Whispers of the Dead

SCATTERED THORNS

The boy is innocent.”

The chief magistrate of Droim Sorn, Brehon Tuama, seemed adamant.

Sister Fidelma sat back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at the tall man who was seated on the other side of the hearth. She had received an urgent request from Brehon Tuama to come to the small township of Droim Sorn in her capacity as dálaigh, advocate of the law courts. A sixteen-year-old lad named Braon had been accused of murder and theft. Brehon Tuama had suggested that Fidelma should undertake the boy’s defense.

In accordance with protocol, Fidelma had first made her presence in the township known to the chieftain, Odar, in whose house the boy was being held. Odar seemed to display a mixed reaction to her arrival but had offered her a few formal words of welcome before suggesting that she seek out Brehon Tuama to discuss the details of the case. She had decided, on this brief acquaintance, that Odar was not a man particularly concerned with details. She had noticed that the chieftain had an impressive array of hunting weapons on his walls and two sleek wolfhounds basking in front of his hearth. She deduced that Odar’s concerns were more of the hunt than pursuit of justice.

Brehon Tuama had invited her inside his house and offered her refreshment before making his opening remark about the accused’s guilt.

“Are you saying that the boy is not to be tried?” asked Fidelma. “If you have already dismissed the case against him, why was I summoned. .?”

Brehon Tuama quickly shook his head.

“I cannot dismiss the matter yet. Odar is adamant that the boy has to go through due process. In fact. .” The Brehon hesitated. “The victim’s husband is his cousin.”

Fidelma sighed softly. She disliked nepotism.

“Perhaps you should explain to me the basic facts as you know them.”

Brehon Tuama stretched uneasily in his chair.

“Findach the Smith is reputed to be one of the most able craftsmen in this township. His work is apparently widely admired and has graced abbeys, chieftains’ raths, and kings’ fortresses. He has been able to refuse such mundane tasks as shoeing horses, making harnesses, plows, and weapons, to pursue more artistic work.”

“It sounds as though you do not share others’ appreciation of his work?” interposed Fidelma, catching the inflection in his tone.

“I don’t,” agreed the Brehon. “But that is by the way. Findach was commissioned to make a silver cross for the high altar of the Abbey of Cluain. He had completed the commission only a few days ago.

“The cross was extremely valuable. Findach had polished it and taken it to his house ready for collection by one of the religious from the abbey. Yesterday morning, Findach had gone to his workshop, which is a hundred yards beyond his house, to commence work. The silver cross was left in his house. His wife, Muirenn, was there.

“It was that morning that Brother Caisín had been sent by the Abbot of Cluain to collect the cross. I have questioned Brother Caisín who says that he arrived at Findach’s house early in the morning. He noticed that the door was open and he went in. Muirenn lay on the floor with blood on her head. He tried to render assistance but found that she was dead, apparently killed by a sharp blow to the head.

“Brother Caisín then said that he heard a noise from a side room and found the boy, Braon, hiding there. There was blood on his clothes.

“It was then that Findach arrived back at his house and found Brother Caisín and Braon standing by the body of his wife. His cry of anguish was heard by a passerby who, ascertaining the situation, came in search of me as Brehon of Droim Sorn.”

Fidelma was thoughtful.

“At what point was it discovered the silver cross was missing?” she asked.

Brehon Tuama looked surprised.

“How did you know that it was the silver cross that had been stolen? The object of the theft was not specified when I sent for you.”

Fidelma made an impatient gesture with her hand.

“I did not think that you would spend so much time and detail telling me about Findach’s commission from Cluain if it had no relevance to this matter.”

Brehon Tuama looked crestfallen.

“What did the boy have to say?” Fidelma continued. “I presume the boy’s father was sent for before you questioned him?”

Brehon Tuama looked pained.

“Of course. I know the law. As he was under the ‘Age of Choice,’ his father is deemed responsible for him in law.”

“So the father was summoned and the boy was questioned?” pressed Fidelma impatiently.

