Whispers of the Dead

THE HEIR-APPARENT

There’s bound to be trouble. Mark my words!”

Brehon Declan was gloomy with pessimism as he and Sister Fidelma walked slowly across the main courtyard of the rath of Cúan, chieftain of the Uí Liatháin, toward the great feasting hall. Already many others were moving through the darkening twilight in the same direction.

“I don’t understand,” replied Fidelma. She had been on her way to the abbey at Ard Mór on the coast. Her route lay through the territory of the Uí Liatháin, one of the larger and more influential clans of the kingdom of Muman, and she had decided to visit her old colleague, Declan. He had been a fellow student at the law school of the Brehon Morann. On her arrival at the rath, or fortress of the Uí Liatháin, she found a state of great agitation and excitement. The heir-apparent of the chief had been injured and died in a stag hunt and, having mourned for the prescribed time, the clan was about to elect a new tanist, who would be successor to the chief. “I don’t understand,” repeated Fidelma. “Is it that the chief’s nominee for the office, Talamnach, is so unpopular that he will be opposed?”

Declan, a dark, saturnine man, eased his lean features into a thin smile and shook his head.

“You must know that the choosing of a tanist, an heir-apparent, to the chieftain, can be a problematic business. At least three generations of the ruling family must meet in conclave and cast their votes for who should be the successor. There are always going to be factions and what suits one group will not suit another, even though they are part of the same family.”

Fidelma sniffed in disapproval.

“Even Cicero, centuries ago, wrote of the bellum domesticum-the strife of families. It is nothing new.”

“That is certainly true,” admitted Declan, “but the strife within Cúan’s family is particularly vicious now that he has named his nephew Talamnach as his nominee for successor.”

“Why so?”

“Firstly, Cúan’s own son, Augaire, is unhappy, to say the least. He is nineteen years old but, with youthful arrogance, he was expecting to be nominated. So, too, was his mother, Berrach-I mean that she was expecting her son to be nominated and, so it is said, she has made her displeasure known to her husband.”

“It is not unusual for a mother to have ambition for her child.”

“Berrach is more than tenacious for her son’s future. She dotes on him and panders to his every wish. Now he has outgrown her and nothing will ever bring him to discipline.”

Fidelma smiled softly.

“Remember what Aristotle wrote? That the reason why mothers are more devoted to their children and have more ambition for them than their fathers is that they have suffered more in giving them birth and are more certain that they are their own.”

Declan pulled a face.

“It is true that Augaire is more akin to Berrach than Cúan and therein is the reason why Cúan has nominated Talamnach instead. Augaire lacks modesty, he is quick to anger and slow to forgive. A hint of any insult will have him reaching for his dagger. He is an immature youth, vain, pretentious and unable to withstand any hint of criticism. That is why he is unfit to be the heir-apparent to the chieftain of the Uí Liatháin. I can say that with authority as his cousin.”

Fidelma stared at Declan’s animated features for a moment as he finished his vehement declaration.

“So you also have a vote in the derbfine?”

He shrugged and suddenly smiled.

“I beg your pardon, Fidelma. In expressing my prejudice I over-step the bounds of my calling, which is to be at my chief’s side and see that the proper forms are observed for the meeting of the derbfine of the chief, the electoral college to proclaim who is next heir-apparent. I am technically of the derbfine but, as Brehon, I shall abstain in the vote.”

“Well, we cannot help being human, Declan. We cannot pretend that we do not have feelings. What is important is that we, as members of the legal profession, must subordinate our feelings so that the law is followed and the views of the derbfine are made plain and carried through.”

Declan inclined his head.

“Have no fear on that score. But I am sure that Augaire and his mother are up to something. And then there is Selbach.”

Fidelma paused for a moment or two and then prompted: “Who is Selbach?”

“My uncle. He is Cúan’s own younger brother but has disapproved of his brother for many years. He so disapproved of some of Cúan’s methods that he took ship ten years ago and went to rule the Uí Liatháin community that lives across the seas in the kingdom of Kernow. Now he has returned with the expectation that his supporters will name him as heir-apparent. He has made a fortune abroad and now struts about like a turkey-cock, all dressed up in those clothes rich and fashionable Britons wear with their newfangled Roman style pockets.”

Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly at his ardor.

“You say that he has expectations that his supporters will name him heir-apparent. How valid are such expectations?”

“There are some cousins who would support him. Probably only a small group. But the majority are for Talamnach. But the trouble that will arise at the meeting, and the trouble that I fear, is the plotting and planning.”

“You would say that Talamnach is a good choice as heir-apparent?”

“Undoubtedly. He has all the qualities. He has even studied law. .”

“If that is a recommendation,” smiled Fidelma mischievously.

Declan was serious.

“He is temperate in all things. A good judge. A good negotiator and, above all, he keeps the interests of all the people in mind, not just certain influential sections of the people.”

