‘Much play on this word “must”,’ Eadulf observed. ‘Must is merely saying “should” or “ought” but not that something actually was.’
‘This court is well aware of the meaning of the word,’ interposed Murgal testily. ‘And we take notice of Artgal’s change of testimony. But, Artgal, do you admit that you were paid to tell that story?’
‘Not to tell it,’ protested Artgal. ‘To ensure I did not change the story.’
Eadulf let out a low breath and only now did he give a triumphal glance towards Fidelma. She was staring at the floor, her shoulders bent in tension.
‘I am at a loss to understand this,’ Murgal was saying. ‘Why would you be likely to change your story?’
‘I would not. It is the truth. However, I was approached a few hours after Fidelma had been incarcerated, by a man who offered me two
séds,
for sticking to my story. He would pay me immediately and promised a further
séd
once Fidelma of Cashel’s trial was over. Money has little value in Gleann Geis and so I agreed that this was
the value of three milch cows. I accepted such a payment. With such a sum I could be assured of security for the rest of my life.’
‘Who was this man who gave you this money?’ Laisre asked heavily, intervening now for the first time since the revelation was made.
‘I know not, my lord. It was dark and I did not see him. I heard only his voice.’
‘How did he sound?’ demanded Murgal.
Artgal raised a hand helplessly.
Something prompted Eadulf to gamble.
‘You heard his voice clearly enough, Artgal,’ he pressed. ‘Did he have a northern accent?’
Artgal’s expression was pitiful now. The bombast had disappeared entirely.
‘Did he speak with the accent of a man of Ulaidh?’ insisted Eadulf.
Artgal nodded miserably.
All eyes turned to the seated figure of Ibor of Muirthemne whose face had coloured but he kept staring stonily in front of him.
‘What did this voice tell you?’ Murgal asked grimly.
‘The man told me that if I went forth this morning I would find the two milch cows tethered near my farmstead. In nine days’ time I would find a third, that was if I did not change my testimony against Fidelma. I swear I had no choice but to accept. He stood in the darkness by my bed. He could as easily have pressed a dagger’s point into my throat as offer me money.’
‘And did you go forth in the morning, this very morning, and find the milch cows?’ asked Murgal.
‘I did.’
‘And so, in short, your testimony was bought,’ Eadulf summed up triumphantly.
‘I made clear my testimony before I received the cows,’ protested Artgal.
Laisre spoke to Murgal almost with an eager tone.
‘He has a point there. Surely this cannot be considered a bribe to give evidence?’
Eadulf was about to protest but Murgal rubbed his chin thoughtfully before replying to the chieftain.
‘It means that, according to the law, we cannot use Artgal’s evidence against Fidelma. He has rendered himself without honour and cannot be believed. There is no evidence other than his against Fidelma of Cashel.’
Laisre turned to Artgal with scarcely suppressed fury.
‘This man who offered you the cows spoke with the accent of the northern kingdom, you say?’
‘He did, my lord.’
‘Are you sure he spoke with a northern accent? Could it not be a Saxon accent for example?’
There was a loud gasp as all those gathered were amazed at the chieftain’s overt accusation.
‘My lord,’ Murgal urged anxiously, ‘it cannot be suggested that the Saxon trapped Artgal to discredit him in order to bring this decision about.’
Laisre glowered at Eadulf.
‘Why not? One explanation is as good as another.’
‘My lord, reconsider your hasty words. The evidence is clear. Artgal would know a northern accent from a Saxon one and would have said so. For you to argue this would be to bring your office into disrepute.’
Laisre looked as if he wanted to prolong the argument but with Murgal’s discouragement he could not.
‘Very well. We must question all those with northern accents, I suppose.’
Brother Dianach stood up and protested. Even Eadulf was surprised at his sudden leap out of character for he had always been shy and nervous. But anger and presumably fear provoked his outburst.
‘You all know that apart from Brother Solin, only myself and the horse merchant there are from the northern lands. I deny any accusation against me!’
His voice had become almost a falsetto. His face crimson.
‘It wasn’t the boy,’ agreed Artgal hastily. ‘It was a deeper man’s voice.’
Only Fidelma noted that Laisre’s anxiety was now replaced by a look of momentary satisfaction.
