Whispers of the Dead

by Peter Tremayne

  “But that judgment was not accepted by the churches here, nor in Britain nor Gaul nor even by many of the Roman bishops,” answered Fidelma sharply.

  “Even Pope Zosimus, who succeeded Innocent, rescinded that degree and declared Pelagius innocent of heresy. Only the African bishops, the friends of Augustine, refused to accept the Pope’s ruling and persuaded the Roman Emperor Honorius to issue an imperial decree denouncing him. It was for political reasons, not those of faith, that Pope Zosimus had to reconsider and change his ruling, which lifted the excommunication.”

  Brehon Gormán was studying Fidelma with an expression of suspicion and annoyance.

  “You seem well informed on this?”

  “As lawyers, is it not our duty to imbibe as much information as we can?” she demanded. “Our knowledge must surely be as wide as we can make it, otherwise how can we profess to set ourselves up as judges of other people’s actions?”

  Brehon Gormán seemed confused for a moment.

  Fidelma continued in a confident tone: “Now, I shall want to see the person who found Brother Eolang’s body, the apothecary who examined it and, of course, the abbot.”

  “The body was found by Brother Petrán,” the Brehon responded sourly. “The apothecary is Brother Cruinn and you will find the abbot confined to his chamber. I do not think there is need for me to accompany you for I am conversant with their evidence. It is of little importance.”

  Sister Fidelma raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She glanced at the surly Brother Dubán.

  “Then perhaps Brother Dubán will show me where I may find them?”

  Brother Dubán reluctantly led the way to the herb garden of the community. There was a single brother working in it.

  “Petrán tends the garden and you will see our apothecary’s shop in the far corner. There you will find Brother Cruinn.”

  Brother Dubán turned and walked swiftly off without another word.

  The rotund, red faced religieux who was tending some bushes in the garden, turned as she approached. He frowned for a moment and then gave a friendly smile.

  “Sister Fidelma?”

  “Do you know me?” she asked, puzzled by the greeting.

  “Indeed. But you would not know me. I was in the court when you defended Brother Fergal from a charge of murder. Have you now come to defend our abbot?”

  “Only if I believe him to be innocent,” agreed Fidelma.

  “Innocent enough,” the man was now serious.

  “I am Brother Petrán and I found the body of poor Eolang.”

  “But you do not believe that the abbot is guilty?”

  “I do not believe that a man should be condemned on the evidence of a claim based on obscure maps of the stars.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was going to go to market to buy new plants for the herb garden. This involved crossing the lake,” he added unnecessarily.

  “I went to the pier where our boat was tied up. It was then that I saw the body of Brother Eolang in the water under the pier.”

  “Under the pier?” Fidelma asked quickly, with emphasis.

  “The pier is made of thin wooden planking. Some of it is loose and missing. You have to look down to make sure you step surely. That was how I was able to see him. I was keeping my eyes on where I was placing my feet. I saw the body between a gap in the planking. Mind you, I do not suppose I would have looked down so closely at that spot had it not been for the man calling to me and pointing down.”

  Fidelma tried not to show her surprise.

  “What man?” she asked slowly.

  Brother Petrán did not seem perturbed.

  “There was a man on horseback on the far bank. As I came onto the pier he started to shout and wave to me. I wondered what was up. It was too far to hear any words distinctly. He kept gesturing with his arm toward the water and that was when I looked down and saw the body.”

  “Are you saying that this man might be a witness to what happened?” she asked quietly.

  Brother Petrán shrugged.

  “He certainly spotted the body and drew my attention to it.”

  “Did you tell the Brehon this?”

  “He thought it was irrelevant because of the evidence that showed the abbot’s involvement.”

  “Can you describe the man on horseback? Did you know him?”

  “He was a stranger. But he rode a fine horse and was dressed as a warrior. He carried the standard of the King of Cashel.”

  “Then he must have been a messenger of the King, passing on his way to Cashel,” Fidelma cried in relief.

  “We can find him.” Fidelma paused a moment and then continued: “What then? What happened after your attention was drawn to the body?”

  “I raised a cry for help and, being a good swimmer, I jumped into the water and brought the body ashore. By that time Brother Cruinn, our apothecary, had arrived to help me.”

  “And the man on the far bank?”

  “When he saw that I had brought the body out of the water, he raised his hand and rode off. There was little else he could do for there was no boat on his side of the water.”

  “You say that you could swim?” Fidelma went on. “Do you know if Brother Eolang was a swimmer?”

  Brother Petrán shook his head immediately.

  “He came from a small fishing community, islanders, who believe that it is wiser not to know how to swim for it is best to be drowned outright, falling into heavy, merciless seas, than prolonging the agony and torture of the body and soul by vain struggle.”

  Fidelma suppressed a shiver at the idea.

  “I have heard the philosophy although I do not agree with it. Was there no one else who came except the apothecary?”

  “No one.”

  “Do you know how long Brother Eolang had been in the water?”

  “I do not. But the apothecary, Brother Cruinn, said . . .”

  Fidelma held up her hand to silence him.

  “Perhaps we should leave Brother Cruinn to recount what he said,” she advised. “You can only give evidence as to your own views.”

