Whispers of the Dead

THE BLEMISH

Fidelma!”

The young monk nearly collided with a tall girl as she came around the corner of the building with such speed and force that he barely had time to flatten himself against the wall to avoid her.

“Can’t stop,” she flung breathlessly at him as she hurried on with her hair and robes flying with the speed of her progress.

“Brehon Morann is looking for you,” the religieux shouted after her retreating form.

“I know,” her voice flung back. “I’m on my way.”

“You’re late for your examination,” the young monk added before realizing that she could no longer hear him. He stood for a moment, looking disapprovingly after her as she disappeared toward a gray stone building that was the center of the college, then he shrugged and continued on his way.

Fidelma did not need to be reminded that she was late for her examination with Brehon Morann of Tara. The examination was one of several she was taking which, she hoped, would result in her achieving the degree of Dos and thus ending her fourth year of study at the college of which Morann was Principal. The degree of Dos, so called because the student was regarded as a young tree ready to develop-for such was the literal meaning of the word-marked the start of her graduation from the school of law studies. It was the lowest rung of the graduate ladder. With such a degree one could go forth and practice as a minor magistrate or legal advisor. Fidelma had a higher ambition than that. But if she did not present herself within the appointed hour she would not be graduating at all.

The Brehon Morann sat at his desk, alone in his study, as Fidelma obeyed his gruff instruction to enter after she had timidly tapped upon his door. He was an elderly man with a kindly face but whose features could mold into a look of stern disapproval within a moment. He wore such an expression now.

“Well, Fidelma,” he said softly, as she came breathlessly to stand before him, “is it not said that judges begin to count the faults of those who keep them waiting?”

Fidelma colored in annoyance.

“Fer-leginn,” she addressed him by his official title of “Principal,” “It is not my fault that I. .”

She saw him begin to scowl and her mouth snapped shut.

“They are truly good who are faultless,” sighed Brehon Morann. His face was still somber but his twinkling bright eyes regarded her for a moment. She swore that he was laughing at her. “What were you saying, Fidelma?”

She shook her head.

“I am sorry for my lateness.” She tried to sound contrite. It was no use explaining that for some inexplicable reason the key had been turned in the lock of her door from the outside and it had taken her some time to attract attention and extricate herself from her room. She realized that it was no use explaining her lateness for this examination. She harbored ill thoughts against the student who would have played such a silly and petty trick on her. That they did it this morning of all mornings, when she was due for her examination, increased her thoughts of vengeance on the perpetrator. Morann had doubtless heard many excuses from students over the years and, even though her excuse was, in fact, a reason, any attempted explanation would not enhance her image in the eyes of her venerable examiner.

“Then I accept your contrition,” replied the Brehon solemnly, sitting back and placing his fingertips against one another, hand to hand, so that the tips of the thumbs touched just under his chin. “Sit down.”

Fidelma sat down, feeling hard done by.

“Tell me what you know of The Blemish?”

Brehon Morann asked the question without preamble and for a second Fidelma had to compose her thoughts.

“The Blemish? You mean, what is a blemish in legal terms?” she countered, playing for time.

Again, the frown of annoyance crossed Brehon Morann’s brow.

“You are in a college for the study of law,” he pointed out dryly, leaving her to make her own deduction.

Fidelma began to speak, hoping as she did so that the information would come to her mind.

“The law text Uraicecht Becc opens with the sentence that our system of law is founded on truth, right and nature. A judge must give a surety of five ounces of silver that the judgment they give is truthful to the best of the knowledge provided to them. They forfeit that sum if an appeal against their judgment is upheld. If it is found that they have made an erroneous judgment when the facts presented to them are clear then they are fined one cumal.”

“Are you saying that honest error is not allowed in law?” snapped Morann.

“It is allowed for-isn’t there a saying which is ‘to every judge an error’? But a judge must pay for his errors if that error is obvious, and if the error arises from bias then it is said that a blemish will raise itself on his face. A serious false judgment will result in the judge being deprived of his office and his honor.”

Brehon Morann nodded slowly. He ignored the expression of triumph that crossed Fidelma’s face as she finally arrived at the answer to his initial question on “The Blemish.”