“The boy said that he had been asked to go to Findach’s house by Muirenn, who often used to employ him to look after a small herd of cattle they kept in the upper pastures behind the house. Braon said he found the door open. He saw the body and went inside in order to help, but Muirenn was already dead.”

“And bending by the body accounted for blood on his clothes?”

“Precisely. He said that he was about to go for help when he heard someone approaching. Fearing the return of the killer, he hid in the room where Brother Caisín discovered him.”

“And those are all the facts, so far as you know them?”

“Exactly. It is all circumstantial evidence. I would be inclined to dismiss the charge for lack of evidence. However, Odar insists that the boy should be prosecuted. A chieftain’s orders are sometimes difficult to disregard,” he added apologetically.

“What about the cross?”

Brehon Tuama was baffled for a moment.

“I mean,” went on Fidelma, “where was it found? You have not mentioned that fact.”

The Brehon shifted his weight.

“It has not been found,” he confessed.

Fidelma made her surprise apparent.

“We made a thorough search for the cross and found no sign of it,” confirmed Brehon Tuama.

“Surely, that further weakens the case against the boy? When could he have had the time to hide the cross before being discovered by Brother Caisín?”

“Odar argues that he must have had an accomplice. He favors the boy’s father. He suggests the boy passed the cross to his accomplice just as Brother Caisín arrived.”

“A rather weak argument.” Fidelma was dismissive. “What I find more interesting is the motivation for your chieftain’s apparent determination to pursue the boy and his father. You tell me that it is because the dead woman’s husband is his cousin? That does not seem sufficient justification. I would agree with your first conclusion, Tuama. The whole affair is based on circumstantial evidence. By the way, how big was this silver cross?”

“I do not know. We would have to ask Findach. Findach said it was valuable enough. The silver alone being worth. .”

“I am more interested in its size, not value. Presumably, a high altar cross would be of large size and therefore of great weight?”

“Presumably,” agreed the Brehon.

“Also too heavy, surely, for the boy, Braon, to have hidden it by himself?”

Brehon Tuama did not reply.

“You say that Findach’s forge was a hundred yards from his house. Isn’t it unusual for a smith to have a workshop at such a distance from his house?”

Brehon Tuama shook his head.

“Not in this case. Findach was a careful man. Do you know how often smiths’ forges burn down because a spark from the furnace ignites them?”

“I have known of some cases,” admitted Fidelma. “So Findach and his wife Muirenn lived in the house. Did they have children?”

“No. There were just the two of them. .”

There was a sudden noise outside and the door burst open.

A wild-looking, broad-shouldered man stood on the threshold. He was dressed in the manner of a man who worked long hours in the fields. His eyes were stormy.

Brehon Tuama sprang up from his seat in annoyance.

“What is the meaning of this, Brocc?” he demanded.

The man stood breathing heavily a moment.

“You know well enough, Brehon. I heard that the dálaigh had arrived. She’s been to see Odar and now you. Yet you told me that she was coming to defend my boy. Defend? How can she defend him when she consorts only with his persecutors?”

Fidelma examined the man coolly.

“Come forward! So you are the father of Braon?”

The burly man took a hesitant step toward her.

“My son is innocent! You must clear his name. They are trying to lay the blame on my son and on me because they hate us.”

“I am here to listen to the evidence and form my opinion. Why would people hate you and your son?”

“Because I am a bothach!”

In the social system of the five kingdoms of Éireann, the bothach was one of the lowest classes in society, being a crofter or cowherder. Bothachs had no political or clan rights, but they were capable of acquiring their own plots of land by contract. While there were no restrictions placed on whom they could work for, they were not allowed to leave the clan territory except by special permission. If they worked well, they could eventually expect to acquire full citizen’s rights.

“Aye,” Brocc was bitter. “It is always the lower orders who are blamed when a crime is committed. Always the bottom end of the social scale who get the blame. That is why Odar is trying to make out that my boy and I were in league to rob Findach.”

Fidelma was beginning to understand what Brehon Tuama had been trying to tell her about Odar’s insistence that Braon stand trial.