  Brother Petrán’s glance wandered past her shoulder and focussed.

  “Then there is no better opportunity to hear his words for here is Brother Cruinn.”

  Fidelma turned and saw an elderly man coming through the garden. He was strongly built, the arms of his robe rolled up around the elbows showing strong, muscular forearms. His hair was gray and eyes deep blue. He seemed puzzled at seeing the female religieuse in the herb garden.

  Brother Petrán introduced her and the apothecary’s face relaxed.

  “I was the one who noticed that this was no mere drowning, Sister,” he said with complacency.

  “Poor Eolang. He assisted me as apothecary, you know.”

  “Perhaps you will accompany me to the wooden pier and explain, on the way, the circumstances which aroused your suspicions?”

  They left the herb garden and passed through a small door in a high stone wall which led immediately onto the bank of the island. Fidelma saw that the lake was very wide at this point. The pier, standing on wooden piles, was certainly old. Some of the planking was rotten and did not seem secure.

  “This is in need of repair,” Fidelma commented.

  “Indeed. It is only used for landing materials for our garden. The primary landing stage is at the main gate as you will have doubtless observed when you arrived.”

  “Was there a specific reason why Brother Eolang was here?”

  The apothecary rubbed his chin.

  “He had gone out in the boat that morning to deliver something to the mainland and so, I presume, he was returning it so that Brother Petrán could use it to go to the market. Brother Petrán found his marsupium, his purse, still in the boat.”

  “His purse was found in the boat?”

  “He had probably forgotten it when he climbed onto the pier.”

  “I understand that Brother Petrán retrieved the body of Brother Eolang fr
om the water and then you answered his cries for assistance. Is that so?”

  “I heard Brother Petrán from the herb garden and came straightaway,” confirmed Brother Cruinn.

  “I saw immediately that poor Eolang was dead.”

  “How long had he been dead? Could you tell?”

  “I am proficient in my work, Sister.” The apothecary was proud of his professional capabilities which made him sound a trifle haughty in manner. “He had not been dead long. The blood was still flowing from the wound on his forehead and that was when I realized that murder had been committed.”

  “Because of the wound? What was it like.”

  “It was on the forehead, between the eyes. It was clear that someone had picked up a cudgel of some sort and smote the brother, who fell into the water and drowned.”

  “And had you heard the story of how Brother Eolang had predicted that he would be murdered on that day?”

  Brother Cruinn shook his head firmly.

  “It was only afterwards that I learnt this story from Brother Senach.”

  “But you worked with him. He was your assistant apothecary. Is it not strange that he did not mention this prediction?”

  “He knew my views. I knew of Eolang’s reputation as an astrologer. Personally, I did not think much of it. I am a practical man but there are many in my profession who use it as an aid to their medical arts. However, it seems that this time Eolang was right.”

  “This time?” queried Fidelma.

  Brother Cruinn smiled deprecatingly.

  “I have known many of Eolang’s predictions to fail. That is probably why he did not raise the matter of the prediction with me.”

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

  She made her way back to the chamber of Brother Cass, the steward of the community, and found him in conversation again with Brehon Gormán.

  “Have you sent for the messenger of the King of Cashel to hear his evidence?” she asked the Brehon without preamble.

  Brehon Gormán looked bewildered.

  “The man on horseback who drew Brother Petrán’s attention to the body,” she explained impatiently.

  “Oh, that man? How did you find out he was a King’s messenger?” He paused at her expression and then added defensively: “I did not think his evidence would be relevant. After all, we have evidence enough about the incident.”

  Fidelma scowled in annoyance.

  “Don’t you realize that he might have witnessed the entire incident?” She turned to Brother Cass.

  “You must send another messenger to Cashel immediately to find this man. He is one of the King’s messengers so his identity should be easy to discover. He must be brought here as an important witness.” She turned on her heel but at the door she paused and glanced back at the scowling Brehon and then looked at the unhappy steward.

  “I shall expect my orders to be carried out, Brother Cass. I shall now speak with the abbot.”

  Abbot Rígán was, at first meeting, a likable man; friendly, concerned, and bewildered at the situation in which he found himself. Only after talking to him for a time did Fidelma find that he was, indeed, rigid in his beliefs and a passionate supporter of the Roman Rule of the Faith.

  “Did you kill Brother Eolang?” Fidelma demanded in opening the conversation after she had introduced herself.

  “As God is my witness, I did not,” replied the abbot solemnly.

  “Have you heard the nature of the evidence against you?”

  “It is ridiculous! Surely no reasonable person would countenance such evidence as worth considering.”

  “Brehon Gormán does. There is much to be explained in that evidence. Over a week ago Brother Eolang foretold that on such a day he would be killed by either drowning or poisoning. No one can deny that he did die in such circumstances.”

  The abbot was silent.

  “Brother Eolang said that if that circumstance happened, you would be responsible for his death.”

  “But that is rubbish.”

  “The Brehon says that if one part of the prediction is true, why not the other?”

  “I refuse to answer the prattling of superstition.”

  “I am told, Father Abbot, that you and Brother Eolang were not friends. That you criticized him because he practiced astrology. Superstition, as you have just called it.”