“And this blemish-how would you describe its physical manifestation?” He smiled softly.

Fidelma hesitated for a moment and then decided that she would put forward her own concept.

“When the ancients talked about a blemish being raised, I do not think that they meant it to be taken literally.”

Brehon Morann’s brows drew together sternly.

“Ah, so you are an interpreter of the meaning of the ancient texts?”

Fidelma’s chin came up at his tone of mockery.

“I make no such pretension although, surely, it is the task of the Brehon to elucidate the texts? I believe that what is meant by this reference to a blemish is that the loss of a judge’s honor and the fact that he becomes known in public as someone who has delivered a false judgment puts a blemish on his character in the minds of the people; the blemish is in the mind, not physically on the skin.”

“Indeed?” Brehon Morann’s voice was dry and non-committal.

Brehon Morann leant forward and picked up a small silver handbell. As its tinkling tones died away the door opened and a short, wiry man with an abundance of white curly hair entered. He closed the door behind him and made his way to a chair at the side of Morann’s table facing Fidelma. His face bore no expression at all. His features were bland.

“This is the Druimcli Firbis of Ardagh. He will set a case before you and you will tell me if and why a blemish should have been raised on the judge involved in the case.”

Fidelma stirred nervously in her chair. A Druimcli was a person who had mastered the entire course of learning, and was not merely a Brehon but could be appointed to the most important legal positions. She turned slightly to face him.

Firbis’s tone was high-pitched and querulous and he had a habit of sniffing every so often as if in disapproval.

“Pay attention and do not make any notes. I do not approve of the writing of notes as a means to aid the memory. In the old days, before the coming of the New Faith, the writing of our wealth of knowledge was not allowed. The old religion forbade us to commit our teachings to writing and it is a good rule for pupils who rely on the written word and neglect to train their memories. When pupils have the help of notes, they are less diligent in learning by heart and so their memories rust. Is that not so, young woman?”

The abruptness of the question startled Fidelma for a moment.

“It is an argument that I have heard, Druimcli, ” she acknowledged, solemnly.

The corners of Firbis’s mouth turned down.

“But you do not agree?” He spoke sharply, his eyes perceptive.

“Our ancestors failed to record many essential matters before the coming of the New Faith and the result is that much has been lost to posterity. Philosophy, religion, history, poetry. . these things went unrecorded. Because of this refusal to set forth all knowledge in writing, have we not lost much that would be most valuable to our civilization?”

Firbis stared at her in disapproval and sniffed.

“I suppose that you are one of the young generation who applauds the work of those scribes in the foundations of the New Faith who spend their time setting forth such matters in the new Latin alphabet?”

Fidelma inclined her head.

“Of course. How will future generations know the poetry, the law, the ancient stories and the course of our history unless it is set forth? I would only make this criticism, that such scribes feel constrained to dress many of the ancient stories of the old gods and goddesses in the images of the New Faith.” Fidelma suddenly felt herself warming to the theme. “Why, I have even seen one text in which the scribe tells how the hero Cú Chulainn is conjured out of Hell by the Blessed Patrick to help him convert the High King Laoghaire to the New Faith and when Laoghaire becomes a Christian Cú Chulainn is released from Hell to go to Heaven.”

Brehon Morann leant forward.

“You disapprove?”

Fidelma nodded.

“We are told, in the New Faith, that God is good, loving and forgiving. Cú Chulainn was a great champion whose life was devoted to aiding the weak against the strong. He would surely not have been consigned to Hell by such a God and. .”

Firbis cleared his throat noisily.

“You seem to have radical ideas, young woman. But in reply to your question, future generations should learn by adhering to the old ways, learning by heart, passing on the knowledge one voice to another voice down the ages. Our tradition is that knowledge must be passed on and preserved in oral tradition so that outsiders do not steal it from us.”

“It cannot be. The old ways are gone. We must progress. But, hopefully, not by distorting the images of our past.”

Brehon Morann interrupted impatiently.

“You say, we must progress. Agreed. Progress in the matter we are dealing with today,” he said heavily. “The day grows short and there are other students to be tested before sundown.”

