‘I will not pursue the matter for the moment. Let Orla and her husband return to their disturbed slumber.’
Colla hesitated. He looked to Murgal and to Laisre in curiosity. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with a belligerence.
‘Just what is going on here? Why does Fidelma of Cashel accuse my wife of this deed apart from those hasty words which she uttered?’
Murgal held up a hand in pacification.
‘As to who killed Solin, we have yet to be certain, Colla. And it seems that it was only a mistake of identity by someone passing in the darkness that involved Orla. Best go to bed now and we will discuss this in the morning.’
Reluctantly, Colla escorted his wife from the chamber.
Artgal was still standing, with folded arms, grinning smugly at Fidelma.
‘I was right all along, eh?’ he sneered at her. ‘Your ruse did not work.’
Murgal appeared annoyed at the warrior’s attitude.
‘I would return to your tasks, Artgal. You may leave Fidelma of Cashel with us and remember this, she is still the sister of the king at Cashel. Respect is her due, whatever she has done.’
Artgal ground his teeth in anger at this rebuke but turned on his heel and left.
Murgal returned a troubled look to Fidelma.
‘Artgal is in many ways primitive to the extent that he has little respect for anything which cannot hurt him. Cashel and the reach of its king is too abstract a thought to him. He cannot give you respect unless he experiences the power your brother represents.’
Fidelma shrugged indifferently.
‘If you have shame, forebear to pluck the beard of a dead lion.’
‘An interesting thought,’ Murgal mused. ‘Is that your own epigram?’
‘Martial. A Latin poet. But I do not want respect for who my ancestors or relatives are. Only for what I am.’
‘That is an argument that might not count with Artgal,’ interposed Laisre. ‘At the moment you are someone accused of murder.’
Fidelma felt that they had fenced enough.
‘The one thing that I am sure of is that I saw Orla at the stable.’
‘It cannot be so,’ Laisre rebuked her. ‘Unless you now accuse both Orla and Colla of lying.’
‘I can only say what I saw,’ Fidelma insisted.
‘Orla is my sister.’ Laisre was unhappy. ‘I can assure you that she is not one to lie. Colla is my tanist, my heir-elect. You accuse him of lying to protect his wife? If that is the sum total of your defence then you would do well to reflect on matters.’
‘So you have both decided that I am as guilty as Artgal claims that I am?’
Murgal’s expression was dour.
‘You are a
dálaigh,
Fidelma. You know the procedure that must now be undertaken. Tell me, what else am I to conclude from what I have heard? We have a witness in Artgal. In counter claim, you have accused the sister of our chieftain. Her husband is a witness to the fact that she was not where you claim she was. And your only argument is to call her and her husband liars.’
Laisre was flushed. It appeared that the offence of Fidelma’s charge had finally sunk into him. He was unable to restrain the anger from his voice.
‘I have to warn you, Fidelma of Cashel, and with all respect to your rank, when you accuse my sister of murder and then lying, you go too far.’
‘I saw what I saw,’ replied Fidelma stubbornly.
‘Fidelma of Cashel, I am chieftain of my people. We do not share a religion but we share a common law, a law far older than the time when Patrick the Briton was allowed to sit on Laoghaire’s council to study and revise it. The law guides me, as chieftain, to the path that I must take. You know that path as well as I. The matter is now entirely in the hands of Murgal, my Brehon.’
Laisre rose abruptly and left the chamber.
Fidelma had also risen from her chair to face Murgal.
‘I did not kill Brother Solin,’ she insisted.
‘Then you must prove that. As the law prescribes, we will meet in this place nine days from now at which time you will have to answer this charge. In the meantime, you will be placed under guard in our Chamber of Isolation.’
‘Nine days?’ Fidelma gasped in astonishment. ‘What can I do while I am incarcerated?’
‘It is a matter prescribed by law, as well you know it,’ confirmed Murgal. ‘For the crime of murder, I can do no less.’
Fidelma felt a sudden cold foreboding.
‘How can I prove my innocence if I am not even allowed movement within this ráth?’ she demanded.
