Fidelma smiled softly.
“Are you proposing to start your killing spree already? First Fallach and myself and then . . . who? Cara next, I suppose.”
Faramund drew out a vicious-looking long-bladed knife but before anyone could move he suddenly gave a grunt and went down senseless to the ground.
Cara was standing behind him looking at the wooden mallet in her hand.
“I presume that you used the same method to knock out your husband, Febrat? Faramund and his farmhands came last night and rode around the farmstead hooting and yelling to convince your husband the farm was under attack. They carried alder branches to disguise the passage of their horses.”
Cara gestured helplessly.
“I could not stand to kill anyone. I told Faramund that. He made his plan seem so plausible. No one would get hurt. Febrat would be taken care of and we would have the silver. But I could not bear to kill anyone.”
Fallach, who had been bending by the slumped form of Faramund, glanced up and grimaced.
“I am afraid that you will have to come to terms with that, Cara. You have hit him too hard.”
SCATTERED THORNS
The boy is innocent.”
The chief magistrate of Droim Sorn, Brehon Tuama, seemed adamant.
Sister Fidelma sat back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at the tall man who was seated on the other side of the hearth. She had received an urgent request from Brehon Tuama to come to the small township of Droim Sorn in her capacity as dálaigh, advocate of the law courts. A sixteen-year-old lad named Braon had been accused of murder and theft. Brehon Tuama had suggested that Fidelma should undertake the boy’s defense.
In accordance with protocol, Fidelma had first made her presence in the township known to the chieftain, Odar, in whose house the boy was being held. Odar seemed to display a mixed reaction to her arrival but had offered her a few formal words of welcome before suggesting that she seek out Brehon Tuama to discuss the details of the case. She had decided, on this brief acquaintance, that Odar was not a man particularly concerned with details. She had noticed that the chieftain had an impressive array of hunting weapons on his walls and two sleek wolfhounds basking in front of his hearth. She deduced that Odar’s concerns were more of the hunt than pursuit of justice.
Brehon Tuama had invited her inside his house and offered her refreshment before making his opening remark about the accused’s guilt.
“Are you saying that the boy is not to be tried?” asked Fidelma. “If you have already dismissed the case against him, why was I summoned . . .?”
Brehon Tuama quickly shook his head.
“I cannot dismiss the matter yet. Odar is adamant that the boy has to go through due process. In fact . . .” The Brehon hesitated. “The victim’s husband is his cousin.”
Fidelma sighed softly. She disliked nepotism.
“Perhaps you should explain to me the basic facts as you know them.”
Brehon Tuama stretched uneasily in his chair.
“Findach the Smith is reputed to be one of the most able craftsmen in this township. His work is apparently widely admired and has graced abbeys, chieftains’ raths, and kings’ fortresses. He has been able to refuse such mundane tasks as shoeing horses, making harnesses, plows, and weapons, to pursue more artistic work.”
“It sounds as though you do not share others’ appreciation of his work?” interposed Fidelma, catching the inflection in his tone.
“I don’t,” agreed the Brehon. “But that is by the way. Findach was commissioned to make a silver cross for the high altar of the Abbey of Cluain. He had completed the commission only a few days ago.
“The cross was extremely valuable. Findach had polished it and taken it to his house ready for collection by one of the religious from the abbey. Yesterday morning, Findach had gone to his workshop, which is a hundred yards beyond his house, to commence work. The silver cross was left in his house. His wife, Muirenn, was there.
“It was that morning that Brother Caisín had been sent by the Abbot of Cluain to collect the cross. I have questioned Brother Caisín who says that he arrived at Findach’s house early in the morning. He noticed that the door was open and he went in. Muirenn lay on the floor with blood on her head. He tried to render assistance but found that she was dead, apparently killed by a sharp blow to the head.
“Brother Caisín then said that he heard a noise from a side room and found the boy, Braon, hiding there. There was blood on his clothes.
“It was then that Findach arrived back at his house and found Brother Caisín and Braon standing by the body of his wife. His cry of anguish was heard by a passerby who, ascertaining the situation, came in search of me as Brehon of Droim Sorn.”
Fidelma was thoughtful.
“At what point was it discovered the silver cross was missing?” she asked.
Brehon Tuama looked surprised.
“How did you know that it was the silver cross that had been stolen? The object of the theft was not specified when I sent for you.”
Fidelma made an impatient gesture with her hand.
“I did not think that you would spend so much time and detail telling me about Findach’s commission from Cluain if it had no relevance to this matter.”
Brehon Tuama looked crestfallen.
“What did the boy have to say?” Fidelma continued. “I presume the boy’s father was sent for before you questioned him?”
Brehon Tuama looked pained.
“Of course. I know the law. As he was under the ‘Age of Choice,’ his father is deemed responsible for him in law.”
“So the father was summoned and the boy was questioned?” pressed Fidelma impatiently.
“The boy said that he had been asked to go to Findach’s house by Muirenn, who often used to employ him to look after a small herd of cattle they kept in the upper pastures behind the house. Braon said he found the door open. He saw the body and went inside in order to help, but Muirenn was already dead.”
