‘The death of Eber is of more concern to me, Gadra, for I am an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms.’
‘Forgive me if I spoke as a philosopher. Of course, the manner of his going to the Otherworld is of concern. I presume that Muadnat is chieftain of Araglin now?’
Fidelma stared in surprise.
‘Crón is tanist and will be chieftain when the derbfhine of her family confirm her as such.’
Gadra gave her a curious sideways glance but made no further reference to Muadnat.
‘So Eber is dead? Murdered? And you, child, are a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts come to investigate?’
For once Fidelma did not mind being called ‘child’ by this elderly mystic.
‘This is so.’
‘What would you have of me?’
‘Móen was found by Eber’s body with a bloody knife in his hand.’
For the first time, the calm humour of the old man’s face was creased by an expression of amazement. But it was quickly gone. He had tremendous control.
‘Are you telling me that Móen is supposed to have murdered Eber?’ His voice was still composed.
‘He stands accused of that murder,’ Fidelma confirmed.
‘If I had not lived a long life and seen many things, I would say that the boy was not capable of taking life.’
Fidelma frowned, leaning forward.
‘I am not sure that I follow. Do you accept that he committed the murder?’
‘In special circumstances even the most docile of human beings will turn to kill. Móen is the most docile of human beings.’
Fidelma made a wry face.
‘Docile is not a word that others would use.’
Gadra sighed softly.
‘Believe me, the boy is sensitive and of a calm nature. I know for I have watched him grow from a baby. Teafa and I taught him all he knows.’
Fidelma regarded the old man for a few minutes.
‘You taught him?’ she prompted with emphasis.
‘I have said so. What does the boy say about this charge? What does Teafa say?’
‘Móen is one who is deaf, dumb and blind. How can he tell us anything?’
Gadra snorted impatiently.
‘Through Teafa, of course. He communicates through Teafa. What has she to say?’
‘Ah …’ Fidelma let her breath expel slowly, regretting that she had not explained fully.
Gadra was looking at her curiously.
‘Something has happened to Teafa? I can read that much in your expression.’
‘Yes. Teafa is dead.’
Gadra sat very still and upright.
‘I will say a prayer for a good rebirth in the Otherworld,’ he said softly. ‘She was a good woman and possessed of a great soul. How did she die? Was she killed by Eber? Was that when the boy struck back, in defence of Teafa?’
Fidelma shook her head, trying to stop her tumbling thoughts reacting to what the old man had said.
‘Móen also stands accused of having killed Teafa, stabbing her with a knife, and then going to Eber’s chambers and stabbing him.’
‘Can this be true?’
Gadra, in spite of his years of self-discipline, at controlling his emotions, was clearly distressed.
‘The accusation is true. But I have come to ascertain the facts.’
‘These facts you state must be in error then,’ Gadra replied decisively. ‘While I can concede that Móen could, if sufficiently provoked, turn on Eber, he would never strike at Teafa. Teafa has been his mother.’
‘Sons have killed their mothers before now,’ Eadulf intervened.
Gadra ignored him.
‘Has anyone been able to communicate with Móen since Teafa’s death?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘I was told that only Teafa could communicate with Móen. No one else knew how. He cannot hear, he cannot see and he cannot speak.’
Gadra was sorrowful.
‘There are other forms of communication. The boy can touch, he can smell, he can feel vibration. If the fates deny us some of our senses, then we can develop others. So no one has communicated with him since this terrible thing happened?’
‘I have been unable. That is why I am here. I have heard that you might understand how this method of communication is accomplished.’
‘It is so. As I said, I taught the boy with Teafa. I must come back with you to the rath of Araglin at once and speak with him,’ said the old man decisively.
Fidelma was surprised. She had been hoping for some advice but never dared to consider that the old man would insist on coming to the rath himself.
‘If you can accomplish this thing then I will believe in all the miracles without reservation.’
‘It can be so,’ Gadra assured her grimly. ‘Poor Móen. Can you imagine what it must be like for someone imprisoned in such a body unable to know or communicate with those around him? He must be frightened and desperate for he will not know what has happened.’
Eadulf leaned forward again.
‘If he is innocent of the accusations then he is going through a terrifying ordeal,’ he conceded. ‘But someone else at the rath must have known how Móen was able to communicate apart from Teafa?’
Gadra glanced across to Eadulf with a shake of his head.
‘You are practical, Saxon. The answer to your question is that only Teafa had the patience to learn the skill from me. She might have tried to pass it on. But I do not think she did. I think she felt it better that it was kept a secret.’
‘Why?’
‘That answer has doubtless died with her.’
Gadra rose to his feet and Fidelma followed his example.
‘I have no horse,’ the old man said, ‘so it may take me a while to reach the rath of Araglin.’
‘You may ride behind either Dubán or Brother Eadulf. There is no problem.’
‘Then I will ride with Brother Eadulf,’ the old man announced. Eadulf went to get the horses and Gadra lowered his voice to Fidelma.
‘Your Eadulf speaks our language well.’
She coloured hotly.
‘He is a visitor to our country. A Saxon monk who has been trained in our colleges.’ She paused and added quietly, ‘And he is not my Eadulf.’
The amused bright eyes were suddenly fixed on her questioningly.
‘There is a warmness in your voice when you speak of this Saxon.’
Fidelma found her cheeks colouring even more fiercely.
‘He has been a good friend to me,’ she replied defensively.
Gadra studied her face closely.
‘Never deny your feelings, child, especially not to yourself.’
The old man went into his cabin before Fidelma could frame any reply. For a moment she felt annoyed and then she found herself smiling. Pagan or not, she liked the sincerity and wisdom in the old man. She turned to Dubán and found him watching her inquisitively.
‘I see that you like the old man in spite of your religious differences.’
‘Perhaps the differences are not so much once we remove the names we give to things. We are all sprang from the same common ancestry.’
‘Perhaps.’
The old man returned a moment later with a travelling cloakand a sacculus, a bag on a strap strung across his shoulder, in which he had obviously put the items he needed for the journey.
‘Tell me, brother Saxon,’ he said, as Eadulf helped him to mount the horse, ‘I presume my old antagonist Gormán is still at the rath?’
‘Father Gormán is the priest at Araglin.’
‘Not my father,’ muttered Gadra. ‘I do not object to calling anyone my brother or my sister but there are not many on this earth that I would acknowledge have the right to be called my father, especially one whose intolerance is like a canker eating away at his soul.’
Eadulf exchanged a glance with Fidelma at the old man’s vehemence but the Saxon’s amusement did not find a resonance in Fidelma’s eyes. She was solemn.