Suffer Little Children

Chapter Twenty

There was a murmur of excitement from the Muman benches as Sister Fidelma made her surprising announcement. Colgú had been wearing a long face. He had already been aware of the point which Forbassach was bound to make. Now he stared in astonishment at his sister.

‘If Salbach did not kill Dacán,’ the Chief Brehon demanded, with an air of exaggerated patience, ‘are you going to reveal to this assembly who did?’

‘We must come to that logically,’ Fidelma replied. ‘First let us go back to the day when, going through the genealogies here, Dacán discovered the whereabouts of the heirs of Illan. I have already said that he sat down and wrote a letter to his brother Noe.’

Noé leaned forward in his seat and spoke rapidly to Forbassach.

The fiery advocate rose again.

‘There is no proof that Dacán, even if engaged in such a search, reported to the Abbot Noé; there is no evidence that he had even been asked to report to the abbot. In view of that, this assertion is an affront to the abbot and to Fianamail of Laigin.’

‘I will contest that,’ replied Fidelma with assurance. ‘I have also requested the presence at this hearing of Assíd of the Uí Dego. Is he within the court?’

A well-built man with the rolling gait of a sailor came forward. His skin was tanned, his hair sun-bleached and therefore it was impossible to discern its colour.

‘I am Assíd,’ he announced in an almost defiant tone. ‘I appear before this assembly by order of the Chief Brehon but I appear unwillingly for I have no intention of bringing harm to my king.’

He stood before the cos-na-dála with arms folded, staring in antagonism towards Fidelma.

‘Let that be so recorded,’ the Chief Brehon cautioned his scriptor.

‘Let it be recorded that Assíd is, indeed, a loyal subject of Fianamail of Laigin,’ added Fidelma lightly with a smile.

‘I do not deny that,’ affirmed Assíd suspiciously.

‘Are you the captain and owner of a coastal trading barc?’

‘I do not deny that, either.’

‘For the last year or so have you traded between Laigin and the lands of the Corco Loígde?’

‘Once again, I do not deny it.’

‘And you were staying in the abbey on the night the Venerable Dacán died?’

‘That’s common knowledge.’

‘You left the abbey on the same day and sailed directly for Laigin. You went to Fearna and reported Dacán’s murder to Fianamail and Abbot Noe.’

Assíd hesitated and nodded slowly, trying to see where Fidelma’s path was leading.

‘This was why Laigin was able to act so swiftly over this matter.’ Fidelma made the statement as an explanation to the assembly, rather than putting it as a question to Assid. ‘Tell us, Assíd, for I have not had time to question you before, what were the circumstances of that evening in the abbey? Tell us when you last saw the Venerable Dacan alive and when you heard of his death?’

Assíd seemed to lose his aggressive posture for a moment and he reached forward to use the rail before him as a support, leaning his weight from the shoulders upon it.

‘It is true,’ he began slowly, addressing himself to the ChiefBrehon, ‘that I was trading along this coast and had decided to put in to Ros Ailithir and seek a night’s rest at the abbey’s hostel. There I saw the Venerable Dacán …’

‘Whom you greeted as someone you knew?’ interposed Fidelma.

Assíd hesitated and then shrugged.

‘Who in Laigin does not know the Venerable Dacán?’ he countered.

‘But you knew him better than most for you greeted him as an old friend. There is a witness,’ she added in case it was denied.

‘Then I shall not deny it,’ Assíd agreed.

‘It makes me wonder why you put in to Ros Ailithir? Pure chance? No. There were other hostels along the coast. You could even have stayed at Cuan Dóir. Yet you put in here. It leads me to suspect that you had arranged to meet Dacan.’

Assíd looked uncomfortable. It was obvious that Fidelma was correct in her assumption.

‘So I asked myself why you had an assignation to meet Dacán here? Will you tell us or shall I explain?’

Assid seemed to be attempting to catch the eye of those on the Laigin benches.

Fidelma turned to the book satchel on the bench where she had been sitting and drew out some pieces of vellum.