“He sounds a paragon,” observed Fidelma dryly.

They had reached the great hall of Cúan and people, recognizing Declan in the glow from the torches that lit the entrance, began to greet him and Fidelma. They were all relatives of Cúan the chief, and formed the derbfine who were to elect from their number the heir-apparent to the chieftainship who would take over when Cúan resigned or died in office. Chiefs, provincial kings and even the high king might die after a lifetime in office. Many times, however, they simply retired. Sometimes, when they had not promoted the commonwealth of their people, the same derbfine who elected them to office would meet and strip them of their rank and confirm the heir-apparent as new chief, king or high king.

Declan had guided her to a seat among the rows of witnesses. These were the religious, lawyers and historians who were not part of the derbfine but who were the observers of the event and bore witness to the legality of its proceedings. Declan left her, as he had to see about the preparations, exiting the hall through a side door.

The great hall, lit by flickering torches and lamps, smoky and hot, seemed packed. There were at least three generations of Cúan’s family there, predominantly the male members. There were several women there, it was true, and prominent among them, seated to one side, was a tall, austere woman, with a sharp face and dark eyes. Fidelma had already met Berrach, who had come from the neighboring clan of the Déices. She was attending out of courtesy, but not because she had any public voice in the election of an heir to her husband, for a woman belonged to the derbfine of her father and not of her husband.

It was rare that a woman was elected to chieftainship or king-ship. This was not because women were excluded from office because the law gave equal status to women. In fact, only one woman had ever become High “King” of the five kingdoms of Éireann. Fidelma learnt this from the ancient king lists. But there were several tribes who not only elected women as chieftains but as military leaders. The female heir-apparent, the banchomarba, appeared usually when there was no acceptable male heir. Because the social system was based on the clan, female succession might lead to the alienation of the title and lands of the clan by marriage with people from another clan.

Fidelma knew that the Cáin Lánamna law text stipulated that the inheritance of a title or office, and especially inheritance of land, could only be used for the life of the female and then it had to revert to her father’s family. Any movable property could go to her husband and children even if outside the clan but land had to remain within the clan. This was so that the clan could protect its chieftain-ship and its territory. A female chief or king could not, therefore, nominate one of her own children as heir-apparent to her title as it had to remain with her father’s derbfine. It was not so long ago, Fidelma recalled, that the Brehon, Sencha mac Ailella, had given a wrongful judgment on female rights regarding this very matter and a female Brehon, Brígh Briugaid, had, on appeal, corrected it.

Fidelma suddenly awoke from her reverie to find that Declan had entered the hall and made his way across to where a group of the more elderly of the derbfine was seated. He looked serious and paused before one man, who stood up to speak with him face-to-face. Even at the angle from which she was observing, Fidelma could see that he was remarkably like Cúan, except that he was younger and bore deep lines on his face and had a weather-beaten took. The exchange, which Fidelma could not hear, appeared to be curt and hardly one of friendship. Declan then turned, and seemed to trip and stumble, colliding with the man. He caught himself and obviously apologized, without enthusiasm, before leaving the hall again.

A moment later Declan reappeared, leading into the hall Cúan, the chief of the Uí Liatháin. The stocky, red-bearded chieftain took his seat. At his right-hand side sat the handsome young man she knew to be Talamnach, smiling and looking confident. An attendant, following them, brought in two mugs of mead and placed them on a table standing between the chief and his nominee. Fidelma glanced to where Berrach was sitting. The woman was scowling but staring straight ahead. Nearby she noticed Berrach’s son Augaire was sprawled in his seat. He was about nineteen and Fidelma could see how Declan’s description of him as a weak, indolent youth seemed apt. He seemed totally uninterested in the proceedings.

Declan, as Cúan’s Brehon and advisor, had taken his place, standing at the chief’s side, and began to call for order.

“The matter that brings us here today is a simple one. It is to elect the heir-apparent to Cúan, chief of the Uí Liatháin.” He turned to Cúan. “Is there a nominee?”

The chief rose from his seat.

“I nominate, as my successor, Talamnach,” he announced and re-seated himself.

“Does Talamnach accept this nomination?”

The young man rose and smiled.

“I do.”

“Is there any here that will speak out against Talamnach?” intoned Declan in formal manner, still following the ancient ritual.

“There is!”

All eyes turned to the elderly man who had risen in the hall. Fidelma realized it was the man seated next to the one whom Declan had spoken to earlier. Fidelma suppressed a smile. Declan had obviously been making sure that there were no surprises by ensuring that he had foreknowledge of them. He had always been like that, even at the college run by the Brehon Morann where they had both studied for eight years. Indeed, some fellow students had whispered that Declan was too fond of making sure he knew the answers before the questions were asked. She shook her head and turned to listen to the man who had risen.

