Sanctuary (sister fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  Sanctuary

  ( Sister Fidelma )

  Peter Tremayne

  Peter Tremayne

  Sanctuary

  “Fidelma! Do you have a moment?”

  Fidelma had been crossing the quadrangle of the law school of the Brehon Morann when she was halted by the voice of the Ard-Ollamh, the chief professor, himself. She turned and smiled nervously as Brehon Morann approached. She had been studying at the famous law school for six years now and had recently passed her examination for the degree of clã shy;, which meant she was now able to practise law in most courts in the land but with limitations as to the cases that she could undertake. However, she was ambitious to become a fully qualified advocate, able to practise defence or prosecution in all fields of the law, and that would mean at least another two years of study.

  Even with her present qualifications, she was still in awe of the distinguished figure of the chief professor of the school.

  “I understand from the Ollamh Neit that you have recently been studying the laws relating to sanctuary with him?” Brehon Morann said as he halted before her.

  “I have,” she acknowledged cautiously.

  “Excellent. Then you will be interested in accompanying me to my chambers to hear some questions that a visitor has come to put to me. It seems he seeks advice on this subject.”

  “He wishes to consult you on the law of sanctuary?” asked Fidelma, before she realised that her question had already been answered, and Brehon Morann hated repetition. The chief professor did not bother to answer her. Fidelma bowed her head slightly. It was something of an honour to be singled out by the chief professor and given such an invitation.

  “I will be most interested,” she responded contritely.

  A man was waiting in Brehon Morann’s chambers. A tall, pleasant-looking individual, with sandy-coloured hair, whose clothing and accoutrements pointed to the fact that he was a man of some rank.

  “My steward, Adnaà shy;, informs me that you are Faichen Glas, an aire-deise of the shy; Echach Cobo,” Brehon Morann greeted him.

  Fidelma realised from this introduction that Faichen Glas was a noble of some wealth and his people dwelt in the northern kingdom of Ulaidh.

  The chief professor then introduced Fidelma and indicated that they should all be seated.

  “What is the matter that brings you hither, Faichen Glas?” he prompted.

  “I need advice, Brehon Morann. For a week I have been chasing a killer. A man who killed my own cousin. I have sworn an oath to capture him and take him back to my own people for trial. He has eluded me until now. I tracked him to a place not more than a day’s ride from here. However, I have found that he has taken refuge in a chapel where the priest in charge claims that he has been granted sanctuary. I have come to ask you, what can I do?”

  Brehon Morann sat back with a sigh.

  “The Laws of the Fénechus, our own laws, have very strict rules about the concept of refuge, and these predate even those on sanctuary brought in by the New Faith of Christ.” He paused. “I think you should tell us your story first and then we will come to the law in a moment. Who exactly is this killer that you seek?”

  The noble of the shy; Echach Cobo grimaced.

  “He is a man called Ulam Fionn, a drover without fixed land, who has long been suspected of taking cows from the local farmers among my people. He was never caught. It was noticed that he made a good enough profit at markets but nothing could be proved about the provenance of the livestock he sold there. Nine days ago, my cousin, Nessán, and his wife were awoken by the lowing of their cattle herd. It was in the morning, about first light. My cousin went out to see what ailed the cattle. The thief was caught in the act but he turned on my cousin and slew him before escaping.”

  Fidelma coughed nervously.

  Brehon Morann glanced at her.

  “You have a question?”

  “How was this man, Ulam Fionn, identified if your cousin was slain and he escaped?”

  “Easy enough to answer,” replied Faichen Glas. “My cousin’s wife was the witness to the evil deed.”

  “She was the only witness?”

  “Only she, apart from her husband, saw Ulam Fionn.”

  “Then why was she not attacked?”

  Faichen Glas frowned, trying to understand the question.

  It was Brehon Morann who explained Fidelma’s thinking.

  “If she was the only witness to this deed, then this Ulam Fionn might well have contemplated silencing her-the silence of the grave.”