  Abbot Rígán nodded emphatically.

  “Doesn’t Deuteronomy say—‘Nor must you raise your eyes to the heavens and look up to the sun, the moon, and the stars, all the host of heaven, and be led on to bow down to them and worship them . . .’?”

  Fidelma inclined her head.

  “I know the passage. Our astrologers would say that they do not worship the stars, but are guided by their patterns, for that very passage of Deuteronomy continues where you left off ‘ . . . the Lord your God created these for the various peoples under heaven.’ If He created them, why should we be afraid to follow their guidance?”

  The abbot sniffed disparagingly.

  “You have a quick tongue, Sister. But it is clear that God forbade star worship. Jeremiah says ‘do not be awed by signs in the heavens’ . . .”

  “Our astrologers would say that they don’t worship the stars. They would point out that Jeremiah is actually admitting that there are, indeed, signs in the heavens, and he merely admonishes us not to be awed by them with the implication we should understand them and learn by them.”

  “Not at all!” snapped the abbot. “Isaiah says:—

  Let your astrologers, your star-gazers

  who foretell your future month by month,

  persist, and save you!

  But look, they are gone like chaff;

  fire burns them up . . .”

  “Isaiah was addressing the Babylonians during the exile of the Israelites in Babylon. Naturally, he would belittle their leaders. The point is, Abbot, whether you like it or not, astrology accuses you and astrology must, therefore, defend you.”

  “I will not be defended by that which my faith denies.”

  “Then you cannot be defended at all,” said Fidelma, rising. “If a man comes with a stick to beat you, would you say that I will not defend myself for that man has no right to use that stick as a weapon?”

  She was at the door when the abbot coughed nervously. She turned back expectantly.

  “In what way would you defend me?” he muttered.

  “Where were you when Eolang was drowned?” she asked.

  “That morning I was engaged in the accounts of the community. Our brethren make leather goods and sell them and thus we are able to sustain our little community.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  Abbot Rígán shrugged.

  “I was alone all morning until Brother Cass came to report the finding of Brother Eolang to me. I detected a strange atmosphere in the community for I was unaware of this nonsense about a prediction. I was therefore surprised when Brother Cass informed me that he had already sent for a Brehon based on information he had received. I was more surprised when the Brehon arrived and I found myself accused of killing Eolang.”

  “The prediction is damning,” pointed out Fidelma.

  “Could it be that Brother Eolang killed himself to spite me?”

  “In my experience, suicides do not hit themselves over the head and drown nor is spite considered a sufficient motive for killing oneself.”

  “It sounds as if you believe this prediction and therefore my guilt.”

  “My task, Father Abbot, is to investigate the facts and if the facts show you to be guilty, then my oath as a dálaigh forbids me to hide your guilt from the court. My task would only be to explain any special circumstances which caused your guilt. A dálaigh cannot intentionally protect the guilty before the courts. But, I emphasize, judgment must be based on facts.”

  When the abbot tried to speak again she raised her hand to silence him.

  “At the moment, I have no judgment one way or the other. I have a suspicion of what happened bu
t I cannot prove my suspicion before the Brehon. I am not, therefore, in full possession of the facts.”

  Twenty-four hours had to pass before Brother Cass announced that his messengers were returning from Cashel.

  Sister Fidelma went to the main gate to watch the boat crossing the lake towards the pier. Her sharp eyes immediately spotted the bent figure of the elderly Brother Conchobar in the stern of the boat. Her anxious eyes found a second figure, a young warrior, seated next to him.

  “Brother Conchobar, I am glad that you have come,” she greeted as they stepped ashore.

  The old man smiled, a slow, sad smile.

  “I heard of your curious case from the messenger you sent. This is Ferchar, by the way.”

  The young warrior bowed to Fidelma. He did not forget that Fidelma was sister to the King of Cashel.

  “Lady, I heard that the man drowned. I am sorrowful that I was not able to do anything more than I did. Alas, it was too far for me to swim across the lake to his rescue.”

  Fidelma glanced anxiously from Ferchar to Conchobar as a thought struck her.

  “Have either of you discussed this matter with one another on your journey here?”

  Brother Conchobar shook his head. It was Ferchar who answered.

  “Lady, we know that the method of giving evidence says that no witnesses may confer with another about the event. We have kept our silence on this matter.”

  One of the brethren, whom Brother Cass had sent to bring them to the abbey, came forward.

  “I can swear to this before the Brehon if need be, Sister. These men have not spoken of the matter since we found them and brought them hither.”

  “Excellent,” Fidelma was relieved. “Come with me.”

  Fidelma led them to Brother Cass’s chamber where Brehon Gormán was waiting impatiently.

  “This judgment on this matter has been delayed a full twenty-four hours. I hope this has not been a waste of time.”

  “Justice, as you must know, Brehon Gormán, is never a waste of time. I have asked Brother Conchobar to wait outside while we now hear from an eyewitness.”

  She motioned to Ferchar.

  Brehon Gormán examined the young warrior.

  “State your name and position.”

  “I am Ferchar of the bodyguard of King Colgú and act as his messenger.”