“I am Illan of Cluain Mult, cousin to Cúan and to his brother Bressal-father of Talamnach-and to their brother Selbach. I claim, as member of the first generation of this derbfine the right of challenge.”

There was no surprise expressed by either Cúan or Talamnach, who continued smiling though somewhat fixed in expression. Nor was there any consternation among those gathered. It was clear that this was the “trouble” that Brehon Declan had prophesied and which everyone was expecting.

“State your challenge, Illan of Cluain Mult,” intoned Declan in almost a monotone.

“My challenge is that there is one among us who is more fitted to be the heir-apparent, one who is filled with wisdom, who has traveled beyond our borders and seen the ways of other peoples. He has returned from his self-imposed exile among those of our people who migrated in recent centuries to the land called Kernow, settling there as our cousins, the Déices, did when they sailed to the kingdom of Dyfed. He brings temperance, knowledge and wisdom.”

“And his name?”

“His name is well known among us for it is my cousin, brother to Cúan-the man I nominate is Selbach. He sits at my side.”

“Stand, Selbach, and say if you accept the nomination.”

The elderly man Declan had earlier spoken to now stood.

“I do.”

Brehon Declan stood for a moment looking at the silent audience in the hall.

“Are there any other challenges or nominations?”

Fidelma saw that he was glancing toward the group surrounding Augaire. They were young men, arrogant, and whose glances showed that they were taking their cue from Augaire. Fidelma saw Augaire frown at his companions and shake his head quickly.

“If none,” went on Declan,“than we must proceed with the debate on the rival nominees.”

There was a silence.

“It behooves each nominee to make statements on their merits and attitudes for being considered,” Declan announced. “We must start with the first nominee, Talamnach, for he has been chosen by Cúan, our chief.”

Talamnach rose slowly. He still wore his smile of confidence.

“You all know me and must judge of yourselves what my merits are. You know that they satisfy our great chief, Cúan. The test of a great leader, as Cúan undoubtedly is, is that he leaves behind him an heir who has the determination and ability to continue his achievements. I believe that I am such an heir. Cúan commanded wisely and was, therefore, obeyed cheerfully. He had no need to lead but was content to point the way-and in that fact lay the greatness of his leadership. But he always accepted the responsibility in all things-he would say ‘I am in error’; he would never say ‘my followers were in error’-that, again, is the mark of great leadership. .”

Fidelma listened to the young man with a certain degree of admiration for his oratory for not once had he, so far, sung his own praises as to his ability. Yet in praising the ability of the man who had nominated him, Talamnach was winning the hearts and minds of the derbfine.

“I have watched Cúan deal with many difficult problems. That is the responsibility of being a chief for only difficult problems are laid before the chief. If problems were easy to resolve then someone else would have already resolved them.”

Talamnach paused to cough, as it was clear his throat had become dry from the acrid atmosphere put out by the burning-brand torches that lit the great hall.

He turned to pick up one of the small mugs of mead and sipped it before turning back to the derbfine.

“I say this, that I would. . I would. .” He paused and coughed again. His smile became a frown and then an expression of agony. He took a sudden step forward, hand outstretched and, then, with a croaking sound in his throat, he pitched headlong onto the floor.

Consternation arose suddenly among the people. Most were on their feet, shouting and moving about in agitation.

Fidelma rose, too, hearing Declan calling for an apothecary. She began to push her way through the crowd, finally emerging to see Declan and another man bending over Talamnach. The second man was shaking his head. Declan glanced up and saw Fidelma and gave an angry grimace.

“He is dead,” he said angrily. “Did I not warn that there would be trouble?”

Fidelma pushed her way to the pottery mug, which Talamnach had just drunk from, and placed a fingertip in it; holding it to her nose, she sniffed. Then she repeated this action with the mug nearer to Cúan.

She turned swiftly back to Declan.

“No one must drink from these mugs. It is Tre luib eccineol,” she said sharply. “I recognize its odor. He has been poisoned.”

Declan was looking shocked.

“Are you sure?” he demanded. Tre luib eccineol was a deadly herb. It was said that the herb being introduced in his food had murdered the satirist Cridenbél. The look that she gave him was enough for him not to question her further.

“Everyone, everyone return to your seats. No one is to leave the hall,” Declan was shouting. Warriors were called from outside the hall to stand guard at the doors and while people were still milling around looking bewildered, Declan had ordered the attendant who had brought in the mead to be seized and escorted back to the hall.

Cúan was seated in his chair, looking stunned. Fidelma glanced quickly ’round. The crowd around Selbach was huddled together and talking animatedly among themselves. Augaire was sprawled in his seat, now wearing a supercilious smile as if something amusing had happened, although his companions looked shocked and nervous. Only Berrach, the wife of Cúan, had not changed her expression, which was one of total detachment and disinterest.