Inwardly, Fidelma groaned. She had obviously alienated Druimcli Firbis by her attitude and annoyed Brehon Morann by her lateness and her inability to keep her views to herself.

Firbis sniffed rapidly.

“Very well. Pay attention. I will not repeat myself and, whatever happens outside these walls, I will tolerate no writing of notes.”

He stared sharply in challenge at her but she did not demur.

After a moment’s silence, he began.

“This case involved a Brehon. We will not name him. A case came before him in which he found a woman not guilty of theft. Let us call the woman Sochla.”

He paused as if he expected a challenge to his opening statement.

“The circumstances were as follows: Sochla worked in the hall of the King of Tethbae. Do you know where that is?”

Fidelma nodded automatically.

“It is a petty kingdom bordering on the west of Midhe, not far from here,” she answered. Fidelma prided herself on her geographical knowledge.

“Indeed,” muttered Firbis, as if disappointed that his question had received a correct answer. “It was a small kingdom founded two hundred years ago by Maine, a son of the High King, Niall of the Nine Hostages.”

Fidelma also knew this information but did not say anything further.

“As I was saying,” began Firbis querulously, as if she had interrupted him, “Sochla worked in the hall of Catharnaigh, the King. In a casket, in the hall, the Kings of Tethbae kept an oak and bronze casket. In this casket was the preserved skull of Maine, founder of the kingdom, who died in battle. Maine of the Bright Deeds was how the poets described him. His skull was preserved in the ancient tradition as the rallying symbol of his people in Tethbae. It was valued beyond price by them.”

“There are many similar icons in other kingdoms,” observed Fidelma quietly.

“We are not speaking of other kingdoms,” snapped Firbis. “I speak of Tethbae! The skull of Maine was beyond price and kept in pride of place in the hall of Catharnaigh.”

He stared at Fidelma, challenging her to speak. When she did not, he continued less querulously.

“Catharnaigh and his retinue had left the hall to go to the Field of Contentions to attend a game of hurley. No one was left in the hall except for Sochla, whose task was to prepare the feasting hall for the King’s return. When Catharnaigh returned, he found the casket, containing the skull, was missing. Only Sochla had been in the hall during Catharnaigh’s absence and she was summoned. She denied any knowledge. Yet Catharnaigh was suspicious. Sochla’s quarters were searched and the casket was found under the woman’s bed. A learned Brehon was summoned and the case was heard. Sochla was found guilty of the theft.”

Firbis paused and sat back.

“This was the case. Did the Brehon render a true or a false judgment?”

Fidelma sat quietly for a moment. Then she raised a slender shoulder and let it fall.

“It is impossible to make an answer based on the facts that you have cited.” She glanced quickly at Brehon Morann. “I presume that I am allowed to ask questions of the Druimcli before expressing any opinion?”

Firbis interrupted before the Brehon could answer.

“I thought the facts were plain enough, young woman. The casket was found under the bed of Sochla. Have you overlooked that fact?”

“I have not,” replied Fidelma.

“Bearing that fact in mind, do you tell me that you do not think it is a simple, open and shut case? Surely you do not wish to waste time here? The answer is simply a negative or positive one. Was a true or false judgment rendered when Sochla was pronounced guilty of the crime?”

Fidelma turned to Brehon Morann.

“I think it is right that I should ask questions,” she said stubbornly, determined not to be cowed by the Druimcli. “No one would be able to express support for a judgment without knowing all the facts.”

The Brehon smiled gravely.

“You may ask, but do not waste time.”

Fidelma turned back to Firbis.

“What was the motive according to the Brehon who pronounced the woman guilty?”

Firbis blinked and glanced at Brehon Morann with a raised eyebrow. Then he turned back to Fidelma and shrugged indifferently.

“With a priceless relic, I would have thought that the matter of motive was obvious.”

“Really? I would have thought that the motive became more obscure.”

Firbis’s eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, Fidelma asked another question: “Was this Sochla an intelligent woman? Was she half-witted or did she have any other defects that would cause her a lack of common sense?”

“She was intelligent,” replied Firbis tightly.

