‘We took Argantken’s body back to my farm,’ continued Barbatil, ‘so that my wife and family could mourn her in the proper manner. And we took Macliau to my pigpen and locked him in. We decided that we would hang him after we had interred my daughter’s body. That was to be midday today.’
‘So what happened?’
‘We buried my daughter. All these good folks came,’ he encompassed his companions with a motion of his arm. ‘Then we went to the pigpen. We found Macliau had managed to break free. We soon picked up his trail and it led us here. The coward has taken refuge in the chapel but we will drag him out like the animal he is and—’
‘You will do no such thing. I have promised you justice and we,’ Fidelma threw an arm towards the religious and the warriors, ‘will not countenance vengeance. Vengeance only breeds more vengeance. Do you know what sanctuary is?’
Barbatil snorted derisively, replying, ‘Just a cunning means to prevent the guilty from punishment.’
‘No, my friend, it is a means to prevent injustice. The Church recognises the right of giving protection to all peoples. Asylum is recognised by all civilised people, and rules and laws are devised to govern it. For a person to qualify for the protection of the Church there are rules, my friend. Rules not only for them to qualify, but rules as to how long that protection may be extended. So I tell you this: I must now hear what the accused has to say in his defence. When the evidence is heard, then – and only then – can a judgement be made.’
There was a muttering of discontent among the crowd.
Fidelma continued to speak directly to Barbatil through Brother Metellus.
‘You hold the decision, my friend. You lead these people. Your word may stop your friends from pursuing a misguided course. Your word may even stop them squandering their blood needlessly for, make no mistake, the warriors you see before you will defend this right of sanctuary. Not to defend Macliau, but to defend a higher principle – the right of the Church to offer sanctuary. They will sell their lives dearly in this cause. Are you prepared for this unnecessary effusion of blood? Death of many for the pursuit of vengeance? Do you believe your daughter would rest happy in the knowledge that such injustice was carried out in her name?’
She saw the man wavering and she prayed that Brother Metellus was translating her words with the same eloquence as she was trying to give them.
‘Send your friends away, so that they may not die this day. Remain here with me and hear the words of Macliau. Then you may see that I am not merely defending him for the sake of who he is, but rather to search for the truth. Out of this truth, justice will come to you.’
The farmer stood hesitantly. Then he sighed deeply and turned, handing his weapon to his companion Coric.
‘I will go with the foreigner from Hibernia,’ he said slowly. ‘Wait for me here, Coric.’ Then he turned to the rest and raised his voice. ‘Friends, I thank you for what you have done. I am a man who believes in the Church and in the law. And I believe the law is for everyone, not only for our lords. I am going to give this foreign Sister of the Faith a chance to demonstrate that her words are not mere sounds that vanish on the air. I will go with her to see and hear what she intends, and how she will conjure this justice for my family and me. Indeed, justice for all of us who have suffered from the raids of this Dove of Death.’
‘What do you want us to do, Barbatil?’ cried a voice from the crowd.
‘For the moment, disperse to your homes. Disperse, but hold yourselves ready, for if lies are being told here, then these lies must be met by a force that is born of our truth.’
There was a muttering among the crowd but then they slowly turned, in ones and twos, and began to remove from the buildings of the abbey, taking their weapons with them.
Brother Metellus had been sweating in his anxiety and now he almost physically collapsed.
Bleidbara moved in an aggressive manner towards Barbatil. Fidelma saw what was passing in his mind and spoke sharply.
‘Bleidbara, I was not amusing myself with false words. Barbatil is under my protection and will not be harmed, for no one can condemn his actions entirely, given what he has suffered. He will come into the chapel and sit unharmed while we question Macliau. Do I make myself clear?’
Bleidbara reddened a little and then he bowed his head stiffly.
‘You have made yourself clear, lady.’
Brother Metellus turned to her; the sweat stood out on his forehead and the relief was plain on his features.
‘I can only commend your action, for I have never seen a woman stand up to an angry mob and turn their anger to a peaceful solution before. I was afraid for all of us.’
