She straightened up after her inspection.
‘Well?’ demanded the old man.
‘Ernán was certainly attacked, but not by some Otherworld entity,’ she said softly.
She led the way out of the small chapel and stood in the sunshine looking down through the collection of buildings to where the broad expanse of river was pushing sedately along, glistening and flickering in the bright light. There were several dwellings clustered around, including a blacksmith’s forge and grain stores. The main part of the community dwelt in outlying farmsteads and would probably be in the fields at this time. However, there were a few people about. The blacksmith stood deep in conversation with someone who had in tow a thick-legged workhorse, and Fidelma could see a couple of people at the far end of the square just emerging around the corner of a storehouse. One was an attractive woman with auburn hair, young and pretty and slim. Her companion was a young man, long-faced, intense.
Fidelma’s keen eyes deduced that neither was happy. The young man was stretching out a hand to the woman’s arm in an almost imploring gesture. The woman seemed irritable and knocked the hand away, turning swiftly and striding towards the chapel. The young man gazed after her for a moment, then seemed to notice Fidelma and walked rapidly away, disappearing behind the far building.
‘Interesting,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Who are they? The woman seems to be coming here.’
Brother Abán, standing at her shoulder, whispered: ‘This is Blinne the widow of Ernán.’
‘And who was the young man with whom she seemed annoyed?’
‘That was Tadhg. He is a…he is a bard.’
Fidelma’s lower lip thrust out a moment in amusement at the disapproval in the old man’s voice. ‘That is appropriate.’
The name Tadhg meant ‘poet’.
Brother Abán was already moving to greet the woman called Blinne.
‘How are you, my child?’
‘Only as can be expected,’ Blinne replied shortly. Fidelma noticed that her face seemed an expressionless mask. Her lips were thinned in the set of her jaw. She had a tight control of her emotions. Her hazel eyes caught those of Sister Fidelma and her chin came up defiantly. ‘I have come to see the body of Ernán one last time. And Bláth says that she will sing the caoine, the keening at the interment.’
‘Of course, my child, of course,’ muttered the old monk. Then he remembered his manners. ‘This is Sister Fidelma from Cashel. She is — ’
‘I know who she is,’ replied the young woman coldly. ‘She is sister to our king as well as being a dálaigh.’
‘She has come to inquire into the death of your husband.’
Was there a slight blush on Blinne’s cheek?
‘So I have heard. The news is all around the community.’
‘I am sorry for your troubles, Blinne,’ Fidelma greeted her softly. ‘When you have finished.’ She nodded imperceptibly to the chapel, ‘I would like to ask you a few questions.’
‘I understand.’
‘I shall be at Brother Abán’s dwelling.’
It was not long before Blinne came to Brother Abán’s threshold.
Fidelma bade her be seated and turned to the old monk. ‘I think you said you had something to attend to in the chapel?’ she suggested pointedly.
‘No, I…’ Brother Abán caught her gaze and then nodded swiftly. ‘Of course. I shall be there if you need me.’
After he had left, Fidelma took her seat opposite the attractive young woman. ‘This must be distasteful to you, but your husband has died in suspicious circumstances. The law dictates that I ask you certain questions.’
Blinne raised her chin defiantly. ‘People are saying that he was taken by a Banshee.’
Fidelma regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You sound as if you give that story no credence.’
‘I have heard no wailing messengers of death. Ernán was killed, but not by a ghostly visitation.’
‘Yet, as I understand it, the wailing on three separate nights thrice awakened your own sister, who dwells with you. This wailing was heard by one of your neighbours.’
‘As I said, I did not hear it, nor was I awakened. If wailing there was, it was that of a wolf.
He was killed by a wolf, that is obvious.’
Fidelma regarded her thoughtfully, then she said: ‘If it was obvious, then there would be no need for this inquiry. Tell me about Ernán. He was a farmer, handsome, and I am told he was well liked. Is that true?’
‘True enough.’
‘He had no enemies?’
Blinne shook her head but responded too quickly, so Fidelma thought. ‘Are you sure about that?’ she pressed.
‘If you are trying to tell me that you suspect he was murdered, then I — ’
‘I am not trying, Blinne,’ interrupted Fidelma firmly. ‘I tell you facts. A wolf did not create the wound that caused his death. Now, are you saying that he had no enemies that you know of?
Think carefully, think hard, before you reply.’
Blinne’s face had become a tight mask. ‘He had no enemies,’ she said firmly.
Instinctively, Fidelma knew that she was lying. ‘Did you love your husband?’ she asked abruptly.
A red flush spread swiftly over the other woman’s response.
‘You had no problem between you? Nothing Ernán said that might have led you to think that he nurtured some problem and tried to hide it from you?’
Blinne was frowning suspiciously. ‘It is the truth I tell you when I say that there were no problems between us and that I loved him very much. Are you accusing me of…of murdering my own husband?’ Her voice rose sharply, vehemently.
Fidelma smiled disarmingly. ‘Calm yourself. I am required to ask certain questions and must do so. It is facts that I am after, not accusations.’
Blinne’s mouth formed a thin line and she still stared belligerently at Fidelma.
‘So,’ Fidelma continued after a moment or two of silence, ‘you are telling me that he had no problems, no enemies, that your relationship was good.’
‘I have said as much.’
‘Tell me what happened on the night he died.’
Blinne shrugged. ‘We went to bed as usual. When I woke it was dawn and I heard Bláth screaming outside the house. I think that was what actually awoke me. I rushed out and found Bláth crouching on the threshold with Ernán’s body. I cannot remember much after that. Bláth went for Brother Abán, who is also the apothecary in the community. I know he came but could do nothing. It is all a blur.’
‘Very well. Let me take you back to the time you went to bed. You say, “We went to bed”?
Both of you at the same time?’
‘Of course.’
‘So, as far as you know, you both went to bed and fell asleep together?’
‘I have said so.’
‘You were not disturbed by Ernán getting up either in the night or at dawn?’
‘I must have been very tired, for I remember that I had been feeling sleepy after the evening meal and was almost asleep by the time I reached the bed. I think we have been working hard on the farm in recent days, as I have been feeling increasingly tired.’
‘You heard no disturbances during the night nor during the previous nights?’
‘None.’
Fidelma paused thoughtfully. ‘How was your sleep last night?’
Blinne was scornful. ‘How do you think? My husband had been killed yesterday. Do you think I slept at all last night?’
‘I can understand that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps you should have had Brother Abán mix you a sleeping draught.’
Blinne sniffed. ‘If there was need for that, I would not have needed to bother him. My sister and I were raised knowing how to mix our herbal remedies.’