Hemlock at Vespers

TARNISHED HALO

Father Allan looked up with a frown from his interrupted devotions as Sister Fidelma opened the door of his cubicu-lum unannounced.

“I am told that you have urgent need of a lawyer,” she said without preamble.

As he scrambled from his knees, making a hasty genuflection to the crucifix that hung on the wall and before which he had been praying, she noticed that his face was graven in lines of anxiety. Once on his feet he turned and surveyed the young religieuse who stood poised within the door frame. From the surprise on his face, she was clearly not what he had been expecting. She was tall, with rebellious strands of red hair escaping from her cabhal or head-dress; her figure, lithe and vital, clearly indicated a joy in living, scarcely concealed by her habit.

“Are you the dálaigh whom I was told to expect?” Father Allan’s voice held an incredulous tone.

“I am Fidelma of Kildare, an advocate of the courts,” affirmed Fidelma. “I am qualified to the rank of Anruth.”

The Father Superior blinked. The qualification of Anruth was only one degree below the highest qualification obtainable either at the ecclesiastic or secular universities of the five kingdoms of Ireland. He swallowed as he eventually remembered his etiquette and thrust out a hand to invite the religieuse in.

“Welcome, Sister. Welcome to our community of piety and peace…”

Fidelma interrupted the ritual greeting with a slight cutting motion of her hand.

“Not so peaceful, I am told,” she observed drily. “I was informed by the Abbot of Lios Mór Mochuda that murder has been committed within these walls and that you have need of the services of a dálaigh. I came as soon as I could.”

Father Allan’s lips compressed into a thin line.

“Not exactly within these walls,” he countered pedantically. “Come, walk with me in our gardens and I will endeavour to explain matters.”

He led the way from the tiny grey monastic building which was perched on a rocky outcrop thrusting itself above a forest, and beside which a winding river meandered. The small, religious community had a breathtaking view across the green vegetation toward distinct blue-hazed mountain peaks.

There was a small enclosed garden at the back of a dry-stone-built oratory. A young Brother was hard at work hoeing in a far corner. Father Allan led the way to a granite wall, well out of earshot of the young man, and seated himself. It was midday and the sun was warming and pleasant on the skin. Fidelma followed his example, perching herself on the wall.

“Now…?” she prompted.

“There has, indeed, been murder committed here, Fidelma of Kildare,” confirmed Father Allan, his tone heavy with sorrow.

“Who was killed, when and how?”

Father Allan waited a moment, as if to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

“Brother Moenach was killed. Perhaps you have heard of him?”

“We are many miles from Kildare,” observed Fidelma. “Why would I have heard of this Brother Moenach?”

“He was a saintly youth,” sighed Father Allan. “Yes, a veritable saint. He was a lad of eighteen summers but so steeped in wisdom, in poetry and in song; so serene and calm of nature was he that he was surely blessed by the Living God. His charity and sweet disposition were renowned as much as his musical accomplishments. Abbots and chieftains, even the King of Cashel, sought his musical talent to create solace for their spirits.”

Fidelma raised a cynical eye at Father Allan’s enthusiasm for the virtues of Moenach.

“So an eighteen-year-old member of your house, Brother Moenach, was killed?” she summarized.

The Father Superior of the settlement nodded.

“When?”

“It happened a week ago.”

Fidelma exhaled deeply. That meant that there was little evidence for her to see. And doubtless Brother Moenach had been decently buried many days ago. But she had promised the abbot of Lios Mór Mochuda that she would investigate this affair, for the tiny community fell within his ecclesiastical jurisdiction.

“How?”

“It was a village woman named Muirenn who killed him. We have her locked up to be taken before the chieftain for summary justice…”

“After she has been given a proper hearing before the local Brehon,” interrupted Fidelma. “But I ask ‘how’ not ‘who.’ ”

Father Allan frowned.

“I do not follow.”

Fidelma restrained her irritation.

“Tell me the facts about this incident as you know them.”

“One evening, Brother Aedo came running to find me. It was shortly before vespers, as I recall. He had been returning through the forest from the village with some vegetables for the settlement when he saw a movement through the trees to one side of the path. Curiosity prompted him to investigate. To his horror, in a clearing, he came upon the body of young Moenach. Kneeling beside him was an old woman of the village, Muirenn. She was holding a rock in her hand. There was blood on the stone and on the head of young Moenach. Brother Aedo fled and came straightaway to tell me of this terrible thing…”

“Fled? Yet you tell me that Muirenn is an old woman? What put such fear into a man of God?”

The Father Superior wondered whether Fidelma was being sarcastic but could not make up his mind.

“Muirenn turned on his approach with such a ghastly look on her face that Aedo was afraid for his life,” Father Allan explained. “If Muirenn could kill Moenach then she could equally kill Aedo.”