“You and your son have nothing to fear so long as you tell the truth,” she said, trying not to let it sound like a platitude. “If I believe your son is innocent then I will defend him.” Fidelma paused for a moment. “You realize that under the law it will be your responsibility to pay the compensation and fines if your son is found guilty? Are you more concerned about that or whether your son is innocent?”

Brocc scowled, his features reddening.

“That is unjust. I will pay you seven séds if you simply defend him. That is a token of my faith in my son.”

The sum was the value of seven milch cows.

Fidelma’s face showed that she was not impressed.

“Brehon Tuama should have informed you that my fees, which are payable directly to my community and not to me, do not vary but stand at two séds and only change when they are remitted because of exceptional circumstances such as the poverty of those who seek my assistance.”

Brocc stood uncertainly with lips compressed. Fidelma went on:

“Since you are here, Brocc, you may tell me a little about your son, Braon. Did he frequently work for Findach?”

“Not for Findach, that mean. .!” Brocc caught himself. “No, my boy worked for his wife, Muirenn. Muirenn was a kindly soul, a good soul. My boy would never have harmed her.”

“How often did he work for Muirenn and in what capacity?”

“My boy and I are cowherds. We hire our labor to those who need an expert hand.”

“So you knew Braon was going to work for Muirenn that morning?”

“I did. She had asked him to tend her cows in the pasture above the house.”

“And that was a usual task for him?”

“Usual? It was.”

“Did anyone else know he was going to Muirenn’s house this morning?”

“The boy’s mother knew and doubtless Muirenn told that mean husband of hers.”

Fidelma was interested.

“Why do you call Findach mean?”

“The man was tightfisted. It was well known. He behaved as if he was as poor as a church mouse.”

Fidelma glanced to Brehon Tuama for confirmation. The tall magistrate shrugged.

“It is true that Findach was not renowned for his generosity, Sister. He always claimed he had little money. The truth was he spent a lot on gambling. In fact, only the other day Odar told me that Findach owed him a large sum. Ten séds, as I recall. Yet Findach would not even employ an assistant or an apprentice at his forge.”

“Yet he did pay for help with his cow herd.”

Brocc laughed harshly.

“The herd was his wife’s property and she paid my son.”

A wife, under law, remained the owner of all the property and wealth that she brought into a marriage. Fidelma appreciated the point.

“So, as far as you knew, your son went off to work as usual. You noticed nothing unusual at all?”

“I did not.”

“And during that day, you never went near Findach’s house nor his forge?”

“Nowhere near.”

“You can prove it?”

Brocc glowered for a moment.

“I can prove it. I was in Lonán’s pastures helping him thresh hay. I was there until someone came with the news of Braon’s arrest.”

“Very well.” Fidelma rose abruptly.

“I think I would like to see Findach’s house and speak with this renowned smith.”

The house of Findach the Smith stood on the edge of the township. It was isolated among a small copse of hazel and oak.

Findach was a stocky, muscular man of indiscernible age. He had a short neck and the build that one associated with a smith. He gazed distastefully at Fidelma.

“If you seek to defend my wife’s killer, dálaigh, you are not welcome in this house.” His voice was a low growl of anger.

Fidelma was not perturbed.

“Inform Findach of the law and my rights as a dálaigh, Tuama,” she instructed, her eyes not leaving those of the smith.

“You are obliged by law to answer all the dálaigh’s questions and allow free access to all. .”

Findach cut the Brehon short with a scowl and turned abruptly inside the house, leaving them to follow.

Fidelma addressed herself to Brehon Tuama.

“Show me where the body was lying.”

Tuama pointed to the floor inside the first room, which was the kitchen.

“And where was the boy found?”

Findach answered this time, turning and pushing open a door sharply.

“The killer was hiding in here,” he grunted.

“I understand that you knew that Brother Caisín would be arriving to collect the silver cross you had made for his abbey?”

Findach glanced at Brehon Tuama who stood stony-faced. Then he shrugged. His voice was ungracious.

“I expected someone from the abbey to come to collect the piece. It was the agreed day.”

“You brought the cross from your forge to the house. Wasn’t that unusual?”

