When the boy answered he spoke to Fidelma and not to Accobrán. ‘It is only the usual gossip.’ He was guileless about protocol. ‘We were in Condn’s bruden last night and we heard about the dálaigh’s arrival.’
‘Conda’s tavern is by the little fort on the other side of that hill,’ the tanist explained with irritated embarrassment as he raised a hand to indicate the direction. ‘The Hill of Crows, we call it.’
‘Well, such talk is natural.’ Fidelma smiled. She was no great believer in meaningless etiquette. ‘It would be amazing if my arrival was not talked about. So,’ she looked down at the young woodcutter, ‘there should be no need to explain why I have come to see you and your parents.’
The young man frowned again. ‘No need to explain why you should come to see me. Doubtless, Lesren is still making terrible accusations about me. But why do you have to bother my mother and father? They have suffered enough from his vile tongue.’
‘I simply need to clarify some matters, that is all. Is your bothán near here?’
‘Not far. The track here leads up to a standing stone and you have to turn across the hill. Our place is a short distance away.’
‘Then let us proceed there, for the sooner we have talked, the sooner we can resolve matters,’ Accobrán suggested. ‘Swing up behind me, Gabrán, and it will save you a walk.’
He reached down one arm but the young woodcutter shook his head.
‘I have my tools to collect and bring with me. It is more than my life is worth to leave them lying about in the woods. My father would flay me.’
‘Then we will wait until you are ready,’ Fidelma announced. ‘Your father is right. Tools are valuable. Sometimes tools are more precious than gold. Is that not so, Accobrán?’
The tanist sniffed disdainfully, ‘I know nothing of the value of an artisan’s tools. My tool is this!’ He clapped his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘That, certainly, is precious.’
Gabrán lost no time in gathering his tools in a leather bag, which he then slung across his shoulders. He turned back to the horses but hesitated.
‘There is more room behind Eadulf,’ suggested Fidelma diplomatically. ‘He is not laden with a warrior’s accoutrements.’
The woodcutter took Eadulf’s extended hand and swung up behind him within a moment. Leading the way, Accobrán allowed his horse to walk along the path through the woods. A standing stone stood where the track turned at a right angle and began to rise more steeply up the hill.
They soon came upon a large wooden building which appeared to be the home of Goll the woodcutter. Piles of logs and stacks of newly cut timber and and planking stood around the clearing in which the bothán was constructed. There would have been no need to ask the occupation of the person who dwelt there.
A woman appeared at the door and then called to someone behind her. She stood aside and a man took her place, bearing a strong resemblance to Gabrán. The youth swung down from Eadulf’s horse and walked swiftly towards them.
Fidelma and Accobrán dismounted. Eadulf followed and took the reins of all three horses, tying them to a stake set in the ground for just such a purpose, before joining them before the door of the bothán, where Gabrán had already explained who his companions were.
‘You are welcome here, lady. I am Goll, the gerrthóir. This is my wife, Fínmed. We have heard that you have come at the behest of our chieftain, Becc, and we have heard why you have come. Nevertheless, I believed that Lesren’s outrageous claims had long been disproved and that suspicion now lay with the strangers at the abbey.’
‘Lesren continues to voice his accusations against Gabrán,’ replied Fidelma calmly, ‘and it is my duty to hear and judge the merits of all accusations and the evidence for and against.’
‘But the Brehon Aolú said…’
Fínmed moved forward nervously with a warning glance at her husband to still his protest.
‘Will you and your companions come into the bothán, lady, and take a little mead with us? Then the facts may be discussed in more comfortable conditions than on the threshold.’
Fidelma gave her a look to show her appreciation. Fínmed had a pleasant face. She was still a handsome woman but what was more appealing than simple regularity of feature was the gentleness and kindness that could not be disguised in her eyes and around the corners of her mouth.
‘You are very kind, Fínmed. We are pleased to accept your hospitality.’
Goll’s wife conducted them inside and seated them before a pleasant log fire while she fetched the jugs of sweet honey mead.
‘Now, lady,’ she said, after they had all savoured the first mouthful, ‘how can we help? You must know that there is enmity between Lesren and our family. You must also know of what passed between us before Aolú gave judgement.’
‘I have heard the story and that is why I wanted to meet all of you to clarify matters,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I should like you to tell me how you perceive the causes of this enmity.’
‘Easy enough,’ Goll said roughly, trying to disguise his obvious irritation at being reminded of the events. ‘It goes back to the time when my wife Fínmed was wed to Lesren. The man was a beast. He beat her and she divorced him.’
Fínmed pursed her lips, glanced at Fidelma and nodded. ‘It is true. The man was drunk most of the time. He beat me and so I left him.’
‘I understand that you were awarded compensation and left the marriage with you coibche?’ Fidelma said.
‘That is so.’
‘My wife was also entitled to the tinól, which she took, and the tinchor which she refused to claim,’ Goll pointed out.
The tinól was a kind of wedding present to the bride from her friends, of which two thirds went to the bride and one third to her father. If the bride was at fault, the husband could claim the bride’s share. The tinchor was the bride’s wedding portion of household goods, considered as a joint property. These awards clearly demonstrated that the fault for the break-up of the marriage, at least in law, lay with Lesren.
‘You claim that Lesren has held a grudge ever since?’ asked Fidelma.
‘He has.’
‘So how did you feel when your son told you that he was in love with Lesren’s daughter?’
Goll and Fínmed exchanged a quick glance of embarrassment and then Fínmed replied.
‘It would be foolish,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, ‘to pretend that we approved — at first, that is. We disapproved on principle. Then we met the girl and she seemed untainted by her father’s moods. She was a pleasant enough girl who, in other circumstances, we would have been delighted to welcome into our house. We eventually accepted that Gabrán had the right to take his own path in life and so, for his sake, we made her welcome. Then, as I say, she was welcome for her own sake.’
Goll was in agreement. ‘It was Lesren who started this feud with me from the moment I married Fínmed. I avoided the man. However, when Gabrán announced his intentions, Lesren really became a nuisance to me.’
‘A nuisance?’ Eadulf asked quickly. ‘In what way?’
Gabrán had been standing silently by his mother. The matter was apparently painful to him. Now he spoke.
‘If anyone killed Beccnat, it was Lesren. She hated him and he used her like an animal in the same manner as he used her mother, Bébháil.’
‘I presume that when you say Lesren killed Beccnat you are not making the claim literally?’ demanded Accobrh, astonished.
‘He killed her spirit. He killed her childhood and youth. That is what I mean,’ replied Gabrán defiantly.