“Then she would have known that it is impossible to make financial gain from a priceless article such as the skull of Maine of Tethbae. Who would want to buy such a relic apart from those to whom it is priceless?”

“She could have taken it to demand a ransom from Catharnaigh, the King of Tethbae, for its safe return,” pointed out Brehon Morann quietly.

“That would be equally preposterous,” replied Fidelma. “Once she had revealed that she had the casket and skull, she would be in a vulnerable position and, even if she succeeded in the negotiation, thereafter she would condemn herself to a life of exile from Tethbae and from the reach of its King. No, there is no motive in theft for profit. . if, as you say, the woman was intelligent.”

Firbis shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you saying that, on this reasoning alone, you believe that the judge made a false judgment?”

Fidelma shook her head at once.

“Not on that reasoning alone,” she smiled softy. “In all cases, as you know, there must be motive, means and opportunity. All three things must come together in one pattern. You tell me that the opportunity was there. . that she was in the hall alone when everyone had gone to watch a game of hurley. Presumably we can be assured that the casket and skull were observed to be in their place before people departed for the game and then were gone when they returned? To remove a casket containing a skull does not require any great means.”

“So you admit that the judge was correct on means and opportunity?” pressed Firbis.

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“I have heard no evidence that this Sochla possessed the only means and opportunity. Is there such evidence? Is it not possible that someone could have happened by and removed the casket while Sochla was elsewhere in the hall of Catharnaigh? Is it not possible that some other person could have planted the casket under Sochla’s bed?”

Firbis laughed, amused by the suggestion.

“For what motive?”

“There might be several motives, but one would need to ask a great many questions to find and validate them.”

“It seems to me, Fidelma, that you are attempting to make the woman in this case, Sochla, innocent,” observed the Brehon Morann.

Fidelma shook her head quickly.

“Not at all. I am attempting to find out the facts before rushing to judgment. I certainly would have asked more questions on means and opportunity. Tell me more about this Sochla. Is she young or old, what is her disposition, is she married, does she have lovers and, if so, who are they?”

“She is of young age,” Firbis replied. “She is barely over the ‘Age of Choice.’ Her father was of the daer-nemed class, that is a manual worker. In this case he worked as an assistant to the king’s blacksmith, while the girl worked as a manual worker, a cleaner, in the king’s hall.”

“And why was one so young and of such a class left alone in the king’s hall while all others went to a ball game? Did the king fear no enemies, no envious hands, that he would leave his house and wealth unguarded?”

Firbis exchanged another glance with Morann.

“Presumably this line of questioning was pursued with Catharnaigh?” pressed Fidelma when there was no response to her question.

Firbis sniffed: “What are you implying?”

“Druimcli, surely you should know that I could not imply anything. It is merely my duty to ask questions and through the answers to discover the truth.”

The Druimcli looked uncomfortable.

“The King had no cause to fear his enemies nor to fear envious hands in his property.”

“Yet, is it not unheard of that such a noble would vacate his hall and possessions in this manner?”

“The facts are as I have told them. It is not my task to comment or speculate on why a person should do this or that.”

Fidelma leaned forward quickly.

“But isn’t that the very task of a Brehon-to examine motivation behind each fact and ascertain what lay behind the fact and whether the person had criminal intent or not?”

Druimcli Firbis sat up more stiffly.

“I declare, you now exceed the parameters of your position, young woman. You are here to answer my question, which you have not yet done.”

“I have not done so because the question cannot be answered in the manner in which it is given,” she replied stubbornly. “You said that Sochla was young. Was she married?”

“She was not.”

“Did she have a lover?”

Firbis hesitated and inclined his head.

“And where was he on this day?”

“He claims that he was with Sochla.”

Fidelma pursued her lips in astonishment at this new revelation.

“And Sochla? What does she say?”

“That after the king and his entourage left, she began to work and then her lover came by. That they spent some time together. . ”

“Was she out of sight of the casket?” interrupted Fidelma.

Firbis blinked and paused a moment before responding.

“The casket is kept in a place of honor in the main feasting hall, on a stand behind the King’s seat. She claimed that they were out of sight of it for nearly an hour.”

