“Yet I have wronged you,” insisted Nechtan. “Ten years ago, when we both came together before the clan assembly so that the assembly could choose which of us was to be chief and which was to be Tanist, it was you who the assembly favored. You were the clear choice to be chieftain. I discovered this before the assembly met and so I paid bribes to many in order that I might be elected chieftain. So I came to office while you, by default, became the second choice. For ten years I have kept you at my side when you should have ruled in my place.”
Fidelma saw Marbán’s face whiten but there was no registration of surprise on his features. Clearly the Tanist already knew of Nechtan’s wrongdoing. She saw the anger and hatred pass across his features even though he sought to control the emotions.
Fidelma felt that she had no option but to speak up and she broke the silence by clearing her throat. When all eyes were turned on her she said in a quiet, authoritative tone:
“Nechtan of the Múscraige, you have asked us here to forgive you certain wrongs which you have done to each of us. Some are a matter for simple Christian forgiveness. However, as a
Nechtan held up his plump hand and stayed her.
“You had ever the legal mind, Fidelma. And it is right that you should point out this aspect of the law to me. I accept your knowledge. But before the ramifications of this feast of forgiveness are felt, my main aim was to recognize before you all what I have done. Come what may, I concede this. And now I will raise my goblet to each and every one of you, acknowledging what I have done to you all. After that, your law may take its course and I will rest content in that knowledge.”
He reached forward, picked up his goblet and raised it in salutation to them.
“I drink to you all. I do so contritely and then you may have joy of your law.”
No one spoke. Sister Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow at Nechtan’s dramatic gesture. It was as if they were watching a bad play.
The chieftain swallowed loudly. Almost immediately the goblet fell from his hand and his pale eyes were suddenly wide and staring, his mouth was open and he was making a terrible gasping sound, one hand going up to his throat. Then, as if a violent seizure racked his body, he fell backward, sending his chair flying as he crashed to the floor.
For a moment there was a deadly stillness in the feasting hall.
It was Gerróc, the chieftain’s physician, who seemed to recover his wits first. He was on his knees by Nechtan in a moment. Yet it didn’t need a physician’s training to know that Nechtan was dead. The contorted features, staring dead eyes, and twisted limbs showed that death had claimed him.
Daolgar, next to Fidelma, grunted in satisfaction.
“God is just, after all,” he remarked evenly. “If ever a man needed to be helped into the Otherworld, it was this man.” He glanced quickly at Fidelma and half-shrugged as he saw her look of reproach. “You’ll pardon me if I speak my mind, Sister? I am not truly a believer in the concept of forgiveness of sins. It depends much on the sins and the perpetrator of them.”
Fidelma’s attention had been distracted by Daolgar but, as she was turning back towards Gerróc, she noticed that young Dathó was whispering anxiously to his mother Ess, who was shaking her head. Her hand seemed to be closed around a small shape hidden in her pocket.
Gerróc had risen to his feet and was glaring suspiciously at Daolgar.
“What do you mean ‘
Daolgar gestured dispassionately.
“A figure of speech, physician. God has punished Nechtan in his own way with some seizure. A heart attack, or so it appears. That was help enough. And as for whether Nechtan deserved to be so stricken-why, who around this table would doubt it? He has wronged us all.”
Gerróc shook his head slowly.
“It was no seizure brought on by the whim of God,” he said quietly. Then he added: “No one should touch any more of the wine.”
They were all regarding the physician with confusion, trying to comprehend his meaning.
Gerróc responded to their unarticulated question.
“Nechtan’s cup was poisoned,” he said. “He has been murdered.”
After a moment’s silence, Fidelma rose slowly from her place and went to where Nechtan lay. There was a blue tinge to his lips, which were drawn back, revealing discolored gums and teeth. The twisted features of his once cherubic face were enough for her to realize that his brief death agony had been induced in a violent form. She reached toward the fallen goblet. A little wine still lay in its bowl. She dipped her finger in it and sniffed at it suspiciously. There was a bitter-sweet fragrance which she could not identify.
She gazed up at the physician.
“Poison, you say?” She did not really need such confirmation.
He nodded quickly.
She drew herself up and gazed round at the disconcerted faces of her fellow guests. Bewildered though they were, not one did she see there whose face reflected grief or anguish for the death of the chieftain of the Múscraige.
Everyone had risen uncertainly to their feet now, not knowing what to do.
It was Fidelma who spoke first in her quiet, firm tone.
“As an advocate of the court, I will take charge here. A crime has been committed. Each one in this room has a motive to kill Nechtan.”
“Including yourself,” pointed out young Dathó immediately. “I object to being questioned by one who might well be the culprit. How do we know that you did not poison his cup?”
Fidelma raised her eyebrows in surprise at the young man’s accusation. Then she considered it slowly for a moment before nodding in acceptance of the logic.
“You are quite right, Dathó. I also had a motive. And until we can discover how the poison came to be in this cup, I cannot prove that I did not have the means. Neither, for that matter, can anyone else in this room. For over an hour we have been at this table, each having a clear sight of one another, each drinking the same wine. We should be able to reason out how Nechtan was poisoned.”
Marbán was nodding rapidly in agreement.
“I agree. We should heed Sister Fidelma. I am now chieftain of the Múscraige. So I say we should let Fidelma sort this matter out.”
“You are chieftain unless it can be proved that you killed Nech-tan,” interrupted Daolgar of Sliabh Luachra with scorn. “After all, you were seated next to him. You had motive and opportunity.”
Marbán retorted angrily: ‘I am now chieftain until the assembly says otherwise. And I say that Sister Fidelma also has authority until the assembly says otherwise. I suggest that we resume our places at the table and allow Fidelma to discover by what means Nechtan was poisoned.”
“I disagree,” snapped Dathó. “If she is the guilty one then she may well attempt to lay the blame on one of us.”
“Why blame anyone? Nechtan deserved to die!” It was Ess, the former wife of the dead chieftain, who spoke sharply. “Nechtan deserved to die,” she repeated emphatically. “He deserved to die a thousand times over. No one in this room would more gladly see him dispatched to the Otherworld than I. And I would joyfully accept responsibility for the deed if I had done it. Little blame to whoever did this deed. They have rid the world of a vermin, a parasite who has caused much suffering and anguish. We, in this room, should be their witnesses that no crime was committed here, only natural justice. Let the one who did this deed admit to it and we will all support their cause.”
