Peter Tremayne - Badger's Moon

Fidelma stared at him. ‘The sight of one of the guests from your abbey abroad that night on this wagon did not disquiet you? But you express disquiet at the sight of the driver. Who was that driver? Tell me plainly.’

Fidelma’s angry expression caused Brother Solam to swallow hard and then continue hurriedly.

‘The driver of the wagon was the tanist.’

Fidelma’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Accobrán?’

‘Indeed, it was the tanist Accobrán,’ affirmed the steward.

There was a silence for a few moments and then Fidelma gestured for Brother Solam to go on with his story.

‘As I say, I was disturbed and this was the reason I did not make my presence known. What was the stranger doing abroad in the night? What was Accobrán doing at that hour driving a common wagon in which the stranger was a passenger? These questions assailed my mind. As the wagon approached, it being a clear night, I overheard snatches of their conversation. They spoke in Greek. The strangers seem proficient at that language and it is the language in which we communicate with them in the abbey.’

‘You speak Greek?’ asked Fidelma, resorting to that language.

‘I can construe Dio Chrysostom, Hippolytus, Diogenes Läertius, Herodotus of Halicarnassus-’ he replied in the same tongue.

Fidelma interrupted his recital. ‘And what did you hear of this conversation?’

‘The stranger was saying that the signs were auspicious. That as the daughter of Hyperion and Theia had power over that night, so would she cast her spell over Endymion once more.’

‘And did you know what was meant by that?’

‘I know only the Greek of the Christian texts. What was being referred to was some pagan concept to which all good Christians should shut their ears.’

‘Presumably you did not shut your ears?’

‘Accobrán replied that while Selene dominated the night there was much work to be done, for soon Eos would interrupt their labours and the sacrifice of the night must be made before that time. That was all I heard because the wagon went by and disappeared up the hill in the direction in which Escrach had gone.’

‘You know what Selene represents?’ queried Fidelma.

‘I know that she was the goddess of the moon among the pagan Greeks.’

‘Indeed. Selene was the daughter of Hyperion and Theia and she was the moon goddess. Her sister was Eos, goddess of the dawn. Selene fell in love with Endymion, the human king of Elis, and rather than watch him wither and decay she caused him to fall into sleep in a cave so that he would remain for ever young.’

Brother Solam stared at her in awe. ‘I do not have your learning, Sister. Yet I knew that they were talking about the moon that night.’

‘What then?’ prompted Fidelma. ‘What did you do?’

‘Then I returned to the abbey.’

‘You did not report this to the abbot, nor tax either the strangers or Accobrán to find out what they had been doing?’

‘I did not.’

‘Yet the very next day, Escrach was found murdered on that hill. When that news reached you, why did you not report this matter to Abbot Brográn?’

Brother Solam shook his head. ‘I am a coward, perhaps. But how was I to be certain that my own life was not in danger if I revealed what I had seen and heard that night? Feelings have been running high against this abbey and its brethren. I could not reveal that I was alone on the hill or spoke with Escrach that night. If a stranger was involved in her slaughter and I came forward as the only witness, perhaps my life might be forfeit to them. Then there is the fact that Accobrán was driving the wagon and talking of the work they had to do by the light of the moon. He was the one who talked of “the sacrifice of the night”. I remember his words clearly. I might not have your knowledge of the literature of the Greeks but I know the language well enough.’

Fidelma sat in thought for a moment and then sighed. ‘You have been most helpful, Brother Solam. I will keep what you have said between us until I believe it can prove useful. I will not repeat our conversation to anyone except Brother Eadulf who assists me. I can vouch for his discretion. Dismiss any anxiety that you have.’

Brother Solam looked relieved and broke into a speech of gratitude but Fidelma cut him short by holding up a hand and rising from the seat.

‘Thank you for being so honest, Brother Solam. Now, I wished to have another word with Brother Dangila.’

‘Brother Dangila?’ The steward stood up, looking uncomfortable. He glanced nervously about him. ‘I said I did not recognise who the stranger was that night.’

‘It is not about your story that I wish to see Brother Dangila. I came to see him on another matter.’

Brother Solam continued to look worried.

‘I do not know…’ he began.

‘Is there a problem?’ Fidelma asked, puzzled by the look of guilt on his face.

Brother Solam licked his lips nervously. ‘Brother Dangila is not here.’

Fidelma examined the man closely. ‘Not here? Where then?’

‘Brother Dangila insisted that he needed exercise and demanded permission to leave the abbey for a walk.’

‘If I recall correctly, Abbot Brogán had ordered that the three strangers should remain within the walls of the abbey until matters were resolved. People have tried to kill him and his companions because they think that they were responsible for the killings here. If nothing else, Brother Dangila’s life could still be in danger if he is found wandering the countryside. It was your duty to prevent the stranger’s putting himself in the way of harm.’

Brother Solam grimaced helplessly like a small child being told off unjustly. ‘I did try, Sister. But it is hard to argue with Brother Dangila. He insisted on taking a walk.’

‘Was the danger properly explained to him? You should have told me immediately. If Brother Dangila is found alone and unprotected…’ Fidelma lost no more time but turned to where she had left her horse. ‘Which way did he go?’ she called as she mounted up.

‘He has often gone to the hillside there,’ Brother Solam said, pointing to the shadowy Thicket of Pigs rising above the abbey. ‘He has often…’

But before the words were out, Fidelma had mounted and sent her horse into a canter along the path from the abbey and through the woods up the hillside track in the direction the steward had indicated.

It was simply irresponsible on the part of Brother Solam to allow the man to wander on his own, especially in view of what had recently happened. Such lack of thought infuriated her. She gave the horse its head and allowed it to follow the ascending track through the trees, climbing the hill at its own pace. She found that the trees quickly thinned and soon she emerged on the bald bluff not far up the slopes. There were some boulders there, grey stones, as if some ancients had hauled them there with the intention of building a stone circle but then abandoned the idea, leaving the stones lying in confusion, the circle half finished. She saw Brother Dangila immediately, a tall still figure seated on one of the stones, his chin resting on a cupped hand, the elbow balanced on his knee. He seemed to be staring into space.

However, he turned at the sound of her blowing mare as it clambered upward towards him. He rose and awaited her. His features were impassive.

When she slid from her horse, he greeted her in his accented Irish. ‘Blessings on you, Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘It is not wise to be out alone, Brother Dangila,’ she replied in Greek without preamble. ‘The people are still afraid and we are no closer to resolving the matter of culpability. You should not have strayed beyond the boundaries of the abbey.’

Brother Dangila inclined his head gravely.