‘I present, in evidence, the draft of a letter written by Dacán to his brother, the Abbot Noé, informing him of his discovery of a surviving heir of Illan in words that leave little doubt that he had been asked to conduct this research and also that he subsequently expected some action on the part of his brother.

‘Fortunately for us, in writing this draft, Dacán spilt ink on it. Being the fastidious and methodical man he was, he put it to one side and rewrote it. He either forgot to destroy his draft or, before he could do so, it was stolen from him. It was certainly in the possession of Sister Grella and this is how we can prove that Dacán acted on his brother’s commission.’

Fidelma did not bother to look at the Laigin benches — theywere curiously quiet while Barrán scanned the evidence which Fidelma had handed him.

‘And you say that the finished form of this letter was given to Assfd? Assfd then took the report to Noé?’ asked Barran.

Fidelma inclined her head in agreement.

The Chief Brehon turned to Forbassach as advocate for Laigin. His expression was dour.

‘Forbassach, the evidence here is clear. I now have to warn you. The law text, the Din Techtugad, states that a person who gives false testimony loses his honour price. False testimony is one of the three falsehoods which God avenges most severely. I will not impose the penalty at this stage, giving the Abbot Noé time to reflect on this matter.’ He turned back to Fidelma. ‘Please, proceed, sister.’

‘Do you accept or deny this, Assíd?’ she demanded.

Assíd hung his head.

‘I accept that I came here to pick up a message from Dacán to take to his brother Noé. After the evening meal, I met with Dacán and he gave me the letter. We exchanged some heated words when he refused to reveal what was in it and made me swear an oath not to open it. I still have no idea of what the letter contained. I went to bed. In the morning, I heard, that Dacán had been slain. Brother Rumann, who was the steward of the abbey, questioned me as to my whereabouts. Satisfied that I knew nothing, he gave me permission to leave. I left the abbey and sailed directly for Laigin, taking the letter. I reported what had happened to the Abbot Noé. That is all I have to do with this matter.’

‘A few more questions. When did you last see Dacán alive?’

‘Just after the completa, the last service of the day. A little after midnight, I should say.’

‘Where did you see him?’

‘In his chamber. It was when he handed over the letter to me.’

‘And where was your chamber?’

‘On the floor above Dacán’s.’

‘And so you heard nothing after you had left him? At what time was that?’

Assíd drew his brows together, trying to recall.

‘After midnight. I only heard one thing more, as I went up the stairs. I heard Dacán ringing the bell for the young novice who attended to our wants in the hostel. I heard his voice demanding that she fetch him water.’

‘You may stand down, unless Forbassach wishes to question you.’

Forbassach had been talking rapidly with the grim-faced Abbot Noé. He replied that he had no questions for Assíd.

Fidelma now addressed the Chief Brehon.

‘We have heard that Dacán had been successful in locating Illan’s heir. He told his brother Noé that he was about to set off for Sceilig Mhichil to identify him the next day.’

‘Are you telling us that he was killed to prevent him doing so?’ asked Barrán.

‘He was killed because it was feared he would bring harm to Illan’s heir.’

‘But you said that the sons of Illan had already been removed from the monastery and placed in Sister Eisten’s charge. Is this not correct?’

‘The story grows complicated. When Illan was killed, his sons had been placed in the care of a cousin who would foster them.’

Dramatically, Fidelma swung round and pointed at the abbey benches.

‘It was Brother Midach of this abbey who was the foster-father of the two boys who were known at Sceilig Mhichil as Primus and Victor.’

Midach sat unblinking. His face was fixed in a thin smile. He said nothing. Fidelma continued:

‘Dacán thought that it was Illan’s cousin, Father Mel ofSceilig Mhichil who was the fosterer. In that he did not read the will carefully enough. The will of Illan states clearly “let the resolve of the honourable one determine the fosterage of my children”. Is there anyone here who does not know that the meaning of the name Midach is “honourable”? Midach was appointed the aite or foster-father of the sons of Illan.