“So anyone might have entered the hall and taken it.” Fidelma pouted. “It seems a very weak case against the girl, indeed. Who was this lover? Will he confirm what she says?”

Firbis smiled thinly.

“I hardly think so.”

“Why so?”

“He fled after the girl was accused.”

“Fled?”

“He was from the lands of Calraige.”

Fidelma was frowning now.

“But that is in the land of. .”

Firbis interrupted her with a thin smile.

“Exactly so, in the lands of the Uí Ailello, the deadly foes of the kings of Tethbae.”

“Are you trying to say that she and the lover collaborated in this theft?” mused Fidelma. “If so, then you are proposing a motive which you should have made clear when I questioned you earlier about it.”

There was irritation in her voice.

Firbis blinked at the belligerent tone.

Brehon Morann’s brows drew together.

“May I remind you that you are addressing a Druimcli?” he said icily.

“And I remind you,” added Firbis, sourly,“that it is not my task to feed you all the answers to this conundrum.”

Fidelma turned to Brehon Morann.

“I do not mean to sound disrespectful but this is an example of what I meant when I said that the case could not be judged on the facts initially given by the Druimcli. The introduction of this nameless lover into the story is an integral part of the evidence. . ”

“The Brehon in this case did not think so,” interrupted Firbis, “other than to reflect that it simply supported the guilt of the girl. It was clear to him that they colluded in this theft and that both meant to flee to the sanctuary of the lands of the Uí Ailello where the Chief of the clan would have lavished a reward on them for bringing the skull.”

Fidelma shook her head.

“It is a weak story.”

Firbis looked taken aback and the Brehon Morann leaned forward in his seat. He was smiling gently.

“You seem to take issue with all the facts, Fidelma.”

“Consider these facts,” replied Fidelma with a shrug.

“A servant girl is left alone in the king’s hall. She has a lover who is a member of a clan that comprises the most deadly foes of the King of Tethbae and his people. Left alone in the hall, the girl is working when her lover comes by. They claim to make love for an hour. Then they take the skull in its casket and hide it under the girl’s bed in the servants’ quarters. The lover then departs. The people return, find the skull and casket missing. It is then found under the girl’s bed and the lover has fled back to his people.” She paused. “It is an improbable story. I’d say it is almost nonsense.”

Druimcli Firbis’s lips thinned.

“Are you saying that the Brehon in this case could not differentiate what was nonsense and what was fact?”

“It seems so,” Fidelma responded with seriousness.

Druimcli Firbis was now smiling cynically.

“So, are you saying, finally, that it is a matter of a false judgment?”

“False enough, if the Brehon involved judged this matter merely on this evidence alone.”

“Very well, Fidelma,” Firbis said, sitting back slightly.

“We will continue with the facts. The dálaigh, the advocate of the king, argued that the intention of Sochla and her lover was to flee with the casket immediately. But they dallied and in their dalliance did not realize that time had passed. They heard the people returning and all they could do was hide the casket under the bed and the lover left, waiting in the vicinity to see what happened. When he realized that Sochla was caught, he then fled leaving her to face punishment alone.”

“And what did the girl’s dálaigh, her advocate, say in rebuttal?”

“She did not have an advocate.”

“Who pled for the girl?”

“The Brehon did so.”

Fidelma gazed at Firbis’s bland expression with amazement.

“A Brehon must be unbiased,” she said slowly.

“Just so,” agreed Firbis, “and is therefore allowed to enter a case to plead for the accused. .”

“But only if the accused or witness is incapable of representing or speaking for themselves. You have already told me that Sochla was intelligent, in no way retarded. Why wasn’t she allowed to speak for herself or instruct a dálaigh?”

Brehon Morann stirred.

“Is it your claim that the Brehon acted improperly?”

“It would seem that the rights of the accused were infringed,” replied Fidelma, choosing her words carefully.

Firbis snorted derisively.

“Infringed? No Brehon of Ardagh would. .” He hesitated and then asked: “What of the rights of the King?”

“The law is stronger than a king. It is an old saying,” replied Fidelma calmly.

“The Brehon, from what you have told me, so far seems biased in the extreme.”

Firbis’s mouth tightened a little.

