“And his name?”
“His name is well known among us for it is my cousin, brother to Cúan-the man I nominate is Selbach. He sits at my side.”
“Stand, Selbach, and say if you accept the nomination.”
The elderly man Declan had earlier spoken to now stood.
“I do.”
Brehon Declan stood for a moment looking at the silent audience in the hall.
“Are there any other challenges or nominations?”
Fidelma saw that he was glancing toward the group surrounding Augaire. They were young men, arrogant, and whose glances showed that they were taking their cue from Augaire. Fidelma saw Augaire frown at his companions and shake his head quickly.
“If none,” went on Declan,“than we must proceed with the debate on the rival nominees.”
There was a silence.
“It behooves each nominee to make statements on their merits and attitudes for being considered,” Declan announced. “We must start with the first nominee, Talamnach, for he has been chosen by Cúan, our chief.”
Talamnach rose slowly. He still wore his smile of confidence.
“You all know me and must judge of yourselves what my merits are. You know that they satisfy our great chief, Cúan. The test of a great leader, as Cúan undoubtedly is, is that he leaves behind him an heir who has the determination and ability to continue his achievements. I believe that I am such an heir. Cúan commanded wisely and was, therefore, obeyed cheerfully. He had no need to lead but was content to point the way-and in that fact lay the greatness of his leadership. But he always accepted the responsibility in all things-he would say ‘I am in error’; he would never say ‘my followers were in error’-that, again, is the mark of great leadership. .”
Fidelma listened to the young man with a certain degree of admiration for his oratory for not once had he, so far, sung his own praises as to his ability. Yet in praising the ability of the man who had nominated him, Talamnach was winning the hearts and minds of the derbfine.
“I have watched Cúan deal with many difficult problems. That is the responsibility of being a chief for only difficult problems are laid before the chief. If problems were easy to resolve then someone else would have already resolved them.”
Talamnach paused to cough, as it was clear his throat had become dry from the acrid atmosphere put out by the burning-brand torches that lit the great hall.
He turned to pick up one of the small mugs of mead and sipped it before turning back to the derbfine.
“I say this, that I would. . I would. .” He paused and coughed again. His smile became a frown and then an expression of agony. He took a sudden step forward, hand outstretched and, then, with a croaking sound in his throat, he pitched headlong onto the floor.
Consternation arose suddenly among the people. Most were on their feet, shouting and moving about in agitation.
Fidelma rose, too, hearing Declan calling for an apothecary. She began to push her way through the crowd, finally emerging to see Declan and another man bending over Talamnach. The second man was shaking his head. Declan glanced up and saw Fidelma and gave an angry grimace.
“He is dead,” he said angrily. “Did I not warn that there would be trouble?”
Fidelma pushed her way to the pottery mug, which Talamnach had just drunk from, and placed a fingertip in it; holding it to her nose, she sniffed. Then she repeated this action with the mug nearer to Cúan.
She turned swiftly back to Declan.
“No one must drink from these mugs. It is Tre luib eccineol,” she said sharply. “I recognize its odor. He has been poisoned.”
Declan was looking shocked.
“Are you sure?” he demanded. Tre luib eccineol was a deadly herb. It was said that the herb being introduced in his food had murdered the satirist Cridenbél. The look that she gave him was enough for him not to question her further.
“Everyone, everyone return to your seats. No one is to leave the hall,” Declan was shouting. Warriors were called from outside the hall to stand guard at the doors and while people were still milling around looking bewildered, Declan had ordered the attendant who had brought in the mead to be seized and escorted back to the hall.
Cúan was seated in his chair, looking stunned. Fidelma glanced quickly ’round. The crowd around Selbach was huddled together and talking animatedly among themselves. Augaire was sprawled in his seat, now wearing a supercilious smile as if something amusing had happened, although his companions looked shocked and nervous. Only Berrach, the wife of Cúan, had not changed her expression, which was one of total detachment and disinterest.