‘Midach, either by suspicion or accident, read the notes of Dacán in the library and realised that the old scholar was searching for Illan’s children. Dacán discovered Midach reading his notes and an argument ensued. Brother Martan was a witness to this. Anxious to protect his charges, on that same evening, Midach left this abbey and sailed to Sceilig Mhichil. He removed the boys and took them to Sister Eisten, who was a former pupil of his. He was able to visit them a few times afterwards on the pretext of visiting the village and helping them with medicine again the plague. He was seen and described to me. The real names of the children of Illan, known at Sceilig Mhichil as Primus and Victor, were Cétach and Cosrach. If one attempted to put Latin names on these they would translate in such a fashion.

‘Midach was shocked when he heard that Intat had raided Rae na Scríne. He believed that Dacán was working for Salbach and through him for Scandlán of Osraige. Alas, he did not realise that Grella was part of the conspiracy and was Eisten’s soul-friend. However, after the attack, he found that his two wards were safe. He decided to get the two boys away from this kingdom and asked Sister Eisten to arrange passage for them.

‘Cétach, the elder boy, at least, had been warned that Salbach was looking for them so when Salbach came here, Cétach pleaded with me not to mention him or his brother to the chieftain. Then they both disappeared.

‘While Midach now hid the children, Eisten went to book passage for them on a merchant ship in the bay. At first she chose the wrong ship — she asked a sailor who was from the Laigin warship captained by Mugrón. Unfortunately, Intatthen spotted Eisten. The rest of that tale we know. In spite of torture, Eisten would not tell where the children were and finally, in anger, Intat killed her. The children had to remain in hiding until Midach could get them safely away.’

Fidelma paused for her throat was now dry.

Barrán took the opportunity to address Midach.

‘Do you deny this story or any part of it?’

Midach sat, his arms folded, without expression.

‘I neither confirm nor deny it.’

The Chief Brehon turned back to Fidelma.

‘There is one point in your explanation that I do not follow. You have not dealt with Dacán’s death, which, as important as these events are, is the main cause of this action brought by Laigin.’

‘I will come to it, Barran,’ Fidelma assured him, coughing slightly as she attempted to clear her drying throat.

‘Midach was hiding the boys, Cétach and Cosrach, here in the abbey where he continues to hide them. I think that we can now bring them safely forth from the sepulchre of the Blessed Fachtna, for they will be under the protection of the High King. Is this not so?’

The question was directed to Sechnassach.

The High King returned Fidelma’s interrogative look with a brief smile.

‘They are so protected, Fidelma of Kildare.’

‘Midach, will you bring them forth?’

The physician rose unsteadily. He found difficulty speaking.

Fidelma decided to prompt him.

‘If you go to the statue of the cherub behind the High Altar and twist it one half turn to the left it will release the spring which pivots a flagstone.’ Midach’s mouth slackened in surprise.

‘How did you discover this?’ he demanded in consternation.

‘The steps beneath lead down to the secret sepulchre of the Blessed Fachtna, the founder of this abbey,’ went on Fidelma.‘It is there, since the death of Sister Eisten, that Cétach and Cosrach have been in hiding. Is that not so, Midach?’

Midach’s shoulders slumped in resignation.

‘It is even as she has said,’ he mumbled. ‘She seems to know everything.’

A couple of the High King’s guards moved at a gesture from Sechnassach and followed Fidelma’s instructions. A few moments later the two young black-haired lads were brought blinking from the underground tomb to stare in fear at the mighty assembly.

The Chief Brehon immediately sought to reassure them of their safety.

Forbassach was on his feet.

‘I must point out that we, of Laigin, have no wish to harm these boys … if they, indeed, are the sons of Illan.’

‘They are the sons of Illan,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘And if their hair is washed clean of that black dye you will find two thatches of copper-coloured hair. Midach dyed their hair as an extra precaution when he took them to Sister Eisten. Isn’t that so?’

Midach seemed too dispirited to answer.

Forbassach was on his feet repeating himself.

