Hemlock at Vespers

culminates in January A.D. 666. From then on Fidelma and Eadulf join forces and Munster’s capital, Cashel, becomes their base. They remain in partnership in The Spider’s Web, Valley of the Shadow, and The Monk Who Vanished. Only now and then does Fidelma find herself without Eadulf’s assistance, such as in the short stories “Invitation to a Poisoning” and “Those That Trespass.”

Welcome, then, to a period which we mistakenly call the Dark Ages. For Ireland, it was an “Age of Golden Enlightenment,” when law, order, literacy, and the recording of knowledge created one of the most fascinating European civilizations; a time when missionaries from Ireland, singly and in groups, set off to spread learning and literacy as far east as Kiev in the Ukraine, north to Iceland and the Faroes, and south in Spain and across the Alps into Italy- south to Taranto where an Irish monk named Cathal became St. Cataldus, patron saint of the city. It was a time of high artistic achievement, of the production of the great illuminated Gospel books and of breathtaking metalwork including the fabulous reliquaries, book shrines, chalices, and crosses; of a native literature that is second to none and, of course, a fascinating law system and social order that, in many ways, was as advanced in its philosophy and application as our own.

But, and there is always a but in the affairs of mankind, it was a very human age encompassing all the virtues and vices that humans are prey to; virtues and vices that we can recognize and understand today. The motives for crime have remained unaltered over the centuries and in seventh-century Ireland there was still a need for a keen-eyed examiner with an analytical mind, yet with a humane interpretation of the law for, as Fidelma herself once remarked, “law is not always justice.” So we may now follow the good Sister into a world that may be one in which the superficial surroundings are unfamiliar to us but in which we still recognize the same fears, envies, loves, and hates that did and do exist in all ages and in all civilizations.

— Peter Tremayne

MURDER IN REPOSE

“There is no question of Brother Fergal’s guilt in this crime,” said the Brehon with assurance. “He clearly murdered the girl.”

He was a stocky man, this chief judge of the clan of the Eógha-nacht of Cashel. His round, lugubrious face was betrayed by a pair of bright, sharp eyes. His slow-speaking meticulous manner disguised a mind that was sharp and decisive. Here was a man who, as his profession demanded, looked at life carefully and weighed the evidence before making a decision. And he was no one’s fool.

Sister Fidelma, tall, green-eyed, stood before the Brehon with hands folded demurely in front of her. Her robes and hood, from under which wisps of rebellious red hair stuck out, scarcely disguised her youthfulness nor her feminine attractiveness. The Bre-hon had placed her age in her mid-twenties. He noticed that her stance was one of controlled agitation, of someone used to movement and action in life. The habit of a religieuse did not suit her at all.

“The Abbess has assured me that Brother Fergal is no more capable of taking life than a rabbit is capable of flying through the air.”

The Brehon of the Eóghanacht of Cashel sighed. He made little effort to conceal his irritation at the young woman’s contradiction.

“Nevertheless, Sister, the evidence is plain. The man Fergal was found in his bothán, the cabin he had rebuilt, on the slopes of Cnocgorm. He was asleep. By his side was the body of the girl, Barrdub. She had been stabbed to death. There was blood on Fer-gal’s hands and on his robes. When he was awakened, he claimed that he had no knowledge of anything. That is a weak defense.”

Sister Fidelma bowed her head, as if acknowledging the logic of the Brehon’s statement.

“What were the circumstances of the finding of the body of the girl Barrdub?”

“Barrdub’s brother, Congal, had been worried. The girl, it seems, had been smitten with a passion for this Brother Fergal. He is a handsome young man, it must be admitted. That night, according to Congal, his sister went out and did not return. Early in the morning, Congal came to me and asked me to accompany him to Fergal’s bothán to confront them. Barrdub is not yet at the age of choice, you understand, and Congal stands as her guardian in law for they have no other relatives living. Together we found Fergal and the body of Barrdub as I have described.”

Sister Fidelma compressed her lips. The evidence was, indeed, damning.

“The hearing will be at noon tomorrow,” the Brehon went on. “Brother Fergal must give account to the law for no one can stand above the jurisdiction of the Brehons, either priest or druid.”

Sister Fidelma smiled thinly.

“Thanks be to the holy Patrick that it is two centuries since the druids of Ireland accepted the teachings of the Savior of this world.”

The Brehon returned her smile.

“Yet they say that many who live in the mountains or in remote fastnesses still practice the old ways; that there are many whom the teachings of Christ have not won from the worship of The Dagda and the ancient gods of Ireland. We have such a one even here, in our territory. Erca is a hermit who also lives on the slopes of Cnocgorm and claims to practice the old ways.”

Sister Fidelma shrugged indifferently.

“I am not here to proselytize.”

The Brehon was examining her carefully now.

“What precisely is your role in this affair, Sister? Do you simply represent the Abbey which, I understand, now stands in place of Brother Fergal’s fine or family? Remember, in law, the fine must ensure that the penalties are provided when judgment is given by the court.”

“I am aware of the law, Brehon of the Eóghanacht,” replied Sister Fidelma. “The Abbess has sent me to this place in the capacity of a dálaigh; an advocate to plead before the court on be-half of Brother Fergal.”

The Brehon raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. When the girl had come to him, he had assumed that she was simply one of Brother Fergal’s religious community who had come to find out why he had been arrested and charged with murder.

“The law requires that all advocates must be qualified to plead before the Dál.”

Sister Fidelma drew herself up, a little annoyed at the patronage in the man’s voice, at his arrogant assumption.

“I am qualified. I studied law under the great Brehon Morann of Tara.”

Once again the Brehon barely concealed his surprise. That the young girl before him could be qualified in the law of Eireann was astonishing in his eyes. He was about to open his mouth when the girl pre-empted his question by reaching within her robes and passing him an inscribed vellum. The Brehon read quickly, eyes rounded, hesitated and passed it back. His glance was now respectful, his voice slightly awed.

“It states that you are a qualified Anruth.”

To have qualified to the level of Anruth one had to have studied at a monastic or bardic school for between seven to nine years. The Anruth was only one degree below the highest qualification, the Ollamh, or professor, who could sit as an equal with kings. The Anruth had to be knowledgeable in poetry, literature, law and medicine, speaking and writing with authority on all things and being eloquent in debate.

“I was with the Brehon Morann for eight years,” Fidelma re-plied.

“Your right to act as advocate before the court is recognized, Sister Fidelma.”

The young religieuse smiled.

“In that case, I call upon my right to speak with the accused and then with the witnesses.”

“Very well. But there can be only one plea before the court. The evidence is too damning to say other than