‘Then you must find a Brehon to act for you as anyone else must do in your place. We cannot make special allowances to rank and privilege.’
‘A Brehon?’ Fidelma was cynical. ‘I do not suppose there is an abundance of lawyers in Gleann Geis?’
Murgal chose not to answer her. He signalled to Rudgal who still stood behind her chair.
‘Take Fidelma of Cashel to the Chamber of Isolation. Make sure you treat her with respect and obey her wishes as regards comfort and access to anything which may help her defence … within reason, that is.’
Rudgal moved forward to touch her elbow. He gazed compassionately at her for a moment before averting his eyes to focus just above her head.
‘Come with me, Sister Fidelma,’ he said softly, his voice a monotone.
Fidelma glanced again at Murgal but the austere Druid had turned away, hands behind his back, and seemed intent on examining the flames of the iron brazier which heated the chamber. There would be no sympathy forthcoming from any pleading with Murgal, the Brehon of Gleann Geis.
Rudgal led the way from the chamber and Fidelma followed without another word. There was nothing more that could be said. For the first time in her life, in spite of all the occasions when her life was under threat, Fidelma had a feeling which she could only describe as coming close to panic. Nine days incarcerated in a cell with the accusation of murder hanging over her and being unable to question anyone or gather evidence in her own defence was an appalling prospect.
Rudgal conducted her silently across the stone-flagged courtyard. Among the knots of people gathered, the animated conversations were no longer in suppressed whispers. There was an anger among the people. Fidelma looked in vain for a sight of Eadulf. Rudgal took her to a building on the opposite side of the ráth, behind the stables. It was a squat, single-storey building of grey granite. Its sole means of entrance was a great wooden door. Rudgal pushed it open and Fidelma could hear the loud clamour of voices interspersed with coarse laughter coming from the interior. Rudgal seemed to anticipate what was passing through Fidelma’s mind.
‘This is the quarters of those who volunteer to serve the chieftain as a bodyguard, Sister Fidelma. When we stay at the ráth we use this as our dormitory and it is the only building where we may imprison any who transgress the law. There is a single cell at the far corner of this building. It is called the Chamber of Isolation. Take no notice of the noise. I am afraid that some of the men are still a little drunk after the feasting last night.’
Rudgal was punctilious in his treatment of her. She appreciated that. She was glad that it was Rudgal who had been given the distasteful task of escorting her to the prison and not Artgal.
Fidelma preceded him inside the building. He followed and closed the door before conducting her along a short passage, beyond the room where the guards were still engaged in noisy revelry, and which then turned at a right angle to where there was a door with a heavy iron key in its lock.
‘It is poor accommodation, I am afraid, Sister Fidelma,’ Rudgal said as he opened it.
‘I will try to manage,’ Fidelma smiled wanly.
Rudgal looked embarrassed.
‘You have but to call on me and I will do what is in my power to aid you providing that you do not ask me to break my oath of loyalty to my chieftain.’
Fidelma regarded him solemnly.
‘I promise you that I shall not call on you to break such an oath … unless there is a greater oath involved.’
The warrior wagon-maker frowned.
‘A greater oath? You mean a duty to the Faith?’
‘Not even that. Your chieftain has sworn an oath to Cashel. Cashel is supreme in all things. If your chieftain breaks an oath to Cashel then you are absolved from breaking an oath to him for he will be in rebellion against his lawful king. Do you understand that?’
‘I think so. I will do what I can for you, Sister Fidelma.’
‘I am appreciative of your service, Rudgal.’
She examined her cell distastefully. It was a cold, damp place with only a straw palliasse on the floor and little else. It smelt foul and had obviously not been used for a while. There was only a tiny slit of a window high up in one wall. Rudgal found an oil lamp and lit it. He gazed around and was also filled with aversion.
‘It is the best I can do, Sister,’ he apologised yet again.
Fidelma felt almost inclined to smile, so mournful a countenance did he have.
‘You are not responsible for my being here, Rudgal. But misfortune has brought me here and now I must apply my mind to extracting myself from this place.’