Eyes turned to where Ibor of Muirthemne had been sitting. He was no longer in his place.
‘Learned judge,’ interposed Eadulf hurriedly, ‘before we lose sight of the main business of these proceedings, this witness has said enough to prove my argument that his acceptance of this money invalidates his evidence.’
Murgal agreed sombrely.
‘It is true. Artgal, you may leave this chamber but confine yourself to the ráth. I will have to consider what shall be done with you. You have disgraced your chieftain and your clan.’
Artgal had barely left his place when Eadulf spoke again.
‘I suggest that as Artgal’s evidence falls, Sister Fidelma be released
fír testa
immediately.’
Murgal was about to agree when Laisre, surprisingly, held up his hand and bent forward from his chair towards Eadulf.
‘One charge prevents that, Saxon.’ His voice was harsh. ‘When she was charged with this crime, Fidelma of Cashel demeaned herself by seeking to lay the blame on another – namely my sister, Orla. She swore that she had seen Orla coming out of the stable door. But Orla was, by the testimony of her husband, Colla, able to prove she was not at the stable. Now to swear false oath is enough, as I understand the law, to keep Fidelma of Cashel under lock and key until we consider her guilt or otherwise. I say this notwithstanding the dishonesty of Artgal.’
Most people were taken aback by the tough and unsympathetic attitude of the chieftain. Eadulf let the murmur of the court fade away before he spoke again.
‘Chieftain, believe me when I tell you that I know just how insulted you must feel by a claim which you believe falsely impeaches your family. Yet I would argue that it is no grounds on which to ignore what has happened here this day.’
He now addressed himself to Murgal for his was the final judgment and he would obviously guide Laisre as to the law.
‘In Druidic teachings,’ Eadulf continued softly, ‘so I am told, there is always a Middle Way to approach things. A third way. Maybe Sister Fidelma made a mistake about identifying Orla. It is easily done in the darkness. Just as Artgal, before he fell a victim to avarice, made a mistake in thinking that because Fidelma was bending over the body of Solin of Armagh she therefore must have killed him. Fidelma and Artgal leapt to conclusions. The third way was not considered.’
Murgal was clearly impressed with Eadulf’s argument.
‘Is there any other reason why we should accept your argument?’ inquired Murgal.
‘There is the practical evidence, of course.’
‘Oh?’
‘The fact that, as Fidelma had rightly suggested, she was searched and not found in possession of the murder weapon. Nor when the stable was searched was such a weapon found. The conclusion is that the murderer took that weapon with him or her. It may be that it would have identified him or her. Laisre will confirm that his warriors searched diligently. There was no place that the weapon could have been hidden between the time when Artgal entered and when he claimed he saw Fidelma rising from the body. In other
words, the facts exactly fit Sister Fidelma’s account … but with one exception – she thought she saw Orla. I ask you to believe that she saw someone.’
Murgal turned and leaned close to Laisre and held a whispered conversation. His voice was urgent. Laisre seemed to protest but Murgal was insistent and reluctantly the chieftain finally gestured his indifference. Murgal sat back.
‘You have argued well, Saxon. So well, in fact, that in arguing that Fidelma of Cashel be released until her trial you have dispensed with all the evidence against her. It seems to me that if we find the man who bribed Artgal we might also find the weapon which slew Solin. It has not escaped our notice that Artgal said the man spoke with the accent of Ulaidh or that the horse dealer, Ibor of Muirthemne, has now left this assembly. The fact that Solin was also a man of Ulaidh might suggest that this tragedy was the result of some private quarrel. There is no reason to hold Fidelma in custody any more.’
A burst of noisy voices thundered around the chamber.
Eadulf turned with a smile which was a mixture of relief and triumph to Fidelma. Fidelma was rising for the first time, her face still serious.
‘Murgal,’ her voice was strong and steady, ‘I thank you, as I also thank Laisre, for the justice you have dispensed this day. But there is still the killer of Brother Solin to be caught. I would like your permission to investigate this killing. If Ibor of Muirthemne is responsible, let me bring him to justice. It is my contention that there is a link with Brother Solin’s death and the curious ritual of the thirty-three dead young men.’
Laisre interrupted before Murgal could reply.
