Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  She looked around at all those present.

  ‘That will be the choice facing the Uí Fidgente – and no one can tell you which choice to make. However, we are not really here to discuss the right of the Uí Fidgente to hold a council to decide such a matter. We are here to discuss a matter that is more specific: should Gormán of Cashel, in the current circumstances, face punishment under the laws of the Fénechus, the judgement of the Brehons, or face punishment under the rules of the religious community as advocated by Abbot Nannid? Is that not the basic question?’

  There was some further muttering and then Prince Donennach uttered a tired sigh. ‘Put like that, lady, it is the main question.’

  ‘Then we are not considering it correctly.’

  There was a silence while everyone stared in bewilderment at her.

  ‘Not considering it correctly?’ queried Brehon Faolchair. ‘How so?’

  ‘It is simple. We are looking at the sentence before the hearing.’

  A frown crossed Brehon Faolchair’s features. ‘I am Prince Donennach’s Brehon, and I enquired into this case. A hearing was held under my jurisdiction and attended by the prince. How is that not correct?’

  ‘You examined the witnesses and then you constituted a formal hearing at which you judged the accused as guilty?’

  ‘I have said as much. That is the normal course of events.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Fidelma confirmed solemnly. ‘And as this was a serious matter of homicide, advocates and others are usually invited to attend. So who represented the prisoner?’

  The question was asked with sudden emphasis and Brehon Faolchair blinked for a moment.

  ‘The prisoner represented himself. No other advocate was here to receive the lóg mberla,’ he said, referring to the payment that was given to an advocate to represent the defence of an accused. ‘But as well you know, a prisoner can represent himself.’

  ‘And was this explained to Gormán?’ she asked. ‘Did he know the rights of an aintengthaid?’ The legal term meant a ‘tongueless person’ who was not qualified to plead in law, but nonetheless could do so at the invitation and advice of the Brehon. ‘I was not aware that Gormán had knowledge of law to enable him to know his rights and make the right decision.’

  Brehon Faolchair stared at her, a look of dawning comprehension on his face.

  ‘I did not think it necessary to inform him of his rights, being that he was in the service of the King of Cashel and I presumed he knew them.’

  ‘Even though there is a legal obligation on you to do so? And did you, Brehon Faolchair, go through the necessary formalities by depositing five unga of silver, in whatever form, to serve as a pledge for the support of your judgement if that judgement was subsequently challenged?’

  Even Eadulf, who knew an unga was equivalent to an ounce, began to understand her thinking. She was moving towards an appeal against the judgement. He remembered that the law texts said a judgement had to be defended by pledges in case of an appeal.

  ‘I did not put forward such a pledge,’ admitted Brehon Faolchair. ‘I have to admit that no such judgement has yet been formally given.’

  ‘Are you saying that there has been no such judgement?’ Fidelma was astounded. ‘I thought that it was that very judgement that was the reason for our gathering here. You must explain this to me.’

  Brehon Faolchair did his best to look contrite but there was a hidden smile on his lips. ‘A hearing was held at which the evidence was heard. It seemed that there was little defence for the accused to be made. But as for a formal judgement, it was felt that this should be delayed until we could discuss the merits of the system under which the accused could be judged. This is the conversation that we have been pursuing.’

  Fidelma realised that Prince Donennach and his Brehon were either displaying a lack of knowledge of the law or that they were playing a secret game in which they were enticing her to use her knowledge of law to outwit the arguments about which law the punishment should follow.

  She spoke up. ‘A hearing is subject to the law as it stands. Therefore I shall claim the faircsi dligid, the appeal before the law, that this case has not been properly heard, let alone judged. That being so, Gormán’s guilt or innocence has yet to be decided.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Abbot Nannid was on his feet, his face contorted and red with anger.

  ‘This is ridiculous! We know the man is guilty. Are we going to waste time going through the matter all again?’

  Fidelma continued to keep her focus on Brehon Faolchair.