‘Yet not so afraid that you were prevented from giving Macliau sanctuary and were prepared to defend your decision with your life,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘You did the right thing.’
‘From time immemorial the right of protection on a holy spot has been inviolable. Of course I could not contemplate giving in before an armed mob,’ replied Brother Metellus.
Fidelma glanced to where Coric had gone to sit on a stone wall nearby, still holding the weapons he and Barbatil had brought with them.
‘There seem to be some essential witnesses missing,’ she said, after a moment’s thought.
‘Essential witnesses?’ queried Bleidbara, puzzled.
‘Where are the companions of Macliau? He left Brilhag not only with Argantken but with two huntsmen and two warriors. Where are they?’ She turned to Barbatil. ‘Did you see any sign of the rest of Macliau’s hunting-party when you found him?’
When Brother Metellus had translated this, the farmer shook his head.
‘There was no sign of anyone else but the body of my daughter and her murderer.’
‘That is a cause of worry,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Bleidbara, I suggest that you send out a couple of your men in search of these lost souls. You can spare them now. It is of concern that they have deserted Macliau.’
Bleidbara turned to his warriors and relayed the orders to two men, who immediately left on horseback. Meanwhile, Fidelma led her companions into the chapel, leaving the guards and most of the religious outside.
Macliau was slumped on the floor against the altar. He was in a pitiful condition. The stench of stale drink and the excrement of pigs was nauseous. There was blood on his face and clothing, and he was shivering as if with some ague. Trifina was standing over him and her angry voice faded as they entered.
Brother Metellus, hearing Fidelma’s sharp intake of breath and the disgust on her face as she viewed Macliau, whispered: ‘We have had no time to cleanse him or give him clean clothes.’
‘At least give him a chair to sit on,’ she instructed. ‘By the altar, if he prefers not to leave it,’ she added, for she knew that it was in the area of the altar that most churches placed their zone of sanctuary.
Trifina had turned as they approached. Her expression was anxious, but Bleidbara quickly told her what Fidelma had done. Fidelma, by unspoken agreement, took total charge of the situation.
‘Barbatil shall sit there where he may observe,’ she instructed. ‘Brother Metellus, you will have to act as his interpreter for I shall speak to Macliau in Latin. Before you do so, Brother Metellus, send one of your brethren to bring water for Macliau to drink and a cloth to wipe the blood from his face. Bleidbara, help him into that chair.’
Someone had already brought a chair for the dishevelled young man and another for Fidelma. She seated herself opposite to him.
When Macliau, who had remained silent so far, had wiped his face and taken some water, he looked at her with a tearful expression, almost like a little boy lost.
‘Why did they have to kill Albiorix, lady?’ The words came out as a sob.
She stared, not understanding for a moment, and then she remembered his little terrier.
‘Who killed your dog?’
‘I don’t know. Whoever killed Argantken, I suppose. Such a little dog…yet they killed him.’
F
idelma turned to Barbatil. ‘You did not mention the dog.’
The farmer shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘What was there to mention? It was only a dog.’
‘It was Albiorix my dog!’ wept Macliau.
‘Did you kill it?’ queried Fidelma sharply of Barbatil.
‘Of course not, lady,’ replied the farmer. ‘We found the dog with its neck broken, lying at his feet. He must have killed it.’ He jerked his head at Macliau.
‘I did not kill him. I would never kill him,’ snivelled the son of the lord of Brilhag.
Fidelma turned back, her voice unemotional and commanding.
‘Pull yourself together, Macliau,’ she remonstrated. ‘You are the son of the Lord of Brilhag. Be a man and remember that your companion Argantken, this man’s daughter, has died a most bloody and terrible death!’
Macliau blinked rapidly and looked round, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. An apologetic expression crossed his face. He sniffed and wiped his face again.
‘I regret you see me in this position, lady,’ he muttered, licking his dry lips.
