Peter Tremayne - Dancing With Demons

Abbot Colmán met her gaze with a serious expression.

‘Of the estrangement, perhaps we should have guessed,’ he said. ‘We knew that since the birth of little Be Bhail, the lady Gormflaith has kept to herself and only appeared at her husband’s side on those occasions where it was deemed necessary. Sometimes, though, after the birth of a child, a woman can take curious fancies into her mind. Be despondent and depressed. We merely thought that Gormflaith might have been experiencing such feelings.’

Fidelma coloured slightly for she knew exactly what Colmán meant. It had been her own experience after the birth of her son, Alchú.

‘But after three years …?’ she pressed.

‘Well, all I can say is that during these past three years, if Sechnussach did take a second wife, it was a secret so well-kept that no one knew of her existence.’

‘Perhaps it was well-kept from his advisers or even his tánaiste,’ Eadulfobserved, ‘but it could hardly have been a secret from the servants who attended him. Perhaps we should speak with them?’

Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘A good thought.’

‘I think I am beginning to see the reason for the assassination of the High King,’ Eadulf suddenly said with confidence.

‘You are?’

‘It is obvious that if Gormflaith had taken Dubh Duin as a lover, then the pair of them might have conspired to kill Sechnussach so that Gormflaith would be free.’

Fidelma pursed her lips. ‘You think so?’

‘Gormflaith would not be the first woman to conspire with a lover to murder her husband.’

Fidelma simply shook her head. ‘Under the law, they had no need to recourse to that act. She could surely have divorced. However, we will see firstly what Gormflaith has to say.’

Enquiries revealed that Gormflaith and her second daughter Murgain were out riding but were thought to be returning within the hour. The three of them left the Tech Laoghaire and began to walk back across the royal enclosure towards the guests’ hostel.

‘Perhaps Brehon Barrán would be able to contribute to this mystery about a second wife?’ Abbot Colmán suggested.

‘Is the Brehon still in Tara?’

Abbot Colmán affirmed that he was, adding, ‘He has his own residence just outside the royal enclosure. But I think he is working at the hall of the Great Assembly.’

Fidelma thought about it but then dismissed the idea.

‘It would be better to see Gormflaith first, without rousing ideas that might prove false,’ she decided.

At that moment they saw Caol and Gormán approaching them. The men looked worried.

‘Lady.’ Caol halted.

‘What is the matter?’ asked Fidelma, gazing from him to Gormán.

Caol looked anxiously at Abbot Colmán.

‘Come, speak up. There are no secrets among us here,’ urged Fidelma, not unkindly.

‘We have seen Badb again.’

‘The old woman?’ Fidelma was surprised.

Gormán nodded rapidly. ‘She appeared out of nowhere as we werewalking by the guesthouse. She shook her fist at us and told us to beware and return from whence we came — even as she did at the river.’

‘Lady,’ said Caol, ‘as you know, we of the Nasc Niadh are afraid of no mortal. She appeared and then she seemed to vanish again, and although we searched, being mindful of what you said before, we could not find her.’

‘Lady, we may be afraid of nothing in this world, but if there is the Otherworld to contend with, then we need to be told. Is it mortals with whom we deal, or might we be dancing with demons?’ added Gormán.

Abbot Colmán looked taken aback by what the two warriors had to say and was about to speak when Eadulf cleared his throat nervously and turned to Fidelma.

‘I did not mention it before, but I too have seen the old woman again — as we were coming from the cells after speaking with Erc. I came out into the light and there she was, standing on the wall. She repeated this same warning and when I blinked again she had disappeared.’

Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I wondered why you behaved so strangely. You ran to the wall to look for her?’

‘I did. And there was no sight of her. Is she mortal or demon? I have no liking for mysterious apparitions.’

Caol and Gormán muttered their agreement but Fidelma was having none of it.

‘To all mysteries there is a rational explanation,’ she announced.

‘But,’ Caol protested, glancing at the abbot for support, ‘begging your pardon, there is nothing rational when dealing with that which is beyond mortal explanation.’

‘I would offer my counsel if I understood what it was that you are talking about,’ the Abbot said fretfully.

He listened attentively while Fidelma told him of the meeting at the river crossing. He then asked for a closer description of the woman who called herself Badb. Finally, he allowed himself a sad chuckle.

‘Poor Mer,’ he said. ‘I suppose that she could alarm those not used to her and her odd ways.’

‘Mer?’ queried Fidelma.

‘We call her Mer the Demented. She is old and crazy and always scavenging around Tara. She probably picked up the news that you had been sent for, to investigate the death of Sechnussach. Then she dressed it up in her own fashion. She clings to the Old Faith but there is no evil in her.She is crazy — but God blesses the insane and foolish, so we are told. She does no harm.’

‘No harm when she utters curses and warnings?’ Eadulf grunted, feeling a complete fool.

‘No harm, Brother Saxon,’ the abbot insisted. ‘Here, we overlook her eccentricities. Her husband was killed at the great battle of Carn Conaill and that is what unhinged her mind.’

‘That took place a long time ago,’ Caol grumbled. ‘It was a battle in Connacht.’

‘You know your history well, warrior,’ affirmed the abbot. ‘No one knows what Mer’s real name was, for that is the name she has been called since then. She was a woman of Connacht. Her husband was a warrior in the army of Guaire, the King of Connacht. The story is that an argument rose between Guaire and Diarmait of Tara. When Diarmait moved an army against him, Guaire sent to ask for a truce. But the abbot of Cluain Mic Nois and all his clergy urged Diarmait on to slaughter Guaire’s army. The clerics of Cluain Mic Nois came to the field of the battle to pray and call upon God to support the victory.’

‘Why are you telling us this?’ Eadulf wanted to know.

‘Because, as I say, I think that is what deranged her and why she became Mer the Demented One. Her husband was killed and so she not only blamed Diarmait of Tara but all the priests of the New Faith. She came to Tara to haunt it, so it is said, and call down imprecations on it and its entire clergy in the name of the old gods and goddesses. No one knows where she dwells, but she has scavenged for food and been seen around the hills of Tara for many years.’

‘A tragic lady, then?’ Fidelma glanced to Caol and Gormán, who were looking embarrassed. ‘Not a demon but merely a mortal woman who feels life has treated her badly. One to be pitied and not to be feared.’

‘She is as God made her,’ added Abbot Colmán. ‘No worse nor better than many. She need not alarm you.’

‘She knew Fidelma’s name and why we were coming to Cashel,’ Eadulf said defensively. ‘That was alarming enough.’

‘She is mortal,’ the abbot replied. ‘Understand, she is old and sick.’

‘Well, there is one thing which I still do not understand,’ Eadulf replied stubbornly.

‘Which is?’ asked Fidelma.

‘How did the old woman recognise you? She was sitting by the riveras we rode by and accosted you by name and title. How could she do that?’

For a moment Fidelma paused, thinking, and then: ‘Maybe she saw me on my last visit here,’ she suggested. ‘Don’t forget, many years ago I studied here at Brehon Morann’s school.’