“I brought it here for safekeeping. There is no one at my forge at night and so I do not leave valuable items there.”

“How valuable was this cross?”

“My commission price was twenty-one séds.”

“Describe the cross, its weight and size.”

“It was of silver mined at Magh Méine. Just over a meter in height and half of that across the arms. It was heavy. The only way I could carry it was by means of a rope slung across my back.”

“Brother Caisín was to carry it in the same fashion?”

“I believe he arrived on an ass, realizing the weight to be transported.”

“And where did you leave the cross?”

“It was standing in that corner of the room.”

Fidelma went and looked at the corner that he indicated.

“You believe that the boy, Braon, came into your house, saw this cross, killed your wife, and took it, as heavy as it was, and then-presumably having hidden it-returned to this house? Having done that, hearing the arrival of Brother Caisín, he then hid himself in that room, where he was discovered?”

Findach scowled at her smile of skepticism.

“How else do you explain it?”

“I don’t have to, as yet. What time did you leave that morning to go to your forge?”

Findach shrugged.

“Just after dawn.”

“Did you know that boy was coming to help with your wife’s herd?”

“I knew. I never trusted him. His father was a bothach, always cadging money from the better off.”

“I understand that you were not one of them.” Fidelma’s riposte caused Findach’s face to go red.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said defensively.

“I heard that you were regarded as poor.”

“Silver and gold costs money. When I get a commission, I have to find the metals and don’t get paid until the commission is complete.”

“Braon had worked for your wife often before, hadn’t he?” Fidelma changed the subject.

“He had.”

“And you had no cause to complain about him before? Surely you have left valuable items in your house on other occasions?”

“My wife is murdered. The silver cross is gone. The boy was a bothach.”

“So you imply that you were always suspicious of him? As you say, he was a bothach. Yet you left the silver cross in your house and went to the forge. Isn’t that strange?”

Findach flushed in annoyance.

“I did not suspect that he would be tempted. .”

“Quite so,” snapped Fidelma. She turned to Brehon Tuama.

“I suppose that you have asked Brother Caisín to remain in Droim Sorn until the case in concluded?”

“Indeed, I have. Much to his annoyance. But I have sent a message to his abbot to explain the circumstances.”

“Excellent.” Fidelma swung ’round to Findach. “Now, I would like to see your forge.”

Findach was astonished.

“I do not understand what relevance. .?”

Fidelma smiled mischievously.

“You do not have to understand, only to respond to my questions. I understand the forge is a hundred yards from here?”

Findach bit his lip and turned silently to lead the way.

The forge lay one hundred yards through the trees in a small clearing.

“The furnace is out,” observed Fidelma as they entered.

“Of course. I have not worked here since yesterday morning.”

“Obviously,” Fidelma agreed easily. Then, surprising both Findach and Brehon Tuama, she thrust her right hand into the gray charcoal of the brazier. After a moment, she withdrew her hand and without any comment went to the umar, or water trough, to wash the dirt off. As she did so, she surveyed the cartha, the term used for a forge. It was unusual for a forge to be so isolated from the rest of the township. Smiths and their forges were usually one of the important centers of a district, often well frequented. Findach seemed to read her mind.

“I am a craftsman only in silver and gold these days. I do not make harnesses, shoe horses, or fix farm implements. I make works of art.”

His voice possessed arrogance, a boastfulness.

She did not answer.

The great anvil stood in the center of the forge, near the blackened wood-charcoal-filled brazier and next to the water trough. A box containing the supply of wood charcoal stood nearby, ready for fueling the fire. There was a bellows next to the brazier.

“Do you have examples of your work here?” she asked, peering around.

Findach shook his head.

“I have closed down my forge out of respect to my wife. Once this matter is cleared up. .”

“But you must have molds, casts. . pieces you have made?”

Findach shook his head.

“I was just curious to see the work of a smith who is so renowned for his fine work. However, to the task at hand. I think, Brehon Tuama, I shall see the boy now.”

They retraced their steps to Odar’s house. The chieftain was out hunting, but his tanist, his heir-apparent, led them to the room where the accused boy was held.

