Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

The young man finished his speech with defiance.

“Poetic?” Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at him. “Where were you the night before last? Where were you when Ernán was killed?”

“In my house. Asleep.”

“Where is your house?”

“Up on that hillside.” He raised an arm to gesture in the direction.

“Was anyone with you?”

The young man looked outraged.

“Of course not!”

“A pity,” Fidelma said softly.

“What do you mean?” Tadhg blinked, disconcerted.

“Just that I would like to eliminate you from the vicinity of Ernán’s farmstead. He was murdered, his throat cut, and you have just given me a very good reason why you might be suspected of it.”

Now Tadhg’s face was suddenly drained of blood.

“I was told that he had his throat ripped out,” he said quietly. “I presumed that it was by a wolf, although many superstitious people are talking about the Banshee.”

“Who told you that this was how he died?”

“It is common talk. You say that he was murdered? How can you be so sure?”

Fidelma did not bother to answer.

“Well, I did not do it. I was in my bed, asleep.”

“If that is the truth then you have presented me with another suspect,” she said reflectively. “Blinne.”

Tadhg swallowed rapidly.

“She would never. . that is not possible. She had not enough courage to divorce Ernán. She was too gentle to strike him down.”

“Human beings react in peculiar ways. If not Blinne or you, then who also had cause to hate Ernán-a man who was supposed to have no enemies?”

Tadgh raised his hands in a helpless, negative gesture.

“I will want to see you again later, Tadhg.”

Fidelma turned and resumed her progress along the path, her brow furrowed in thought.

Bláth had already left Glass’s mill when Fidelma reached it.

The miller was a genial, round-faced man of middle age with twinkling gray-blue eyes, which might well have been the reason for his name, which indicated such a coloring. He was a stocky man, clad with a leather apron and open shirt, his muscles bulging as he heaved a sack of flour onto a cart.

“A bad thing, Sister, a bad thing,” he said, when Fidelma introduced herself.

“You were a close neighbor of Ernán, I believe.”

The miller turned and pointed. From where they stood the ground began to descend slightly toward the broad river across some fields to where an elm grove stood.

“That is Ernán’s farmhouse, the building among those trees. We are scarcely ten minutes walk away from each other.”

“And were you a friend of his?”

“I saw young Ernán grow to manhood. I was a friend of his father and mother. They were killed when Crundmáel of Laighin came raiding along the Siúr in his battle boats in search of booty. Only Ernán survived out of his entire family and so took over the farm and continued to make it prosperous. Blinne, his wife, is my niece.” He grinned briefly. “So is Bláth, of course.”

“And Ernán was well-liked?”

“Not an enemy in the world,” Glass replied immediately.

“He and Blinne were happy?”

“Never happier.”

“And Bláth lived with them?”

“She could have come here to live but Blinne and Bláth were always close. There is only a year between them and they are almost like twins. Blinne wanted her sister to be with her and Ernán did not mind for she helped with the farm work. But why do you ask me these questions?”

Fidelma did not answer.

“Tell me about the Banshee?” she said.

Glass smiled briefly.

“I heard the sound only too well.”

“When did you first hear it?”

“I would not want to hear that sound more than once.” Fidelma frowned.

“You heard it once?”

“Yesterday morning about dawn.”

“Not before, not before the morning Ernán was found dead?”

“No. Only that one morning. That was enough. It wailed like a soul in torment.”

“What did you do?”

“Do? Nothing at all.”

“You weren’t curious?”

“Such curiosity about the Banshee can endanger your immortal soul,” replied Glass solemnly.

“When did you realize that Ernán was dead?”

“When Brother Abán came to tell me and asked me if I had heard anything in the night.”

“And you were able to tell him that you had?”

“Of course.”

“But only yesterday morning?”

Glass nodded.

“As a matter of interest, if Ernán was the only survivor of his family, I presume that his farm passes to Blinne?”

“Blinne is his heir in all things,” agreed Glass. His eyes suddenly flickered beyond her shoulder in the direction of what had been Ernán’s farmstead. Fidelma turned and saw a figure that she initially thought was Blinne making her way up the hill. Then she realized it was a young woman who looked fairly similar.

“Bláth?”

Glass nodded.

“Then I shall go down to meet her as I need to ask her some questions.”

Halfway down the path were some large stones which made a natural seat. Fidelma reached them at the same time as Bláth and greeted her.

“I was coming back to my uncle’s mill for Blinne told me that you had gone there in search of me. You are the dálaigh from Cashel, aren’t you?”

“I am. There are a few questions that I must ask. You see, Bláth, I am not satisfied about the circumstances of your brother-in-law’s death.”

Bláth, who was a younger version of the attractive Blinne, pouted.

“There is no satisfaction to be had in any death, but a death that is encompassed by supernatural elements is beyond comprehension.”

“Are you sure we speak of supernatural elements?”

Bláth looked surprised.

“What else?”

“That is what I wish to determine. I am told that you heard the wailing of the Banshee for three nights?”

“That is so.”

“You awoke each night and investigated?”

“Investigated?” the girl laughed sharply.

“I know the old customs and turned over and buried my head under the pillow to escape the wailing sound.”

“It was loud?”

“It was fearful.”

“Yet it did not wake your sister nor her husband?”

“It was supernatural. Perhaps only certain people could hear it. Glass, my uncle, heard it.”

“But only once.”

“Once is enough.”

“Very well. Were your sister and Ernán happy?”

Fidelma saw the shadow pass across Bláth’s face.

“Why, yes.” There was hesitation enough and Fidelma sniffed in annoyance.

“I think that you are not being accurate,” she responded.

“They were unhappy, weren’t they?”

Bláth pressed her lips together and seemed about to deny it. Then she nodded.

“Blinne was trying to make the best of things. She was always like that. I would have divorced Ernán but she was not like that.”

“Everyone says that she and Ernán were much in love and happy.”

“It was the image that they presented to the village,” shrugged the girl. “But what has this to do with the death of Ernán? The Banshee took him.”

Fidelma smiled thinly.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I heard. .”

“Are you trying to protect Blinne?” Fidelma snapped sharply.

Bláth blinked rapidly and flushed.

“Tell me about Tadhg,” Fidelma prompted, again sharply so that the girl would not have time to collect her thoughts.

“You know. .?” Bláth began and then snapped her mouth shut.

“Did this unhappiness begin when Tadhg returned to the village?”

Bláth hung her head.

“I believe that they were meeting regularly in the woods,” she said quietly.

“I think that you believe a little more than that,” Fidelma said dryly.