Declan stepped forward, hand raised to still the muttering of the derbfine.

The body of Talamnach lay sprawled before him.

“Talamnach has been poisoned, murdered before our eyes,” he announced. “If we need look for a motive, we should remind ourselves as to why we are gathered here.”

Several people now turned their suspicious gaze toward Selbach.

The man rose from his seat.

“I object!”

“To what do you object, Selbach?” inquired Declan blandly.

“Why. . why, to your inference!” spluttered the man indignantly.

“I have inferred nothing. I have indicated a motive, that is all. I have sent for the attendant who brought in the mead that has been poisoned. It is fortunate that we have among us Sister Fidelma, Fidelma of Cashel, who most of you know by reputation as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts. That she is sister to our king, Colgú, makes her well placed to sit in judgment on the Uí Liatháin. I will ask her to assist me in resolving this crime.”

He glanced toward Fidelma as if seeking her permission and she hesitated only for a moment before acknowledging her acceptance.

“Is the attendant who brought in this poison apprehended?” demanded Declan from one of the warriors.

“He is,” the man said.

“Bring him forth.”

The attendant was an elderly man, white-haired, and as he was pushed, none too gently, before the assembly, he looked understandably bewildered and frightened. He seemed to be shivering in fright.

“Well, Muirecán, things look bad for you,” Declan declared, his tone threatening.

Fidelma frowned in disapproval. It was not the way she would examine a suspect. She moved forward and touched Declan’s arm gently.

“As you have invited me to assist you, perhaps I might question this man?”

Declan glanced at her in surprise and then shrugged.

“By all means.”

Fidelma turned on the aged servant and smiled reassuringly.

“Your name is Muirecán, I believe?”

“It is.”

“How long have you been in service to the chief?”

“Ten years to Cúan, lady, and twenty-three years to his father, Cú Chongelt, who was chief before him.” The man was holding his shaking hands clasped tightly before him. He was glancing from side to side, like some animal seeking a means of escape.

“There is no need to worry, Muirecán, provided you tell us the truth,” Fidelma said gently.

The man nodded quickly.

“I swear it on the Holy Cross, lady. I will tell the truth.”

“You brought in the mead to this hall. We all saw you do that.”

“I did. I don’t deny that. But I did not know it was poisoned.”

“So tell us how you came to bring in the mead. Did you draw the mead yourself?”

“I did. From the large barrel in the kitchen.”

“A new barrel?”

He shook his head.

“It is half full and many a drink has been served from it.”

“Who instructed you to draw the mead and bring it into the hall?”

The man looked blank and shook his head.

“No one, lady. It is the custom of Cúan and his tánaiste to have a drink placed at their side during any official meeting in the great hall.”

Fidelma glanced to the still shocked and numbed-looking chieftain and had to prompt him for confirmation. He eventually nodded in agreement.

“It was the custom,” he echoed hollowly.

“And everyone knew of this custom?” she asked, turning back to the attendant.

“Everyone,” affirmed Muirecán.

Fidelma was silent for a moment and then smiled encouragingly.

“So let us continue. You drew the two mugs of mead and placed them on the tray. Did you come straight into the hall?”

Muirecán shook his head.

“I did not. I came straight from the kitchen to the antechamber outside and there I found that Cúan had not yet arrived. So I put down the mead on a table that is there. .”

“Was anyone in the antechamber?”

“The Brehon,” he nodded to Declan; “my lady, Berrach, the wife of Cúan; the chief’s son, Augaire; and the chief’s brother, Selbach. . oh, and Talamnach entered shortly afterwards.”

“And so you stood by the tray awaiting the arrival of the chief?”

Muirecán shook his head.

“Talamnach asked me to go to Cúan’s quarters and warn him that everyone was waiting. The Brehon was with Talamnach at the time and had been speaking with him when Talamnach gave me the order.”

Fidelma glanced at Declan, who nodded.

“It is true. I went to the antechamber and found it as this man has described. I spoke to Talamnach and mentioned that everyone was ready and suggested that the servant be sent in search of Cúan.”

The chief of the Uí Liatháin suddenly leaned forward and spoke, recovering something of his equilibrium.

“I can confirm that Muirecán came to my chamber and warned me that everything was prepared and awaiting my presence. He accompanied me back to the antechamber where Declan and Talamnach were awaiting me.”

Fidelma raised her head sharply.

“Only Declan and Talamnach were in the room? In what order did the others leave?”

From the hall the elderly man, Selbach, stood up.

“I left first, lady. I had hoped to have a word with my brother before he came to preside here and forewarn him about my protest. But with Talamnach there and my brother’s wife and son, it seemed a pointless exercise to seek privacy with my brother. So I left and came into the hall.”

There was a soft bark of laughter. It came from Augaire.

Fidelma swung ’round and examined the young man.