‘Do you need anything, Sister?’ he asked again.
Fidelma thought rapidly.
‘Yes. I need some personal items from the hostel. My
marsupium,
for example. Would you go there and ask Brother Eadulf, who must still be asleep, to bring them to me at once.’
‘Bring the Saxon here … ?’ Rudgal seemed hesitant.
‘Do not worry, Rudgal. Brother Eadulf must act as my
dálaigh
now that I am unable to move freely. It is my right to appoint him to represent me and, as my
dálaigh,
he can visit me without restriction.’
‘Very well, Sister. I will fetch the Saxon.’
He hesitated a moment longer before leaving, remembering to bring the great wooden door shut behind him with an ominous clang. Fidelma heard the key turning in the great iron lock on the
door and felt an unfamiliar sinking sensation. She had never felt such a feeling of despair in her life.
She tried to be practical and brought her mind back to the matter of her immediate survival, looking around the darkened, damp cell with repugnance. The odour was foul. She shivered and placed her arms folded around her shoulders as if she found comfort there.
Something moved amidst the straw palliasse of the mattress. A dark grey shape of a rat scuttled out and went disappearing into some hole between the granite bricks. She shivered violently and began to pace up and down. She hoped Eadulf would not be long. After she had given him instructions, she would try and find escape in the art of the
dercad,
the act of meditation, by which countless generations of Irish mystics had calmed extraneous thought and mental irritations, seeking the state of
sitcháin
or peace. She was a regular practitioner of the ancient art in times of stress. But never in her life had Fidelma found herself in need of the art of meditation as she did now.
It was only fifteen minutes later, though it seemed like days, when a pale-faced Eadulf entered the cell. He was followed by Rudgal. There was an expression of anxiety on his face which pinched and distorted his features.
‘Fidelma, what ill-fortune brings you hither? Oh, I have heard the briefest details from Rudgal here. But tell me how I can secure your release?’
Fidelma was standing in the middle of the room and smiled placatingly in answer to Eadulf’s anxiety.
Rudgal spoke before she could respond.
‘While you instruct the Saxon, I will see if I can bring you something to make life more bearable in this hovel.’ He left them both together, shutting the door behind him.
‘What can I do?’ demanded Eadulf again in such anxiety that his voice sounded unnatural in the echoing cell. ‘God, how I chastise myself. I was so dead to the world, I did not awake until Rudgal came and told me that you were here. Why didn’t you wake me when you left the hostel? I might have been able to prevent this from happening. If I had been with you …’
‘Firstly, you must be calm, Eadulf,’ instructed Fidelma sharply. ‘You are now my only hope for release.’
Eadulf swallowed hard.
‘Tell me what I must do.’
‘Alas, I cannot bid you sit down in this place and I do fear that the straw palliasse is filled with vermin which may not provide a
comfortable resting place. So we must stand a while and I will explain what happened.’
She was finishing her story when the door of the cell opened again. It was Rudgal who carried a wooden bench with him.
‘Forgive me, Sister, for taking such a time but I have foraged for a bed and something to sit on. I will bring the bed in a moment, something to keep you off this wet, chill floor. In the meantime, this bench will serve.’
Fidelma thanked the man warmly.
‘Rudgal has offered his help and I think we may trust him,’ she added for Eadulf’s benefit.
Eadulf nodded impatiently.
Rudgal pushed the bench against one of the drier walls of the cell before he left them again.
Fidelma sat down and brought Eadulf quickly up to date with her ordeal. Eadulf groaned in anguish when she had finished and spread his hands in a hopeless gesture.
‘With both Laisre and Murgal against you, I do not know what to do.’
‘You must find a way,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘After all, that is a task of a
dálaigh.’
‘But I am not a trained advocate of your law,’ protested Eadulf.