“And bending by the body accounted for blood on his clothes?”
“Precisely. He said that he was about to go for help when he heard someone approaching. Fearing the return of the killer, he hid in the room where Brother Caisín discovered him.”
“And those are all the facts, so far as you know them?”
“Exactly. It is all circumstantial evidence. I would be inclined to dismiss the charge for lack of evidence. However, Odar insists that the boy should be prosecuted. A chieftain’s orders are sometimes difficult to disregard,” he added apologetically.
“What about the cross?”
Brehon Tuama was baffled for a moment.
“I mean,” went on Fidelma, “where was it found? You have not mentioned that fact.”
The Brehon shifted his weight.
“It has not been found,” he confessed.
Fidelma made her surprise apparent.
“We made a thorough search for the cross and found no sign of it,” confirmed Brehon Tuama.
“Surely, that further weakens the case against the boy? When could he have had the time to hide the cross before being discovered by Brother Caisín?”
“Odar argues that he must have had an accomplice. He favors the boy’s father. He suggests the boy passed the cross to his accomplice just as Brother Caisín arrived.”
“A rather weak argument.” Fidelma was dismissive. “What I find more interesting is the motivation for your chieftain’s apparent determination to pursue the boy and his father. You tell me that it is because the dead woman’s husband is his cousin? That does not seem sufficient justification. I would agree with your first conclusion, Tuama. The whole affair is based on circumstantial evidence. By the way, how big was this silver cross?”
“I do not know. We would have to ask Findach. Findach said it was valuable enough. The silver alone being worth . . .”
“I am more interested in its size, not value. Presumably, a high altar cross would be of large size and therefore of great weig
ht?”
“Presumably,” agreed the Brehon.
“Also too heavy, surely, for the boy, Braon, to have hidden it by himself?”
Brehon Tuama did not reply.
“You say that Findach’s forge was a hundred yards from his house. Isn’t it unusual for a smith to have a workshop at such a distance from his house?”
Brehon Tuama shook his head.
“Not in this case. Findach was a careful man. Do you know how often smiths’ forges burn down because a spark from the furnace ignites them?”
“I have known of some cases,” admitted Fidelma. “So Findach and his wife Muirenn lived in the house. Did they have children?”
“No. There were just the two of them . . .”
There was a sudden noise outside and the door burst open.
A wild-looking, broad-shouldered man stood on the threshold. He was dressed in the manner of a man who worked long hours in the fields. His eyes were stormy.
Brehon Tuama sprang up from his seat in annoyance.
“What is the meaning of this, Brocc?” he demanded.
The man stood breathing heavily a moment.
“You know well enough, Brehon. I heard that the dálaigh had arrived. She’s been to see Odar and now you. Yet you told me that she was coming to defend my boy. Defend? How can she defend him when she consorts only with his persecutors?”
Fidelma examined the man coolly.
“Come forward! So you are the father of Braon?”
The burly man took a hesitant step toward her.
“My son is innocent! You must clear his name. They are trying to lay the blame on my son and on me because they hate us.”
“I am here to listen to the evidence and form my opinion. Why would people hate you and your son?”
“Because I am a bothach!”
In the social system of the five kingdoms of Éireann, the bothach was one of the lowest classes in society, being a crofter or cowherder. Bothachs had no political or clan rights, but they were capable of acquiring their own plots of land by contract. While there were no restrictions placed on whom they could work for, they were not allowed to leave the clan territory except by special permission. If they worked well, they could eventually expect to acquire full citizen’s rights.
“Aye,” Brocc was bitter. “It is always the lower orders who are blamed when a crime is committed. Always the bottom end of the social scale who get the blame. That is why Odar is trying to make out that my boy and I were in league to rob Findach.”
Fidelma was beginning to understand what Brehon Tuama had been trying to tell her about Odar’s insistence that Braon stand trial.
“You and your son have nothing to fear so long as you tell the truth,” she said, trying not to let it sound like a platitude. “If I believe your son is innocent then I will defend him.” Fidelma paused for a moment. “You realize that under the law it will be your responsibility to pay the compensation and fines if your son is found guilty? Are you more concerned about that or whether your son is innocent?”
Brocc scowled, his features reddening.
“That is unjust. I will pay you seven séds if you simply defend him. That is a token of my faith in my son.”
The sum was the value of seven milch cows.
Fidelma’s face showed that she was not impressed.
“Brehon Tuama should have informed you that my fees, which are payable directly to my community and not to me, do not vary but stand at two séds and only change when they are remitted because of exceptional circumstances such as the poverty of those who seek my assistance.”
Brocc stood uncertainly with lips compressed. Fidelma went on:
“Since you are here, Brocc, you may tell me a little about your son, Braon. Did he frequently work for Findach?”
“Not for Findach, that mean . . .!” Brocc caught himself. “No, my boy worked for his wife, Muirenn. Muirenn was a kindly soul, a good soul. My boy would never have harmed her.”