“Her guilt is supposition at the moment. Then what? What after Aedo reported the matter to you?”

“Some of us went to the spot. Moenach was still lying there. His skull had been smashed in from behind. A bloodstained rock was lying where Muirenn had apparently discarded it. We hunted for her and found her hiding in her bothán in the village …”

“Hiding? Why would she return to her own cabin and her own village? Surely she would have known that she had been seen and recognized? It would be the last place to hide. And how was she hiding? Was she concealed somewhere in the cabin?”

Father Allan shook his head with a soft breath of vexation.

“I do not pretend to understand the workings of her mind. We caught her in her bothán, seated before her own hearth. We have been holding her for your interrogation, pending trial before the Brehon.”

“Hardly ‘hiding,’ from what you tell me,” observed Fidelma somewhat scornfully. “And did she admit culpability for the crime and volunteer a reason why she killed Moenach?”

The Father Superior sniffed deprecatingly.

“She claimed to have no knowledge at all of the murder although we have an eyewitness.”

“An eyewitness?” Fidelma’s voice was sharp. “Who is your eye-witness?”

Father Allan looked pained as if dealing with a dim-witted pupil. “Why, Brother Aedo of course.”

“But you told me that he was only an eyewitness to this woman kneeling by the side of Moenach and holding a bloody rock in her hand. That is not an eyewitness to the actual murder.”

Father Allan opened his mouth to protest and then, seeing the angry glint in Fidelma’s eyes… were they green or light blue?… he fell silent. When annoyed, her eyes seem to dance with a curious ice-colored fire.

“I don’t pretend to be learned in law,” he said stubbornly. “I have no time for such nuances.”

“The law text of the Berrad Airechta states clearly that a person can only give evidence about what he or she has seen or heard and what does not take place before a witness’s eyes is irrelevant. Nor can hearsay evidence be accepted.”

“But it was obvious…” began Father Allan.

“I am here to deal with law, not supposition,” snapped Fidelma. “And as a dálaigh, I would counsel you to be more careful with the words you choose. Tell me more about this… this saintly youth.”

Father Allan heard the slight sarcastic emphasis in her voice. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should chide her mocking tone, but finally decided to ignore it.

“He was the son of a chieftain of the Uí Fidgente. He displayed a rare gift as a musician, playing the cruit like an angel would play a harp. His poetry was sweet and pure. He was given to us for his fosterage when he was seven years of age and, after reaching the age of choice last year, he decided to stay on with us as a member of our community.”

“So he had a reputation as a musician?”

“He would be invited to attend the feastings of chieftains and abbots for miles about here,” Father Allan repeated.

“But what sort of person was he?”

“A pleasing person. Kind, wise, considerate of his brethren and of all who met him. He would always go out of his way to please his superiors and attend their needs. He was especially fond of animals and…”

“Was he beyond all human frailties, then?”

Father Allan took her question seriously and shook his head. With a sniff, Fidelma stood up. The set smile on her face was somewhat false. Father Allan was too full of angelic visions of his acolyte to be of further use to her.

“I would now speak with the woman, Muirenn,” she said. “After that, I wish to see Brother Aedo.”

The Father Superior slid reluctantly from his seat on the wall and indicated that she should follow him to a corner of the settlement buildings.

Muirenn sat in a corner of the small cubiculum, perched on the edge of the cot which she had been provided for a bed. She looked up defiantly as Fidelma entered. She was a small, reedlike woman with angry dark eyes, a thrusting jaw and a tumble of greying black hair. She was not really old but it could not be rightfully claimed that she was of middle age.

“I am Fidelma, a dálaigh of the courts,” announced Fidelma as she entered. She had asked Father Allan to leave her alone with the prisoner.

The woman, Muirenn, snorted.

“You have come to punish me for something I did not do,” she growled. There was anger in her voice, not fear.

“I am come here to discover the truth,” Fidelma corrected her mildly.

“You whining religious have already decided what is the truth. You should return from whence you came if you mean simply to confirm Allan’s prejudices.”

Fidelma sat down instead.

“Tell me your story,” she invited. “You are from the village be-low this settlement?”

“God curse the day that the religious started to build here,” muttered the woman.

“I am told that you are a widow? That you have no children but help the village apothecary. Is this the truth?”

“It is so.”

“Then tell me your story.”

“I was in the forest, gathering herbs and other plants for medications: I heard a cry nearby. I pushed forward to see what I could see. In a small clearing I saw a young religieux lying face down on the ground. On the far side of the clearing the bushes rustled, marking the passage of someone leaving the clearing. I thought I might help the young boy. I knelt down and I saw that it was too late. His skull had been smashed in beyond repair. I automatically picked the rock up that lay near his head; it was covered in blood.

“It was then that I heard a gasp behind me. I turned and saw another young religieux standing at the edge of the clearing staring at me. I scrambled to my feet and fled in terror back to my bothán.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

“Why would you run in terror when you beheld a young Brother standing there? Surely the natural thing would have been to seek his help?”