‘I would prefer that we finish the negotiations which you are here to conduct and that you then depart in haste back to Cashel. You may be assured that we will do our best to find this man, Ibor of Muirthemne, who has bribed one of my best warriors and destroyed his honour.’
‘Is that your command?’ insisted Fidelma, to Eadulf’s surprise, for, had it been his decision to make, he would have left Gleann Geis with the utmost rapidity.
‘Call it my preference, Fidelma of Cashel. The most important business we have between us is to finish our negotiations. There will be no joy between us in any further relationship. The sooner that you are gone from our valley, the better, for I cannot forget the insult to my family – even if I accept the Saxon’s explanation that you were mistaken in your identification. Let us rest this night
and commence our deliberations in the morning. Now … I think we have finished our business for the day.’
Laisre rose abruptly and left the chamber. There was no happiness on his face. Orla and Colla followed him swiftly. It fell to Murgal to dismiss the court. Across the chamber, Eadulf saw Brother Dianach hurrying away. His face was flushed with anxiety. Of Artgal, there was no sign at all. Eadulf was about to move to Fidelma when he noticed the young girl, Esnad, smiling at him. Orla’s daughter had a warm, alluring smile on her features and when he met her eyes, she did not drop them in maidenly fashion but met his gaze in an open, provocative manner. Embarrassed, it was Eadulf who dropped his gaze first.
The fourteen-year-old daughter of Orla and Colla was being deliberately flirtatious.
Once Fidelma and Eadulf were alone in the hostel, Fidelma whirled round to the Saxon monk with a warm smile and seized his hands with both of her own.
‘You were brilliant!’ she pronounced enthusiastically.
Eadulf blushed furiously.
‘I had a good teacher,’ he mumbled with some embarrassment.
‘But you found the right laws to argue. And the way you led Artgal into that trap! I have never seen an advocate manipulate a witness better. It was brilliant to use the law to develop your argument. You should claim a degree as a
dálaigh.’
‘I had some help from Rudgal,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘Without his information, I could not have shown Artgal to be an unworthy witness.’
Fidelma became serious.
‘Are you saying that it was Rudgal who gave you the information about the payment Artgal was to receive?’
‘It was. Luck was with us because he mentioned Artgal had received the cows and I was able to piece the rest together.’
Fidelma moved in search of a pitcher of mead and beakers for she needed strength after her ordeal.
‘Then we should thank Rudgal. But you used his information well. It was the way that you forced Artgal to confess the bribe without having to present the evidence yourself. That I admire.’
Eadulf laughed skeptically.
‘If it had come down to having to give proof of my allegation then I fear we would have been worsted. Thank God that Artgal thought I knew more than I did.’
Fidelma paused in the act of drinking.
‘You did have the evidence of the bribe, didn’t you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I mean, evidence to support your allegation?’
Eadulf forced a smile and admitted the truth.
‘It was a bluff.’
Fidelma stared at him in consternation. Slowly she sank to a chair.
‘Only a bluff? You’d better explain.’
‘Easy enough. Rudgal had heard Artgal boasting of his new possession of two milch cows. Artgal was boastful but he was not that loose tongued. He did mention, however, that he would have a third milch cow in nine days’ time. I saw the connection at once. Rudgal had mentioned this to me not realising its significance.’
Fidelma felt suddenly weak as she considered what might have happened.
‘And
that
was all you knew when you challenged him before the court?’ she pressed faintly.
Eadulf spread his hands expressively.
‘It seemed a reasonable assumption that Artgal’s new-found wealth was something to do with his testimony against you. I simply took a gamble.’
Fidelma was staring at him in dismay.
‘But no Brehon would have dared to make such a gamble, to claim something before the court without certain knowledge or proof. Have you not heard the saying
sapiens nihil affirmat quod non probat?
A wise man states as true nothing he cannot prove. What if Artgal had not confessed? What if you had been challenged to prove your accusation?’
Eadulf grimaced ruefully.
‘Then, as I say, it would have gone badly with us. Artgal could have simply called me a liar and walked away. But his guilty conscience made him confess and I was counting on that.’
Fidelma was shaking her head dumbfounded.
‘I have not known the like of this in my years as an advocate,’ she finally said.
‘Then let me give you Latin aphorism for Latin aphorism.
Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit,’
smiled Eadulf complacently.