“You are talking of a respected Brehon who holds more qualifications in legal affairs than you will ever attain.”

Fidelma’s irritations boiled over.

“As well as being a Druimcli I presume that you are also a prophet or have the gift of clairvoyance?” Her voice was ice cold.

Firbis’s brows came together.

“Do you mean to insult me?” His tone was equally studied.

“Insult? Not at all. I merely seek information. You have said that I will never attain the qualifications that this unnamed Brehon holds or held. To make such a statement one needs firstly to know exactly what qualifications the unnamed Brehon held and also to know the future as to what qualifications I am likely to attain to. Being interested in my future, I wondered how this could be. With due respect, I merely asked you the basis of your prognostication-whether you were a prophet or held the gift of clairvoyance? What insult is there in that?”

There was a sound from Brehon Morann.

Behind a hand that covered the lower part of his mouth he appeared to be stifling a laugh.

The Druimcli seemed to make a conscious effort to control his features.

“Fidelma.” Brehon Morann, having controlled his amusement, spoke softly.

“Fidelma, I think on reflection you will find that the Druimcli was speaking figuratively.”

“I think he was also speaking without due regard to the law,” replied Fidelma, unappeased by the explanation.

This time Firbis kept his lips pressed tight.

“Explain yourself,” Morann said quietly. It was a dangerous tone.

“Simply, that the law holds everyone to account. Because someone is a Brehon does not exclude them from criticism any more than it allows a Druimcli to insult a student who has not yet attained to the degree of Dos.”

There was coldness in the room.

Suddenly, Druimcli Firbis seemed to relax and actually smile. It was a thin, wan smile but a smile nevertheless.

“You are right, young woman. It was wrong of me to make such a personal outburst. A Brehon is not above examination and where error has occurred he is not beyond correction and fine. Nor should I have implied that you do not have the right to express your opinion of any error because you have not yet graduated.”

Fidelma bowed her head slightly.

“Indeed, isn’t the reason that we are discussing this matter to see whether the unnamed Brehon in question gave a false judgment or a true judgment?’ she asked.

Brehon Morann smiled softly.

“That is precisely what we are here for. Have you reached any conclusion?”

“My conclusion, so far, is the verdict is still unsafe. What witnesses were called by the king’s dálaigh?”

“The king’s steward, for one,” replied Firbis.

“What was his name and the effect of his testimony?”

“His name?” Firbis hesitated then said. “Feranaim. He deposed that Sochla had been employed as a menial worker in the king’s hall. That he had seen her at work when the household left to attend the game and most importantly he had seen the casket in its usual place.”

“He was the last to leave the hall?”

“That is so,” replied Firbis hastily.

“How did you know?” Fidelma did not reply directly. She continued: “And was he the person who spotted the casket missing on the return from the game?”

The Druimcli shook his head.

“No, in fact it was the King himself who spotted that the casket was not in its usual place. The steward was sent for and. .”

“The steward was sent for?” Fidelma asked quickly. “Where was he when everyone returned from the game?”

“In his quarters. The steward has a house near the king’s hall.”

“But surely, the steward would know that his presence would be needed in the hall with the return of the King and his retinue?”

“He probably did not know they had returned,” Firbis assured her.

She smiled quickly.

“He did not know they had returned? Why not, if he had returned with them?”

Firbis regarded her with a bland expression and did not respond.

“The evidence was that the household went to the game leaving only Sochla in the king’s hall,” Fidelma pointed out.

“That is so. She was left in the king’s hall.”

“But the steward, the man called Feranaim, obviously did not go to the game and was in the vicinity of the royal complex?”

Neither Firbis nor Morann answered.

She stood thinking a moment.

“Did the Brehon pick up on this point?”

Druimcli Firbis shrugged.

“Was there any need to?”

“I would say there was great need.”

“Why?”

“Because it is evidence that challenges the whole case. Not only does it show that Sochla was not the only person in the vicinity of the casket, nor, as we have found, was her lover the only other person there, but now we have the high steward in the vicinity of the hall. What if Sochla was right? What if her lover and she had been otherwise engaged, and the high steward had slipped into the hall and removed the casket, later hiding it under Sochla’s bed for reasons we do not know of?”