‘We sought the heirs of Illan simply to identify them. To discover their whereabouts. The purpose of this was to offer our support for their claims and restore them to the kingship of Osraige. There is only one power here that would oppose that purpose — Cashel. As we have claimed all along, Cashel’s interest would be to destroy them. It was in Cashel’s interests to kill Dacán. We repeat our original claim, that Osraige be forfeit for the honour price of Dacán.’ He smiled towards the two young boys. ‘But as neither boy is anywhere near the age of choice, whereby he might be affirm as king, then the right of the kingship must devolve in the gift of Fearna.’

At once Colgú, ignoring the protocol of the court, was on his feet in anger.

‘Cashel is not at the centre of this claimed conspiracy to harmthese boys. Salbach admits that he is the culprit. For that Cashel shall punish him. The evil of the chieftain of the Corco Loígde is not to be put on the shoulders of Cashel!’

‘Yet Corco Loígde owes allegiance to Cashel,’ sneered Forbassach in reply. ‘What other shoulders but Cashel can the guilt rest on?’

Barrán held up both hands. His face showed dismay and there was irritation in his eyes.

‘That you both forget the protocol of this court is a matter of sadness. That you both persist in a squabble before me is a matter of penalty. Colgú, you are find one séd, the value of one milch cow, for not allowing your dálaigh to present your arguments. Forbassach, you are more guilty of an offence being not only trained in law but the advocate of your king. You shall be find one cumal, the value of three milch cows. If this occurs again the penalties shall not be so light.’

Barran gave everyone a moment to settle down again and instructed the two young boys be brought before the cos-na-dála.

‘Am I to understand that these boys are both under the age of choice?’ he asked, turning to Midach.

‘They are,’ agreed the physician, accepting his role as their foster-father.

‘Then we cannot give any weight to their evidence,’ sighed the Chief Brehon. ‘Nevertheless, we may call upon them but what they say, if contradicted by other evidence, may be discounted. This is the law.’

‘I am aware of this, Barrán,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘And, unless Forbassach insists, I have no wish to call them.’

‘I would prefer Sister Fidelma to deal with the specific matter of the murder of Dacán,’ replied Forbassach.

‘Then I shall do so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It should be obvious now that Dacán’s death was essentially connected with the task that he had come to Ros Ailithir to perform. He was killed because it was thought he presented a threat. But let me pointthis out, that it is true that Dacán alive was worth more to Salbach than Dacán dead. So who, then, was Dacán a threat to? He was clearly a threat to the children of Illan, as I have said before.’

Forbassach was on his feet yet again.

‘And I have said, Laigin was no threat to these children. It sought to help them.’

‘But did the children know that?’

Fidelma’s question was sharp and left an uneasy silence.

She turned to Midach. The once-jocular physician looked tired and exhausted before her.

‘Dacán had been two months at the abbey researching before you learnt that he was looking for your foster children. When you discovered that you immediately set off to remove them from Sceilig Mhichil. You left here on the very night Dacán was killed, the night he wrote to inform his Brother Noé that he was leaving for Sceilig Mhichil.’

Barrán intervened, thinking to preempt Fidelma.

‘And did you kill Dacán, Brother Midach?’

‘Dacán was alive when I left the abbey,’ Midach replied quietly but firmly.

‘That is true,’ Fidelma affirmed quickly. The Chief Brehon raised his hands in protest.

‘How can you know that?’

‘Simple enough. We know that Dacan was killed around midnight. Certainly not before. Midach had to be on board his ship just after vespers in order to sail with the evening tide for Sceilig Mhichil. I checked the tides with the local sailors. If he had delayed then he could not have been able to sail until the following morning.’

‘Then who did kill Dacán?’ Barrán was totally perplexed.

‘Someone who, like Midach, believed that Dacán meant harm to the children of Illan.’

There was a silence as everyone realised, after all the proceedings, they were now on the verge of the final revelation.