Muirenn scowled in annoyance.

“I ran in terror because I thought he was the murderer come back.”

“Why would you think that?” demanded Fidelma. “He was clearly a member of this community.”

“Exactly so. When I first entered the clearing and saw the bushes closing over the retreating figure, I caught a glance of his back. He was wearing the brown robe of a religieux. Moenach was killed by a member of his own community. I did not kill him.”

Outside the cell Father Allan glanced expectantly at Fidelma.

“Do you still wish to see Brother Aedo or have you concluded your investigation?”

Was there eagerness in his voice? He seemed so anxious that she simply endorse his claim that Muirenn was guilty. Fidelma pursed her lips and gazed at him for a moment before replying.

“I have just begun my investigation,” she replied softly. “Tell me, how many Brothers reside in this community?”

“What has that to do…?” Father Allan bit his tongue as he saw the furrows on her brow deepen and caught the angry flash of fire in her eyes. “There are ten Brothers altogether.”

“Did Brother Moenach have any special companions here?”

“We are all companions of each other,” sniffed the Father Superior. “Companions in the service of Christ.”

“Was he liked equally by everyone in the community?” she tried again.

“Of course,” snapped Father Allan. “And why wouldn’t he be?”

Fidelma suppressed a sigh.

“Has his cubiculum been cleared?” she asked, deciding to try another tack.

“I believe so. Brother Ninnedo would know. He is tending the garden there.” He pointed to where the fair-haired young monk was trimming a bush across the grassy slopes. “Come, I will…”

Fidelma held up a hand.

“I can see him. You need not trouble yourself, Father Allan. I will speak to him. I will find you when I am ready. Alert Brother Aedo to my intention to see him after I have spoken to Brother Ninnedo.”

She turned and made her way toward the young man, who was bent industriously to his work.

“Brother Ninnedo?”

The young man glanced up. He looked uncomfortable. His eyes darted toward the disappearing figure of Father Allan behind her.

“I am a dál-” Fidelma began to introduce herself.

The young man interrupted before Fidelma could explain.

“You are a dálaigh. I know. The community has been expecting you for some days since.”

“Good. And do you know why I am here?”

The young man simply nodded.

“I understand that you shared a cubiculum with Brother Moen-ach. I suppose you knew him well?”

Fidelma was surprised when she saw a positive expression of repugnance cross the young man’s face.

“I knew him well enough.”

“But you did not like him?” she asked quickly.

“I did not say so,” replied Ninnedo defensively.

“You did not have to. Why didn’t you like him? According to Father Allan, this Brother Moenach was little short of a saint.”

Ninnedo laughed bitterly.

“I did not like him because he was an evil person and not fit to serve the Living God. He could fool Father Allan. He could fool many people who were so complacent in office that they did not recognize a fawning sycophant who purposely flattered their vanity. But I and Brother Fogartach had to share a cubiculum with him and knew his evil ways.”

Fidelma stood with her head slightly to one side, slightly surprised at the young man’s articulate vehemence.

“How long did you know him?”

“We were fostered together, Sister. A long time.”

“And did you hate him all that time?”

“Mostly.”

“So, tell me, in what way did he manifest evil? You accuse him of being a fawning sycophant. Well, we are all, in some ways, flattering to those in power over us. That hardly constitutes evil.”

Ninnedo pressed his upper teeth against his lower Up, frowning a little, before he spoke.

“Father Allan would have Moenach as a saint. It would do me little good to speak plainly.”

“You are not speaking to Father Allan but a dálaigh of the courts. Speak only the truth and by truth you shall be rewarded.”

Ninnedo shifted uneasily at her sharp tone.

“Very well, Sister. Moenach was a liar, a thief and a lecher.”

Fidelma raised her eyebrows.

“If so, how could he disguise such vices from Father Allan?”

“He had the look of a cherub and could speak sweetly when the need arose. Often people cannot see beyond appearances. And he had an ability to make sweet music. He could fool people. But now and then that mask of innocence would slip. He was evil.”

“Can you cite proof, for hearsay evidence is inadmissible under the law.”

“Proof? He would steal anything he coveted. He stole from me and he stole from Brother Nath. Why, there used to be a Brother Follamon in our community until a few months ago. Moenach coveted a bejewelled cup belonging to Father Allan. He could not control his desires and he stole it. Father Allan launched a search for it. Moenach realized that he could not get away with the theft so he planted it in the cot of Brother Follamon so that it would be found and blame placed on him.”

“What happened?”

“Father Allan simply had Follamon expelled from the community.”

“Why wasn’t Moenach reported to the Father? If you knew and Brother Nath knew, why didn’t Father Allan accept your evidence?”