“There are a many ‘what ifs’ here, Fidelma. With an ‘if’ you might place all Tara in a bottle.”

“Questions and probabilities are what this case is all about.” Fidelma was not dissuaded. “Were any questions put to this high steward called Feranaim about his background?”

“None directly,” confirmed Firbis.

“What does that mean?”

“That no direct question was put to the steward.” snapped back Firbis.

Fidelma thought for a moment.

“And was Sochla questioned on her relationship with Feranaim?”

“Her relationship?”

“Was she friendly with the steward?”

Firbis shook his head.

Something prompted Fidelma to press him.

“Did she volunteer any statement at all about Feranaim?”

“The Brehon deemed her statement about Feranaim inadmissible.”

“But what was that statement?”

“She claimed that Feranaim had attempted to seduce her and that she had rejected him. She claimed, because of this, that he held a hatred for her.”

Fidelma’s intake of breath was sharp.

“It now seems that the motive and opportunity are not all one-sided matters,” she said coldly. “Others might have motive and opportunity as well. On what ground did the Brehon rule this information inadmissible?”

The Druimcli shifted his position.

“The Brehon cited the law text the Berrad Airechta. I suppose you are acquainted with it?”

“It contains the text of the categories of evidence that are inadmissible,” replied Fidelma with confidence. “If my memory serves me correctly, there are nine major exclusions and four special exclusions. As I recall, evidence may be excluded if it comes from someone known to have been bribed, someone who has a relationship with the person they give evidence against, and someone known to hate the person. .”

Firbis held up his hand.

“You give us little doubt that you know the law in this respect, Fidelma. The Brehon excluded the evidence on the grounds that Sochla knew and hated Feranaim and thus the evidence was invalid. .”

“That was a wrong decision.”

“Why?” snapped Firbis.

“Because it would not apply to Sochla, being the accused. Her evidence in rebutting the accusations against her is not inadmissible. In this respect, I believe the Brehon was unjust. He should have included this evidence.”

Fidelma used the legal term gúach whose connotation meant that the injustice arose not from error but bias.

Firbis sat quietly examining her for a moment or two.

“Then you have decided that there was a false judgment here?”

Fidelma did not reply for the moment, then she said quietly: “An injustice in dismissing evidence does not necessarily imply that the overall judgment of the case was wrong or false within the definition by which a blemish might arise on the character of the Brehon. Were I to press forward, would there be any more revelations to come forth?”

The question was suddenly sharp and directed to the Druimcli.

Brehon Morann coughed, suddenly restive.

“There are several other students to be examined this day, Fidelma. I believe you have taken up enough of our time.”

The Brehon’s face was stern again, his brows drawn together in disapproval.

“Then you wish a judgment from me?” Fidelma said quietly, her head bowed. “Yet I do not feel that I have been given sufficient time nor all the facts in this case.”

Brehon Morann gave a soft sigh, a quiet hiss of breath that seemed to indicate his displeasure.

“Fidelma, today was the appointed day for your final examination in this series. The result of this day will determine whether you achieve the degree of Dos, the minimum graduate degree. Those that pass this degree can continue their studies, and should they pass six to eight more years of study here, then the accolade of ollamh might await them at which they could sit with the High King himself and speak a judgment even before he speaks. But the person who has the quickest hand, let them have the white hound and the deer in the hunt. So let me remind you of certain facts.”

Brehon Morann paused, his eyes piercing upon her.

“Certain facts?” murmured Fidelma, trying to concentrate.

“Knowing these things, you came late to your examination. Did you not attempt to make an excuse for doing so?”

Fidelma hesitated for a fraction of a second and then said: “There was no excuse.”

“You came here and instead of responding to a direct question, you began to question a Druimcli, someone who has achieved the seventh and highest grade of wisdom and your questions have been. . severe and condemning in tone. Let us put it this way, Fidelma, you have not set out to win our approval and yet the decision whether you obtain the degree of Dos lies in our hands.”

Fidelma flushed.

“I did not think that obtaining a degree lay with attempts to win approval from anyone. I thought it depended on an assessment of my knowledge of law,” she said quietly.

