Peter Tremayne - Badger's Moon

Tómma patted Bébháil’s hand in pacification.

‘I am ready to answer to justice, lady.’

‘You will lose your honour price for a year and a day. In token of which you will pay a fine of that honour price.’

There was quiet in the hall as people tried to reckon up how much this would mean. Fidelma smiled grimly at their puzzled expressions.

‘Tómma, I believe that you are of the class that is not yet possessed of any land handed down from your father or family. You are of the Fer Midbad .’

The tanner nodded slowly.

‘You have been in this position for fourteen years?’

‘I have.’

‘Then your honour price in accordance with law is the value of a heifer cow of one year in age, which is four screpalls . Can you pay that sum?’

Tómma swallowed as he felt the relief surge through him. ‘That I can, lady.’

‘A year and a day from now, providing you give no further cause for legal action, your honour price will be returned to you.’

There came some muted cheering in the hall among those who had nursed a dislike for Lesren and had been sympathetic to Bébháil. The relatives were now leaning forward and congratulating both of them. No one argued that the judgement was harsh. No one took any notice of Accobrán’s stern remonstrance to be silent. Becc glanced at Fidelma, smiled and shrugged.

‘Let us leave them all to their moment of relief,’ Fidelma said, rising from her seat. ‘In their joy they have failed to remember that we still have a murderer to find.’

Fidelma and Eadulf paused to rest their horses on the brow of the hill and looked down the road along which the bothán of Menma the hunter lay.

Eadulf was irritable since his attempts to make Fidelma swallow a draught of the potion he had prepared from an infusion of St John’s Wort had come to nothing. She had instructed him to throw it away and no amount of cajoling could make her even taste it.

‘This is a waste of time,’ he said crossly.

‘I have never known you to have a feeling about an investigation that is not based on logical deduction from tested information,’ he replied moodily. ‘Usually, it is information that I have neglected to assess.’

Fidelma shook her head immediately.

‘I have no more information than you have,’ she replied firmly.

‘Very well.’ Eadulf was almost surly. ‘You do not convince me. I know you too well. Let us find Menma and explore this place, whatever it is. You will obviously explain it to me in your own good time.’

They halted in front of the log cabin that was Menma’s home. Before they dismounted, an attractive young woman with shoulder-length corn-coloured hair came out. She was wiping her hands on a cloth and looked from one to the other with a frown and then smiled abruptly.

‘You must be the lady Fidelma and her companion. My man Menma told me about you yesterday. Have you come in search of him?’

Fidelma bent across her horse’s neck with a smile. ‘We have. Are you Menma’s wife?’

‘I am. My name is Suanach, lady.’

‘Is it an inconvenient time to come in search of your husband?’

‘Not so, lady. I will call him.’

She went to one of the wooden beams of the porch, where hanging from a nail was a horn on a leather thong. The girl took it, tried a few experimental breaths and then blew into it, long and loud. While the sounds echoed away, she replaced it and stood for a moment or two with her head to one side. Eadulf started to say something but she raised a finger to her lips to stop him. A moment later, the sound of another horn echoed through the forest.

Suanach smiled at them. ‘He is not far away. He will be here shortly. Will you dismount and come in and take some mead?’

Eadulf was still in a grumpy mood and about to refuse when Fidelma assented. He realised that he had almost broken an essential rule of etiquette, for when hospitality is offered it must never be refused, even if accepted only in token form.

They were sitting at the table in the cabin and the drinks had been poured when the door opened and Luchóc came bounding in, yelping and sniffing suspiciously at them. Menma came in immediately behind the dog and greeted them.

‘I recognised your horses outside. Sit, Luchóc! Sit!’

‘We have come to ask if…’ began Fidelma.

‘…if I can show you the caves on the Thicket of Pigs?’ Menma smiled. ‘I recall our conversation. I will, indeed, escort you there. When will you be ready?’

‘We are ready-’ began Eadulf but was cut short by a surreptitious kick under the table from Fidelma.

‘We are ready after we have finished sampling Suanach’s excellent mead,’ she ended for him. ‘Then we should start with that cave you mentioned which is on the hill above the Ring of Pigs.’

The ritual of hospitality ended, Fidelma and Eadulf followed Menma and his dog on horseback up the forest-covered hill. Menma did not ride, but preferred to jog up the slope, and with such agility and stamina that he was able to keep in front of their horses. The animals had to walk, blowing and snorting as they ascended the rise. Fidelma soon realised that riding was a mistake and eventually, as they came to a clearing not far from the summit, she halted and dismounted. Eadulf, with a little prayer of thanks, followed her example.

‘It is probably best to tether the horses here in this glade and continue on foot with you,’ she said to Menma.

The hunter acknowledged her suggestion with a smile.

‘It is not really the terrain for horses,’ he assented, but that was as close as he came to criticism. He pointed towards the top of the hill, which was still fairly well obscured by the trees. ‘That is what you seek. The old mine has its entrance near the summit.’

‘Why is this place called the Thicket of Pigs?’ Eadulf asked as they began to ascend on foot. He was looking around in bemusement at the oak and alder groves that stretched across the hill on either side. ‘Why would anyone name it so?’

‘Have you not heard the tale of Orc-Triath, the King of Boars?’ asked Menma with a smile.

Eadulf disclaimed knowledge.

‘The boar was one of the prized possessions of the fertility goddess Brigid, daughter of the Dagda, Father of the ancient gods and goddess of Eireann.’

‘According to the old story, this boar represented a powerful Otherworld creature which symbolised plunder and destruction,’ explained Fidelma.

‘And many a huntsman has encountered the animal and not lived to tell the tale,’ added Menma with apparent seriousness.

Eadulf raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You really believe that?’

‘It is not a question of belief but knowledge, Brother Saxon,’ replied the hunter. ‘This was the area, according to legend, where Orc-Triath roamed and ruled.’

‘What is that place?’ demanded Fidelma, pointing to where some grey limestone rocks rose on their right like some curious fortress among the trees. She did not wish to dwell on the ancient legends for she wanted to concentrate on her purpose in coming to this place.

‘That stand directly above the Ring of Pigs? It used to be called Derc Crosda.’

Fidelma examined the great limestone outcrop with sudden interest.

‘The forbidden place of darkness?’ She translated the name. ‘Meaning the cave, I suppose?’

‘I should warn you that the mines are probably in a dangerous condition. They have long been abandoned,’ Menma said earnestly.

‘We will be careful. Let’s see this cave.’

Menma called his dog to him and led the way through the thicket towards the rocky outcrop.

‘This is what you are looking for, lady,’ the hunter said, pointing.

The entrance into the cave was fairly large. It was clear that many people had used it in times past and even widened it with tools, for there were marks on the walls that showed the application of axes and hammers, splitting the rock.