Augaire was still sprawled in his seat; his expression seemed to indicate that he was bored with the proceedings. His face was still masked in a supercilious smile.

“And when did you leave the antechamber?” Fidelma asked in a deceptively pleasant tone.

Augaire did not alter his position.

“After him,” he drawled, nodding his head to Selbach.

There was a sharp cough.

“If I may be allowed a voice. .?”

Fidelma swung ’round to the haughty-looking Berrach.

“No woman outside the derbfine can speak, mother,” interrupted Augaire in a sneering tone.

Fidelma smiled quickly.

“But this is no longer a derbfine meeting but a legal investigation. Berrach, you have the right to speak.”

Berrach inclined her head toward Fidelma for a moment.

“My son and I left the antechamber a moment or so after Selbach. I had noticed that Selbach was having a word with Talamnach and I am unsure what passed between them. But I know that Talamnach left the room but not to come into the hall. After which, Selbach waited a while and then left. Then Augaire and I left to enter this hall. That is all I have to say.”

“And all this while the mugs of mead remained on the table in the antechamber?”

Augaire chuckled softly.

“That is obvious, even for a dálaigh to deduce.”

Fidelma’s featured did not alter as she turned to face him.

“In all matters of observation, young man,” she added emphasis on the “young man,” which made the youth flush for he obviously prided himself on his manhood, “in all matters of observation, people often see only what they are prepared to see, so nothing should be deemed obvious without confirmation.”

She suddenly turned back to Declan.

“You have just been placed alone in the antechamber with the mead.”

Brehon Declan stared at her a moment and then smiled broadly.

“Not exactly. Talamnach had returned by the time Augaire and his mother were leaving.”

“So you were not alone there.”

“In fact,” Declan said thoughtfully,“Talamnach himself was alone because shortly after he re-entered, I went out to see if Cúan was approaching.”

“And do you suggest that Talamnach took the opportunity to poison his own mead?” Fidelma smiled thinly.

“Maybe the mead was meant for my father,” Augaire’s sneering tone came again. “Maybe the poor fool mixed up the mugs and drank from the one which he meant my father to drink out of.”

Fidelma looked at him in exasperation.

“You have spoken of observation. I would suggest that you spend time in developing the art, Augaire. Had you been observant, you would have noticed that I tested both mugs. Both were laced with poison. I suspect the person who did this was not particular as to whether Cúan or Talamnach died. Perhaps they hoped they both would.”

There was a sudden hush in the great hall.

Fidelma looked toward Selbach.

“You were talking to Talamnach and then he left the room. Is that a correct observation?”

Selbach thought for a moment.

“It is correct.”

“What did you speak to Talamnach about?”

Selbach grinned wryly.

“There was one matter preoccupying us. That is the reason why we gathered here tonight. I told Talamnach that Illan would challenge him and nominate me. I wondered if we might reach a compromise in order to keep our family together. He laughed at the idea. He was confident of overwhelming support.”

“How confident were you, Selbach?” intervened Declan, speaking after some time of silence.

“I would not have allowed myself to be named as a nominee if I was not assured of support.”

“And now it seems that you are the only surviving candidate,” sneered Declan.

Selbach flushed.

“Again you seem to imply something, cousin Brehon. Do you have the courage to be honest in your accusation?”

Declan took a step forward.

“You have come back from exile-albeit a self-imposed one-because you did not agree with the way your brother, Cúan, ruled. You abrogated your responsibility in this clan and now, seeing a chance for power, you return. You seek office. The question is just how ambitious are you for that office and what are you prepared to do in order to obtain it?”

Selbach was red with anger now and only Illan, at his side, restrained him from coming forward.

“Declan!” Fidelma was quietly outraged by her former colleague’s behavior.

“This is not the way for a Brehon to conduct himself.”

Declan stood still for some moments, his mouth thin in a tight expression. Then he relaxed.

“I apologize, Fidelma.” He turned and smiled, although it was a smile without any warmth. “I suppose that I am not a very good Brehon. But this is also a family matter and my cousin, Talamnach, lies dead on the ground.”

Fidelma nodded.

“This is why I must conduct the rest of this inquiry. You are too close to it and not detached in your judgment.”

Declan compressed his lips for a second and then shrugged.

“Carry on.” The Brehon walked to the vacant seat left by Talamnach and sat down in an attitude of expectancy.

Fidelma turned to the chief. “I think, at this stage, and with your permission, Cúan, your warriors might remove the body of Talamnach.”

The chief turned to one of the warriors and indicated this should be so.

The people in the hall were getting restless.

“Selbach, a few more questions, if I may,” she began again.

“I am intrigued. There is only one office open for this derbfine to vote on. What compromise did you seek with Talamnach?”

“I suggested to him that if he stood down in favor of my nomination, when I am chief, he would be my chosen heir-apparent.”

