Peter Tremayne - Badger's Moon

‘I can’t see any connection,’ repeated Eadulf.

‘Nor I. We have much talk of gold. I want to see this Thicket of Pigs.’

‘The place where the young boy found his fool’s gold?’

‘The place where he found genuine gold and was fooled out of it by Gobnuid the smith,’ corrected Fidelma.

‘Very well,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘But what shall we find in some disused mine in this Thicket of Pigs that will help us solve these killings?’

‘Who knows?’

Eadulf stared at her and then shrugged. ‘Are you saying that you see a link with the deaths of Beccnat, Escrach and Ballgel?’

Fidelma did not reply. Silently, Eadulf admired her. It was her ability to remember all the salient facts that constituted Fidelma’s exceptional ability as an investigator and solver of conundrums. But he could see no relation at all between the gold and the murders.

He was aware that Fidelma was glancing about her and peering up at the sky through the canopy of trees. Abruptly she pointed to a track which led directly away from the riverbank.

‘Follow me, Eadulf.’

She turned her horse along the narrow path and Eadulf was forced to follow her.

‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Where are you heading?’

‘We should be able to strike through these woods to join the main track and then head westwards towards the summit of the Thicket of Pigs.’

Eadulf was at once anxious. ‘But we have only a short while of daylight left. What can we achieve in that time?’

Fidelma glanced over her shoulder.

‘I am not a prophet, so I cannot answer your question,’ she said waspishly.

Eadulf fell silent. He realised that his questions were interrupting some thought process and antagonising her.

They rode on for a while, the path narrowing to a cutting through which it was difficult for their horses to pass even in single file. Then, at last, they burst out of the woods onto the main track which led from the distant gates of Rath Raithlen, beyond the turning to the abbey of the Blessed Finnbarr, and south-west over the wood-covered hill that was called the Thicket of Pigs. They continued on until the track began to rise sharply up the hill. Trees, shrubland and rocks spread in all directions around them with nothing to indicate any mines or metal workings at all. Fidelma looked in vain for some signs. Only someone who knew the area would be able to spot them.

Fidelma felt disappointed. However, she was not so egocentric that she refused to admit that she had, perhaps, made an error in trying to find the location of the metal workings without anyone to guide them. She halted her horse and gazed around. There was a chill in the air now and the skies were darkening in the east. She let out a sigh of irritation.

Eadulf knew better than to state the obvious but it seemed his diplomatic silence agitated her just as much.

‘You can observe that I was too enthusiastic, Eadulf,’ she said sharply.

Eadulf lifted a hand in a gesture of peace and let it fall.

‘A search is always the better for a guide when it is made in a strange land,’ he quoted quietly.

Fidelma pressed her lips together in annoyance. ‘Then we’d best return to the fortress and when we come back it will be with a guide.’

She was about to turn back along the track when they heard a loud whistling sound and a moment later a dog came bounding out of a thicket close by. It was a small hunting hound, not a wolfhound but a short, bristle-haired dog. It skidded to a halt, placing its paws apart and uttering a growl before letting loose a series of yapping barks.

The whistle came sharply. Then they heard a voice calling.

A moment later a young man appeared out of the cover on the slope just below them. He came to a halt as he caught sight of them. It was quite easy to see what the man was. On his broad shoulders he carried the carcass of a dead boar. He balanced it with one hand while his other held a bow of yew. His quiver of arrows hung from his belt alongside a great hunting knife. His clothes were of finely worked buckskin. His hair was auburn and fell to his shoulders though fastened by a band around the forehead. He had fair features and a ready smile.

He stood for a moment in indecision and then snapped sharply to his still barking hound. ‘Quiet, Luchóc!’

The dog immediately sat down, looking contrite.

‘God be with you, Sister, and with you, Brother,’ the young hunter greeted them. ‘Pay no mind to my dog. He is more bark than bite.’

Fidelma responded with a smile.

‘A strange name for a hunting dog, master huntsman,’ she replied.

The young man nodded. ‘Good mouser? Aye, I’ll grant you that it is an odd name for a working dog. But, in truth, the poor hound is better at catching mice than catching game.’

‘But you do not appear to have done too badly,’ Eadulf pointed out, indicating the boar slung on the man’s shoulders.

To the huntsman smiles seemed to come naturally.

‘A family will not go wanting for the next several days,’ he agreed. ‘You are obviously strangers in this district.’ The words were a statement, not a question.

‘Indeed we are,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you know this area, the Thicket of Pigs?’

‘I live on the far side of the hill there. I have done so all my life. But if you seek anyone other than myself, the place has been deserted these many years. They say the place was populated even in my grandfather’s time, but it is so no longer.’

‘They tell me there are metal workings there,’ Fidelma said.

The huntsman chuckled. ‘It is not in search of precious metals that two religious have come to this countryside, is it? I heard talk of a dálaigh and her companion staying with our chieftain, Becc. I suppose that you are that dálaigh ?’

‘It is because of our investigation that I want to know about this hill and its mines.’

‘Well, there are deserted metal workings a-plenty, and some caves, but they are dangerous, Sister. It is not a place to go without fore-knowledge.’

‘You say that you dwell near here?’

A slight cast of suspicion came into the young man’s eye. ‘I do say so, Sister. And I pay allegiance to Becc, my chieftain.’

‘And your name is…?’

The quiet authority of Fidelma’s voice caused the young man to respond, even unwillingly, to her questions.

‘I am Menma the hunter. And, as I have told you my name, pray, what are your names and from what place do you come?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, Menma. This is my companion. Brother Eadulf.’

The young hunter sighed. ‘Then the talk among the Cinél na Áeda is true — the king of Cashel has a sister who is a famous dálaigh .’

‘We are proof of it, Menma,’ Fidelma assured him.

The young man dropped the carcass of the boar on the ground and bowed respectfully. ‘I am sorry for any discourtesy, lady.’

‘There has been none,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You are right to be suspicious of us in view of what has transpired in this place in recent months.’

The hunter grimaced in agreement. ‘The lands of the Cinél na Áeda are not so large that I did not know those three girls. My wife was a friend to Escrach. It is a bad business.’

‘A bad business, indeed,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Tell me, Menma, do you know the mine and caves on this hill?’

‘Well enough, lady.’

She glanced up at the sky. ‘The hour grows late and it will soon be dark. However, should we want to go exploring there, would you be willing to serve as our guide?’

‘Willingly, lady. But the Thicket of Pigs is quite deserted. The mines are long closed.’

‘It is not people that I go in search of,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I want to see something of the area, of the deserted mines. Are there mines near a spot called the Ring of Pigs?’