the matter out. I returned the following day, some time about mid-morning, just before Becc departed for Cashel.’
‘The Comar is a confluence to the west of our territory,’ explained Becc. ‘It forms our western boundary.’
‘These duties – did anyone accompany you?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I went alone,’ replied the tanist.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door and the steward, Adag, entered. ‘Did you send for me, lord Becc?’
‘And for Sirin the cook,’ added Fidelma.
Adag glanced towards her and then turned back to Becc.
‘Sirin is waiting outside,’ he replied directly to his chief.
‘Then bring him in,’ instructed Fidelma sharply.
The steward continued to look at Becc who nodded slightly to confirm the order.
Sirin was almost the double of Adag the steward. He was a roundfaced, rotund figure with thinning hair. His features were lugubrious. At first Fidelma thought his mournful, joyless countenance reflected his grief for the death of his niece, but she soon learnt that his melancholy was a permanent expression.
The corpulent man shuffled forward to stand before his chief while Adag stood quietly in the background.
‘Sirin, this is Fidelma of Cashel. She is a dálaigh and has come to inquire into the murders. She has questions to ask of you and you must answer them to the best of your knowledge.’
‘I will do so, lord,’ replied the man in a sonorous tone that matched his plumpness. He turned with a questioning expression to Fidelma.
‘Sirin, let me begin by saying that I am sorry for the tragedy that has befallen your family.’
Sirin inclined his head towards her but said nothing.
‘There are some questions that I need to ask you. Tell me something of your niece and her background.’
Sirin spread his hands in a gesture which seemed to give him the appearance of an almost comic, doleful figure.
‘She was young, seventeen years old. Her parents died from the Yellow Plague two years ago. That terrible scourge almost wiped out our family. My sister and I and poor Ballgel were the only ones who remained alive. Now…now Ballgel is gone.’
‘I understand that she lived with her aunt?’
‘With my sister, Berrach…she did so. She came to work with me here in the kitchens of the fortress two years ago.’
‘She was not married, or betrothed? Did she have a young male friend?’ queried Fidelma.
Sirin shook his head. ‘She used to say that she had never met the right one. It is true that many of the young boys sought her company. But she was not interested.’
‘Any young boys in particular?’
Sirin smiled sadly. ‘She was an attractive girl. I could name most of the lads of Rath Raithlen. There was no one in particular.’ A sudden frown crossed his brow. Fidelma saw it.
‘You have had a thought?’
Sirin shrugged. ‘It was only an incident. Gobnuid, who is one of the smiths working in the fortress – well, it was nothing.’
Fidelma leaned forward encouragingly. ‘Let me be the judge.’
‘Well, it was at a feasting a month ago.’ He glanced at Becc. ‘It was the feast day of the Blessed Finnbarr who founded our little abbey here,’ he said, as if feeling a need to explain.
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing really. Gobnuid wanted to dance with Ballgel and she refused and Gobnuid seemed mortified. Ballgel was with some of her young friends and, frankly, Gobnuid is old enough to be her father. I am afraid that the young lads mocked him and he turned away with a few angry words. That’s all.’
‘I see. So, returning to the night she died, I understand that she left the fortress at midnight or soon after on that night?’
‘She did.’
‘When was her body discovered?’
‘Early next morning by one of the villagers gathering mushrooms.’
‘And the abbey was immediately attacked. Why was that?’
‘I did not attack the abbey.’ Sirin’s voice was unexpectedly harsh. ‘I was in grief and so was my sister Berrach. It was my cousin Brocc
‘The Comar is a confluence to the west of our territory,’ explained Becc. ‘It forms our western boundary.’
‘These duties – did anyone accompany you?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I went alone,’ replied the tanist.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door and the steward, Adag, entered. ‘Did you send for me, lord Becc?’
‘And for Sirin the cook,’ added Fidelma.
Adag glanced towards her and then turned back to Becc.
‘Sirin is waiting outside,’ he replied directly to his chief.
‘Then bring him in,’ instructed Fidelma sharply.
The steward continued to look at Becc who nodded slightly to confirm the order.
Sirin was almost the double of Adag the steward. He was a roundfaced, rotund figure with thinning hair. His features were lugubrious. At first Fidelma thought his mournful, joyless countenance reflected his grief for the death of his niece, but she soon learnt that his melancholy was a permanent expression.
The corpulent man shuffled forward to stand before his chief while Adag stood quietly in the background.
‘Sirin, this is Fidelma of Cashel. She is a dálaigh and has come to inquire into the murders. She has questions to ask of you and you must answer them to the best of your knowledge.’
‘I will do so, lord,’ replied the man in a sonorous tone that matched his plumpness. He turned with a questioning expression to Fidelma.
‘Sirin, let me begin by saying that I am sorry for the tragedy that has befallen your family.’
Sirin inclined his head towards her but said nothing.
‘There are some questions that I need to ask you. Tell me something of your niece and her background.’
Sirin spread his hands in a gesture which seemed to give him the appearance of an almost comic, doleful figure.
‘She was young, seventeen years old. Her parents died from the Yellow Plague two years ago. That terrible scourge almost wiped out our family. My sister and I and poor Ballgel were the only ones who remained alive. Now…now Ballgel is gone.’
‘I understand that she lived with her aunt?’
‘With my sister, Berrach…she did so. She came to work with me here in the kitchens of the fortress two years ago.’
‘She was not married, or betrothed? Did she have a young male friend?’ queried Fidelma.
Sirin shook his head. ‘She used to say that she had never met the right one. It is true that many of the young boys sought her company. But she was not interested.’
‘Any young boys in particular?’
Sirin smiled sadly. ‘She was an attractive girl. I could name most of the lads of Rath Raithlen. There was no one in particular.’ A sudden frown crossed his brow. Fidelma saw it.
‘You have had a thought?’
Sirin shrugged. ‘It was only an incident. Gobnuid, who is one of the smiths working in the fortress – well, it was nothing.’
Fidelma leaned forward encouragingly. ‘Let me be the judge.’
‘Well, it was at a feasting a month ago.’ He glanced at Becc. ‘It was the feast day of the Blessed Finnbarr who founded our little abbey here,’ he said, as if feeling a need to explain.
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing really. Gobnuid wanted to dance with Ballgel and she refused and Gobnuid seemed mortified. Ballgel was with some of her young friends and, frankly, Gobnuid is old enough to be her father. I am afraid that the young lads mocked him and he turned away with a few angry words. That’s all.’
‘I see. So, returning to the night she died, I understand that she left the fortress at midnight or soon after on that night?’
‘She did.’
‘When was her body discovered?’
‘Early next morning by one of the villagers gathering mushrooms.’
‘And the abbey was immediately attacked. Why was that?’
‘I did not attack the abbey.’ Sirin’s voice was unexpectedly harsh. ‘I was in grief and so was my sister Berrach. It was my cousin Brocc
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