Ninnedo laughed again. There was no humor in his voice.

“You do not realize just how entrenched is the good Father’s belief in Moenach. Nath told him, for Nath knew what had happened. Father Allan simply accused Nath of jealousy and threatened his expulsion as well.”

“But Moenach’s position could not be maintained simply by Father Allan’s prejudice alone? There must be others who agreed with Father Allan’s views?”

Ninnedo sniffed bitterly.

“Oh yes. Moenach fooled some of the Brothers. That fool Aedo, for example.”

“Aedo who discovered the body with the old woman Muirenn kneeling by it?”

“The same. He was so shocked and prostrate by grief that, when he arrived back here with the news of what he had seen, he took to his bed for several days.”

“So? Aedo did not accompany Father Allan and the Brothers in search for Muirenn?”

“He did not.”

“And apart from some of these Brothers, Moenach fooled other people as well?”

“He had the same influence with many local chieftains and even abbots.”

“But you and Nath recognized him as evil?”

“We were fostered with him. We knew his ways, Sister. In fact, he seemed to delight in our knowing how he was fooling people like the Father Superior. He would challenge us to report him, knowing full well that we would not be believed.”

“Did you not support Nath against Father Allan?”

“Little use that was,” sniffed Ninnedo.

There came the sound of a distant bell.

“I must go,” Ninnedo said and moved off rapidly.

Fidelma stood for a moment watching him stride away and then she turned in search of Father Allan.

“You did not tell me that Moenach was not well liked by everyone.”

The Father Superior stared angrily.

“Who did not like him?” he demanded. “Ninnedo, I suppose?”

“I also speak of Brother Nath.”

“Nath!” Father Allán’s mouth drooped. “So Ninnedo told you of that matter?”

Fidelma did not reply.

“Sister Fidelma, you know as well as I, that in spite of our vows and dedication to the service of the Living God, we do not suddenly become more than human, nor do we become incorrupt.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I am aware of the accusations of Nath and Ninnedo. I have known them for many years, ever since they came here to be fostered with Moenach. They all grew up together but as men sometimes take a dislike for each other, so too with boys. I knew of their jealousies and dislike of Moenach.”

“Yes? And to what reason did you attribute it?”

“Who knows? When a boy is as talented and pure as Moenach, he will have many enemies.”

“And are you so sure that their accusations were unfounded?”

“I knew Moenach since he was seven years old. He was beyond reproach.”

“Although you do admit that none of us are incorruptible?” Fi-delma could not help the sarcastic thrust.

Father Allan did not rise to the bait.

“Moenach was someone special. It was a great pain for me to see Nath’s jealousy.”

“I want to talk to Brother Nath.”

Father Allan gestured awkwardly.

“But he … he has absconded. Did Ninnedo not mention this to you?”

Fidelma gazed blankly at him for a moment.

“Nath has disappeared?”

“Yes. No one has seen him for the last week.”

Fidelma caught her breath to suppress a surge of anger.

“Are you telling me that Brother Nath disappeared a week ago? And it was a week ago that Brother Moenach was murdered. Why was I not informed of this before?”

Father Allan’s face whitened.

“But Muirenn slew Moenach. Why would you be interested in a headstrong young man who has slunk away from the community?”

“Why was I not informed about this?” repeated Fidelma. “Has any investigation been made into what has happened to Nath?”

Father Allan shrugged helplessly.

“He broke his vows and absconded. That is all.”

“Tell Brother Ninnedo to join me at once.”

Father Allan blinked, hesitated and moved off.

Ninnedo arrived with surly face. Father Allan stood behind him, watching anxiously.

“I want the full truth, Ninnedo,” Fidelma told him. “And I want it now.”

“I have spoken the truth.”

“Yet you did not tell me that your friend Nath has been missing since the day of the killing of Moenach.”

Ninnedo blanched but contrived a stubborn expression.

“Are you accusing him of killing Moenach and running off?” he muttered. “Everyone says Muirenn slew Moenach.”

“It is my role to find out the truth. Do you know where Nath is?”

Ninnedo stared at her. It was the young Brother who dropped his eyes first. He shook his head.

“Speak to Ainder, the daughter of Illand,” he muttered.

“Who is Ainder?” Fidelma asked.

Father Allan moved uneasily from one foot to another.

“Ainder is a young girl of the village who washes the clothes of the community. She lives with her father, Illand, who oversees our gardens.”

Fidelma turned her gaze back to Brother Ninnedo.

“Why should I speak with this Ainder?”

“It is not my place to anticipate what she will say to you,” the young man replied spiritedly, attempting to copy Fidelma’s style.

Fidelma stared at Ninnedo’s stubborn features and sighed.

“Where will I find this Ainder?”

“The bothán of Illand is at the bottom of the hill,” interrupted the Father Superior. “Seek her there, Sister Fidelma.”