Braon was tall for his sixteen years. A thin, pale boy, fair of skin and freckled. There was no sign that he had yet begun to shave. He stood up nervously before Fidelma.

Fidelma entered the room while Brehon Tuama, by agreement, stayed outside as, under law, if she were to defend the boy, it was her privilege to see him alone. She waved him to be seated again on the small wooden bed while she herself sat on a stool before him.

“You know who I am?” she asked.

The boy nodded.

“I want you to tell me your story in your own words.”

“I have already told the Brehon.”

“The Brehon is to sit in judgment on you. I am a dálaigh, who will defend you. So tell me.”

The young boy seemed nervous.

“What will happen to me?”

“That depends if you are guilty or innocent.”

“No one cares if a bothach is innocent when there is a crime to be answered for.”

“That is not what the law says, Braon. The law is there to protect the innocent whoever they are and to punish the guilty whoever they may be. Do you understand?”

“That is not how Odar sees it,” replied the boy.

“Tell me the events of that morning when you went to work for Muirenn,” Fidelma said, thinking it best not to pursue the matter of Odar’s prejudice.

“I did not kill her. She was always kind to me. She was not like her husband, Findach. He was mean, and I heard her reprimanding him often about that. He claimed that he did not have money but everyone knows that smiths have money.”

“Tell me what happened that morning.”

“I arrived at the house and went inside. .”

“One moment. Was there anything out of the usual? Was there anyone about, so far as you saw?”

The boy shook his head thoughtfully.

“Nothing out of the usual. I saw no one, except for Odar’s hunting dogs. . he has two big wolfhounds. I saw them bounding into the woods by Findach’s forge. But there was no one about. So I went to the house and found the door ajar. I called out and, receiving no answer, I pushed it open.”

“What did you see?”

“From the open door I could see a body on the floor of the kitchen beyond. It was Muirenn. I thought she had fallen, perhaps struck her head. I bent down and felt her pulse, but the moment my hand touched her flesh I could feel a chill on it. I knew that she was dead.”

“The flesh felt chilled?”

“It did.”

“What then?” she prompted.

“I stood up and. .”

“A moment. Did you see any sign of the silver cross in the room?”

“It was not there. Something as unusual as that I would have noticed even in such circumstances. In fact, I was looking ’round when I heard a noise. Someone was approaching. I panicked and hid myself in an adjoining room.” He hesitated. “The rest you must know. Brother Caisín came in and discovered me. There was blood on my clothes where I had touched Muirenn. No one listened, and hence I am accused of theft and murder. Sister, I swear to you that I never saw such a cross nor would I have killed Muirenn. She was one of the few people here who did not treat me as if I were beneath contempt!”

Fidelma found it difficult to question the sincerity in the boy’s voice.

She joined Brehon Tuama outside.

“Well?” asked the Brehon morosely. “Do you see the difficulty of this case?”

“I have seen the difficulty ever since you explained it to me,” she replied shortly. “However, let us now find this Brother Caisín and see what he has to say.”

“He has accommodation in the hostel.”

They went to the town’s bruighean, which was situated in the center of Droim Sorn and provided accommodation and hospitality to whoever sought it there.

Brother Caisín was well built and, in spite of his robes, Fidelma noticed that he was muscular and had more of a build associated with a warrior than that of a religieux. It was when she examined his features that she found herself distrusting the man. His eyes were close set in the narrow face, shifty and not focusing on his questioner. The lips were too thin, the nose narrow and hooked. He spoke with a soft, lisping voice that seemed at odds with his build. The line from Juvenal came to her mind: fronti nulla fides-no reliance can be placed on appearance.

“Brother Caisín?”

Caisín glanced quickly at her and then at Brehon Tuama before dropping his gaze to focus on a point midway between them.

“I suppose you are the dálaigh from Cashel?”

“You suppose correctly. I am Fidelma of Cashel.”

The man seemed to sigh and shiver slightly.

“I have heard of your reputation, Sister. You have a way of ferreting out information.”

Fidelma smiled broadly.

“I am not sure whether you mean that as a compliment, Brother. I will accept it as such.”