Declan stepped forward, hand raised to still the muttering of the derbfine.
The body of Talamnach lay sprawled before him.
“Talamnach has been poisoned, murdered before our eyes,” he announced. “If we need look for a motive, we should remind ourselves as to why we are gathered here.”
Several people now turned their suspicious gaze toward Selbach.
The man rose from his seat.
“I object!”
“To what do you object, Selbach?” inquired Declan blandly.
“Why. . why, to your inference!” spluttered the man indignantly.
“I have inferred nothing. I have indicated a motive, that is all. I have sent for the attendant who brought in the mead that has been poisoned. It is fortunate that we have among us Sister Fidelma, Fidelma of Cashel, who most of you know by reputation as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts. That she is sister to our king, Colgú, makes her well placed to sit in judgment on the Uí Liatháin. I will ask her to assist me in resolving this crime.”
He glanced toward Fidelma as if seeking her permission and she hesitated only for a moment before acknowledging her acceptance.
“Is the attendant who brought in this poison apprehended?” demanded Declan from one of the warriors.
“He is,” the man said.
“Bring him forth.”
The attendant was an elderly man, white-haired, and as he was pushed, none too gently, before the assembly, he looked understandably bewildered and frightened. He seemed to be shivering in fright.
“Well, Muirecán, things look bad for you,” Declan declared, his tone threatening.
Fidelma frowned in disapproval. It was not the way she would examine a suspect. She moved forward and touched Declan’s arm gently.
“As you have invited me to assist you, perhaps I might question this man?”
Declan glanced at her in surprise and then shrugged.
“By all means.”
Fidelma turned on the aged servant and smiled reassuringly.
“Your name is Muirecán, I believe?”
“It is.”
“How long have you been in service to the chief?”
“Ten years to Cúan, lady, and twenty-three years to his father, Cú Chongelt, who was chief before him.” The man was holding his shaking hands clasped tightly before him. He was glancing from side to side, like some animal seeking a means of escape.
“There is no need to worry, Muirecán, provided you tell us the truth,” Fidelma said gently.
The man nodded quickly.
“I swear it on the Holy Cross, lady. I will tell the truth.”
“You brought in the mead to this hall. We all saw you do that.”
“I did. I don’t deny that. But I did not know it was poisoned.”
“So tell us how you came to bring in the mead. Did you draw the mead yourself?”
“I did. From the large barrel in the kitchen.”
“A new barrel?”
He shook his head.
“It is half full and many a drink has been served from it.”
“Who instructed you to draw the mead and bring it into the hall?”
The man looked blank and shook his head.
“No one, lady. It is the custom of Cúan and his tánaiste to have a drink placed at their side during any official meeting in the great hall.”
; Fidelma glanced to the still shocked and numbed-looking chieftain and had to prompt him for confirmation. He eventually nodded in agreement.
“It was the custom,” he echoed hollowly.
“And everyone knew of this custom?” she asked, turning back to the attendant.
“Everyone,” affirmed Muirecán.
Fidelma was silent for a moment and then smiled encouragingly.
“So let us continue. You drew the two mugs of mead and placed them on the tray. Did you come straight into the hall?”
Muirecán shook his head.
“I did not. I came straight from the kitchen to the antechamber outside and there I found that Cúan had not yet arrived. So I put down the mead on a table that is there. .”
“Was anyone in the antechamber?”
“The Brehon,” he nodded to Declan; “my lady, Berrach, the wife of Cúan; the chief’s son, Augaire; and the chief’s brother, Selbach. . oh, and Talamnach entered shortly afterwards.”
“And so you stood by the tray awaiting the arrival of the chief?”
Muirecán shook his head.
“Talamnach asked me to go to Cúan’s quarters and warn him that everyone was waiting. The Brehon was with Talamnach at the time and had been speaking with him when Talamnach gave me the order.”
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 s
hould 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 chamber?” 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.”
Whispers of the Dead sf-15 Page 17