‘And I regret to see any man in such a plight,’ Fidelma replied, not unkindly. ‘Perhaps you will tell us now what happened. You should start from when you left Brilhag.’
Macliau glanced nervously at Barbatil and then back to Fidelma. His eyes seemed to ask a question.
‘It is Barbatil’s right to hear what you have to say,’ Fidelma said.
Macliau tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I was going on a hunt,’ he frowned, as if trying to remember.
‘You left Brilhag with your companion Argantken,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘You also had four companions, two warriors and two huntsmen.’
He stared at the stone floor as if examining something there.
‘I took my two huntsmen and two warriors,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I was hoping to return by nightfall.’
‘But you did not. So what happened?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘The hunting was bad. Argantken was tired and so I took her to the old oratory where I thought we could rest and take refreshment. It was Argantken who suggested that while we…while we rested, the huntsmen and the others could go and try to track down a wild boar or a deer. So they left us there.’
‘In the oratory?’
‘Exactly. Night eventually came on and we had lit a fire. I wondered why our companions had not returned. Anyway, we had food that we had taken with us as well as drink, so we decided to remain there and not to attempt the ride back to Brilhag that night.’
‘There was no sign of your companions at all?’
‘None. I admit it was curious, but I assumed they might have lost the way back to the oratory.’
‘Was that feasible? Had you been in this area before?’
Macliau frowned as if apparently thinking about the matter for the first time, before saying, ‘It is true that we had hunted before in that very area.’
‘So we can discount the idea that they could not find the way back to the oratory. Yet you were not so alarmed that you felt you should return at once to Brilhag?’
‘Why would I be alarmed? Oh, you mean the brigands.’ Macliau shook his head. ‘But I am the son of the mac’htiern. Why should we be afraid of robbers?’
‘Why, indeed?’ Barbatil said loudly, when the remark was translated to him. ‘He was one of them.’
Fidelma frowned warningly at the farmer before returning to Macliau.
‘So you remained in the oratory that night?’
‘Yes. We ate, drank and fell asleep. When I awoke, he,’ he pointed angrily to Barbatil, ‘and his friends were throwing me into a stream. Me, the son of their lord!’
Fidelma looked at him closely. ‘Are you telling me that you knew nothing between the time you went to sleep and being awoken by Barbatil?’
Macliau kept his eyes on the floor; it seemed as if he was trying to remember. Slowly, his eyes cleared and a look of horror came over his face.
‘I was asleep,’ he said slowly. ‘And…and then I came awake and someone was holding me down. Yes, I remember that now. The fire had died and all I could see were shadows. Someone forced my mouth open and someone else was pouring strong drink into me. I thought I was going to drown – I choked and struggled to no avail, and I finally passed out. When I came to, someone was hitting me. Then I was thrown into a cold stream. People were yelling at me. Attacking me. They claimed that I had stabbed Argantken – that she was dead. They bound me and dragged me along. I was still only half-conscious but I saw some of them carrying a body. Argantken’s body. Then I knew it was not a bad dream. It was true that the poor girl was dead. I remember that I had that one thought before I passed out again. I do not know how long I was unconscious.’
He paused. No one spoke.
Macliau rubbed a filthy hand across his face, streaked with tears. ‘When I came to again, I was in a dark, muddy place. It stank; as I do now. I saw it was a pen, filled with pigs. Then I found the body of Albiorix. They had killed him and thrown his body into the pigsty with me.’
Fidelma held up her hand and addressed Barbatil. ‘You did that?’
‘I told you – he killed the animal. It was his dog. So after we have hanged him we shall bury him with the dog on top of him. That is an insult among our people.’ The farmer showed no sign of guilt or remorse.
Fidelma exhaled softly and, with a shake of her head, turned back to Macliau again. She raised her hand before he could speak.
‘I know you say that you could not kill your dog, but continue: what did you do next?’
