Fidelma glanced at Declan, who nodded.
“It is true. I went to the antechamber and found it as this man has described. I spoke to Talamnach and mentioned that everyone was ready and suggested that the servant be sent in search of Cúan.”
The chief of the Uí Liatháin suddenly leaned forward and spoke, recovering something of his equilibrium.
“I can confirm that Muirecán came to my chamber and warned me that everything was prepared and awaiting my presence. He accompanied me back to the antechamber where Declan and Talamnach were awaiting me.”
Fidelma raised her head sharply.
“Only Declan and Talamnach were in the room? In what order did the others leave?”
From the hall the elderly man, Selbach, stood up.
“I left first, lady. I had hoped to have a word with my brother before he came to preside here and forewarn him about my protest. But with Talamnach there and my brother’s wife and son, it seemed a pointless exercise to seek privacy with my brother. So I left and came into the hall.”
There was a soft bark of laughter. It came from Augaire.
Fidelma swung ’round and examined the young man.
Augaire was still sprawled in his seat; his expression seemed to indicate that he was bored with the proceedings. His face was still masked in a supercilious smile.
“And when did you leave the antechamber?” Fidelma asked in a deceptively pleasant tone.
Augaire did not alter his position.
“After him,” he drawled, nodding his head to Selbach.
There was a sharp cough.
“If I may be allowed a voice . . .?”
Fidelma swung ’round to the haughty-looking Berrach.
“No woman outside the derbfine can speak, mother,” interrupted Augaire in a sneering tone.
Fidelma smiled quickly.
“But this is no longer a derbfine meeting but a legal investigation. Berrach, you have the right to speak.”
Berrach inclined her head toward Fidelma for a moment.
“My son and I left the antechamber a moment or so after Selbach. I had noticed that Selbach was having a word with Talamnach and I am unsure what passed between them. But I know that Talamnach left the room but not to come into the hall. After which, Selbach waited a while and then left. Then Augaire and I left to enter this hall. That is all I have to say.”
“And all this while the mugs of mead remained on the table in the antechamber?”
Augaire chuckled softly.
“That is obvious, even for a dálaigh to deduce.”
Fidelma’s featured did not alter as she turned to face him.
“In all matters of observation, young man,” she added emphasis on the “young man,” which made the youth flush for he obviously prided himself on his manhood, “in all matters of observation, people often see only what they are prepared to see, so nothing should be deemed obvious without confirmation.”
She suddenly turned back to Declan.
“You have just been placed alone in the antechamber with the mead.”
Brehon Declan stared at her a moment and then smiled broadly.
“Not exactly. Talamnach had returned by the time Augaire and his mother were leaving.”
“So you were not alone there.”
“In fact,” Declan said thoughtfully,“Talamnach himself was alone because shortly after he re-entered, I went out to see if Cúan was approaching.”
“And do you suggest that Talamnach took the opportunity to poison his own mead?” Fidelma smiled thinly.
“Maybe the mead was meant for my father,” Augaire’s sneering tone came again. “Maybe the poor fool mixed up the mugs and drank from the one which he meant my father to drink out of.”
Fidelma looked at him in exasperation.
“You have spoken of observation. I would suggest that you spend time in developing the art, Augaire. Had you been observant, you would have noticed that I tested both mugs. Both were laced with poison. I suspect the person who did this was not particular as to whether Cúan or Talamnach died. Perhaps they hoped they both would.”
There was a sudden hush in the great hall.
Fidelma looked toward Selbach.
“You were talking to Talamnach and then he left the room. Is that a correct observation?”
Selbach thought for a moment.
“It is correct.”
“What did you speak to Talamnach about?”
Selbach grinned wryly.
“There was one matter preoccupying us. That is the reason why we gathered here tonight. I told Talamnach that Illan would challenge him and nominate me. I wondered if we might reach a compromise in order to keep our family together. He laughed at the idea. He was confident of overwhelming support.”
“How confident were you, Selbach?” intervened Declan, speaking after some time of silence.
“I would not have allowed myself to be named as a nominee if I was not assured of support.”
“And now it seems that you are the only surviving candidate,” sneered Declan.
Selbach flushed.
“Again you seem to imply something, cousin Brehon. Do you have the courage to be honest in your accusation?”
Declan took a step forward.
“You have come back from exile—albeit a self-imposed one—because you did not agree with the way your brother, Cúan, ruled. You abrogated your responsibility in this clan and now, seeing a chance for power, you return. You seek office. The question is just how ambitious are you for that office and what are you prepared to do in order to obtain it?”
Selbach was red with anger now and only Illan, at his side, restrained him from coming forward.
“Declan!” Fidelma was quietly outraged by her former colleague’s behavior.
“This is not the way for a Brehon to conduct himself.”
Declan stood still for some moments, his mouth thin in a tight expression. Then he relaxed.
“I apologize, Fidelma.” He turned and smiled, although it was a smile without any warmth. “I suppose that I am not a very good Brehon. But this is also a family matter and my cousin, Talamnach, lies dead on the ground.”
Fidelma nodded.
“This is why I must conduct the rest of this inquiry. You are too close to it and not detached in your judgment.”
Declan compressed his lips for a second and then shrugged.
“Carry on.” The Brehon walked to the vacant seat left by Talamnach and sat down in an attitude of expectancy.
Fidelma turned to the chief. “I think, at this stage, and with your permission, Cúan, your warriors might remove the body of Talamnach.”
The chief turned to one of the warriors and indicated this should be so.
The people in the hall were getting restless.
“Selbach, a few more questions, if I may,” she began again.
“I am intrigued. There is only one office open for this derbfine to vote on. What compromise did you seek with Talamnach?”
“I suggested to him that if he stood down in favor of my nomination, when I am chief, he would be my chosen heir-apparent.”
There was an audible gasp from some sections of the hall.
Cúan’s face was creased in anger.
“Do you expect my departure so soon, brother?” he said menacingly. “You are younger than I am by merely one year. When was your expectation of becoming chief if you had been elected my heir?”
Selbach was not abashed.
“I have not heard that age debarred a person from office, brother,” he retorted.
Declan’s voice was accusing but he remained seated.
“It is true, Selbach. But I think many here will draw conclusions.”
Fidelma wheeled ’round in annoyance.
“The only conclusion to be drawn here will be when we have the facts and can conclude the truth. At the moment, Selbach has been open in his opinions when it might best have served his purpose had he not been so. What made Talamnach leave the ch
amber?” she suddenly asked, turning back to Selbach.
The chief’s brother shrugged.
“No great mystery, I am afraid. Nothing more sinister than the call of nature. However, it was clear that he would not entertain my compromise and so I left. As I said, at the time, Augaire and his mother and our cousin the Brehon, were left in the room.”
“Had you noticed the mead?”
“Oh yes. When the servant, Muirecán, put it on the table, young Augaire went to grab one of the mugs.”
Fidelma’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Did he drink?”
“Thanks be to God, I did not!” roared Augaire, his laughter echoed by his friends. “I think even your observation will show that I still live, dálaigh .”
“It is a moot point whether your existence has life in it, young man,” snapped Fidelma. “It strikes me that it has more of dissoluteness than real life. However, you seem certain that the mead was already poisoned when it was placed on the table in the antechamber. Can you share your knowledge with us? How did you know it was poisoned.”
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.
“Reflect on this,” she went on, when she had their attention. “Muirecán came into the antechamber with the mead and set down the tray. Who is there?” When no one answered her, she continued. “Brehon Declan was there. Talamnach was there. Selbach was there. Berrach was there. Augaire was there.”
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.”
Whispers of the Dead Page 18