She decided to ask Brother Aedo to accompany her in order to show her the spot where Moenach was killed and to confirm his story of the finding of the body. He was a simple ingenuous youth and had nothing else to add. He confirmed that he had been so distressed on his return to the community that he could do no more than report the matter to the Father Superior before becoming incapacitated by a surfeit of emotion. Father Allan and three other Brothers had left immediately to find Moenach and search for the woman Muirenn. Fidelma, looking round the small clearing, did not expect to find anything to assist her at the site. Nevertheless, it helped to fix the location of the crime in her mind. Without Brother Aedo’s help, it would have been impossible to pinpoint the exact spot for there were many such little clearings amidst the great forest. She bade Aedo return to the hilltop community and continued on down the hill.

There was a small cabin at the bottom of the hill as Father Allan had said. A line of freshly laundered clerical robes were hanging to dry on a rope line strung between two trees. An elderly but sturdily built man was picking apples from one of the trees. He turned and watched suspiciously as Fidelma approached.

“Is this the home of Ainder, daughter of Illand?”

“I am Illand,” replied the man. “My daughter is inside.”

“I am Fidelma of Kildare. I wish to speak with your daughter.”

The man hesitated before gesturing toward the cabin.

“You are welcome, Fidelma. But my daughter is not well…”

“But well enough to see the Sister,” interrupted a soft soprano voice.

A young girl, fair-haired and slim, and no more than fourteen years of age, stood framed in the doorway of the cabin.

“Please, Father,” the girl said with hurried insistence before he could argue. “I am at the age of choice.”

Fidelma glanced carefully at her, wondering why the girl had to point out her right to make her own decision.

Illand shrugged expressively.

“I have things to attend to,” he muttered in a surly tone and, picking up his basket of apples, moved off.

The girl turned to Fidelma with a pale face but determined chin.

“You must be the dálaigh whom Father Allan was waiting for,” she said. “Why do you seek me out?”

“I am told you are laundress for the community,” returned Fi-delma. “Do you live here with your mother and father?”

A scowl flitted across the girl’s face.

“My mother is many years in the place of truth,” she replied, using the Irish euphemism meaning that her mother was dead.

“I am sorry.”

“No need for sorrow,” said the girl.

Without another word, Ainder turned and went into the bothán, beckoning Fidelma to follow. She sat in the chair which Ainder indicated. The young girl sat opposite her and examined her carefully.

“I am glad that you are a woman and a young one.”

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Why so?”

“I think you are here to ask me about Nath.”

“What do you know of Brother Nath?”

“He wishes to marry me.”

Fidelma blinked and sighed.

“I see.” Members of religious communities could and did get married under the laws of the Fénechus. “So Nath is in love with you?”

“He is.”

There was a slight emphasis in her voice which contained a hidden “but.”

“But your father disapproves?” hazarded Fidelma.

“Oh no!” The words were ejaculated hurriedly. “He does not know.”

“You knew that Nath has disappeared?”

Ainder nodded, eyes on the ground.

“You knew that Brother Moenach was murdered and that Brother Nath disappeared on that same day? Things look bad for him.”

Ainder seemed bewildered.

“But didn’t the old woman, Muirenn, kill Moenach?” she demanded.

“That is what I am here to find out. What do you know of Nath’s disappearance?”

The girl hesitated and then sighed deeply.

“Nath was frightened when Moenach was killed. You see, no one believes how evil Moenach really was. He had caused Brother Follamon to be expelled by his deception.”

“How did you know of this?”

“I grew up here, under the shadow of Father Allan’s community. My father tends their garden and, after my mother died, I am laundress for the community. I knew most of the brothers. Follamon, Nath, Ninnedo and Moenach were all fostered together and when they reached the age of choice last year they all decided to stay on in the community of Father Allan. They all knew each other well enough. Follamon, Nath and Ninnedo became my friends.”

“But not Moenach?”

The girl shuddered.

“No!” Her voice was emphatic. Too emphatic.

“Why did you dislike Moenach?”

The girl raised her eyes to Fidelma. Two bright red spots colored her cheeks. Then she lowered her gaze and spoke with studied care.

“I will not keep the truth from you, Sister. The day before Moen-ach was killed, he attacked me.”

Fidelma started.

“He attacked you?”

“He raped me.”

Fidelma noticed that she used the word forcor which indicated a forcible rape, a physical attack, distinguished in law from sleth, which covered all other forms of sexual intercourse with a woman without her consent.

“Explain to me the circumstances, Ainder. And let me warn you that this is a serious allegation.”

Ainder’s face hardened.

“It is serious for me, for who now will pay my coibche?”

A husband gave a coibche or “bride-price” which was shared between a bride and her guardian in law, usually her father. The bridoprice was related to the virginity of the bride and if the bride was not a virgin then humiliation and financial loss resulted.