“How often did he work for Muirenn and in what capacity?”
“My boy and I are cowherds. We hire our labor to those who need an expert hand.”
“So you knew Braon was going to work for Muirenn that morning?”
“I did. She had asked him to tend her cows in the pasture above the house.”
“And that was a usual task for him?”
“Usual? It was.”
“Did anyone else know he was going to Muirenn’s house this morning?”
“The boy’s mother knew and doubtless Muirenn told that mean husband of hers.”
Fidelma was interested.
“Why do you call Findach mean?”
“The man was tightfisted. It was well known. He behaved as if he was as poor as a church mouse.”
Fidelma glanced to Brehon Tuama for confirmation. The tall magistrate shrugged.
“It is true that Findach was not renowned for his generosity, Sister. He always claimed he had little money. The truth was he spent a lot on gambling. In fact, only the other day Odar told me that Findach owed him a large sum. Ten séds, as I recall. Yet Findach would not even employ an assistant or an apprentice at his forge.”
“Yet he did pay for help with his cow herd.”
Brocc laughed harshly.
“The herd was his wife’s property and she paid my son.”
A wife, under law, remained the owner of all the property and wealth that she brought into a marriage. Fidelma appreciated the point.
“So, as far as you knew, your son went off to work as usual. You noticed nothing unusual at all?”
“I did not.”
“And during that day, you never went near Findach’s house nor his forge?”
“Nowhere near.”
“You can prove it?”
Brocc glowered for a moment.
“I can prove it. I was in Lonán’s pastures helping him thresh hay. I was there until someone came with the news of Braon’s arrest.”
“Very well.” Fidelma rose abruptly.
“I think I would like to see Findach’s house and speak with this renowned smith.”
The house of Findach the Smith stood on the edge of the township. It was isolated among a small copse of hazel and oak.
Findach was a stocky, muscular man of indiscernible age. He had a short neck and the build that one associated with a smith. He gazed distastefully at Fidelma.
“If you seek to defend my wife’s killer, dálaigh, you are not welcome in this house.” His voice was a low growl of anger.
Fidelma was not perturbed.
“Inform Findach of the law and my rights as a dálaigh, Tuama,” she instructed, her eyes not leaving those of the smith.
“You are obliged by law to answer all the dálaigh’s questions and allow free access to all . . .”
Findach cut the Brehon short with a scowl and turned abruptly inside the house, leaving them to follow.
Fidelma addressed herself to Brehon Tuama.
“Show me where the body was lying.”
Tuama pointed to the floor inside the first room, which was the kitchen.
“And where was the boy found?”
Findach answered this time, turning and pushing open a door sharply.
“The killer was hiding in here,” he grunted.
“I understand that you knew that Brother Caisín would be arriving to collect the silver cross you had made for his abbey?”
Findach glanced at Brehon Tuama who stood stony-faced. Then he shrugged. His voice was ungracious.
“I expected someone from the abbey to come to collect the piece. It was the agreed day.”
“You brought the cross from your forge to the house. Wasn’t that unusual?”
“I brought it here for safekeeping. There is no one at my forge at night and so I do not leave valuable items there.”
“How valuable was this cross?”
“My commission price was twenty-one séds.”
“Describe the cross, its weight and size.”
“It was of silver mined at Magh Méine. Just over a meter in height and half of that across the arms. It was heavy. The only way I could carry it was by means of a rope slung across my back.”
“Brother Caisín was to carry it in the same fashion?”
“I believe he arrived on an ass, realizing the weight to be transported.”
“And where did you leave the cross?”
“It was standing in that corner of the room.”
Fidelma went and looked at the corner that he indicated.
“You believe that the boy, Braon, came into your house, saw this cross, killed your wife, and took it, as heavy as it was, and then—presumably having hidden it—returned to this house? Having done that, hearing the arrival of Brother Caisín, he then hid himself in that room, where he was discovered?”
Findach scowled at her smile of skepticism.
“How else do you explain it?”
“I don’t have to, as yet. What time did you leave that morning to go to your forge?”
Findach shrugged.
“Just after dawn.”
“Did you know that boy was coming to help with your wife’s herd?”
“I knew. I never trusted him. His father was a bothach, always cadging money from the better off.”
“I understand that you were not one of them.” Fidelma’s riposte caused Findach’s face to go red.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said defensively.
“I heard that you were regarded as poor.”
“Silver and gold costs money. When I get a commission, I have to find the metals and don’t get paid until the commission is complete.”
“Braon had worked for your wife often before, hadn’t he?” Fidelma changed the subject.
“He had.”
“And you had no cause to complain about him before? Surely you have left valuable items in your house on other occasions?”
“My wife is murdered. The silver cross is gone. The boy was a bothach.”
“So you imply that you were always suspicious of him? As you say, he was a bothach. Yet you left the silver cross in your house and went to the forge. Isn’t that strange?”
Findach flushed in annoyance.
Whispers of the Dead Page 24