“I must tell you something before you discover it for yourself and place a wrong interpretation on it.” The monk seemed anxious. “Have you heard of Caisín of Inis Geimhleach?”

Fidelma frowned and shook her head.

“I know Inis Geimhleach, the imprisoned island, a small settlement in Loch Allua, a wild and beautiful spot.”

At her side, Brehon Tuama suddenly snapped his fingers with a triumphant exclamation.

“Caisín. . I have heard the story. Caisín was a warrior turned thief! It was ten years ago that he was found guilty of stealing from the church there. He claimed that he had repented and went into the service of the church and disappeared. .”

Brehon Tuama’s voice trailed off. His eyes narrowed on the religieux before him.

“Caisín of Inis Geimhleach? Are you saying that you are that man?” Fidelma articulated the conclusion of his thoughts.

The monk bowed his head and nodded.

Brehon Tuama turned to Fidelma with a glance of satisfaction: “Then, Sister, we. .”

Fidelma stilled him with a warning glance.

“So, Caisín, why do you confess this now?”

“I have paid penance for my crime and have continued to serve in the abbey of Cluain. You might discover this and leap to the wrong conclusion.”

“So why did you not reveal this before, when the Brehon questioned you?” she demanded.

Caisín flushed.

“One does not always do the correct thing at the correct time. This last day, I have had a chance to think more carefully. I realized it was foolish not to be completely honest even though it has nothing to do with the current matter.”

Fidelma sighed.

“Well, your honesty does you credit in the circumstances. Tell me, in your own words, what happened when you discovered the body of Muirenn, the wife of the smith.”

Caisín spread his arms in a sort of helpless gesture.

“There is nothing complicated about it. My abbot told me that some time ago he had commissioned a new silver cross for our high altar from Findach the Smith. I was instructed to come to Droim Sorn to collect it.”

“How was payment to be made to Findach?” asked Fidelma.

Caisín looked bewildered.

“The abbot made no reference to payment. He simply asked me to come and collect the cross. As it was for the high altar, I understood it to be heavy, and so I asked permission to take one of the mules from the abbey. I had been to Droim Sorn before and so I knew where to find Findach’s forge.”

Fidelma glanced quickly at him.

“You went to the forge directly?”

“Oh yes. Where else would I go to collect the cross?”

“Where, indeed? What then?”

“Findach was at the forge, and when I arrived he told me that the cross was at his house and I should precede him there. He would join me once he had doused his furnace.”

“Was anyone else at the forge when you arrived?”

“No. . well, I did see a man riding away.”

“I don’t suppose you knew who it was?”

Brother Caisín surprised her by an affirmative nod.

“I recognized him later as Odar, the chieftain. He had his hunting dogs with him. I left Findach and went to the house. I arrived at the door. It was slightly ajar. I caught sight of clothing on the floor. I pushed the door open and then I realized the clothing was a body. It was a woman. I was standing there when I heard a noise beyond an interior door. I opened it and found the youth, Braon, hiding there. He had blood on his clothes and instinct made me grasp hold of him. A moment later, Findach, who followed me from the forge, entered and cried out when he recognized the body of his wife. His cry brought someone else who ran to fetch Brehon Tuama. That is all I know.”

Outside, Brehon Tuama looked worried.

“Do you think he is being honest? Once a thief. .? Isn’t it said that opportunity makes the thief, and this man had opportunity.”

“Publilius Syrus once wrote that the stolen ox sometimes puts his head out of the stall,” smiled Fidelma, mysteriously.

Brehon Tuama looked bewildered. Fidelma went on without enlightening him: “I am going to ride to Cluain to see the abbot. When I return I hope to have resolved this mystery.”

Brehon Tuama’s eyes lightened.

“Then you think that Caisín is responsible?”

“I did not say that.”

Cluain, the meadow, was the site of an abbey and community founded by Colmán Mac Léníne some sixty years before. It was evening when she reached the abbey and demanded to be announced to the abbot immediately. The abbot received her without demur for he knew that Fidelma was also the sister of the young king of Cashel.