“Very well. Tell me your story,” invited Fidelma.

“I was taking a basket of laundry up to the community. Moen-ach came upon me. He hated me because he knew Nath loved me. He insulted me and then knocked me to the ground and raped me. Afterward… he said if I spoke of the matter no one would believe me for it was well known in the community that he was trusted of abbots and kings.”

“Was it an actual physical assault?” Fidelma pressed. “You realize the differences between forcor and sleth?”

“Moenach was strong. I could not prevail against him. It was a physical attack.”

“And you told Nath about this?”

The girl paused a moment, examining Fidelma’s face from under lowered eyelids, and then nodded quickly.

“I see. And Nath was angry, of course?”

“I have never seen him so angry.”

“When was this? How long before Moenach was killed?”

“He did not kill Moenach.”

Fidelma smiled thinly.

“I did not make such an accusation. But what makes you so emphatic?”

“He would not. It is not in Nath’s nature.”

“It is in the nature of all men given the right motive. Answer my question, then: how long before Moenach was killed did you tell Nath of this attack?”

“It was on the same afternoon that Moenach died. Scarcely an hour before.”

“When did you learn of Moenach’s death?” Fidelma asked.

“Why…” the girl frowned, “it was when Father Allan and some others of the community came searching for the old woman Mui-renn. But Father Allan said that Muirenn had been seen with the murder weapon in her hand.”

“Did you see Nath afterward?”

Ainder appeared reluctant to speak and so Fidelma pressed the question again.

“That very evening,” the girl replied unwillingly. “He came to me and was frightened. He had heard the news but was afraid for himself.”

“He must have known Muirenn was suspected. What made him run away?”

“Because he thought that he would be suspected. His dislike of Moenach was well known. And Nath believed that should the news of Moenach’s attack on me come out, whether it was believed or not, he would be singled out as a suspect in the murder.”

Fidelma looked at the girl sadly.

“Certainly, Nath is now more suspected than the old woman, Muirenn. Which makes me ask, why have you told me this story so readily, Ainder, when it makes things look so bad for Nath?”

The girl looked aggrieved at the question.

“I tell it because it is the truth and are we not taught that the truth stands against all things? Nath cannot continue to hide forever. I cannot marry with an outlaw forever hiding the fastnesses and shadows of this land. I have urged Nath to surrender himself many times and rely on truth as his shield.”

Fidelma sat back and regarded the girl thoughtfully.

“You realize just how bad the situation is for Nath if he does not return to be heard before me?”

“I do. I believe that he should do so and that the truth will free him.”

“If that is so, will you tell me where Nath is hiding?”

The girl dropped her eyes to the ground. She did not speak for a long while. Then she sighed, as if making up her mind.

“Can I bring Nath to you?”

“It is all the same to me,” Fidelma replied indifferently. “Just so long as he presents himself before me.”

“Then I will bring him to Muirenn’s bothán at dusk.”

Fidelma did not really expect Brother Nath to turn up that evening. Somehow she did not really trust the credulous attitude of Ainder. She had been waiting in Muirenn’s cabin for half an hour before she heard Ainder’s voice call softly.

Fidelma was seated in a chair beside the grey remnants of the dead turf fire.

Ainder’s shadowy figure stood for a while framed in the doorway.

Fidelma rose and lit a candle.

It was then she saw the pale young man in the robes of a reli-gieux standing nervously behind the young woman.

“And so you are Nath?” she asked.

Ainder drew the young man into the cabin by her hand and quickly closed the door.

“I have told him not to fear you, Sister Fidelma, but only to speak the truth.”

Fidelma studied the young man. He was fresh-faced, tousle-haired and had a look of bemusement as if he were caught in a stream of events over which he had no control. Something maternal stirred in Fidelma for the youth had the vacant expression of a little boy lost and alone in a frightening forest. She shook herself to rid her mind of the emotion.

She gestured for him to sit down.

“Tell me your story, Nath,” she invited, also seating herself.

“Little to tell,” the boy said quietly. “I love Ainder and wish to marry her. Moenach was always an enemy to me, to me and to my other brethren. He was a bully always, as a child and as a youth. He delighted in actions that harmed us but like most bullies he knew how to ingratiate himself to his betters. Father Allan would not hear a word against him. Moenach engineered the expulsion of Follamon…”

“I know about this. I have talked with Brother Ninnedo.”

Nath gave her an intense look.

“Then you know what Moenach was really like?”

“I know what I have been told. So when Ainder came to you and told you what had happened, you were in a great rage?”

Nath lowered his head and sighed.

“I rage still. Sister, I do not regret Moenach’s death. We are taught to forgive our enemies, them that do us ill. I cannot find it in my heart to do so. I rejoice in his death. I approve his ultimate punishment. My heart is exuberant. My mind tells me, however, that this is not the law nor the path of the Living God.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No!” The word was ejaculated like a rasping breath.

