But no insult or question seemed to unsettle the smug abbot. ‘I have nothing to hide on that account,’ he said airily. ‘I offered him five gold pieces and some silver, to the value of five seds.’
‘Not thirty pieces of silver?’ Eadulf asked mildly.
Abbot Nannid flushed but still managed to keep his temper.
‘Five pieces of gold and some silver,’ he repeated heavily. ‘I would also reject the term “killers” for the men I have employed. I would call them hired warriors.’
The word Abbot Nannid used to correct Fidelma was amhus which Eadulf recognised as a respected term for a mercenary.
‘How is it that you had such a large sum on you?’
‘As I said, we were on our way to meet with Brother Feradach, taking with us the dues that the Abbey of Nechta owes to Mungairit.’
Conrí whistled disbelievingly. ‘You had the sum with you and travelled without protection. And Gláed knew you had such valuables with you to purchase his prisoner? Then, by the gods, knowing Gláed, why did he not slit your throats, take your gold anyway and—’
‘As you see from my presence,’ Abbot Nannid boomed, ‘he did not. The bargain was made – and it was made with the protection of the one God. Am I to believe that you, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, reject the Faith when you refer to “the gods”?’
It was a clever way of trying to turn the tables on the warrior, side-stepping the point, and Conrí fell into the trap.
‘It is a common phrase,’ he replied tightly. ‘You cannot wipe out a thousand years of ancient sayings in two centuries.’
For the first time Airmid, Prince Donennach’s sister, leaned forward and whispered something in her brother’s ear. He nodded and raised his hand to still the muttering.
‘This meeting does not seem to be getting us anywhere but is merely continuing to sow the seeds of discord among us.’
‘Yet these matters need to be answered,’ insisted Fidelma.
‘If you remember, Gláed was once a cleric.’ Abbot Nannid’s tone was even. ‘He studied at the Abbey of the Blessed Machaoi on the island of Oen Druim and even won the degree of freisneidhed in law. That much was made clear in your previous encounter with him; even Conrí will bear witness to that. For whatever else he has done, Gláed still respects the Church and my person as Abbot. That is my explanation of how I met Gláed and secured possession of the murderer of Abbot Ségdae.’
There was a whispered exchange between Brehon Faolchair and Prince Donennach before the Brehon turned to Fidelma.
‘Fidelma of Cashel, Abbot Nannid has given an explanation of his behaviour at the Hill of Truth. Before you speak, remember that he has admitted that he was there, spoke with the rebel leader Gláed and has returned here with the escaped prisoner, Gormán, having purchased the services of mercenaries. Do you have any evidence or witnesses that disprove his account?’
‘It is a story as unlikely as believing a cat is innocent after shutting it in a room with a bowl of cream and then entering to find the cream has vanished,’ Eadulf said contemptuously.
Brother Cuineáin grinned in derision at him. ‘Evidence is needed, Angle, not speculation.’
Fidelma stood silent for a moment, head bowed. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘We admit our observations were made from a distance. All we can swear to is that Abbot Nannid and his steward met Gláed and his marauders. And all we can give evidence to are the facts and not their interpretation.’
Brehon Faolchair waited a moment, looking uncertainly from Fidelma to Abbot Nannid as if expecting further argument. Then he had a whispered exchange with Prince Donennach before announcing: ‘We must first deal with the implied question of Abbot Nannid’s disloyalty to me in meeting with the brigand Gláed. The arguments have been listened to. The evidence presented by Fidelma of Cashel is deemed inadmissible inasmuch as it is too circumstantial and indirect. I take my authority from the Berrad Airechta, which clearly states the case. I am sure, Fidelma, you will have also considered this matter as it relates to what you have said?’
Fidelma conceded the reference, knowing what was about to happen.
Brehon Faolchair went on. ‘In view of Abbot Nannid’s explanation of his behaviour, and there being no clear evidence in contradiction to that explanation, then, indeed, the authority I quote must stand as the judgement on the matter of implied disloyalty.