Fidelma was surprised at the fact that no one had leapt to the same conclusion that she had been drawn to some time before. When no one spoke, when no one moved, Fidelma shook her head.

‘Why — who else but the children of Illan would feel threatened by Dacan?’ she asked. ‘Who else but the eldest son of Illan, who was more threatened than his brothers?’

Everyone was looking at the young boy Cétach.

‘But you have just stated that these two boys were still on Sceilig Mhichil at this time. They were at least two or three days sailing away from Ros Ailithir,’ Barrán pointed out.

‘I did not say it was either of these two boys,’ Fidelma said loudly above the hubbub.

Again the effect of her words was like water on a fire. There was stunned silence.

‘But, you said …’ began the Chief Brehon wearily.

‘I said that the eldest of Illan’s sons killed Dacan.’

‘Then …?’

‘Illan had three sons. Isn’t that right, Midach? Dacán, in his letter to his brother, wrote that Illan’s eldest son had just reached the age of choice. That rules out these two lads, who are a long way from the age of seventeen. That also means that Illan had a third son.’

‘You seem to know everything, Fidelma,’ Midach said grimly. ‘Yes. My cousin Illan had three sons. They were all placed in my charge to foster when Illan was killed. The two youngest had already been sent to Sceilig Mhichil to our cousin, Mel. Indeed, everything happened just as you have explained.’

‘So where did you send the eldest son?’ demanded Barran.

Midach set his jaw firmly.

‘I cannot betray the trust of my family.’

‘The eldest son was brought to Ros Ailithir under a false identity,’ Fidelma intervened.

She turned and scanned the rows of the religious who hadcrowded into the abbey church and found the white mask that was the face of Sister Necht.

‘Come forward, Sister Necht, or should that be Nechtan?’ Fidelma added, making the feminine name into its masculine form.

The ungainly ‘sister’ rose, the eyes darted from side to side as if seeking a method of escape, and then the shoulders slumped in resignation.

A tall member of the High King’s guard moved across and tapped the ‘sister’ on the shoulder, motioning ‘her’ to go to the well of the court before the judges. Slowly, reluctantly, ‘Sister Necht’ obeyed.

Not a sound could be heard as all eyes watched the figure walk slowly to where Fidelma was waiting. There seemed no attempt now to disguise the masculine posture of the ‘novice’.

‘Allow me to present Nechtan, son of Illan of the Osraige. Nechtan is the eldest brother of Cétach and Cosrach.’

‘Sister Necht’ squared ‘her’ shoulders and thrust out ‘her’ chin in defiance as ‘she’ stood before Fidelma.

‘Would you mind moving your head-dress?’ asked Barrán.

‘Sister Necht’ threw back the head-dress.

‘The hair is coppery, almost red,’ Forbassach admitted in querulous tones. ‘But this … this person … still looks like a girl.’

‘Do we have to go further with this charade, Nechtan?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Speak the truth.’

‘It is all over, my boy,’ cried Midach in doleful resignation. ‘Let us admit to the truth.’

The copper-haired youth stared at Fidelma almost with hatred in his eyes.

‘Yes: I am Nechtan, son of Illan,’ he said with an air of pride.

‘It was all my idea,’ Midach explained hastily. ‘I did not know what else to do. I knew that Scandlán and his family were looking for Illan’s heir. I had already seen Illan’s will and knew the boys were left in my care and that the younger weresupposed to go to Sceilig Mhichil. I thought that they would be safe on Sceilig Mhichil. But I did not know where else to hide Nechtan, but then the idea came into my mind that he could hide himself at the abbey as a novice and so I could keep a close eye on him. Those searching for the heirs of Illan were searching for his sons, not for a girl.’

‘Although just seventeen, Nechtan, with his husky voice and slight figure, became a young woman,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘With the sprigs and berries of the elder to use as dye and create a redness to the lips and cheeks, Nechtan became Sister Necht.’