“Then why did you run away? Muirenn had been taken prisoner and the rest of the community thought the guilt lay at her door. Why bring suspicion down on your head?”

Nath looked bewildered.

“There were many who did not believe in Muirenn’s guilt and believed that Father Allan was using her as an easy scapegoat to protect Moenach’s reputation.”

“If they knew Muirenn to be innocent, they must have known someone to be guilty. By running, you provided a suspect.”

Nath shook his head. “Knowing that it is impossible for someone to kill does not mean that one must have knowledge of who committed the deed.”

“That is true,” conceded Fidelma. “You, for instance, knew Mui-renn not to be guilty of the deed. You claim that you, too, are innocent. Why should you be believed any more than Muirenn?”

“Father Allán said… I thought it for the best until I could make myself heard before a Brehon.”

“What did Father Allan say?” demanded Fidelma sharply.

Nath hesitated.

“When Ainder told me her story, I went straightaway to tell Father Allan. As before, he did not believe me. He fell into a terrible rage and it was some time before he calmed himself. He would not believe anything against his favorite. He told me to go away and never speak of it again. Later, when I heard Moenach was dead, I feared Father Allan would blame me.”

“So Father Allan knew that Ainder accused Moenach of rape?” mused Fidelma. “And you, Nath, you blindly ran into hiding even though you must have realized that, in the meantime, your running away would compound any suspicions of your own guilt?”

“But there was no suspicion,” interposed Ainder, “for everyone thought that Muirenn had committed the deed.”

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

“That is what puzzles me. On Brother Aedo’s word, Father Allán had Muirenn imprisoned until my coming. You say that many did not believe her guilty but the entire community seemed apparently satisfied to have the old woman locked up and the assumption of her guilt left until my arrival. I still find it hard to understand why, knowing this, you, Nath, did not return to your community and await my arrival like the rest? Why draw attention to yourself by running away… unless you had something to hide?”

Nath looked blank while Ainder was agitated and defiant.

“The truth, Nath!” snapped Fidelma when neither of them spoke. “I no longer want to indulge in your games.”

The young man raised his shoulders in a shrug of helplessness.

“We thought it for the best…”

Fidelma glanced at Ainder. Her lips were compressed and she was staring at the ground. Abruptly, a thought dawned in Fi-delma’s mind.

“Ainder told you to go into hiding, didn’t she?” She asked the question sharply, without warning.

Nath started nervously and raised his head to look at Ainder.

“Look at me, Nath!” Fidelma said sharply. “Tell me the truth and you will have nothing to fear.”

The young religieux hung his head.

“Yes. Ainder advised it was for the best.”

“Why?”

“It was Ainder who came to me with the news that Moenach had been slain. When I told her that I had already told Father Allán about Moenach’s attack on her, she felt that no one would ever believe her any more than they believed me when I told people that Moenach was the culprit who stole Father Allan’s cup. But she feared that suspicion might fall on me for the killing because of what I had told Father Allán. He knew I hated Moenach. I agreed that I should hide until the whole affair was over or until a learned Brehon arrived who might view my case with sympathy.”

“That was stupid. If Muirenn had been found guilty, that would have weighed heavily on your conscience.”

“I would not have let that happen. I would have returned,” protested Nath.

“Returned? And what excuse would you have offered for your absence? You would have willingly returned to exchange places with Muirenn? That I find hard to believe.”

“Believe it or not, it is the truth.” The young cenobite looked defiant.

Fidelma turned reprovingly to Ainder. “That was foolish advice which you gave to Nath.” The young girl raised her chin pugnaciously. “I thought it best at the time,” she answered. Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the girl, “I believe you did.” She rose and turned toward the door.

“I am returning to see Father Allán now. You should return to the community, Nath. You have told me the truth.”

Father Allan rose awkwardly as Sister Fidelma entered his cubi-culum.

“Will you tell me why you killed Moenach, or shall I tell you?” she demanded with an abruptness that left him staring open-mouthed at her. Her voice was cold, impersonal.

Father Allán blinked and his jaw slackened at the unexpectedness of the question. Before he could protest innocence, Fidelma added with emphasis: “I know you did it. It would save time if we dispensed with any false protestations. I first suspected when I heard that after Brother Aedo had arrived here with the news, he was so distraught that he could not lead you to the spot. Yet you unerringly led the way to where Moenach’s body was, in spite of the fact that there are many similar glades and dells in the forest so, if Aedo had given you the best directions in the world, you might have hesitated before you found the body.”

A bewildering variety of expressions chased one another across the face of the Father Superior. Then, as he realized that Fidelma was coldly determined, he sat down abruptly and spread his hands helplessly.

“I loved Moenach!”

“Hate is often simply the other side of love,” observed Fidelma.

The Father Superior hung his head.