There was an audible gasp from some sections of the hall.

Cúan’s face was creased in anger.

“Do you expect my departure so soon, brother?” he said menacingly. “You are younger than I am by merely one year. When was your expectation of becoming chief if you had been elected my heir?”

Selbach was not abashed.

“I have not heard that age debarred a person from office, brother,” he retorted.

Declan’s voice was accusing but he remained seated.

“It is true, Selbach. But I think many here will draw conclusions.”

Fidelma wheeled ’round in annoyance.

“The only conclusion to be drawn here will be when we have the facts and can conclude the truth. At the moment, Selbach has been open in his opinions when it might best have served his purpose had he not been so. What made Talamnach leave the chamber?” she suddenly asked, turning back to Selbach.

The chief’s brother shrugged.

“No great mystery, I am afraid. Nothing more sinister than the call of nature. However, it was clear that he would not entertain my compromise and so I left. As I said, at the time, Augaire and his mother and our cousin the Brehon, were left in the room.”

“Had you noticed the mead?”

“Oh yes. When the servant, Muirecán, put it on the table, young Augaire went to grab one of the mugs.”

Fidelma’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Did he drink?”

“Thanks be to God, I did not!” roared Augaire, his laughter echoed by his friends. “I think even your observation will show that I still live, dálaigh.”

“It is a moot point whether your existence has life in it, young man,” snapped Fidelma. “It strikes me that it has more of dissoluteness than real life. However, you seem certain that the mead was already poisoned when it was placed on the table in the antechamber. Can you share your knowledge with us? How did you know it was poisoned.”

Augaire flushed angrily.

“I did not know. I. . I assumed.”

Fidelma smiled cynically.

“Ah, assumption? Only a short time ago, we had your views on conjecture, did we not?” Then sharply: “Why did you not drink the mead if you took up the mug?”

“I stopped him,” came Berrach’s firm tone.

Fidelma swung ’round on her.

“For what reason?”

The woman still bore her expressionless face. She did not even bother to look at Fidelma.

“The reason is simple enough. The mead was there as was normal practice to be carried in for the use of my husband and his tanist, also. .”

“Also?” prompted Fidelma when she paused.

“Also, my son had, in my opinion, drunk too much already before coming to this derbfine.”

Augaire gave an angry hiss, which Fidelma ignored.

“Thank you for your honesty, Berrach,” she said softly. “It is hard to acknowledge the faults of one’s offspring.”

Augaire had stood up with two or three of his young friends and they were moving toward the door.

“Stop!” cried Fidelma. “You have no permission to leave.”

Augaire glanced back, mockingly.

“You have no authority in this place, woman of Cashel,” he sneered. “You can resume your cackling to others but I am a chief’s son and will do what I like. No woman who hides behind religious robes will tell me what to do.”

He turned and urged his companions to leave with him.

“Warriors! Stop them!”

It was Cúan’s sharp voice that echoed through the hall. Two of his warriors came forward and barred the young men’s path. The chief was shaking with rage.

“That my own son shames me thus!” he growled. “You and your sycophants will return to your seats and will not leave until you have permission. Had you concentrated on your education you would know that the powers of a dálaigh, and the powers of the sister of our king, Colgú of Cashel, are not to be challenged lightly. Your ignorance puts shame not only on me as chief, but on our family, on our clan. That display of ignorance is demonstration of why you will never be elected as chief nor will you ever be able to aspire to any office. You are worthless!”

The silence in the hall was deathly. Augaire and his youthful companions returned to sit in white-faced silence as Cúan rebuked them.

“Fidelma of Cashel, accept my apologies. I know that apologies are not enough for this insult to your office. We stand ready to pay the fine.”

Fidelma nodded gravely.

“Let Augaire rise from his seat and face me.”

The young man hesitated, bringing forth the sharp cry “Augaire!” from his father. Augaire rose to his feet, sullen and defiant.

“Know this, young man, and spread light in the darkness of your ignorance. Insult is regarded with the utmost seriousness in our law. I am now talking about insult to office, for I am a dálaigh, conducting a murder inquiry. In that respect, even a king has to accept that I take precedence in the procedure. The law text called the Bretha Nemed déidenach is quite clear on the ways of insulting people and the penalties that are incurred. Any offense relating to insult requires the payment of the honor price of the person insulted.”

“Lady!” The cry was wrung from Berrach. “The boy does not have such a sum. You are sister to the king and also a dálaigh of renown. That means your honor price is at least seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. I know that the law then says if he does not or cannot pay he must lose all rights and freedoms until he works to gain sufficient funds in order to pay the honor price. He will become a servant without honor or land. Is there no other way? No other way?”

Augaire had gone pale as he listened to his mother’s plea, perhaps realizing for the first time the enormity of his offense.

Fidelma stood thoughtful for a moment.

