Augaire flushed angrily.
“I did not know. I. . I assumed.”
Fidelma smiled cynically.
“Ah, assumption? Only a short time ago, we had your views on conjecture, did we not?” Then sharply: “Why did you not drink the mead if you took up the mug?”
“I stopped him,” came Berrach’s firm tone.
Fidelma swung ’round on her.
“For what reason?”
The woman still bore her expressionless face. She did not even bother to look at Fidelma.
“The reason is simple enough. The mead was there as was normal practice to be carried in for the use of my husband and his tanist, also. .”
“Also?” prompted Fidelma when she paused.
“Also, my son had, in my opinion, drunk too much already before coming to this derbfine.”
Augaire gave an angry hiss, which Fidelma ignored.
“Thank you for your honesty, Berrach,” she said softly. “It is hard to acknowledge the faults of one’s offspring.”
Augaire had stood up with two or three of his young friends and they were moving toward the door.
“Stop!” cried Fidelma. “You have no permission to leave.”
Augaire glanced back, mockingly.
“You have no authority in this place, woman of Cashel,” he sneered. “You can resume your cackling to others but I am a chief’s son and will do what I like. No woman who hides behind religious robes will tell me what to do.”
He turned and urged his companions to leave with him.
“Warriors! Stop them!”
It was Cúan’s sharp voice that echoed through the hall. Two of his warriors came forward and barred the young men’s path. The chief was shaking with rage.
“That my own son shames me thus!” he growled. “You and your sycophants will return to your seats and will not leave until you have permission. Had you concentrated on your education you would know that the powers of a dálaigh, and the powers of the sister of our king, Colgú of Cashel, are not to be challenged lightly. Your ignorance puts shame not only on me as chief, but on our family, on our clan. That display of ignorance is demonstration of why you will never be elected as chief nor will you ever be able to aspire to any office. You are worthless!”
The silence in the hall was deathly. Augaire and his youthful companions returned to sit in white-faced silence as Cúan rebuked them.
“Fidelma of Cashel, accept my apologies. I know that apologies are not enough for this insult to your office. We stand ready to pay the fine.”
Fidelma nodded gravely.
“Let Augaire rise from his seat and face me.”
The young man hesitated, bringing forth the sharp cry “Augaire!” from his father. Augaire rose to his feet, sullen and defiant.
“Know this, young man, and spread light in the darkness of your ignorance. Insult is regarded with the utmost seriousness in our law. I am now talking about insult to office, for I am a dálaigh, conducting a murder inquiry. In that respect, even a king has to accept that I take precedence in the procedure. The law text called the Bretha Nemed déidenach is quite clear on the ways of insulting people and the penalties that are incurred. Any offense relating to insult requires the payment of the honor price of the person insulted.”
“Lady!” The cry was wrung from Berrach. “The boy does not have such a sum. You are sister to the king and also a dálaigh of renown. That means your honor price is at least seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. I know that the law then says if he does not or cannot pay he must lose all rights and freedoms until he works to gain sufficient funds in order to pay the honor price. He will become a servant without honor or land. Is there no other way? No other way?”
Augaire had gone pale as he listened to his mother’s plea, perhaps realizing for the first time the enormity of his offense.
Fidelma stood thoughtful for a moment.
“The offense cannot be ignored, for it is written in the law that the king or chieftain who tolerates insult must themselves lose their honor price,” she said. “The boy may be immature and stupid but he is two years older than the age of choice and should know right from wrong. However, there is a way in which the boy himself may reduce the penalty. Sincere apology made in the presence of those who were also present when the insult was made may reduce the proscribed fine.”
“He will apologize, lady,” Berrach said, moving anxiously forward, but Fidelma held up her hand.
“An apology made while the blood is still tempered and there still exists anger is not valid. Augaire has been forced to return, to stand, and there he is, brooding and sullen. Knowing the penalty, he will say words without meaning. Let him sit down and wait for this hearing to end. Let him think of his responsibility, for the three young men whom he led from this place did not know what they were doing but followed him out of misguided loyalty-therefore, the penalty is his, not theirs. Let others advise him of the law and the fines and why our law denounces insults so strongly. Then let us all return at noon tomorrow and hear whether he truly understands and truly repents.”
Cúan nodded quickly.
“It shall be as you say, Fidelma, and we thank you for your justice and your wisdom. Sit down Augaire and do not let me hear from you again unless you are asked a specific question by the dálaigh. Then you may answer with respect.”
Fidelma turned back to those gathered in the hall.
“I do not think we need to detain you much longer. The facts of this murder are becoming clearer.”
That caught their attention.
Brehon Declan was nodding.
“We are agreed on that, Fidelma,” he said. “One person benefits from this and one person had the opportunity.”
Fidelma glanced at him.
“Broadly speaking, there is no disagreement in that. But can that person be identified?”
“Well, I think it is easy,” replied Declan, confidently.
Fidelma looked toward Muirecán the attendant.
“Surely Muirecán had the opportunity to poison the mead?”
The elderly servant groaned and swayed.
“I did not, I did not,” he almost whimpered.