“You have come from Droim Sorn, lady?” asked the elderly abbot when they were seated. “I suppose that you wish to speak with me of Brother Caisín?”

“Why do you suppose that?”

“His background and the circumstances make him suspect in the murder and theft there. I have had word of the event from Brehon Tuama. Caisín is a good man in spite of his history. He came to this abbey ten years ago as a penitent thief. Like the penitent thief of the Bible, he was received with rejoicing and forgiveness and never once has he given us cause to question his redemption.”

“You trusted him to go to Droim Sorn to bring back a valuable cross of silver.”

“It was the new cross for our high altar.”

“But you did not trust him with the money to pay for it, I understand.”

The old man blinked rapidly.

“There was no payment to be made.”

“You mean that Findach undertook to make this cross out of charity for the abbey?” Fidelma was puzzled.

The old abbot laughed, a slightly high-pitched laugh.

“Findach never gave anything out of charity. I should know for I was uncle to his wife Muirenn. He is an impecunious man. He made the cross for us in repayment for this indebtedness to the abbey.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

“Findach spent money like water. His wife owned the house in which he dwells and kept her own money as the law allows. In fact, all Findach owns is his forge and tools.”

Fidelma leant forward quickly.

“You mean that Findach will benefit from his wife’s wealth now that she is dead?”

The abbot smiled sadly and shook his head.

“He does not benefit at all. Half of her money is returned to her own family in accordance with the law. She was an aire-echta in her own right.”

Fidelma was surprised, for it was not often that a smith’s wife held an equal honor price to that of her husband.

The abbot continued: “She has bequeathed the residue of her property to this abbey in my name, for she knew how I had helped her husband over the years.”

Fidelma hid her disappointment at being first presented and then deprived of another motive for the murder of Muirenn.

“Findach had been asked to make some artifact for Imleach; and rather than admit to the abbot of Imleach that he had no money to purchase the silver needed to make it, he asked me for a loan. When he later confessed he could not repay it, I offered to provide him with enough silver so that he could construct a cross for our high altar. His craftsmanship was to be the repayment.”

“I am beginning to understand. I am told that Caisín had been to Droim Sorn before?”

“I sent him myself,” agreed the abbot.

“Last month I sent him to see Findach to remind him that the time to deliver the cross was approaching. He returned and told me that Findach had assured him that the cross would be ready at the appropriate time.”

Fidelma, fretting at the delay, had to spend the night at Cluain, and rode back to Droim Sorn the following morning.

She was met by Brehon Tuama, whose face mirrored some degree of excitement.

“It seems that we were both wrong, Sister. The boy, Braon, announced his guilt by attempting to escape.”

Fidelma exhaled sharply in her annoyance.

“The stupid boy! What happened?”

“He climbed out of a window and fled into the forest. He was recaptured early this morning. Odar let loose his hunting dogs after him and it was a wonder that the boy was not ripped apart. We caught him just in time. Odar has now demanded the imprisonment of his father as an accomplice.”

Fidelma stared at the Brehon.

“And you have agreed to this?”

Brehon Tuama spread his hands in resignation.

“What is there to be done? Whatever doubts I had before are now dispelled by the boy’s own admission of guilt. . his attempt to escape.”

“Does it not occur to you that the boy attempted to escape out of fear rather than out of guilt?”

“Fear? What had he to fear if he was innocent?”

“He and his father seemed to fear that, as they are of the class of bothach, looked down on and despised by many of the free clansmen of this place, they would not be treated fairly,” she snapped.

“The law is there so that no one should fear any unjust action. I regret that Odar does not appreciate that fact.”

Brehon Tuama sighed.

“Sadly, the law is merely that which is written on paper. It is human beings who interpret and govern the law, and often human beings are frail creatures full of the seven deadly sins that govern their little lives.”

“Are you telling me the boy is again imprisoned at Odar’s rath and is unhurt?”

“Bruised a little, but unhurt.”

“Deo gratias! And the father?”

“He has been imprisoned in the barn behind the chief’s house.”