‘I initially thought that Dacán was an agent for Scandlán,’ went on Midach. ‘When I discovered that he had deciphered Illan’s will, I left the abbey immediately to bring them away before they were discovered. I brought the two boys back and arranged for Sister Eisten to take them at Rae na Scríne. It was only after I returned to the abbey that I discovered that Dacán had been killed.’

‘And when did Nechtan confess that he had killed him?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘The next …’ Midach bit his lip and hung his head. Nechtan stared in front of him without speaking, showing no emotion.

The Chief Brehon leant forward.

‘Why did the boy kill Dacán?’ demanded Barrán. ‘Let us finally get this point cleared.’

Fidelma grimaced sorrowfully.

‘Sister Necht, or rather Nechtan, killed Dacán out of fear. Midach, before leaving for Sceilig Mhichil, had told him that he believed Dacán was working for his enemies. Necht already hated Dacan as an autocratic, uncaring personality. It needed but a spark. A few hours after Midach left to rescue his brothers, Nechtan slew Dacan. I do not think that the act was cold-blooded. It was only after the deed was done that Nechtan sought to portray it as something premeditated.’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Barrán.

‘Nechtan killed Dacan and later attempted to lay a pathhich would lead to another person in an effort to have that person blamed.’

‘How?’

‘After Midach had left the abbey, Nechtan was summoned to Dacán’s chamber to fetch water. Perhaps words were exchanged. Nechtan took out a knife and, in hot temper, rained a series of blows at the old man.’

‘He suspected who I was, I know it!’ Nechtan protested, speaking for the first time. The previously husky voice was now slightly sharpened and more masculine. There was no emotion in it. ‘It was my life or his. He would have killed me if he had known who I was.’

Forbassach was sitting shaking his head in bewilderment. Fidelma gestured towards him.

‘You may believe the honourable advocate for Laigin when he argues that Dacán and Laigin meant no harm to the children of Illan,’ Fidelma said. ‘So you, Nechtan, killed Dacán from an unjustified fear. Dacán was seeking you in order to get Laigin to support your claim to the Osraige kingship. It can be argued that you had an understandable fear. But what made this more heinous, Nechtan, was that you then went to great pains to lay a path to Sister Grella.’

‘I knew that Sister Grella was working with Dacán. I also knew that Grella was Salbach’s lover,’ Nechtan replied defensively. ‘When Midach went to save my brothers, I decided to save us all. If Grella was accused of Dacán’s murder then it would be a just retribution.’

‘You tried to destroy all the material that Dacan collected which would have identified you and your brothers. You did not realise that Grella had taken a draft of the letter Dacán was sending to his brother so that she could inform Salbach. Also you neglected to retrieve an Ogham wand which had rolled under the bed in Dacán’s chamber. You showed great dismay when I found it. You had to follow me when I took it to Grella in the library to check it was not incriminating. Grella recognisedit and pretended that it was something else to lead me from the scent. I left it at the library and, later that night, you returned to the library and burnt it with the other Ogham sticks in order to cover your tracks.’

‘But Dacán was bound before he was killed,’ pointed out the Chief Brehon. ‘How did this boy accomplish that?’

‘He was bound after he was killed to further implicate Grella. It was obvious that he was not bound before because the strips of cloth from Grella’s dress were so fragile that even an ailing child could have burst those bonds asunder. I noticed this at an early point in my investigation and knew then that I was looking for some carefully worked out plot.’

Fidelma spoke directly to Nechtan.

‘You must have lain awake for the rest of the night thinking about your deed. You decided that you must not only lay a path of suspicion away from yourself but, as you have admitted, you had a brilliant idea to visit some poetic justice on the person whom you believed to be one of your enemies.’

Nechtan stood silently.

‘You waited until the bell sounded for matins and you watched as Sister Grella made her way to that service. Hoping that no one had yet discovered Dacán’s body, you entered Grella’s chamber and found an old dress from which you tore strips of linen. It was the only distinctive piece of clothing you could find. You probably hoped that it was something she wore often so that the strips could immediately be identified. You did not realise that no religieuse would wear such a dress and that it was simply an old dress which she never wore any more.