‘There is then the matter of compensation for tarnishing the reputation of the abbot,’ intervened Brother Cuineáin with an air of triumph. ‘It is well known that the law system stipulates compensation for making accusations which damage the reputation of a person. The compensation for doing so for an abbot or bishop of high degree, whose honour price is seven cumals, the worth of twenty-one milch cows …’
Brehon Faolchair held up his hand to silence the gloating steward.
‘Brother Cuáneáin feels the law should consider restitution or compensation since the abbot’s honour has been besmirched. Do you share your steward’s opinion, Abbot Nannid?’
The man shrugged indifferently. ‘My steward raises a good point.’
‘He raises it under the law of the Brehons, not under your proclaimed Penitentials.’ Brehon Faolchair’s voice was bland but his eyes glinted. ‘And if I pronounce a judgement now, you will not object?’
‘Do so and let us get it over,’ Abbot Nannid grumbled as if unconcerned.
Brehon Faolchair turned to Fidelma. ‘I ask the same question of you, Fidelma of Cashel.’
Eadulf muttered something under his breath but Fidelma held the eyes of the Brehon steadily. ‘I have accepted your ruling that the evidence does not completely sustain my interpretation of it. I will accept your judgement on restitution to Abbot Nannid’s honour.’
Brehon Faolchair’s lips formed a grim smile. ‘Very well. Both parties being willing to accept judgement, I shall now give my ruling under the laws relating to aircsiu.’
Eadulf frowned, not having heard the word before. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered.
Brehon Faolchair must have heard him for he went on: ‘Aircsiu is the law of “looking on”, and I will explain that. Fidelma and Conrí came to the Hill of Truth and, because of the presence of Gláed and his brigands they wisely hid themselves. So they became onlookers to the scene. Now the law says that everyone who witnesses an offence and does nothing consents to it. The onlooker is obliged by law to intervene. For example, to put this simply, if a farmer sees that his neighbour’s cattle are in danger, he must go to help them or pay a penalty for not doing so. Similarly, if he does intervene but is unable to prevent danger, he is not liable for the result. If the farmer is mistaken in his observation and intervenes when it turns out that the cattle are not in danger, he has fulfilled the obligation of the law and is also not liable for the result.’
Brehon Faolchair smiled briefly at Fidelma. ‘What I rule under this law is that Fidelma and her companions saw what they thought was a crime being committed. They had not the ability to intervene immediately but intervened as soon as they were able – that is, when they returned to Dún Eochair Mháigh and reported the matter. The evidence has been examined and it has been judged that there was no sustainable evidence that wrongdoing had been conducted. Following on, under the law relating to aircsiu there is no argument for compensation.’
There was a silence and Eadulf could not help grinning broadly at the infuriated Brother Cuineáin opposite.
‘Is there any objection to this?’ Brehon Faolchair demanded. His question was aimed more at Abbot Nannid than at the obviously satisfied Fidelma.
The abbot’s features showed little emotion apart from a certain tightening of his thin lips. He shook his head.
‘Si finis bonus est, totum bonus erit.’ Prior Cuán smiled, speaking for the first time during the proceedings. If the end is good, everything will be good.
At that point, Airmid rose from her seat and inclined her head towards her brother.
‘I bid you excuse me from any further counsel, brother
. I am sure that I have heard the essential matters that affect my position as your heir-apparent. But as a physician, other duties now call me.’
‘You are so excused, Airmid,’ Prince Donennach replied. They waited until she had left the great hall before resuming. The atmosphere was still tense.
‘Can we proceed now to the more important matter that arises since Abbot Nannid has returned with the prisoner Gormán?’ the prince suggested.
‘Abbot Nannid admits that he holds Gormán of Cashel a prisoner,’ Brehon Faolchair stated. ‘We are grateful that Gormán has been recaptured. However, the abbot holds him captive in the Abbey of Nechta. It is now his duty to hand Gormán into my custody as Brehon to Prince Donennach, so that we may formally complete our hearing under the laws of the Brehons and, if now proven guilty, decide what is to be his punishment.’
Everyone now looked expectantly towards the Abbot. The thin face of the religieux twisted as he spoke.
‘Not so,’ he said.
There were puzzled looks and Brehon Faolchair leaned forward, saying, ‘I do not understand.’