Fidelma was forced to duplicate his smile as she repeated: ‘If the end is good, everything will be good. I cannot argue that all’s well that ends well but do not repeat this story to anyone else, especially not to Murgal or Laisre. Confession extracted by deception is not a principle of the laws of the five kingdoms.’
Eadulf held up his hand, palm outwards.
‘I swear! The secret will remain between us. But that doesn’t make it the less true. Artgal was, indeed, bribed.’
Fidelma regarded her empty beaker as if searching for the answer in it.
‘This is what I do not understand. He did not have to be bribed. I think he might have genuinely believed what he thought he saw. He would not have changed his testimony anyway. Why would Ibor of
Muirthemne risk all by offering to pay him such an extraordinary sum of money?’
‘We must seek out Ibor of Muirthemne,’ Eadulf announced. ‘He will provide many answers.’
Fidelma glanced at him with resignation.
‘You heard what Laisre said? I am forbidden to inquire further.’
‘When has that stopped you before?’ countered Eadulf in humour.
‘Well, tomorrow we conclude our negotiation here and then we may turn our minds to the matter. Certainly I would agree that there is some mystery here which emanates in part or in whole from Ulaidh, from the north. I cannot yet fathom it. Do you recall my finding the warrior’s torc of northern workmanship near the bodies?’
‘I have not forgotten,’ Eadulf replied. ‘But we do not have to wait until tomorrow. It is only early evening, and there are two milch cows at Artgal’s farmstead. Even dumb animals may talk.’
Fidelma was confused.
‘Animals do not appear out of thin air,’ Eadulf elucidated. ‘They must have come from somewhere. Perhaps they have brands. We might learn where they came from. If so we might be able to track Ibor himself and find out who he represents and what his purpose here has been.’
Fidelma regarded him with satisfied approval.
‘Sometimes one is so concerned with examining the tree that one loses sight of the wood. A splendid idea, Eadulf. More and more you are proving that you are equal to a
dálaigh.
But we must proceed carefully. Laisre will not approve of our investigation.’
‘Laisre will not know. He and his friends will be starting their feasting soon,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Rudgal told me that this evening feast is a regular affair. I think,’ he added with a grim humour, ‘it will be a long time before I will go willingly to such a feast again.’
Fidelma now became aware that it was approaching meal time and they were the only people in the hostel.
‘Where is Cruinn? She should surely be here to prepare our food?’ she asked.
‘I am afraid that Cruinn has been disapproving of us. She seems to have taken a personal dislike to us and withdrawn her services. We have to fend for ourselves. Brother Dianach is nowhere to be seen. I suspect he, too, has not accepted the finding of the court.’
Fidelma was puzzled.
‘I can understand Brother Dianach being upset. But I cannot
understand such animosity from Cruinn. Even if I had been proved guilty, what was Brother Solin to her?’
‘Her anger comes from your accusation against Orla. Orla is well liked here in Gleann Geis.’
‘Ah well, her absence might be good. It gives us a free hand. We can move without the constraint she would place on us …’
She had not finished the sentence when the door opened and Rudgal came in. He looked rather sheepish.
‘I came to tell you that Cruinn, the hostel keeper, refuses to come here to cook for you. She is rather old-fashioned …’
‘We have just been discussing that,’ Fidelma informed him.
‘But Fidelma was exonerated by Murgal,’ protested Eadulf indignantly. ‘How dare she refuse to fulfil her duties?’
Rudgal shrugged.
‘She is one who takes the view that there is no smoke without fire. She refuses to set foot in this hostel until you have both departed. Even the chiding of Murgal, who admittedly has not been too forceful, has failed to move her. Therefore, I have come here to offer to tend to your needs, though I am no great cook.’
‘I thank you, Rudgal,’ Fidelma smiled appreciatively. ‘We can manage well enough if we have a supply of food and drink. We shall, after all, not be here more than another day. And I am sure Brother Dianach will be able to look after himself. Where is he, by the way?’
‘I have not seen him.’
Fidelma was disappointed. She remembered the whispered conversation between Solin and Dianach before he went to his death in the stable. ‘If all goes well,’ Solin had told the young cleric, ‘Cashel will fall to us before the summer is out.’ To
us
? Who was the
us
? It was clear that Dianach was party to whatever mischievous plot was being hatched. She wanted to question the gauche young scribe as soon as possible, especially now that he had not the protection of Solin to fall back on. But, if he couldn’t be found, there were other things that could be done and Eadulf had made a good suggestion.