“The offense cannot be ignored, for it is written in the law that the king or chieftain who tolerates insult must themselves lose their honor price,” she said. “The boy may be immature and stupid but he is two years older than the age of choice and should know right from wrong. However, there is a way in which the boy himself may reduce the penalty. Sincere apology made in the presence of those who were also present when the insult was made may reduce the proscribed fine.”

“He will apologize, lady,” Berrach said, moving anxiously forward, but Fidelma held up her hand.

“An apology made while the blood is still tempered and there still exists anger is not valid. Augaire has been forced to return, to stand, and there he is, brooding and sullen. Knowing the penalty, he will say words without meaning. Let him sit down and wait for this hearing to end. Let him think of his responsibility, for the three young men whom he led from this place did not know what they were doing but followed him out of misguided loyalty-therefore, the penalty is his, not theirs. Let others advise him of the law and the fines and why our law denounces insults so strongly. Then let us all return at noon tomorrow and hear whether he truly understands and truly repents.”

Cúan nodded quickly.

“It shall be as you say, Fidelma, and we thank you for your justice and your wisdom. Sit down Augaire and do not let me hear from you again unless you are asked a specific question by the dálaigh. Then you may answer with respect.”

Fidelma turned back to those gathered in the hall.

“I do not think we need to detain you much longer. The facts of this murder are becoming clearer.”

That caught their attention.

Brehon Declan was nodding.

“We are agreed on that, Fidelma,” he said. “One person benefits from this and one person had the opportunity.”

Fidelma glanced at him.

“Broadly speaking, there is no disagreement in that. But can that person be identified?”

“Well, I think it is easy,” replied Declan, confidently.

Fidelma looked toward Muirecán the attendant.

“Surely Muirecán had the opportunity to poison the mead?”

The elderly servant groaned and swayed.

“I did not, I did not,” he almost whimpered.

“Of course, he did not,” affirmed Declan. “The poor man’s only involvement was to draw the mead from the barrel and bring it to the antechamber where his guilt lay in leaving it unattended for the murderer to slip in the contents of the phial of poison.”

“Very well, Declan. Let us examine first the motive. Remember what our old mentor, Brehon Morann, used to say? That in such cases, if one found motive, then the culprit was never far away. Deeds are stimulated either by hope or driven by fear. If the motive here was not one of fear then it must be one of hope. Hope for gain? What gain?”

Declan grinned.

“Now you are talking as of old, Fidelma. Indeed, this deed was done for gain. To be rid of Talamnach and thus secure the office of tanist. That was the object and that was the gain. And, of course, there was one person here that stood to gain once Talamnach was out of the way. That person was not Augaire, for we have already seen demonstrated that he would not have any more votes in this derbfine than those of his three friends and cousins.”

“True enough,” agreed Fidelma. “Continue on along your path of logic.”

Selbach had arisen again.

“He does not need to.”

There was gasp among the people.

Fidelma frowned.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because the goal of his logic is obvious. He points the finger, as he has done throughout these entire proceedings, at me.”

“And do you admit to this deed?”

“I am innocent before God!” snapped Selbach.

“But you admit that you had the motive and the opportunity?” Declan said triumphantly.

“Motive yes, but opportunity. .?”

Fidelma’s words were hardly more than a sigh but they caused all eyes to be turned toward her.

“Reflect on this,” she went on, when she had their attention. “Muirecán came into the antechamber with the mead and set down the tray. Who is there?” When no one answered her, she continued. “Brehon Declan was there. Talamnach was there. Selbach was there. Berrach was there. Augaire was there.”

She counted off the names on the fingers of her left hand.

“At this stage we have accepted the assurance of Muirecán that no poison had entered the mead. Now, Declan and Talamnach were speaking together. They realize it is late and Cúan has not arrived. So Muirecán is dispatched to the chief’s chamber to tell him that the meeting is ready. The mead is left on the table. Augaire makes to drink the mead and is prevented from doing so by his mother. Wouldn’t that be an ideal opportunity for Augaire to introduce the poison? Wait!” She held up her hand to still a protest from Berrach. “I did not say that he did. But let us consider. He, too, has the motive. For in spite of what Declan says, I think this young man is arrogant enough not to realize that he stands little chance of being supported by this derbfine. He might be arrogant enough to think that once rid of Talamnach, he would stand a chance and find favor in his father’s eyes. However, he picks up one mug and makes to drink it and is prevented and drawn away. True he could have introduced the poison into that mug, but not into both mugs.”

There was a quiet murmuring as her logic was followed.

“Meanwhile, Talamnach leaves Declan and goes to speak to Selbach. Selbach puts his proposition. Stand down this time and I’ll make you my tánaiste when I am chief. Not a particularly subtle proposal. I am sure that Selbach offered something more.”

She turned to gaze at the chief’s brother.