  ‘According to the Bretha im Fuillema Gell, the Law of Appeals, I make my formal submission to Prince Donennach and his Brehon. I argue that the case against Gormán must now be heard with all due legal formality. I will give my own pledge of five unga of silver to represent Gormán for this hearing.’

  ‘This is nonsense!’ shouted Abbot Nannid. ‘Gormán had time to make his own appeal and did not do so. He remains guilty.’

  ‘Am I in error of the law, Brehon Faolchair?’ Fidelma asked.

  Brehon Faolchair, who clearly had no respect for Abbot Nannid, did not hide his smile as he answered. ‘You are not in error, lady. I accept that the proper procedures were not observed and therefore no legal hearing was made and so no judgement was given. You are therefore entitled to question all the witnesses and prepare a defence for Gormán before a new hearing.’

  ‘The facts are known.’ Abbot Nannid almost bellowed. ‘There is no defence. Can it be that an Uí Fidgente prince is simply afraid of facing Eóghanacht displeasure? We demand the pronouncement of the punishment!’

  Prince Donennach rose and the room gradually fell silent.

  ‘I will forget those words, Nannid of Mungairit,’ he said in stern reproof. ‘Had they been spoken by any other than a churchman of your rank then you would expect to defend them by sword for daring to question my honour. I am minded that you are a distant cousin to me, so I will say this to you: when the correct legal procedures are carried out, then – and only then – shall a judgement be rendered in accordance to the law. Do I make myself clear?’

  Abbot Nannid held himself back for a moment and then the habitual sneer reappeared.

  ‘You have made yourself perfectly clear and I will await the outcome of such a new hearing when doubtless our distinguished guest from Cashel will find a means to prove that this warrior was nowhere near this fortress when the murder took place and that—’

  ‘Abbot Nannid! You presume upon your office!’ It was Conrí who moved forward with his hand on his sword hilt. Prince Donennach waved him back.

  Only then did Abbot Nannid seem to realise that he might have gone too far. He bent his head. ‘I apologise,’ he said, his voice not conveying the meaning of his words. ‘I allowed strong words to reflect my concern that a killer of a saintly abbot might find escape through an advocate with a smooth tongue. With your permission, I will withdraw from the evening’s meal and proceed to the abbey so that I can spend the night in contemplation and prayer for the hope that those guilty of crimes may receive their due.’

  ‘In the circumstances, it would not be of benefit for you to continue here when the purpose of this meal was to sit and drink and eat in friendship prior to discussing ways of coming to an amicable agreement on this matter of contention,’ agreed Prince Donennach without emotion.

  Abbot Nannid turned and, followed by his steward, Brother Cuineáin, he left the hall.

  There were a few moments of silence before the prince resumed his seat and looked sadly at the newcomers.

  ‘I extend my apologies to you, Fidelma of Cashel, to you, Eadulf and to you, Prior Cuán. However, you see demonstrated the dilemma that I find myself in. Gormán must be tried by the law of the land. Frankly, I can see nothing so far that gives me any sign that we have over-estimated his guilt in the matter. I am still left with the final judgement – a judgement under the law of the land. If guilty, then we must return to this vexed matter of punishment, and whateve
r path is chosen there will be conflict.’

  ‘Well, at least the lady Fidelma has provided us with some respite,’ Brehon Faolchair pointed out. There was relief in his voice but no happiness. He turned to Fidelma and forced a smile. ‘Thankfully you seized the opportunity that I allowed by purposely failing to fulfil my legal obligations. You have now bought us several more days to consider the matter before a decision is made and we are plunged once more into argument and aggression.’

  While Eadulf was surprised by Brehon Faolchair’s admission, Fidelma was not. She had suspected that a Brehon of Faolchair’s standing would not have neglected the legal rules. Obviously, he had been hoping that she would recognise the legal point to give Prince Donennach some extra time to consider if there was a solution that would avert trouble.

  Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgment of the Brehon’s sleight of hand. ‘Then tomorrow I will begin to question the witnesses to this matter.’

  ‘You will want to see Gormán first, no doubt?’ asked Brehon Faolchair.