  “From what she told me, the killer did not see her,” the noble replied. “She observed the killing from the window of the farmhouse and was too horrified and fearful to emerge before he left.”

  “There is no doubt of her identification? She had a clear view of this man, Ulam Fionn?”

  “She did. There is no question,” Faichen Glas assured her. “And his flight confirms his guilt. I have pursued him for nine days now in order to bring him back to my chief for justice.”

  Brehon Morann looked thoughtful.

  “He has taken refuge in a church here, you say? How did you find him?”

  “It was known that he had a cousin named Ulpach who dwelt in this area. I do not know the man, but I was told that they are each as bad as the other, in so far as their morals are concerned. I thought that he might seek refuge with Ulpach but I could not trace either of them. I found a shepherd that had heard a rumour that someone had sought refuge with a religieux in the chapel of St. Benignus…”

  “That’s about half a day’s ride from here,” mused Brehon Morann. “I do not know the religieux who has charge of it. He is fairly new to the area, by all accounts.”

  Faichen Glas nodded in agreement.

  “I rode there and this man, Brother Mongan was his name, told me that he had given Ulam Fionn sanctuary. I came to you, learned Brehon, to ask whether there is any way that I can take this murderer from the sanctuary and return him to Ulaidh for trial?”

  Brehon Morann sat back for a moment and then turned with a smile to Fidelma.

  “My young colleague here will tell you of the rights of sanctuary.”

  Fidelma coloured, feeling ridiculously proud to be called a colleague of the chief professor. “Well,” she began hesitantly, “our laws provide for a place of asylum for those fugitives who seek refuge. And the rules of the New Faith are fairly similar to our concepts. Those of our scholars who have travelled abroad find the same system common in many lands.”

  Faichen Glas was obviously impatient at the preamble but a frown from Brehon Morann checked him as Fidelma continued.

  “In our law we have an area called the maigen, a precinct in which a fugitive may claim sanctuary surrounding any chieftain’s home. Its extent ranges from that of a minor chieftain, where it is reckoned as the extent of one spear cast from the central house, to that of a chief of the entire clan, where it is reckoned as the extent of sixty-four spear casts from the house. In the maigen, a fugitive can claim safety from all who seek to harm him.

  “With the coming of the New Faith, the abbeys, churches, and monasteries have assumed the same role as the chieftain’s maigen in our law. The place of the fugitive is confined to what they call Termonn Land.” She glanced at the Brehon Morann. “The word is borrowed from the Latin word terminus, the limit or extent of the church lands. In these areas, for a pursuer to kill or injure a fugitive is to commit the crime of dà shy;guin, the violation of protection. For that there are prescribed punishments. A fugitive cannot be captured or harmed in these areas…”

  “Unless?” It was Brehon Morann who prompted her when she hesitated.

  Fidelma thought for a moment. “There are three conditio
ns that must be met. The owner of the maigen, whether secular or ecclesiastic, must have given the fugitive permission, having been given a truthful account by the fugitive of the need for asylum. Thus the owner of the maigen becomes legally entitled to act for the fugitive. The next condition is that any pursuer must be clearly informed by the owner that this place is regarded as a sanctuary. The last condition is that while the fugitive remains in the maigen he cannot use it to profit from his alleged crimes, going forth from the asylum area and attacking people and then returning to claim asylum.”

  Brehon Morann nodded approval and turned to Faichen Glas.

  “I presume that all three conditions have been fulfilled in the matter we are discussing?”

  The northern noble looked troubled. “I know nothing of the law here. It is true that when I approached the church Brother Mongan came forward and forbade me to enter with hospitality, declaring that it was a sanctuary … what you said-a maigen dà shy;gona. That is why I came here to find out what I could do.”

  Fidelma leaned quickly toward Brehon Morann. “Of course, it is not lawful for even a cleric to give protection to certain classes of fugitive, especially a murderer, indefinitely.”