‘You took the strips to Dacán’s chamber. You went in to find it in darkness. The oil in the lamp had run out. So you refilled it and lit it. It was obvious that no one had been there. You then tied Dacán’s ankles and his hands. In order to tie the hands behind him you had to turn his body over chest down on the bed, leaving the bloodstains on the blanket. I found thesecurious because he was laying on his back on the bed with chest wounds and the blood was on the blanket under the body. The body had to have been moved for a purpose. Then you left, forgetting to extinguish the lamp. Half-an-hour later Brother Conghus arrived. Your false clue meant nothing at the time. There was no one trained to deduce its significance. It meant nothing until I arrived over a week later to pick up the trail.

‘When I came back from Sceilig Mhichil and discovered that certain items had been removed from the bag which I had left with Abbot Brocc, I began to suspect what had happened. The items which had been stolen were the ones which gave information and clues to the identification of the sons of Illan. Those which were left behind were part of the evidence which implicated Sister Grella in the murder.’

Fidelma paused, waiting for the boy to respond. After a while Barran addressed him.

‘You say nothing. Do you admit to this?’

The boy shrugged.

‘I have nothing to say. I acted in self defence.’

‘That seems as good as a confession,’ warned the Chief Brehon.

‘If you say so,’ replied the boy without emotion.

Midach moved forward, his face troubled as he embraced the boy.

‘My son, I am your anamchara and your foster-father. I have guarded you in all things. I will procure the best advocate to defend you.’

Midach’s face dissolved in anguish as he gazed towards Fidelma.

‘It is my fault. It is my grievous fault! I put the fear of Dacán in him.’ He swung round to face the Chief Brehon. ‘Can you accept my guilt in place of this boy?’

Barrán shook his head.

‘The boy is now beyond the age of consent. He has an adult’s responsibility. As for putting the fear of Dacan in him, youmerely gave it some tangible form, for apparently the boy already hated Dacán and, through hate, feared him.’

‘Yes, he acted out of fear. Even Fidelma of Kildare admits that much.’

‘That may be so. But to deliberately implicate an innocent person brings a worse crime.’

‘A further word, Barrán,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘This court will have done its duty in absolving the abbot of Ros Ailithir and the king of Muman from any culpability in the death of Dacán of Fearna. This assembly must confine itself to considering the claim by Laigin for compensation. It is now up to the court to rule on that matter. It has no further function.

‘Nechtan will have to come before a further court to answer for his actions as, indeed, will Salbach, whose crimes greatly outweigh all others. Let that further court decide the degree of guilt that is on Nechtan’s shoulders. And I will, if Nechtan so wishes, stand with him as his advocate, for I believe no boy, whether he has just reached the age of choice or not, should live in such fear of his life as the three sons of Illan have had to live this last year. I think that fear goes in some way to ameliorating his guilt if not absolving it.’

Midach was staring at Fidelma in astonishment, as were many others in the court.

Barrán cleared his throat impatiently.

‘I thank you, Fidelma of Kildare,’ he said dryly, ‘for reminding me of the issues at stake here. Yet I do not think I or the assembly would have forgotten them.’

Fidelma hung her head at the Chief Brehon’s gentle irony.

Barrán turned from Fidelma to Forbassach.

‘Advocates of Cashel and Fearna, have you completed your pleas and counter-pleas?’

Fidelma hesitated before adding: ‘I would just remind the court of what I said in my opening. Dacán, as has now been admitted by his own brother, Noé of Fearna, came to this kingdom in stealth to discover the whereabouts of the sons ofIllan to use them for the political purposes of the kingdom of Laigin. I contend this subterfuge caused Dacán to forfeit any claim he or his relations have under the laws of hospitality. Responsibility does not lay with the abbot of Ros Ailithir nor ultimately with Cashel.

‘Secondly, I have revealed the real culprit to be Nechtan, son of Illan of Osraige, who killed Dacan because he believed that his life, and the lives of his younger brothers, were in danger. It is not the jurisdiction of the court to rule on his culpability but I would add that there are extenuating circumstances to Nechtan’s act.’

