there were a few people about. The blacksmith stood deep in conversation with someone who had in tow a thick-legged workhorse, and Fidelma could see a couple of people at the far end of the square just emerging around the corner of a storehouse. One was an attractive woman with auburn hair, young and pretty and slim. Her companion was a young man, long-faced, intense.

Fidelma’s keen eyes deduced that neither was happy. The young man was stretching out a hand to the woman’s arm in an almost imploring gesture. The woman seemed irritable and knocked the hand away, turning swiftly and striding towards the chapel. The young man gazed after her for a moment, then seemed to notice Fidelma and walked rapidly away, disappearing behind the far building.

‘Interesting,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Who are they? The woman seems to be coming here.’

Brother Abán, standing at her shoulder, whispered: ‘This is Blinne the widow of Ernán.’

‘And who was the young man with whom she seemed annoyed?’

‘That was Tadhg. He is a…he is a bard.’

Fidelma’s lower lip thrust out a moment in amusement at the disapproval in the old man’s voice. ‘That is appropriate.’

The name Tadhg meant ‘poet’.

Brother Abán was already moving to greet the woman called Blinne.

‘How are you, my child?’

‘Only as can be expected,’ Blinne replied shortly. Fidelma noticed that her face seemed an expressionless mask. Her lips were thinned in the set of her jaw. She had a tight control of her emotions. Her hazel eyes caught those of Sister Fidelma and her chin came up defiantly. ‘I have come to see the body of Ernán one last time. And Bláth says that she will sing the caoine, the keening at the interment.’

‘Of course, my child, of course,’ muttered the old monk. Then he remembered his manners. ‘This is Sister Fidelma from Cashel. She is -’

‘I know who she is,’ replied the young woman coldly. ‘She is sister to our king as well as being a dálaigh.’

‘She has come to inquire into the death of your husband.’

Was there a slight blush on Blinne’s cheek?

‘So I have heard. The news is all around the community.’

‘I am sorry for your troubles, Blinne,’ Fidelma greeted her softly. ‘When you have finished.’ She nodded imperceptibly to the chapel, ‘I would like to ask you a few questions.’

‘I understand.’

‘I shall be at Brother Abán’s dwelling.’

It was not long before Blinne came to Brother Abán’s threshold.

Fidelma bade her be seated and turned to the old monk. ‘I think you said you had something to attend to in the chapel?’ she suggested pointedly.

‘No, I…’ Brother Abán caught her gaze and then nodded swiftly. ‘Of course. I shall be there if you need me.’

After he had left, Fidelma took her seat opposite the attractive young woman. ‘This must be distasteful to you, but your husband has died in suspicious circumstances. The law dictates that I ask you certain questions.’

Blinne raised her chin defiantly. ‘People are saying that he was taken by a Banshee.’

Fidelma regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You sound as if you give that story no credence.’

‘I have heard no wailing messengers of death. Ernán was killed, but not by a ghostly visitation.’

‘Yet, as I understand it, the wailing on three separate nights thrice awakened your own sister, who dwells with you. This wailing was heard by one of your neighbours.’

‘As I said, I did not hear it, nor was I awakened. If wailing there was, it was that of a wolf. He was killed by a wolf, that is obvious.’

Fidelma regarded her thoughtfully, then she said: ‘If it was obvious, then there would be no need for this inquiry. Tell me about Ernán. He was a farmer, handsome, and I am told he was well liked. Is that true?’

‘True enough.’

‘He had no enemies?’

Blinne shook her head but responded too quickly, so Fidelma thought. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she pressed.

‘If you are trying to tell me that you suspect he was murdered, then I -’

‘I am not trying, Blinne,’ interrupted Fidelma firmly. ‘I tell you facts. A wolf did not create the wound that caused his death. Now, are you saying that he had no enemies that you know of? Think carefully, think hard, before you reply.’

Blinne’s face had become a tight mask. ‘He had no enemies,’ she said firmly.

Instinctively, Fidelma knew that she was lying. ‘Did you love your husband?’ she asked abruptly.

A red flush spread swiftly over the other woman’s response.