‘I tried to get out of the pigpen but someone had barred the means of exit. It took me all night, trying my strength against it. It was not long before daybreak that I managed to create a small burrow, whereby I crawled out. I managed to get into some nearby woods, and went through them, wondering where to make for. I had just realised that I was nearer to the abbey than Brilhag when I began to hear the cries of people whom I knew instinctively were my pursuers. I had to make it to the abbey. I ran. I ran as no one has ever had to run before. I nearly fell with exhaustion but then…then I saw the chapel and Brother Metellus, and I fell on my knees before him, begging him to shelter me from the fiends who were after me.’
‘There were no fiends after you, Macliau,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘It was a father who had lost his daughter, in a most violent and tragic way, and the friends and relatives of that father.’ She was gazing into the face of the weak, indolent young man, trying to judge the honesty of his words. Finally she shrugged and rose to her feet.
‘What of my brother?’ Trifina demanded. ‘We cannot leave him here in this state.’ As much as she had criticised her brother, it seemed that the girl did have affection for her sibling.
‘I agree,’ Fidelma replied. ‘However, as I see it, there is a case to be answered. Macliau must receive a fair hearing before one of your judges – a bretat, as you call them.’
‘Iarnbud?’ suggested Bleidbara.
Fidelma shook her head firmly. ‘He is a friend of the lord of Brilhag. No, this judge has to be independent, someone who is beyond reproach. The people of this peninsula must be confident that the judge has no favouritism towards the family of the lord of Brilhag.’
‘Then we must send for a judge from Bro-Gernev,’ Brother Metellus suggested. ‘That is the neighbouring kingdom.’
‘Would that be acceptable to you, Barbatil?’ asked Fidelma.
The farmer reluctantly indicated that if time was to be wasted in a legal hearing, then such a judge was better than one with a close association with Brilhag.
‘Very well.’ Fidelma glanced round at the company as they waited expectantly. ‘I would suggest that we secure an agreement with Barbatil there. Macliau may return to Brilhag and give his word of honour, swearing as a sacred oath, to present himself before such a judge where this matter can be fairly heard. I presume that you have the same concept in your laws as we of Hibernia have in ours? A man is bound by his honour. He will
make no attempt to escape or conceal himself from justice until the time comes for the hearing. And Barbatil must take a similar oath that he will not attempt to harm, or cause to be harmed, Macliau, while he resides at Brilhag awaiting this hearing. Can that be agreed?’
Macliau was hesitant about leaving the safety of what he saw as the sanctuary of the abbey but, if guarantees were given, he agreed to accompany warriors back to Brilhag – but on a curious condition. He demanded that someone went to the farm of Barbatil to recover the carcass of his dog so that he could bury it at Brilhag.
Barbatil took a little more persuading as he saw in the plan some plot to take Macliau to the safety of the fortress and deprive him and his family of justice. Fidelma argued long and ardently through Brother Metellus and finally the farmer agreed.
Brother Metellus immediately despatched a messenger to the neighbouring western kingdom of Bro-Gernev, to ask King Gradlon to send a judge to hear the accusation against Macliau.
‘I suggest that we all return to Brilhag now, where we can await the coming of this bretat Bro-Gernev,’ Fidelma concluded.
‘It will probably take three or four days before the man can arrive here,’ Brother Metellus warned them. ‘Our messenger has to travel west to the city of Kemper, which lies at the junction of two rivers, a few days’ ride from here.’ He paused and then looked embarrassed. ‘I nearly forgot – the Widow Aourken was here earlier and asking to see you.’
Fidelma was momentarily distracted because Trifina was still worried.
‘Let us make sure the mob understands that it is to allow us safe passage back to Brilhag.’ Trifina had swung round to Barbatil, who reddened under the fire in her eyes and from the tone of the young woman’s voice as she addressed him. Fidelma was not sure what she was telling the man. However, at the end of it, the farmer turned to Fidelma and spoke firmly and with dignity. Brother Metellus interpreted.
‘He says that he has given his oath to you, Fidelma. He will abide by it and instruct his family, his neighbours and his friends to keep it.’
The Dove of Death Page 24