  She shook her head. ‘As Gormán is the accused in this matter, it is often best to hear from those who have witnessed what he is accused of; to hear their stories first. This puts an advocate in a better position to examine the accused. I shall visit him after I have seen the witnesses.’

  ‘Well, there are only two witnesses to the event. Brother Tuamán there and one of the warriors called Lachtna.’

  ‘I am at your service, lady,’ the tall steward of Imleach offered.

  ‘Thank you. I shall also need to examine the place where the murder happened.’

  ‘It was in the guest-house where we are staying,’ supplied Prior Cuán. ‘It is within the fortress, just across the courtyard.’

  ‘Who else is staying there?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘Only our delegation,’ replied Prior Cuán.

  ‘Which consists of …?’

  ‘Myself, the steward and two of our brethren – Brother Mac Raith here,’ he motioned to the scribe, ‘and Brother Máel Anfaid.’

  Seeing a thoughtful frown crossing her features, Brehon Faolchair added: ‘The chamber in which the abbot died has not been touched. We felt this should be left as it was because of the circumstances.’

  ‘Your foresight shows excellent judgement, Faolchair,’ acknowledged Fidelma.

  Prince Donennach finally seemed to relax in his chair. It was clear the stress of the events was affecting him. ‘Let us leave these difficult concerns until tomorrow. Tonight was destined to be a means to welcome our distinguished visitors.’ He turned and signalled to one of the attendants. ‘Now is the time to eat, drink, listen to the singing of the bards and discuss the more pleasant matters of life.’

  On the following morning, when Fidelma and Eadulf left the private guest chambers of the prince’s palace, they found Ciarnat waiting for them at the steps leading down to the main courtyard. She appeared agitated. Enda was at her side, attempting to pacify her.

  ‘You have been to see neither Gormán nor Aibell,’ Ciarnat greeted them in angry accusation. ‘They think that you have abandoned them.’

  ‘I am afraid that we are prisoners of protocol, Ciarnat,’ Fidelma said, in an attempt to reassure her. ‘We had to see Prince Donennach first and then were obliged to discuss certain matters. You live in this household and therefore you will know something of the rituals of hospitality. After the meal, I sent one of the attendants to find either you or Aibell, to tell you both that I would come to see you as soon as I was able to, later today.’

  The girl was not appeased. ‘The attendant spoke to Aibell but simply said that you would not be seeing her or Gormán immediately.’

  Fidelma expressed her irritation. While it was not wrong, the message did not convey her meaning. ‘The reason for the delay was that I had to point out flaws in the previous hearing. This will allow me time to examine the witnesses myself and arrange for a new hearing. That was the message that was intended to be conveyed to Gormán and Aibell.’

  The girl started a little in surprise. ‘That was not explained to us.’

  Enda seemed delighted. ‘That is good news indeed, lady.’

  ‘At least it is something. You go back to Aibell, Ciarnat, and inform her of this. You go with her, Enda, as I shan’t need you for a while. Make sure that the news is passed on to Gormán. My investigation now demands that I have to see several people first as well as inspect the chamber in which Abbot Ségdae was killed. After that, I shall pay a visit to Gormán.’

  ‘People will say exactly what they said before,’ Ciarnat stated gloomily. ‘No one believes Gormán.’

  ‘It will be my task to ensure that he is fairly heard,’ Fidelma promised her.

  ‘But what of the demands for his death?’

  ‘One thing at a time. No one outside Abbot Nannid and his supporters would be happy that our law is changed for these church rules. We will argue that matter when, or if, the time comes to do so.’

  The girl nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I will go with Enda and inform Aibell of what you say.’

  ‘You must tell her and Gormán to be of good cheer,’ added Eadulf. ‘Make sure of that.’

  ‘You can rely on me to tell them that,’ Enda said fiercely.

  The girl allowed herself to be led away by Enda, walking across the sloping courtyard towards the stone buildings by the fortress gates that were clearly the laochtech or warriors’ barracks.