‘But I am. I will give you advice and you must find a way of demonstrating that I have told the truth. It is perplexing. Orla and her husband, Colla, are so persuasive in their argument. But, Eadulf, I swear that I saw her coming out of the stable. She and Colla must be lying. The fact that I identified her seems to have greatly troubled her brother, Laisre. I suppose that I can understand this as an affront to his family honour but I do believe that if the matter was down to a conflict of opinion between Artgal and myself, Laisre might have rejected Artgal’s word. The fact that I implicated his sister has caused him to take great anger at me.’
‘I do not understand why he should be so angry as to deny you a fair hearing.’
‘Ah, family honour is always a hard thing to understand. I cannot say that his behaviour is unfair. Nor Murgal’s actions, come to that. Both are behaving within the law.’
‘Well, I must get you out of this place. How should I go about it?’
‘I have to clear my name and find out who murdered Brother Solin. I cannot do that while I remain in this cell. Murgal says that I must remain here for nine days according to law until my trial.’
Eadulf ran a hand through his hair, frowning.
‘But if I remember rightly, in your courts, people of rank and who can pay a fee can be released after swearing an oath that they will reappear before the court when the trial is held.’
Fidelma smiled appreciatively at Eadulf’s knowledge.
‘You remember correctly. There is such a law. You must see if you are able to operate that law to secure my release. There is a library in this place. Murgal has control of it. Do you recall that I showed you the building where it is housed?’
Eadulf made an affirmative gesture.
‘Then you must look up the law on this matter. You must then apply to Murgal, for remember Murgal is the Brehon in this valley. Demand a hearing as to why I may not be released, under the law, to appear in nine days’ time. If I am at liberty, we have a chance to prove whose hand was on that knife which ended Brother Solin’s life.’
‘Would they have such a library of law books here?’ demanded Eadulf doubtfully. ‘Murgal is a pagan.’
Fidelma chuckled softly in spite of her condition.
‘Pagan or Christian, we are a literate people, Eadulf. The Druids kept books long before the coming of Patrick and the adoption of the Latin alphabet. Did we not worship Ogma, the god of learning and literacy after whom our first alphabet was named? And the law was the law eons before the new Faith came to these shores.’
Eadulf pursed his lips disapprovingly.
‘Are you suggesting that I ask Murgal if he has such law books?’
Fidelma took him seriously.
‘Pagan or Christian, advisor to Laisre or not, Murgal is a Brehon and sworn to uphold the law.’
Eadulf shook his head dubiously.
‘And even if he did, what book should I look for?’
‘Firstly, you must study the text called
Cóic Conara Fugill
– the five paths to judgment. Also, examine the
Berrad Airechta.
I believe you will find the necessary procedures relating to my condition in those works. Acquaint yourself on procedure and seize the path the law provides to secure my release.’
‘I must remind you, Fidelma, that I did not study law in this land,’ protested Eadulf. ‘I studied the Faith and the practice of medicine only.’
‘You have often told me that you were an hereditary magistrate in your own land, Eadulf. Now is the time to use your talent. You have seen my methods and seen me plead in the courts many times. Turn to “the five paths to judgment” and consider
the law of security called
árach.
I am placing my trust in you, Eadulf.’
Eadulf rose uncomfortably.
‘I will try not to destroy that faith.’
He reached out both hands and held her shoulders, extending his arms for a moment. Their eyes met and then, with a faint colour to his cheeks, Eadulf turned to the cell door. It opened almost at once as if Rudgal had been standing awaiting him. He stood aside as Eadulf brushed by.
A moment later Rudgal carried a wooden cot into the cell. Then he brought in blankets and a pitcher of water. The warrior-cum-wagon-maker looked anxious.
‘The Saxon brother looks preoccupied, Sister Fidelma,’ he muttered as he manipulated the cot into position. Before she could comment, he added: ‘This will make your sojourn more comfortable, I hope.’
‘As a favour to me, Rudgal, or as a favour to the Faith, I would like you to keep a watchful eye on Brother Eadulf. He may need help. Help him as you would help me.’
‘I shall, Sister Fidelma. Leave matters with me.’
With no further word, Fidelma sat herself down on the bench and began to compose herself for the
dercad.
She did not even notice Rudgal leave the cell or hear the clanging of the door.