“Of course, he did not,” affirmed Declan. “The poor man’s only involvement was to draw the mead from the barrel and bring it to the antechamber where his guilt lay in leaving it unattended for the murderer to slip in the contents of the phial of poison.”
“Very well, Declan. Let us examine first the motive. Remember what our old mentor, Brehon Morann, used to say? That in such cases, if one found motive, then the culprit was never far away. Deeds are stimulated either by hope or driven by fear. If the motive here was not one of fear then it must be one of hope. Hope for gain? What gain?”
Declan grinned.
“Now you are talking as of old, Fidelma. Indeed, this deed was done for gain. To be rid of Talamnach and thus secure the office of tanist. That was the object and that was the gain. And, of course, there was one person here that stood to gain once Talamnach was out of the way. That person was not Augaire, for we have already seen demonstrated that he would not have any more votes in this derbfine than those of his three friends and cousins.”
“True enough,” agreed Fidelma. “Continue on along your path of logic.”
Selbach had arisen again.
“He does not need to.”
There was gasp among the people.
Fidelma frowned.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because the goal of his logic is obvious. He points the finger, as he has done throughout these entire proceedings, at me.”
“And do you admit to this deed?”
“I am innocent before God!” snapped Selbach.
“But you admit that you had the motive and the opportunity?” Declan said triumphantly.
“Motive yes, but opportunity. .?”
Fidelma’s words were hardly more than a sigh but they caused all eyes to be turned toward her.
She counted off the names on the fingers of her left hand.
“At this stage we have accepted the assurance of Muirecán that no poison had entered the mead. Now, Declan and Talamnach were speaking together. They realize it is late and Cúan has not arrived. So Muirecán is dispatched to the chief’s chamber to tell him that the meeting is ready. The mead is left on the table. Augaire makes to drink the mead and is prevented from doing so by his mother. Wouldn’t that be an ideal opportunity for Augaire to introduce the poison? Wait!” She held up her hand to still a protest from Berrach. “I did not say that he did. But let us consider. He, too, has the motive. For in spite of what Declan says, I think this young man is arrogant enough not to realize that he stands little chance of being supported by this derbfine. He might be arrogant enough to think that once rid of Talamnach, he would stand a chance and find favor in his father’s eyes. However, he picks up one mug and makes to drink it and is prevented and drawn away. True he could have introduced the poison into that mug, but not into both mugs.”
There was a quiet murmuring as her logic was followed.
“Meanwhile, Talamnach leaves Declan and goes to speak to Selbach. Selbach puts his proposition. Stand down this time and I’ll make you my tánaiste when I am chief. Not a particularly subtle proposal. I am sure that Selbach offered something more.”
She turned to gaze at the chief’s brother.
“I have some small wealth in the land of Kernow. That was offered,” he admitted.
“Very well. And Talamnach treated your offer with contempt. He then leaves the antechamber and goes to answer, as Selbach tells us, a call of nature. Is that correct?”
Selbach nodded.
“And you say that as soon as Talamnach left, you came in here?”
“I did.”
“Berrach confirms this. After Selbach left she and her son came into the hall as well.”
“That is true,” said Berrach. “A moment or so after Selbach went into the hall, we followed.”
Fidelma nodded, smiling softly.
“Now, we were all witness to the entrance of Selbach, Berrach and Augaire. Can anyone give a good estimate between their entrance and when Cúan, Talamnach and the attendant with the drinks entered this hall?”
It was Illan of Cluain Mult who answered.
“It was no more than ten minutes.”
“So, Cúan and the attendant, Muirecán, informs us that when they reached the antechamber, Talamnach was there, having returned from his call of nature. He was there with Declan. Is this right?”
Cúan agreed.
“One person was alone in the antechamber for awhile,” Fidelma said softly.
Declan rose.
“If you are accusing me, Fidelma,” he said angrily, “you have forgotten one thing. I followed Berrach and Augaire out here to speak to Selbach and if Selbach does not acknowledge that then Illan is my witness.”
Illan of Cluain Mult looked unhappy.
“That is true,” he agreed. “You did speak to Selbach.”
“Don’t worry, Declan,” Fidelma went on. “I observed you come and speak to Selbach.”
Declan relaxed and smiled.
“Then I suggest we end this game. There is only one person who gains and I now order Selbach to submit to a search. I am sure we will find the phial that contained the poison on him.”
“This is a lie!” protested Selbach.
Fidelma raised her hands for order as the hall went into an uproar.
It took some time to quieten them.
“There is no need to search. The phial of poison, emptied of its contents, will be found in the pocket of Selbach’s leather jerkin.”
Immediately, Selbach thrust his hand into the pocket and his face went white.
“Is it not so, Selbach?” called Fidelma.
The man could not speak but he was holding a small phial in his hand.
“Warriors, arrest Selbach,” called Declan with triumph in his voice.
“Do not!” cried Fidelma, staying them in mid-stride. “Arrest the Brehon Declan for his is the hand that placed that phial in Selbach’s pocket.”
There came a stunned silence.
Declan stared at her in amazement.