  Eadulf turned to Fidelma. ‘I wish I felt more confident about this.’

  He expected a rebuke but she agreed glumly. ‘Everything seems to be weighted against Gormán. A locked room and witnesses to testify that no one could have gone in or out during the time he was there. On top of this, Abbot Nannid seems intent on getting his revenge. I never thought I would feel sorry for a prince of the Uí Fidgente, but Donennach’s two choices will lead to trouble whichever one he chooses.’

  There came the sound of a stick tapping on the flagstones nearby. They looked round and saw Prior Cuán limping towards them, leaning heavily on his blackthorn stick. He smiled and nodded a greeting to them both.

  ‘I am going to the hall to meet with Brehon Faolchair and break my fast,’ he said. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘We have, indeed. We are now heading for the guest-house,’ Fidelma answered.

  ‘Ah, yes. Let me congratulate you on the mastery of law that you displayed last night. It was impressive.’

  ‘There was something I meant to ask you,’ replied Fidelma, ignoring the compliment. ‘You are clearly a man of experience, Prior Cuán, otherwise I doubt that Abbot Ségdae would have chosen you as his deputy. But I am sure that you were not always at Imleach.’

  The prior shrugged. ‘When I was young I joined the community of Cluain Eidnech and received my learning there. I have but recently joined the community at Imleach.’

  ‘Cluain Eidnech?’ Fidelma’s eyes widened. ‘Isn’t that in the north of Osraige territory, towards the east of the mountains of Sliabh Bladhma? It has a reputation for scholarship. Indeed, it has been famous ever since Fintan, son of Gabhran, founded it a century ago.’

  ‘That is so, lady. You are well versed in the history of my old community. We must continue these reflections later, however, as I promised to meet with the Brehon. And you have yet to conduct your investigation. I pray that you may come up with something that we have all overlooked.’

  He turned and limped towards the feasting hall. They stood looking after him for a moment or two before Fidelma straightened her shoulders and said, ‘Come – let us find the room where Abbot Ségdae met his death.’

  They had barely crossed the courtyard when Conrí hailed them.

  ‘We are trying to find the hostel where the abbot was killed,’ Eadulf replied when he asked their intent.

  ‘I have ordered that the warrior Lachtna make himself available.’

  ‘That is good thinking.’

  ‘May I accompany you, unless it would not be deemed proper according to the procedure of l
aw?’

  ‘You are welcome, Conrí. There should be no secrets in the gathering of information in this matter,’ Fidelma told him.

  The hostel was a two-storey stone building, rising beside the main warriors’ barracks. It was not very large and, to their surprise, many of the windows had iron bars across them. It seemed more like a prison than a hostel for guests. A warrior stood outside the large oak door which appeared to be the only entrance into the building. Fidelma stopped and was examining the exterior with a critical eye. Conrí caught her expression and smiled.

  ‘I know what you are thinking, lady. I will explain. This used to be the quarters for the commander of the guard, a couple of warriors and any prisoners that needed to be confined. When Abbot Ségdae arrived with his small party, he expressed the need for them to be housed together. The prince’s palace is not so extensive with its buildings. Therefore, it was considered that, with some modification, this entire building could be handed over to Abbot Ségdae and his delegation.’

  ‘But Abbot Nannid is staying in this newly built Abbey of Nechta in the township. Why was the delegation from Imleach not sent there?’

  ‘That you will have to ask of others,’ Conrí replied. ‘As I said, I was not here until the day after Abbot Ségdae’s murder.’

  ‘But it seems a curious arrangement for delegates to a council on religious matters to be so divided,’ commented Eadulf.

  ‘You forget the tensions between the Uí Fidgente and the Eóghanacht, friend Eadulf,’ Conrí answered dryly.

  Fidelma made no comment and Conrí turned to wave the warrior forward.

  ‘This is Lachtna, who was on duty the night the abbot was killed,’ he said, introducing him.

  Fidelma gazed at the man. The name suited him well because it meant fair of skin – literally, ‘milk-like’. It was a popular name among the Uí Fidgente.