  Brehon Morann grimaced. “My young colleague speaks truly. But the snádud, that is, the legal protection, can be extended until guilt or innocence is made certain.”

  Faichen Glas looked from one to the other with a frown.

  “What can I do, then? How can his guilt be proved before he is brought to trial? Ulam Fionn is hiding in this church and I am powerless to bring him to justice. I am minded to go with my men and take the man by force.”

  “Do that,” Fidelma quickly commented, “and it will be you that will stand trial. The fugitive, whatever his alleged crimes, is under protection of the law.”

  “We must act in accordance with the law, Faichen Glas,” added Brehon Morann firmly.

  He paused for a moment and then rose with a smile.

  “Faichen Glas, you will accept the hospitality of this college-you and your men will stay here while we investigate this matter further.” He picked up a handbell from a nearby table and rang it.

  Adnaà shy;, the elderly steward of the college, entered almost immediately, as if he had been waiting outside the door for the summons.

  Brehon Morann instructed the man to see to the needs of the noble of the Echach Cobo and his men and provide them with food and beds in the college hostel.

  When they had gone, Fidelma stood nervously wondering whether she, too, should leave, but Brehon Morann gestured her to be seated again.

  “This is a fairly simple case,” he began thoughtfully. “Provided the sanctuary has been granted in the legal form, then our friend Faichen Glas will have to return to the land of the shy; Echach Cobo. He must then bring his witness and his own Brehon before the abbot in whose jurisdiction the church of St. Benignus lies. I happen to know Abbot Sionna and he is a fair man. If Faichen Glas can present a just case as to why the sanctuary should be withdrawn, then the abbot can instruct that Ulam Fionn be handed over for trial.”

  Fidelma waited politely. Her recent class on the law of sanctuary had taught her this much.

  “Before I can inform Faichen Glas that this is the course of action he must take, we will have to ensure that the sanctuary has been properly given. I have no reason to suspect otherwise but, Fidelma, in law you can never assume anything. Assumption without verification can lead to great miscarriages of justice.”

  “I understand,” Fidelma replied, not really understanding why he was emphasising what she had already learnt.

  “It will be good experience for you to go to this church of St. Benignus and speak with Brother Mongan and ensure that all has been done in legal form,” went on Brehon Morann.

  “Me?” Fidelma’s ejaculation was one of surprise.

  “It is only a half-day’s ride there and a half-day back again. It doubtless means that you will have to stay overnight in a public hostel. There is no one from the college staff who can afford this time. You, on the other hand, are qualified to take this deposition and can be spared from your studies … rather this is part of your studies, for this matter of sanctuary may well occur in your future career when you begin to practise law.”

  “Of course,” responded Fidelma nervously and then added weakly, “but I don’t know where this church of St. Benignus is.”

  “I will give you instructions to the abbey of Sionna and he will instruct you further. You may take one of the college horses. Once you have returned, having ensured that all is satisfactory under the law, then we can instruct Faichen Glas on the appropriate action.” Brehon Morann glanced through the window at the darkening sky. “It is too late to begin today. You should leave at first light tomorrow.” He smiled in gentle rebuke as Fidelma rose slowly and reluctantly. “The practise of law is not all about solving puzzles or clearing up mysteries. Often it is very boring and pedestrian work, checking and rechecking simple facts and making tiring journeys to do so.”

  Fidelma was contrite again.

  “I apologise, Brehon Morann, if I seem to display a lack of enthusiasm for the task. I will, of course, carry it out.”

  It was noon on the following day when Fidelma found herself sitting before Abbot Sionna. He was a chubby-featured man who was well past his middle years. His silver hair and wide blue eyes gave him an almost cherubic look.