“What are you saying, Fidelma?” He tried to sound angry but his tone was somehow deflated.
“It does not take long to introduce poison into two drinking mugs. I am not sure whether your planning was precise or opportunist. You suggested that Talamnach dispatch the attendant to fetch Cúan, leaving the drinks unguarded. As soon as Berrach and her son left, it took a moment to empty the phial and follow them out into this hall. I suspect, had the antechamber not emptied, you would have found some other ruse to poison the drinks. Then you came out and pretended that you wanted to speak to Selbach.”
“I wanted to ask him if he meant to go on with his challenge. He will tell you that.”
“Why could you not ask in the antechamber? Why come into the hall to challenge him in front of people? You turned, stumbled and by sleight of hand placed the phial in his pocket. Even before this meeting you had told me, disparagingly, of Selbach’s tendency to wear the new fashions that had been introduced among the Britons, that of Roman pockets in robes.”
“But what motive have I? I am a Brehon,” replied Declan.
“Is a Brehon precluded from chiefship?” returned Fidelma. “You are of this derbfine and can be accepted in office. Indeed, you are first cousin to Talamnach and Augaire. Your ultimate hope, I think, was both Cúan and Talamnach would be poisoned. You did your best to point the finger at Selbach. With him under suspicion you knew no one would support Augaire and that would leave you open to declare yourself rechtaire, steward of this clan, until you could dispose of your rivals and get yourself installed properly as chief. As it was, with Talamnach dead, you were prepared to go through with your plan and eliminate Selbach and then persuade Cúan to nominate you his heir-apparent anyway.”
Fidelma shook her head slowly.
“You almost had me fooled, Declan.”
Cúan had stood and motioned to his warriors to secure the pale-faced Brehon.
“What stopped you being fooled, Fidelma?” he asked softly.
“I was suspicious at how aggressive Declan was in laying the blame at Selbach. No Brehon worth his salt would be so forgetful of his office, and the need for impartiality, to act as he did. However, what really alerted me and made me realize what had happened was the fact that Declan had mentioned a phial of poison. How did he know that the poison had been introduced into the mugs by means of a phial and not by some other method? There are many ways of introducing poison other than a phial. Only the murderer would know this and then the meaning of the pantomime of his stumbling against Selbach became clear to me.”
Fidelma watched with sad eyes as the warriors escorted Declan from the hall.
“Nobody has a more sacred obligation to obey the law than those who take on the robes of Brehons to judge others by the law.”
WHO STOLE THE FISH?
Sister Fidelma glanced up in mild surprise as the red-faced religieux came bursting through the doors into the refectory where she and her fellow religieuses were about to sit down at the long wooden tables for the evening meal. In fact, Abbot Laisran had already called for silence so that he could intone the gratias.
The man halted in confusion as he realized that his abrupt entrance had caused several eyes to turn questioningly upon him. His red cheeks, if anything, deepened their color and he appeared to wring his hands together for a moment in indecision. He knew well that this was no ordinary evening meal but a feast given in welcome to the Venerable Salvian, an emissary from Rome who was visiting the Abb
ey of Durrow. The patrician Roman was even now sitting by the side of the abbot, watching the new arrival with some astonishment.
The red-faced monk apparently summoned courage and hurried to the main table where Abbot Laisran stood with an expression of irritation on his rotund features. He bent forward. A few words were whispered. Something was wrong. Fidelma could tell that by the startled look which formed momentarily on the abbot’s face. He leaned across to his steward, who was seated at his left side, and muttered something. It was the steward’s turn to look surprised. Then the abbot turned to his guest, the Venerable Salvian, and seemed to force a smile before speaking, waving his hand as if in emphasis. The old patrician’s expression was polite yet puzzled.
The abbot then rose and came hurrying down the refectory in the wake of the religieux who had delayed the meal. To her surprise, Fidelma realized the abbot was making directly toward her.
Abbot Laisran was looking very unhappy as he bent down with lowered voice. “I have need of your services, Fidelma,” he said tersely. “Would you follow me to the kitchens?”
Fidelma realized that Laisran was not prone to dramatic gestures. Without wasting time with questions, she rose and followed the unhappy man. Before them hurried the red-faced brother.
Beyond the doors, just inside the kitchen, Abbot Laisran halted and looked around. There were several religieux in the long chamber where all the meals of the abbey were prepared. Curiously, Fidelma noted, there was no activity in the kitchen. The group of religieux, marked as kitchen workers by the aprons they wore and rolled-up sleeves, stood about in silent awkwardness.
Laisran turned to the red-faced man who had conducted them hither. “Now, Brother Dian, tell Sister Fidelma what you have just told me. Brother Dian is our second cook,” he added quickly for Fidelma’s benefit.
Brother Dian, looking very frightened, bobbed his head several times. He spoke in rapid bursts and was clearly distressed.
“This afternoon, our cook, Brother Roilt, knowing that the Venerable Salvian was to be the guest of the abbey at this feast, went down to the river with his fishing rod and line, intent on hooking a salmon to prepare as a special dish.”
Whispers of the Dead sf-15 Page 18