“I raised Moenach from a boy. I was his foster father before the law. He had everything a young man could want, good looks, talent and a way of bending everyone to his will, of deceiving everyone into believing his goodness and piety…”

“Not quite everyone,” Fidelma pointed out.

“I know. I know,” sighed Father Allan, his shoulders hunched.

“I should have listened to his fellow cenobites a long time ago. I should have listened. But I was prejudiced and stopped up my ears when they told me the truth.”

“What changed you?”

“I tried to deceive myself for a long time about Moenach. Then Nath came to me with the terrible news of what Moenach had done to Ainder. I could not allow the evil that I had nurtured to continue. If he were capable of this as a boy, what evil lay in store in the future?”

“What happened?”

“I dismissed Nath, pretending that I did not believe him. I knew that Moenach had gone down to the village and so I hurried immediately down the path and waited for him. The rest was simple. He had no suspicions. I drew his attention to something on the ground and while he was bending to examine it, I picked up a rock and hit him, again and again until…”

“Then Muirenn happened to come on the scene …?”

“I heard someone coming along the forest path. I hurried away as quickly as I could.”

“And poor Muirenn saw the form of a religieux hastening away from the scene. You left the old woman there to be blamed for Moenach’s death.”

“I did not wish that. My soul has been in purgatory ever since.”

“Yet you did not speak up when Brother Aedo claimed that she was the murderess? You went along with it and added to the evil of your deed by arresting her and calling for a Brehon to try her.”

“I am a human being,” cried Father Allan. “I am not beyond sin if self-preservation is a sin.”

Fidelma pursed her lips as she gazed at him.

“Your attempt to shift the blame to the innocent and stand by while the innocent suffered is a sin.”

“But my deed was not evil. I have cleansed the world of an evil that once I nurtured in the mistaken belief of its goodness.”

Father Allan had recovered his full composure. His features were scornful, almost boastful now.

“I believed that Muirenn might prove her innocence. But if Mui-renn was innocent then suspicion should not fall on me. Nath had foolishly been persuaded to disappear. He might have been blamed. Everyone knew how he hated Moenach.”

Fidelma felt troubled. There was something about this puzzle that did not fit exactly together. A piece of the puzzle was still missing. She accepted that Father Allan had struck the blows that had killed Moenach. However, why would Father Allán, who had not previously accepted Brother Nath’s word about Moenach, nor, indeed, the word of any of those who had tried to warn the Father Superior about Moenach, suddenly accept Nath’s story of Ainder’s rape to the extent that he went straightaway and killed Moenach? Something did not fit.

Suddenly Fidelma’s mouth split into an urchin grin of satisfaction.

An hour later she presented herself at the cabin of Illand.

Ainder greeted her at the doorway.

“I will not keep you long, Ainder,” Fidelma said. “I want to clarify one point. You told me that Nath loved you?”

Ainder nodded with a frown of curiosity.

“But you did not return his love,” Fidelma continued calmly. “You never returned it. You only used him.”

Ainder flashed an angry glance at Fidelma. She saw the grim signs of knowledge in the eyes of the religieuse.

“Father Allán is under arrest for the murder of Moenach. Mui-renn is released and no suspicion falls on Nath whose only crime was that he was easily led.”

For a while Ainder said nothing. Then she seemed to explode in emotion.

“Nath was weak, untalented. Allán was a chieftain’s son with position and a reputation. I, we…”

She suddenly realized the implication of what she had confessed to. Her shoulders hunched and then she said in a small-girl voice. “What will happen to me now?”

Fidelma did not feel pity for this child-woman. Ainder did not love Father Allan any more than she had loved Nath. She had been using Father Allan simply as a means of changing her station in life. It had been Father Allan who had become infatuated with the girl. So besotted with her that when he heard that Moenach had raped the girl, and had it confirmed from her lips, he had waylaid the young man and killed him. The rage that Nath had witnessed had not been for his accusation against Moenach but for Moenach’s crime against Ainder. It was a rage born of jealousy.

That much might have been understandable as a justification for killing Moenach. But Father Allán and Ainder together had conspired to lay the blame on two innocent people. Muirenn might well have proved her innocence and so they had plotted to use the guileless fascination of Nath for Ainder and manipulate him into guilty behavior. Ainder had cynically deceived and exploited the enamored youth.

“You will be tried for complicity in the murder of Moenach,” replied Sister Fidelma.

“But I am only a…”

“A young girl?” finished Fidelma drily. “No. As you have previously remarked, you are at the age of choice and considered responsible in law. You will be tried.”

Fidelma gazed a moment at the hatred on the girl’s face. She was thinking of the infatuated Brother Nath and the love-sick Father Allán. Grá is gráin-love or hate, even the words came from the same root. What was it that the great poet Dallán Forgaill once wrote? Love and hatred were hatched from the same egg.