Whispers of the Dead sf-15

by Peter Tremayne

  “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 but 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 C
ashel.

  “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.”

  “What is your evidence in the matter of the murder of Brother Eolang?”

  Ferchar looked puzzled and Fidelma intervened.

  “He means the death of Brother Eolang, the brother found by the pier.”

  Brehon Gormán scowled in annoyance at her correction.

  “That is what I meant,” he said tightly.

  “I was riding along the shore on my way to Cashel,” began Ferchar. “Across, on the island, I saw a religieux mooring his boat at the end of one of the side piers of the abbey.”

  “I do not think we need bring forward evidence that this was Brother Eolang bringing the boat to the herb garden pier where he was found,” intervened Fidelma.

  Brehon Gormán motioned Ferchar to continue with an impatient gesture.

  “The religieux had moored the boat and was walking along the pier when it seemed that he stopped abruptly and turned back to the boat. This meant that he was facing toward me. Then, curiously, he started back as if something had stopped him. I heard a crack. He staggered back and fell off the edge of the pier. I started shouting to attract attention. I shouted for some minutes and then I saw another religieux exit from a gate. He heard my voice but I doubt if he heard my words. I gestured to where the religieux had fallen in. He must have seen him for he waved acknowledgment and jumped in and started to haul the body to the shore. Seeing that another religieux had arrived, and that there was nothing else I could do, I continued on my journey, not realizing that in that short time, the first religieux had met his death.”

  “Are you sure there was no one else around at the time the religieux fell into the water? The religieux was by himself on the pier?”

  “No one else was there,” affirmed Ferchar.

  “But you heard a crack?” intervened Brehon Gormán.

  “I did. Like a branch breaking.”

  “Perhaps someone had cast a spear at him to make him fall back or. . yes, a slingshot perhaps?” suggested the Brehon.

  “He was facing towards me on the shore. The distance was too far to cast a slingshot or any other weapon. No, there was no one around when the man fell into the lake.”

  “Are you claiming that this was the act of some supernatural force?” demanded the Brehon turning to Fidelma. “What of the prediction? You cannot explain away the accuracy of the prediction.”

  Fidelma smiled at Ferchar.

  “Wait outside and ask Brother Conchobar to enter.”

  A moment later the old man did so and Fidelma asked the Brehon to spread the astrological chart before him.

  “Conchobar will you examine this chart and give me your advice?” she invited.

  The old man nodded and took the chart from her hands. He spent some time poring over it and then he looked up.

  “It is a good chart. A professional one.”

  Brehon Gormán smiled approvingly.

  “You agree, then, learned Conchobar with the conclusions of Eolang?”

  “Most things are correct. .” agreed the old man.

  Fidelma could see the Brehon’s smile broaden but Brother Conchobar was continuing.

  “. . except one important point. Brother Eolang appears to have predicted that within a week following his drawing and judging his horary question that he would die. It would happen on the day that Mercury and Jupiter perfected conjunction.”

  “Exactly. The first day of the month of Aibreán. And that was the very day that he was killed, exactly as he predicted,” the Brehon confirmed. “You cannot deny that.”

  The old man tapped on the chart with his finger, shaking his head.

  “The error, however, is that he failed to note that Mercury turned direct a few hours later and never perfected the conjunction. Brehon, as you have some knowledge of the art, you should know that we call this phenomenon refranation. Alas, I have seen this carelessness, this overlooking of such an important fact, among many astrologers. To give Brother Eolang his due, perhaps he was too confused and worried to sit and spend time calculating the planetary movements accurately.”

  “But he was accurate. He did indeed die on the predicted day. How do you explain it?” protested Brehon Gormán.

  “But he was not murdered,” insisted Brother Conchobar. “The chart does not show it.”

  “Then how can it be explained?” demanded the Brehon in bewilderment. “How did he die?”

  Fidelma intervened with a smile.

  “If you come with me, I will show you what happened.”

  At the end of the old pier, Fidelma paused.

  “Brother Eolang brought the boat to the end of the pier. He climbed onto the pier and started to head to the abbey. He forgot something in the boat. His marsupium to be exact. This was found by Brother Petrán later. So, halfway along the pier, he turned back for it. This much did our friend, Ferchar, observe from the far shore.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from Ferchar.

  “Now, look at the condition of the planks on the pier. Some are rotten, some are not nailed down. He stepped sharply towards the boat and. .”

  Fidelma turned, examined the planking critically for a moment, stepped sharply on one. The far end rose with a cracking noise and she had to step swiftly aside to avoid being hit by it as it flew up into the air. She turned back triumphantly to the onlookers.

  “Brother Eolang was hit by the end of the plank between the eyes, causing the wounds found by the apothecary. It also knocked him unconscious and he fell back into the water. Drowning does not have to be a long process. By the time he was hauled out of the water he was dead.”

  “Then the prediction. .?” began the bewildered Brehon.

  “Was false. It was an accident. It was nobody’s fault.”

  Sometime later as Ferchar, Conchobar and Fidelma were being rowed back to the mainland, the old astrologer turned to Fidelma with a lopsided smile.

  “I can’t help thinking that had Brother Eolang been a better astrologer, he would have made a correct prediction. It was all there, danger of death from water and he was accurate as to the day such danger would occur.”

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

  “The fault was that Brother Eolang, like our friend, Brehon Gormán, believed that the patterns of the stars absolved man from using his free will; that man no longer had choice and that everything was predestined. That is not how the ancients taught the art of nemgnacht.”

  Brother Conchobar nodded approvingly.

  “So you do remember what I taught you?” />
  “You taught that there are signs that serve as warnings and give us information from which the wise can make decisions. They are options, possibilities from which we may select choices. The new learning from the east seems more fatalistic. Even the Christian teachings of Augustine of Hippo would have it that everything is predestined. That is why I am more happy with the teachings of Pelagius.”

  “Even though Augustine’s supporters have sneered at Pelagius as being ‘full of Irish porridge’?”

  “Better Irish porridge than blind prejudice.”

  Brother Conchobar chuckled.

  “Have a care, Fidelma, lest you be accused of a pagan heresy!”

  THE BLEMISH

  Fidelma!”

  The young monk nearly collided with a tall girl as she came around the corner of the building with such speed and force that he barely had time to flatten himself against the wall to avoid her.

  “Can’t stop,” she flung breathlessly at him as she hurried on with her hair and robes flying with the speed of her progress.

  “Brehon Morann is looking for you,” the religieux shouted after her retreating form.

  “I know,” her voice flung back. “I’m on my way.”

  “You’re late for your examination,” the young monk added before realizing that she could no longer hear him. He stood for a moment, looking disapprovingly after her as she disappeared toward a gray stone building that was the center of the college, then he shrugged and continued on his way.

  Fidelma did not need to be reminded that she was late for her examination with Brehon Morann of Tara. The examination was one of several she was taking which, she hoped, would result in her achieving the degree of Dos and thus ending her fourth year of study at the college of which Morann was Principal. The degree of Dos, so called because the student was regarded as a young tree ready to develop-for such was the literal meaning of the word-marked the start of her graduation from the school of law studies. It was the lowest rung of the graduate ladder. With such a degree one could go forth and practice as a minor magistrate or legal advisor. Fidelma had a higher ambition than that. But if she did not present herself within the appointed hour she would not be graduating at all.