“Of law and your ability to apply it. Do you feel that you have displayed the knowledge that is relevant to judge the question that has been put before you?” Morann replied, his tone not changing.

“A very wise judge once told me that one should not give their judgment on hearing the first person’s story but to wait until one has heard the other side.”

Brehon Morann, in spite of his gravity, looked amused.

“Are you now trying to win my approbation by quoting me?”

“Not at all. What is true is true no matter whose mouth gives it utterance.”

“So you are saying that you cannot make a judgment?” intervened the Druimcli.

Fidelma turned to him and shook her head.

“I cannot make a judgment on the particular case that I have heard but I can make a decision on the judgment given by the Brehon in that case.”

Druimcli Firbis sat back with a half smile and made a gesture of invitation with one hand.

“You have a choice-the choice between firbrith or true judgment or cilbrith or false judgment.’

Firbis put the choice in the correct legal terms.

“I say that the judgment given by the Brehon in this case was cilbrith-a false judgment. I also believe, Druimcli, that the blemish rests on you; that you were the Brehon in this case.”

Firbis’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Why do you say this?”

“Because you seem to have an extraordinary knowledge of why the judge did certain things in this case. I also take into account the manner in which you selected the evidence, always in the judge’s favor, to present to me. You frequently showed how protective you were of the Brehon. That is, as I say, because I believe that you were the Brehon.”

Druimcli Firbis smiled.

“Belief is not evidence.”

“No. But you are a Druimcli at Ardagh, which is the principal town of Tethbae where you said this case took place. In your haste to defend the Brehon in this case you also mentioned that he came from Ardagh. There is one conclusion to all these things. You spoke with the authority of the Brehon involved in the case and therefore you were the Brehon.”

Firbis’s expression was, curiously, one of approval.

Brehon Morann was smiling with equal accord.

“Well, Fidelma. .”

“There is one thing more,” Fidelma interrupted.

Morann hesitated and raised an eyebrow in query.

“Something more?”

Fidelma nodded.

“This entire case was a fiction. It never happened. The reason why Firbis spoke with the authority of the Brehon in the case was because he invented the whole story and developed it as we went along as a means of testing me. No one of Firbis’s attainment would have acted in the way this Brehon would have done and yet, it was clear, that the Brehon involved was none other than Firbis. What was I to make of that? Feranaim, indeed! They very word means ‘Man without a name’! This was a test. Therefore, I concluded that Firbis invented the story to test the student.”

Brehon Morann was smiling.

“You are the first student that has ever seen beyond the nature of the test to that fact,” he said.

“The first student that has even spotted the identity of the Brehon,” agreed Firbis. “Most students try to make a guess answer at the moment that I ask the initial question.”

“But some others demand more knowledge?” queried Fidelma.

“Others do, but when we,” Firbis motioned to Morann, “argue and try to dissuade them from pressing their questions, they usually give up long before you did so. You kept on tenaciously. You have a good inquiring mind.”

“The purpose of this test is not only to show an inquiring mind and not spring to snap judgments,” Brehon Morann explained, “but to show to us that you have the tenacity in the face of opposition to carry on against odds, against authority, in your efforts to seek out the truth. Truth might be great and always prevail, but sometimes it needs someone who is tenacious in the face of apparently insurmountable barriers to prise it out of its hiding places. You have done well, Fidelma.”

Fidelma stood up looking from Firbis to Morann.

“Does that mean that I have passed this test?” she inquired blandly.

Brehon Morann almost grinned.

“The results will be announced in the morning assembly. You shall hear the result then-that is if you are not late again.”

Fidelma nodded, her gesture encompassing both Morann and Firbis.

At the door, she paused and turned back to them with a thoughtful expression.

“Will you also tell me tomorrow whether I passed today’s other test?” she asked brightly.

Brehon Morann regarded her warily.

“Other test?”

“I presume that locking me in my room on the morning of this test so that I might be late and therefore distracted was also to test my tenacity and whether I would function under stress?”

The expression in Brehon Morann’s face told her that she was correct in her assumption. With a mischievous, almost urchin-like smile, she closed the door quietly behind her.