‘I have already made my views known. My duty is to a greater authority than yours. I say that you have failed in your duty to keep your prisoner safe. You allowed him to escape: that cannot happen again. The man who killed Abbot Ségdae is judged guilty according to the law of the Faith. He is now my prisoner and will remain my prisoner until …’ he paused dramatically ‘… until he is executed tomorrow at noon in accordance with the Penitentials that have now been adopted as the rules of the Abbey of Nechta and the New Faith.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The gathering was in danger of breaking up in confusion. Fidelma was stunned at Abbot Nannid’s defiance of the law. It was hard to believe the man could be so confident of his position. She was aware that Prior Cuán had risen, hobbled over to Brehon Faolchair and engaged with both him and Prince Donennach in a hurried exchange. Then he returned to his seat and was about to speak to her when Brehon Faolchair called for silence. Prince Donennach wished to address them all.
‘I have been asked by Brehon Faolchair to convene an extra hearing.’ The prince’s words were uttered in a tired monotone. ‘This is not a court to assess the guilt or otherwise of Gormán of Cashel but to settle a more fundamental matter. It is an appeal lodged by Prior Cuán.’
‘We are here to try to resolve the matter of legal authority over the prisoner,’ explained Brehon Faolchair. ‘Prior Cuán of Imleach argues that the law of this land is the arbiter of all legal matters and that Gormán should be handed over immediately to the custody of the prince for trial.’
At once Fidelma was on her feet. ‘I support Prior Cuán in his appeal.’
‘I contest it.’ Abbot Nannid also rose. ‘Since we have adopted the New Faith, the laws of the Brehons were only temporary laws until we accepted those of the New Faith.’
‘Where is the proof that the laws of the Brehons were only accepted as a temporary measure?’ Fidelma challenged him. ‘In what text does it say so?’
Abbot Nannid ignored her outburst. ‘My argument is simple. The prisoner, Gormán of Cashel, killed an abbot of the Faith and should now be punished under the law of the Faith. Indeed, not only should he be, but he will be. My authority is in Holy Scripture. Does not Genesis say – whosoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed?’
Brehon Faolchair looked unhappy. ‘Are you claiming that your authority as an abbot is greater than that of your prince?’
‘I am.’
No one was actually expecting such a clear answer and they turned with gasps of astonishment. Prince Donennach shook off his exhaustion and sat up straight, his mouth slightly open in an almost comical expression.
Abbot Nannid smiled thinly at Brehon Faolchair. ‘At the recent Feast of Beltane there was a law council, was there not?’
‘There was a council to consider amendments to the laws,’ Brehon Faolchair admitted slowly. ‘The council meets every three years to consider the working of the laws.’
‘Obviously, you did not attend it?’
‘I did not. If you remember, there was unseasonal weather at the Hill of Uisnech when the council was held. It prevented many from attending.’
‘So you are not aware of the amendment to the laws of the Críth Gablach?’
Brehon Faolchair looked nervously towards Fidelma but she shook her head, as puzzled as he was.
‘I presume that you will enlighten us on this amendment?’ the Brehon said to Abbot Nannid.
‘The new ruling is that an abbot, uniting the office of a bishop of the territory, is nobler than a king because the king has to rise before him on account of the Faith. It further amends that the honour price of an abbot is the same level as a provincial king.’
‘Where did you get this news of the amendments from?’ Brehon Faolchair asked, astounded.
Abbot Nannid caught Brother Cuineáin’s and eye gestured for him to speak. ‘I attended the council and heard the amendment proposed and accepted,’ the steward told them all.
‘Fidelma, do you have a comment to make?’ The Brehon appealed to her.
‘I know there are many abbots and bishops who argue that they should be treated as the equal and even as the better of the rulers of the Five Kingdoms,’ she responded heavily. ‘I have also heard that there was talk of an intention to reconsider their status in the laws on the matter. Certain abbots and bishops were proposing that it be enshrined in the Críth Gablach. I believe the idea was to argue that an abbot is nobler than a king, as Abbot Nannid has just said. I have also heard that not all the leading abbots and bishops, and certainly not all the kings of the provinces, and their Brehons, were in favour and many were not able to attend this council. Therefore, whatever was decided could never have been given the authority of a full council and received the High King’s approval.’