  “The chapel of St. Benignus?” he was saying thoughtfully, after she had explained her mission. “It is not far from here and it is only recently that Brother Mongan was sent to administer there. You will find him most helpful. He is a thoughtful man, a good scholar. He entered our abbey as the poor son of a farmer and achieved his scholarship by his own diligence. He worked in our library for a while, where he copied most of the Pauline texts from the scriptures. I was loath to see him go but he wanted experience in administering a small chapel. Don’t concern yourself, young lawyer. He will have obeyed all the laws governing the granting of sanctuary.”

  “But he has not informed you of the matter yet?” Fidelma asked, picking up on the tense used by the abbot.

  Abbot Sionna shook his head.

  “Brother Mongan would probably have to wait until he could find someone to bring me a message. The chapel is two hours’ good riding from here and off the main highway. As he is alone at the chapel, he could not, in law, leave the fugitive there by himself. However, I will leave this matter in your hands. Report back to me as to the situation on your return.”

  It was midafternoon when Fidelma spotted the oblong shape of the chapel of St. Benignus. The five kingdoms of Ãirinn were abounding in vast forests, so it was usual for most of the small churches to be built of wood, although in the western parts, such as Fidelma’s own homeland of Muman, many abbeys and oratories were constructed of local stone. Here, in Midhe, the middle kingdom, it was unusual to see a limestone church building, strong like a fortress. Such, however, was the chapel of St. Benignus. It was strongly built, six metres wide and twenty-five metres in length. Its roof towered upwards, and the jambs of the main door-the only door so far as she could see-were inclined so that it was wider at the bottom than the top.

  The grounds around it were planted with yew and ash. Fidelma knew that this was often called the fidnemed or sacred grove covering the area of the nemed or termonn, the sanctuary’s limits.

  She approached on horseback, slowly and deliberately, but she was already some way from the gates to the sanctuary area when the door of the chapel swung inward and a thin figure in badly fitting religious robes stepped out.

  “Halt, stranger!” the figure called in a harsh voice. “I have to warn you that you are approaching sanctuary land and may not enter if you seek harm to one who has claimed sanctuary here.”

  Fidelma smiled inwardly. At least the religieux seemed to know the legal requirement of informing everyone approaching the church. She drew rein and sat for a moment regarding the man from her horse.

  H
e seemed young, fair-haired with pale blue eyes. In spite of his slight build, he was pleasant-looking. He came slowly down the short path from the chapel to the gates into the fidnemed.

  “What do you seek here, daughter?” he asked in a softer tone of voice.

  Fidelma tried to control her smile. Daughter! The young religieux was hardly older than she was. But the New Faith was importing a lot of new phrases and concepts to their language. Priests of the New Faith were now being called Athair or Father, which was an affectation brought in from the Faith in Rome. A few even preferred the term RÃinid, confidant or counsellor.

  “Are you Brother Mongan?” she asked.

  A frown passed the young man’s brow.

  “This is my chapel,” he acknowledged in reply.

  “My name is Fidelma. I am…” she hesitated slightly, “I am a lawyer from the college of the Brehon Morann, which lies not far from here.”

  “I know of it,” the young man replied, the frown deepening. “What do you seek here?”

  “I would have thought that obvious.” Fidelma could not help her automatic retort. “I have been asked to come here to verify that the sanctuary you have given to the fugitive who now resides in your chapel has been accorded in strict adherence to the law.”

  Brother Mongan sniffed slightly. “Had it not been, I would not have given it,” he replied with equal curtness.

  “It is a legal requirement that this be checked,” Fidelma responded, trying not to make her voice sharp, as was her inclination. She did not wish to irritate Brother Mongan, realising that impatience was one of her faults.

  “And I confirm it,” replied the religieux.

  “I am glad to hear it,” smiled Fidelma, and swung down from her horse so that she could stand facing him. “However, there are still formalities to be gone through.”

  Brother Mongan was clearly unhappy.

  “Formalities?”

  “Of course,” she replied, tethering her horse to a nearby bush and glancing around. There were two other horses grazing nearby among the trees. “I suppose one of those belongs to your fugitive?”