Fidelma returned to her seat and sat down for the first time since she had risen to plead.

Barrán motioned to Forbassach to sum up his case and to rebut that which he did not agree with.

The advocate of the king of Laigin had been bent in discussion with his unhappy-looking young king and the stony-faced abbot of Fearna. He turned round and rose, speaking hesitantly,

‘Laigin now accepts that Cashel is not responsible for Dacán’s death. But a death has taken place and the law must find responsibility.’

Barran turned and held a whispered conversation with the High King and then Ultan of Armagh. After a moment he turned back to address the assembly.

‘The case before this court was simple. Sister Fidelma has reminded us of it. It was to adjudicate whether the responsibility for the death of Dacán lay at the door of Cashel. If so, the demand of Laigin was specific. Laigin demanded the kingdom of Osraige as the sum of the honour price of Dacán. The evidence that we have heard results in the adjudication that responsibility does not rest with Cashel. Therefore it follows that the demand for the honour price is dismissed. Osraige continues, as it has these last six centuries, to owe its allegiance to Cashel, its kings paying tribute to Cashel and not to Fearna.’

There was a ripple almost of verbal applause as the judgment was given.

Barrán held up his hand for silence.

‘Nevertheless, with the agreement of the High King, there are other matters which I feel this court should consider in passing this judgment. We have heard why such a tragic path of death and destruction has been followed here. It has its roots in the fact that the people of Osraige do not find the kingship imposed by the family of Ciarán of Saighir, a kingship from the family of the chieftains of the Corco Loígde, to be a just kingship. The Blessed Ciarán had, misguidedly we feel, established the Corco Loígde in Osraige. It is now time for the descendants of the native kings of Osraige to return to their rightful role. We would admonish the king of Cashel to take steps to ensure that the people of his petty kingdom of Osraige choose freely whomsoever they wish to govern in accordance with the laws of rightful succession.’

Colgú rose, his face solemn.

‘Nothing grieves me more than to hear what has transpired in my kingdom. This bloodshed of the innocent shall not go unpunished. No longer can the family of the chieftains of the Corco Loígde have any moral right to rule Osraige. The people of Osraige shall choose. It shall be so. My oath of honour, it shall. I pledge it before this court.’

The Chief Brehon acknowledged Colgú with a smile.

‘Your words have gladdened your High King. Then there is one more admonishment that we feel it is in our judgment to make. It will be left to a court of Cashel to fix the degree of guilt and the amount of fine and compensation which must lay at the door of the unfortunate Nechtan. However, we have heard enough at this court to say that Dacán’s honour price is tarnished by his deceptive undertaking on behalf of Laigin. The fine for the death of a scholar of Dacán’s standing is fixed in law at seven cumals, that is the value of twenty-one milch cows. The true honour price for a man of his ecclesiastic standing is twentyséd, the value of twenty milch-cows. A total of forty-one séd would be the sum payable by whoever is found guilty of his death. However …’

Barrán looked towards the king of Laigin.

‘It will be seen that there are other culprits in this matter. This court will direct that those who asked Dacán to proceed with his task disrupted the peace of these kingdoms and threatened a bloody war. They must share responsibility. The honour price for a king of a province is sixteen cumals and because that king has besmirched his honour, sixteen cumals has to be made payable from the king of Laigin to the High King.’

Fianamail was pale and sullen but silent.

‘A further seven cumals shall be payable by Fianamail to the king of Cashel for the casting of a shadow on his honour. That is the judgment of the court. Does Fianamail of Laigin have anything to say?’

The young king rose hesitantly, seemed about to speak and then shook his head and sat down. He whispered to his dálaigh.

Forbassach, as advocate, rose.

‘Laigin accepts the admonition of the court,’ he said quietly. ‘Cedant arma togae … let arms yield to the gown of the law.’

‘That is as it must be,’ agreed the Chief Brehon, solemnly. ‘The business of this assembly is now ended.’