‘What are you saying, Fidelma?’ queried Brehon Faolchair.
‘Simply, if Brother Cuineáin was in attendance and has reported accurately, the council did not have proper legal authority to amend nor to circulate such decisions.’
‘Do you wish to amend your position, Abbot Nannid?’ demanded Prince Donennach.
‘I have made my argument. Even if you declare the council invalid, I have the authority to carry out the laws of the Faith as Abbot.’
‘As I see it,’ went on Fidelma, ‘even had it been accepted that you are as noble as or nobler than Prince Donennach, that does not give you the right to claim that your authority outweighs the law. Kings, abbots and even Brehons have to answer before the law on equal standing.’
‘I argue for the law of the Faith,’ Abbot Nannid declared. ‘Gormán killed an abbot. Leviticus says that if anyone takes a life, then he must be put to death.’
‘Leaving aside the crucial matter of whether Gormán is guilty of the death of Abbot Ségdae or not,’ Fidelma said tersely, ‘and I argue that it has yet to be proved – we are discussing whether the rules of an abbot can overturn the law of the land. It is obvious that they cannot. It remains against the law of our people to execute anyone. From the time of the High King Eochaid, who was known as Ollamh Fodhla, our laws have stood for compensation to the victim and the rehabilitation of the perpetrator. How can the victim and the victim’s family be compensated by a dead, corrupting body? How can a corpse be rehabilitated?’
‘There is a New Faith in this land, Fidelma of Cashel. You are neglecting the Faith for the old pagan laws.’
‘What is your justification for ignoring the laws of our country?’ insisted Fidelma.
Abbot Nannid shrugged. ‘Do I need a justification? I am Abbot of Mungairit, Chief Bishop of the Uí Fidgente. I repeat that we have been guided to the New Faith and embraced it. It is the Faith and its laws to which we are now answerable.’
Fidelma shook her head sadly. ‘When the High King Loéguire mac Néill embraced Christianity, he took the New Faith to a council of law-makers, just as we have done for over a thousand years sin
ce Ollamh Fodhla organised the first council. The purpose of Loéguire’s council was to examine our laws to see if they were compatible with the New Faith.’
‘Is this history lecture relevant? We have heard it all before,’ the abbot appealed to Prince Donennach. The prince did not respond so Fidelma answered.
‘Then you should know your history well, Nannid of Mungairit. You know that the learned men of our people sat and studied the laws and finally had them committed to writing. Of those who sat on the council there was Loéguire the High King himself; my own ancestor, Conall Corc, King of Muman, and Dáire, King of Ulaidh. They were the three most important of the kings, and they were advised by three of our most senior judges: Dubhthach Mac Ua Lugair, the Chief Brehon and Chief Bard of the Five Kingdoms; the Brehon Rossa mac Trechim, and Brehon Fergus an Bháird. They also sat with the Blessed Patrick, with his greatest convert and successor at Ard Macha, Benen mac Sessenen; he who had also been a prince of our people was converted by Patrick and took the name Benignus. Lastly there was the Blessed Cairneach. These last three were considered the greatest teachers of the New Faith at that time.’
‘Most of us know our history,’ Abbot Nannid said arrogantly. ‘We don’t need a lesson in what happened from you, Sister Fidelma.’
‘But you obviously do need a lesson to know the meaning of what happened,’ she corrected him. ‘You should know that when that council put our laws into writing, it was stated in the introduction to the great text: “What did not clash with the word of God in the written Law and in the New Testament, and with the conscience of the believers, was confirmed in the law of the Brehons by Patrick and by the ecclesiastics and the princes of Éireann in this, the Senchus Mór.” The laws of the Brehons are therefore clearly the laws of the Faith.’
Brehon Faolchair, amid the murmuring of approval from several, began to smile broadly at the point. ‘So you argue that our law, as approved by Patrick and the first Christians here, is a Christian law for it did not clash with the word of God or the Christian Gospels?’
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 26