“I have some small wealth in the land of Kernow. That was offered,” he admitted.

“Very well. And Talamnach treated your offer with contempt. He then leaves the antechamber and goes to answer, as Selbach tells us, a call of nature. Is that correct?”

Selbach nodded.

“And you say that as soon as Talamnach left, you came in here?”

“I did.”

“Berrach confirms this. After Selbach left she and her son came into the hall as well.”

“That is true,” said Berrach. “A moment or so after Selbach went into the hall, we followed.”

Fidelma nodded, smiling softly.

“Now, we were all witness to the entrance of Selbach, Berrach and Augaire. Can anyone give a good estimate between their entrance and when Cúan, Talamnach and the attendant with the drinks entered this hall?”

It was Illan of Cluain Mult who answered.

“It was no more than ten minutes.”

“So, Cúan and the attendant, Muirecán, informs us that when they reached the antechamber, Talamnach was there, having returned from his call of nature. He was there with Declan. Is this right?”

Cúan agreed.

“One person was alone in the antechamber for awhile,” Fidelma said softly.

Declan rose.

“If you are accusing me, Fidelma,” he said angrily, “you have forgotten one thing. I followed Berrach and Augaire out here to speak to Selbach and if Selbach does not acknowledge that then Illan is my witness.”

Illan of Cluain Mult looked unhappy.

“That is true,” he agreed. “You did speak to Selbach.”

“Don’t worry, Declan,” Fidelma went on. “I observed you come and speak to Selbach.”

Declan relaxed and smiled.

“Then I suggest we end this game. There is only one person who gains and I now order Selbach to submit to a search. I am sure we will find the phial that contained the poison on him.”

“This is a lie!” protested Selbach.

Fidelma raised her hands for order as the hall went into an uproar.

It took some time to quieten them.

“There is no need to search. The phial of poison, emptied of its contents, will be found in the pocket of Selbach’s leather jerkin.”

Immediately, Selbach thrust his hand into the pocket and his face went white.

“Is it not so, Selbach?” called Fidelma.

The man could not speak but he was holding a small phial in his hand.

“Warriors, arrest Selbach,” called Declan with triumph in his voice.

“Do not!” cried Fidelma, staying them in mid-stride. “Arrest the Brehon Declan for his is the hand that placed that phial in Selbach’s pocket.”

There came a stunned silence.

Declan stared at her in amazement.

“What are you saying, Fidelma?” He tried to sound angry but his tone was somehow deflated.

“It does not take long to introduce poison into two drinking mugs. I am not sure whether your planning was precise or opportunist. You suggested that Talamnach dispatch the attendant to fetch Cúan, leaving the drinks unguarded. As soon as Berrach and her son left, it took a moment to empty the phial and follow them out into this hall. I suspect, had the antechamber not emptied, you would have found some other ruse to poison the drinks. Then you came out and pretended that you wanted to speak to Selbach.”

“I wanted to ask him if he meant to go on with his challenge. He will tell you that.”

“Why could you not ask in the antechamber? Why come into the hall to challenge him in front of people? You turned, stumbled and by sleight of hand placed the phial in his pocket. Even before this meeting you had told me, disparagingly, of Selbach’s tendency to wear the new fashions that had been introduced among the Britons, that of Roman pockets in robes.”

“But what motive have I? I am a Brehon,” replied Declan.

“Is a Brehon precluded from chiefship?” returned Fidelma. “You are of this derbfine and can be accepted in office. Indeed, you are first cousin to Talamnach and Augaire. Your ultimate hope, I think, was both Cúan and Talamnach would be poisoned. You did your best to point the finger at Selbach. With him under suspicion you knew no one would support Augaire and that would leave you open to declare yourself rechtaire, steward of this clan, until you could dispose of your rivals and get yourself installed properly as chief. As it was, with Talamnach dead, you were prepared to go through with your plan and eliminate Selbach and then persuade Cúan to nominate you his heir-apparent anyway.”

Fidelma shook her head slowly.

“You almost had me fooled, Declan.”

Cúan had stood and motioned to his warriors to secure the pale-faced Brehon.

“What stopped you being fooled, Fidelma?” he asked softly.

“I was suspicious at how aggressive Declan was in laying the blame at Selbach. No Brehon worth his salt would be so forgetful of his office, and the need for impartiality, to act as he did. However, what really alerted me and made me realize what had happened was the fact that Declan had mentioned a phial of poison. How did he know that the poison had been introduced into the mugs by means of a phial and not by some other method? There are many ways of introducing poison other than a phial. Only the murderer would know this and then the meaning of the pantomime of his stumbling against Selbach became clear to me.”

Fidelma watched with sad eyes as the warriors escorted Declan from the hall.

“Nobody has a more sacred obligation to obey the law than those who take on the robes of Brehons to judge others by the law.”