“Then let us go to the chief’s house and have all those involved in this matter summoned. If, after hearing what I have to say you feel that there is a necessity for a formal trial, so be it. But the boy is not guilty.”

Half an hour later they were gathered in Odar’s hall. Along with Odar and his tanist were Brehon Tuama, the boy, Braon, and his father, Brocc, with Findach and Brother Caisín.

Fidelma turned to Brocc first. Her voice was brusque.

“Although you are a bothach, you have worked hard and gathered enough valuables to soon be able to purchase your place as a full and free clansman here. Is that correct?”

Brocc was bewildered by her question, but gave an affirmative jerk of his head.

“You would be able to pay the honor price for the death of Muirenn, the compensation due for her unlawful killing?”

“If my son were judged guilty, yes.”

“Indeed. For everyone knows that your son is under age. The payment of compensation and fines incurred by his action, if found guilty, falls to you.”

“I understand that.”

“Indeed you do. The law is well known.” Fidelma turned to Find-ach. “Am I right in believing that your wife Muirenn was of the social rank of aire-echta, and her honor price was ten séds-that is the worth of ten milch cows?”

“That is no secret,” snapped Findach belligerently.

Fidelma swung ’round to Odar.

“And isn’t that the very sum of money that Findach owed you?”

Odar colored a little.

“What of it? I can lend money to my own kinsman if I wish to.”

“You know that Findach is penniless. If Braon was found guilty, Findach would receive the very sum of money in compensation that he owed to you, perhaps more if the claim of theft to the value of twenty-one séds is proved as well. Would that have any influence on your insisting on the boy’s prosecution?”

Odar rose to his feet, opening his mouth to protest, but Fidelma silenced him before he could speak.

“Sit down!” Fidelma’s voice was sharp. “I speak here as dálaigh and will not be interrupted.”

There was tense silence before she continued.

“This is a sad case. There never was a cross of silver that was stolen, was there, Findach?”

The smith turned abruptly white.

“You are known to be a gambler, often in debt to people such as Odar. . and to your wife’s uncle, the abbot of Cluain. You are also lazy. Instead of pursuing the work you have a talent for, you prefer to borrow or steal so that you may gamble. You were in debt to your wife’s uncle, and when he gave you silver to fashion a cross as a means of repaying him you doubtless sold that silver.

“Having sold the silver, you had no cross to give to the abbey of Cluain. You have not used your forge in days, perhaps weeks. Your furnace was as cold as the grave. And speaking of coldness. . when Braon touched the body of Muirenn to see if he could help, he remarked the body was cold. Muirenn could not have been killed that morning after you left. She had been dead many hours.”

Findach collapsed suddenly on his chair. He slumped forward, head held in his hands.

“Muirenn. .” The word was a piteous groan.

“Why did you kill Muirenn?” pressed Fidelma. “Did she try to stop you from faking the theft of the cross?”

Findach raised his eyes. His expression was pathetic.

“I did not mean to kill her, just silence her nagging. Faking the theft was the only way I could avoid the debts. . I hit her. I sat in the kitchen all night by her body wondering what I should do.”

“And the idea came that you could claim that the silver cross, which you had never made, was stolen by the same person who murdered your wife? You knew that Braon was coming that morning and he was a suitable scapegoat.” She turned to Brehon Tuama. “Res ipsa loquitur,” she muttered, using the Latin to indicate that the facts spoke for themselves.

When Findach had been taken away and Braon and his father released, Brehon Tuama accompanied Fidelma as she led her horse to the start of the Cashel road.

“A bad business,” muttered the Brehon. “We are all at fault here.”

“I think that Odar’s chiefship is worthy of challenge,” agreed Fidelma. “He is not fit to hold that office.”

“Was it luck that made you suspicious of Findach?” queried Tuama, nodding absently.

Sister Fidelma swung up into the saddle of her horse and glanced down at the Brehon with a smile.

“A good judge must never rely on luck in deduction. Findach tried to scatter thorns across the path of our investigation, hoping that the boy or Caisín would pierce their feet on them and be adjudged guilty. He should have remembered the old proverb: He that scatters thorns must not go barefooted.”