‘There is another favour we would ask of you, Rudgal,’ Fidelma went on, having considered the way forward. ‘We would like to go to Artgal’s farmstead and examine these two milch cows with which he was bribed.’
Rudgal looked uneasy.
‘Is that wise, Sister? Laisre forbade further investigation.’
‘Wise or not, we would like you to take us to his farmstead where we may examine the cows. Even a king cannot forbid a
dálaigh
to investigate a crime. A king is a servant of the law, not its master.’
‘I am not questioning the wisdom of you wishing to investigate but I think you should know that in spite of Laisre’s command that Artgal should not leave the ráth, he has done so. He is nowhere to be found. Artgal might contemplate harm against you for the ruin which you have brought on him.’
Fidelma rose to her feet resolutely.
‘Do you think that he is gone to his farmstead perhaps to destroy the evidence of his wrong doing? In that case, we must certainly go in search of him, for he is our only link to Ibor of Muirthemne and those cattle are confirmation of the deed.’
‘But he could have gone anywhere,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Anywhere to escape Laisre’s justice.’
‘I do not think so,’ interposed Rudgal. ‘His cabin lies not far away on the hillside overlooking Ronan’s hamlet. Ronan was sent to his farmstead in pursuit of Ibor of Muirthemne. Ibor has fled the valley. But Ronan told me on his return that he had caught sight of Artgal on the hill path going to his farmstead. He did not think it his duty to stop him as he had only been told to bring Ibor back to the ráth. Besides, Artgal was a friend and cousin to Ronan. Ronan will say nothing to Laisre unless directly asked.’
‘So Ibor has fled the valley?’ Fidelma repeated quietly. ‘Well, that was to be expected.’
‘Ibor of Muirthemne and his horses must have left the ráth even before Murgal finished the hearing,’ Rudgal agreed. ‘However, as for Artgal, I cannot see him willingly parting with the cattle now he has them. If he intends to leave the valley to escape Laisre’s wrath, he will collect his possessions first.’
‘Then let us find out if he is still at his farmstead,’ Fidelma insisted, moving towards the door.
They left the ráth of Laisre without being challenged. As Eadulf had pointed out, although there were several hours of daylight left in the warm summer evening, everyone appeared to have taken themselves to Laisre’s feasting hall. Laughter and the noise of feasting echoed over the empty courtyard. There was no one about or at the gates of the fortress. It was Rudgal who suggested that they did not encumber themselves with horses as they might be spotted more easily on horseback if Artgal was trying to avoid them.
In any case, it was scarcely a mile to the farmstead which Rudgal indicated on the side of the hill, just above the hamlet dominated by Ronan’s farm. Rudgal led the way at an easy pace with the two religious following close behind.
It was still warm, for the summer’s day had been hot beyond the shelter of the ráth. Although it would not grow dark for two hours at least, a few dark storm clouds were hanging over the mountains and there was a threat of rain beyond their peaks. They could hear a distant rumble of thunder from the other side of the surrounding pinnacles. At least the clouds were hanging around the summits of the hills, as if anchored to them, and not moving across the bright blue sky above the valley.
Rudgal caught Eadulf’s anxious gaze and chuckled softly.
‘With God’s help, the weather will pass us by on the other side of the mountains.’
They continued on their way skirting Ronan’s farmstead and Nemon’s dwelling, before climbing the hill towards the small cabin perched above, which Rudgal had indicated belonged to Artgal. The fair-haired warrior wagon-maker led the way up a steep path whose ascent had been made easier by the placing of large stones every so often. This gave the path the appearance of a stairway. Fidelma followed next and then Eadulf. There was little conversation between them except when Rudgal pointed out areas along the path to be avoided, springy patches of boggy turf or the occasional pit hidden by gorse.
They came to a narrow shelving area of stone-hedged small fields among which stood the grey stone cabin. It was a simple beehive-shaped cabin with a straw-thatched roof and a fence around it. Adjacent to the cabin was a smithy’s shop but with the fire dead. It looked as if it had not been used in some considerable time. Even some of the tools were rusting.