They all stared cautiously at one another. Certainly none appeared to disagree with Ess’s emotional plea but none appeared willing to confess to the deed.
Fidelma pursed her lips as she considered the matter under law.
“In such a case, we would all need to testify to the wrongs enacted by Nechtan. Then the guilty one would go free simply on the payment of Nechtan’s honor price to his family. That would be the sum of fourteen
Ess’s son, Dathó, interrupted with a bitter laugh.
“Perhaps some among us do not have a herd of forty-two milk cows to pay in compensation. What then? If compensation is not paid, the law exacts other punishment from the guilty.”
Marbán now smiled expansively.
“I would provide that much compensation merely to be rid of Nechtan,” he confessed without embarrassment. With Nechtan’s death, Fidelma noticed, the usually taciturn warrior was suddenly more decisive in manner.
“Then,” Cuill, the young artist who had so far been silent, leant forward eagerly, “then whoever did this deed, let them speak and admit it, and let us all contribute to exonerating them. I agree with Ess-Nechtan was an evil man who deserved to die.”
There was a silence while they examined each other’s faces, waiting for someone to admit their guilt.
“Well?” demanded Daolgar, impatiently, after a while. “Come forward whoever did this and let us resolve the matter and be away from this place.”
No one spoke.
It was Fidelma who broke the silence with a low sigh.
“Since no one will admit this deed…”
She did not finish for Marbán interrupted again.
“Better it was admitted.” His voice was almost cajoling. “Whoever it was, my offer to stand behind them holds. Indeed, I will pay the entire compensation fee.”
Sister Fidelma saw Ess compressing her lips; her hand slid to the bulge on her thigh, her slender fingers wrapping themselves around the curiously shaped lump which reposed in her pocket. She had began to open her mouth to speak when her son, Dathó, thrust forward.
“Very well,” he said harshly. “I will admit to the deed. I killed Nechtan, my father. I had more cause to hate him than any of you.”
There was a loud gasp of astonishment. It was from Ess. She was staring in surprise at her son. Fidelma saw that the others around the table had relaxed at his confession and seemed relieved.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she gazed directly into the face of the young man.
“Tell me how you gave him the poison?” she invited in a conversational voice.
The young man frowned in bewilderment.
“What matters? I admit the deed.”
“Admission must be supported by evidence,” Fidelma countered softly. “Let us know how you did this.”
Dathó shrugged indifferently.
“I put poison into his cup of wine.”
“What type of poison?”
Dathó blinked rapidly. He hesitated a moment.
“Speak up!” prompted Pidelma irritably.
“Why… hemlock, of course.”
Sister Fidelma shifted her gaze to Ess. The woman’s eyes had not left her son since his confession. She had been staring at him with a strained, whitened face.
“And is that a vial of hemlock which you have in your thigh pocket, Ess?” Fidelma snapped.
Ess gave a gasp and her hand went immediately to her pocket. She hesitated and then shrugged as if in surrender.
“What use in denying it?” she asked. “How did you know I had the vial of hemlock?”
Dathó almost shouted: “No. I asked her to hide it after I had done the deed. It has nothing to do-”
Fidelma raised a hand and motioned him to silence.
“Let me see it,” she pressed.
Ess took a small glass vial from her pocket and placed it on the table. Fidelma reached forward and picked it up. She took out the stopper and sniffed gently at the receptacle.
“Indeed, it is hemlock,” she confirmed. “But the bottle is full.”
“My mother did not do this!” cried Dathó angrily. “I did! I admit as much! The guilt is mine!”
Fidelma shook her head sadly at him.
“Sit down, Dathó. You are seeking to take the blame on yourself because your mother had a vial of hemlock on her person and you suspect that she killed your father. Is this not so?”
Dathó’s face drained of color and his shoulders dropped as he slumped back into his seat.
“Your fidelity is laudable,” went on Fidelma compassionately. “However, I do not think that your mother, Ess, is the murderess. Especially since the vial is still full.”
Ess was staring blankly at Fidelma. Fidelma responded with a gentle smile.
“I believe that you came here tonight with the intention of trying to poison your former husband as a matter of vengeance. Dathó saw that you had the vial which you were attempting to hide after the deed was done. I saw the two of you arguing over it. However, you had no opportunity to place the hemlock in Nechtan’s goblet. Importantly, it was not hemlock that killed him.”
She turned, almost sharply. “Isn’t that so, Gerróc?”
The elderly physician started and glanced quickly at her before answering.
“Hemlock, however strong the dose, does not act instantaneously,” he agreed pedantically. “This poison was more virulent than hemlock.” He pointed to the goblet. “You have already noticed the little crystalline deposits, Sister? It is realgar, what is called the ‘powder of the caves,’ used by those creating works of art as a colorant but, taken internally, it is a quick-acting poison.”
Fidelma nodded slowly as if he were simply conftrming what she knew already and then she turned her gaze back to those around the table. However, their eyes were focused on the young artist, Cuill.
Cuill’s face was suddenly white and pinched.
“I hated him but I would never take a life,” he stammered. “I uphold the old ways, the sanctity of life, however evil it is.”
“Yet this poison is used as a tool by artists like yourself,” Mar-ban pointed out. “Who among us would know this other than Ger-róc and yourself? Why deny it if you did kill him? Have we not said that we would support one another in this? I have already promised to pay the compensation on behalf of the person who did the deed.”
“What opportunity had I to put it in Nechtan’s goblet?” demanded Cuill. “You had as much opportunity as I had.”
Fidelma raised a hand to quell the sudden hubbub of accusation and counter-accusation.
“Cuill has put his finger on the all-important question,” she said calmly but firmly enough to silence them. They had all risen again and so she instructed: “Be seated.”
Slowly, almost unwillingly, they obeyed.
Fidelma stood at the spot in which Nechtan had sat.
“Let us consider the facts,” she began. “The poison was in the wine goblet. Therefore, it is natural enough to assume that it was in the wine. The wine is contained in that pitcher there.”
She pointed to where the attendant had left the wine pitcher on a side table.
“Marbán, call in the attendant, for it was he who filled Nechtan’s goblet.”
Marbán did so.
The attendant was a young man named Ciar, a dark-haired and nervous young man. He seemed to have great trouble in speaking when he saw what had happened in the room and he kept clearing his throat nervously.
“You served the wine this evening, didn’t you, Ciar?” demanded Fidelma.
