Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

“None.”

“That is all then.”

Muirgel rose and went to the flap of the tent.

“Oh, just one question more,” called Fidelma softly.

The woman turned expectantly.

“You were not having an affair with Rumann, were you?”

Muirgel’s eyes widened for a moment in shock and then a cynical smile slowly crossed her face. She made a sound, a sort of suppressed chuckle and shook her head.

“I am not. Rumann is too interested in Uainiunn to bother with me, and I would have discouraged him. I loved Ruisín.”

Fidelma nodded and gestured her to leave.

Abbot Laisran was staring at Fidelma in surprise.

“That was surely an insensitive question to ask of a newly widowed woman?” He spoke in a tone of stern rebuke.

“Sometimes, Laisran, in order to get to firm ground one has to tread through bogland, through mire,” she replied.

“Do you really suspect that Muirgel poisoned her husband because she was having an affair with his friend, Rumann?”

“Every question I ask is for a purpose. You should know my methods by now, Laisran.”

“I am still at a loss. I thought it was clear that Lennán must be the culprit. But your question to Muirgel. .?”

Fidelma had turned to Lígach, who had entered the tent again. The chieftain bent down and whispered in her ear. She nodded firmly.

“Bring Rumann back,” she ordered.

Rumann came in with his dog again, but this time immediately tied it to the tent post so that it would not leap up.

“Well, Sister? Have you found out who killed my friend?” Fidelma regarded him with grave chill eyes.

“I think I have a good idea, Rumann. You did.”

The man froze. He tried to form a sentence but the words would not come out. He managed a nervous laugh.

“You are joking, of course?”

“I never joke about these matters, Rumann.”

“How could I have done such a thing?”

“Is that a practical question or a philosophical question?”

Rumann stood defiantly before her, having regained his composure. He folded his arms across his chest.

“You must be mad.”

“I think that you will find that you have been the victim of madness, but that does not emanate from me. How did you do it? The drinking contest had been arranged. Early in the fair you saw the stall which sold poisons. Abbot Laisran had told me how he had to chase the stallholder away because the noxious brews that he was selling to control pests could also be used to kill other animals. They would also kill human beings. You acquired some of that brew before Abbot Laisran forced the stall so close.”

For the first time Rumann looked nervous.

“You are guessing,” he said uncertainly.

“And am I supposed to have slipped this poison into his drink in full view of everyone gathered to watch the contest?”

“Supposed to and did so,” agreed Fidelma. “It was very simple. You were standing by his side. Your terrier is always with you. It seems to like ale. As Cobha had poured the first jug, and each jug was marked for the individual contestant, you let slip the leash of your dog, who ran to Cobha just after he set down Ruisín’s jug and while he was filling the jug for Crónán. The immediate concern was to save Crónán’s jug that he was filling. No one noticed that you slipped the phial of poison into Ruisín’s jug while people fussed over whether Cobha had filled a proper measurement in the other jug.”

Rumann was silent.

“You retrieved your dog and tied it to a post. When Ruisín fell dead and his jug shattered to pieces, your dog sprang forward to lap the ale in the broken pieces. You don’t mind your dog lapping at ale. I asked myself why you were so concerned to drag your dog away from the ale in those broken pieces. A fear that the beast might injured himself on the broken pieces? Dogs have more sense. You thought some residue of the poison might be left, didn’t you? You didn’t want your dog to be poisoned.”

Rumann was still silent. Fidelma glanced toward the open tent flap.

“I could bring forth the stallholder who sold you the poison but I am sure you won’t want to give us that trouble,” mused Fidelma softly.

Laisran went to say something, and then put a hand in front of his features and coughed noisily. Rumann did not seem to notice him, and his jaw came up defiantly.

“Even if I admitted that I purchased poison from that stall, you have yet to argue a good cause why I would want to kill my friend, Ruisín.”

Fidelma shook her head.

“Sadly, that is not difficult. It is a cause, if you would call it so, that is as old as time itself. Jealousy.”

“I? Jealous of Ruisín’s wife? Ridiculous!”

“I did not say who you were jealous of. It was not Ruisín’s wife. You are desperately in love with Uainiunn, although she does not appear to care for you. In your justification for this, you came to believe the stories that Lennán was putting about-that his sister was having an affair with Ruisín. She was not. But you chose to believe Lennán because you could not accept that Uainiunn was simply not interested in you. Your jealousy knew no bounds. Pitifully, you believed if you killed Ruisín, then Uainiunn would turn to you. It is not love that is blind, Rumann, but jealousy.”

“I loved Uainiunn. Ruisín stood in my way,” replied the smith firmly.

“He did not. That was no more than a deranged mind’s fantasy which a frustrated and suspicious ear picked up and then nurtured among the gall of rejection. The bitter fruits of this harvest have destroyed minds as well as lives. Love that is fed only on jealousy dies hard. So it will die in you, Rumann.”

She gestured to Lígach to remove the man from the tent.

Abbot Laisran was wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I swear that you had me worried there, Fidelma. A dálaigh is not supposed to tell an untruth to force a confession. What if Rumann had called your bluff and demanded that you bring in that stall-holder that I chased from here?”

Fidelma smiled wanly.

“Then I would have asked him to come in. As soon as I saw that poison was involved, I remembered what you said and asked Lígach to find the man. You did not think that an entrepreneur would meekly depart from such a good source of revenue as this fair-ground just because you chased him away from his stall? He had not gone very far at all.”

“I think I shall need a drink after this, but an amphora of good Gaulish wine-” Laisran shuddered-“certainly not ale!”

Fidelma looked cynical.

“What was it that you were going to wager with me-a screpall? A barrel of Gaulish wine? Lucky for you I did not accept it. You’ll find wine is sweet but sour its payment.”

“I’m willing to fulfill my obligation,” the abbot said defensively.

Fidelma shook her head.

“A share of the amphora will do. You are not searching for the gold at night, surely? Tomorrow will only bring lead.”

Abbot Laisran grimaced wryly.

“Poor Ruisín found lead earlier than most. Moderation, Fidelma. I agree. I invite you to the hospitality of the abbey.”

“And is it not an old saying that it is not an invitation to hospitality without a drink?” smiled Fidelma.

I cannot understand why the abbot feels that he has to interfere in this matter,” Father Máilín said defensively.

“I have conducted a thorough investigation of the circumstances. The matter is, sadly, a simple one.”

Sister Fidelma regarded the Father Superior of the small community of St. Martin of Dubh Ross with a mild expression of reproach.

“When such a respected man as the Venerable Connla has met with an unnatural death, then it is surely not an interference for the religious superior of this territory to inquire into it?” she rebuked gently. “Portraits of the Venerable Connla hang in many of our great ecclesiastical centers. He has become an icon to the faithful.”