‘Come forward, dálaigh. Let me see you who call yourself lawyer rather than religieuse.’
Fidelma moved a little way up the path, motioning the others to remain where they were. The man’s face was etched with deep lines of age but his eyes were icy blue like glittering stones. He regarded Fidelma with deep suspicion.
‘You seem young to be an advocate of the law,’ he finally observed.
‘And you seem old to be the only trustworthy apothecary in this area,’ replied Fidelma solemnly.
The old man indicated the whip-like object in his hand. ‘You recognise this?’
She nodded quickly. ‘The echlais is your badge of office, showing that you are a lawful physician.’
‘That is so. I hold the authority of my profession. I am no mere herb doctor.’
‘I did not think you were.’ She moved a hand to her marsupium and drew forth the rowan wand of office that her brother had given her. ‘And do you recognise this?’
The old man’s eyes widened slightly. ‘The wand of office of the Eóghanacht, kings of Cashel, rulers of Munster, descendants of Eber Fionn, son of Golamh, the soldier of Spain who brought the children of the Gael to this place. I see the stag emblem and recognise it.’
Fidelma returned it to her marsupium. ‘I am, as I have said, a dálaigh and sister to Colgú, king of Cashel.’
The old apothecary was silent for a moment.
‘Why have you come to me?’ he demanded at length.
‘My companion and I are charged to investigate the deaths of the three girls who were killed here.’
The suspicious look still did not leave the old man’s face.
‘By whom charged?’
‘By my brother, Colgú, king of Cashel, and by the invitation of Becc, lord of the Cinél na Áeda.’
The old man grimaced. ‘One Eóghanacht name is good enough for your authority, Fidelma of Cashel. Let you and your companions sit awhile. I can offer you miodh cuill, the cool hazel mead that I distil myself.’
Fidelma seated herself on a fallen tree trunk and gestured for the others to come forward and do likewise.
Liag the recluse set down his bag and moved a short distance to where a spring was gushing over some rocks. He reached forward and tugged on a leather thong that appeared to be hanging in the water. As it came out they saw that a jug was tied to the end of it. It had been cooling in the crystal splashing water. The old man took a pottery bowl from his apothecary’s bag and poured some of the liquid into it.
‘I am afraid you will have to share,’ he said without sounding apologetic. ‘I neither expect nor encourage visitors.’
‘Then we will not keep you long,’ Fidelma assured him, accepting the bowl from him and taking a sip for politeness’ sake before handing it on to Eadulf. The mixture was too strong for her and even Eadulf gasped a little as the first drop of the fiery liquid hit his throat. He coughed and hurriedly passed the bowl to Accobrán, who seemed more used to the strong liquid.
‘I understand that you examined the bodies of the girls who were killed here during the last two months. You believed that all three were murdered.’
‘I take my calling seriously, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the old man said, seating himself before her.
‘I am sure you do.’
‘I know the law of Dian Cecht, so do not try to question my ability.’
‘Is there a reason why I should do so?’ demanded Fidelma so sharply that the old man looked startled for a moment.
‘None,’ he replied defensively.
‘That is good. For I see no need to bring in the medical laws of Dian Cecht. I am here not to question your findings but to seek facts.’
The old man had composed himself and gestured for her to proceed.
‘I am told that you examined all three bodies,’ she repeated.
‘That is so.’
‘And I am told that you guided people away from the original idea that some animal had attacked the first of these poor women. Tell me why.’
Liag spoke thoughtfully. ‘I could understand why such a notion sprang to mind. The first of the victims…Beccnat, was her name…was horribly mutilated. It was difficult to see from the dried blood and there was some decomposing for the body must have lain out in the woods for two or three days. It was only when the body had been bathed for the funeral rites that I realised that while the flesh was badly ripped, the wounds were not made by teeth but by the jagged edge of a knife.’
‘And this was so in the other two cases?’
‘It was so.’
‘Tell me.’ Fidelma hesitated, trying to formulate the question carefully. ‘Was anything removed from the bodies?’
Liag was puzzled by the question. ‘Removed?’
‘Were the bodies intact apart from the mutilations?’
‘No physical part was missing,’ confirmed the old man, realising what she meant. ‘Do not look for some ancient ritual here, Fidelma of Cashel. The three girls were simply stabbed to death by some madman.’
Fidelma looked up quickly. ‘A madman? Do you choose your words carefully?’
‘Who but someone with a demented soul could have done such a deed?’
‘Do you subscribe to the idea that a lunatic is loose within the community, striking at the full of the moon?’
‘I believe that is self-evident. Examine the time of the last killing, for example. It took place upon the Badger’s Moon.’
Eadulf frowned and leant forward quickly.
‘The Badger’s Moon? What is that?’ he demanded.
Liag turned to him in disapproval as he heard his accent.
‘A Saxon? You surely travel in strange company, sister to King Colgú of Cashel,’ he said to Fidelma. Before she could reply, he had turned to Eadulf. ‘The October full moon is called the Badger’s Moon, my Saxon friend. It is so bright that, according to the ancients, it was said that the badgers dried the grass for their nests by its light. The October moon is a sacred time and the light of the Badger’s Moon shines benevolently on all who accept its powers…or so the ancients thought.’
Eadulf shivered slightly. He had converted to the New Faith in his early manhood and still remembered the superstitions of his pagan background.
Old Liag smiled appreciatively at his reaction. ‘The ancients said the moon goddess, whose name must not be uttered, cleansed the earth at the time of the Badger’s Moon, especially if one sacrificed a badger to her and ate the meat.’
‘I have heard that you teach star lore,’ Fidelma observed. ‘So you know all about the legends associated with the full of the moon?’
Liag appeared indifferent. ‘Such legends are our cultural birthright. We should all know the stories told by countless generations of our forefathers. It has fallen to my lot to impart these tales to the young of the Cinél na Áeda, is that not so, Accobrán?’
The young tanist flushed momentarily. ‘You are a good teacher, Liag. Your knowledge is unsurpassed. But sacrificing a badger…I have not heard that. Surely badger’s meat was said to be one of the delicacies favoured by Fionn mac Cumhail? In the ancient tales, it is recounted that one of Fionn’s warriors, Moling the Swift, was charged to bring him such a dish.’
Liag did not contradict him.
‘I have also heard it said that the Blessed Mo Laisse of the Isle of Oaks, in Uí Néill country, wore a hood of badger skin which is now cherished as a relic on the island,’ Fidelma added softly.
Liag laughed cynically. ‘I do not understand why those of the New Faith revert to worshipping objects while claiming not to do so. Veneration of the cross, holy objects and icons…what is the difference between that and the veneration of anything else?’
The comment elicited no response from anyone.