Hemlock at Vespers

and a spokesman at the clan assembly. Congal was not the man his father was. Congal was always a dreamer. When his father died, he squandered away what could have been his so that he and his sister were reduced to living in this bothán and Congal forced to hire himself to work for other members of the clan rather than run his own cattle.”

Congal was a dark, brooding person with fathomless grey eyes as deep and angry as the sea on a stormy winter’s day.

“If you have come to defend the murderer of my sister, I will answer no questions!” he told Fidelma belligerently, his thin, bloodless lips set firm.

The Brehon sighed in annoyance.

“Congal, you will obey the law. It is the right of the dálaigh, the advocate, to ask you questions and your duty to reply truthfully.”

Sister Fidelma motioned the man to be seated but he would not.

“Did you ever take stramóiniam to Brother Fergae?” she opened.

Congal blinked at the unexpectedness of her question.

“No,” he replied. “He purchased his asthma medication from Hand the herbalist.”

“Good. Now I have heard how you discovered the body of your sister. Before you confirm the Brehon’s account of that discovery, I want you to tell me what made you seek your sister in Brother Fergal’s bothán when you knew her to be missing?”

Congal grimaced.

“Because Barrdub was enamored of the man. He mesmerized her and used her.”

“Mesmerized? Why do you say this?”

Congal’s voice was harsh.

“I knew my sister, did I not? Since Fergal came to this village, Barrdub mooned after the man like a sick cow after a farmer, always making excuses to go to visit him and help him rebuild the priest’s bothán. It was disgusting.”

“Why disgusting?” the Brehon chimed in, suddenly interested. “If she would have Fergal, or he would have her, there was nothing to prevent her save she have your consent or had reached the age of choice. You know as well as I do that all servants of Christ have the ancient right to marry the partner of their choice, even to an abbot or abbess?”

“It was disgusting because she was betrothed to Rimid,” Congal insisted.

“Yet before Fergal arrived here,” the Brehon observed wryly, “you objected to Rimid as husband for Barrdub.”

Congal flushed.

“Why did you object to Rimid?” interposed Fidelma.

“Because…”

“Because he could not afford the full bride-price,” offered the Brehon before the man could reply. “Isn’t that so?”

“The tinnscra is as old as Eireann. No one marries without an offering of dowry to compensate the family of the bride,” Congal said stubbornly.

“And you were Barrdub’s only family?” asked Fidelma.

“She kept my house. With her gone, I have no one else. It is right that I be compensated according to our ancient law.”

“Presumably, you raised this same objection over her liaison with Fergal? As a religieux he was not able to supply a tinnscra.”

Congal said sullenly: “There was no question of that. He had no thought of marriage. He was using my sister and when she went to him seeking marriage, he killed her.”

“That remains to be proved,” Fidelma responded. “Who else knew about the affair between your sister and Fergal?”

“No one,” Congal said promptly. “My sister only admitted it to me with great unwillingness.”

“So you kept it to yourself? Are you sure no one else knew? What of Rimid?”

Congal hesitated, his eyes downcast.

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. “Rimid knew.”

“I will see this Rimid next,” Fidelma told the Brehon. She turned to leave and then hesitated, pausing to examine bunches of dried flowers and plants hung on the wall by the fireplace.

“What herb is this?”

Congal frowned at her for a moment.

“I have no knowledge of such things. Barrdub gathered all our herbs for cooking.”

Outside the Brehon cast a long puzzled look at Fidelma.

“You are greatly interested in herbs, Sister,” he observed.

Fidelma nodded.

“Did you know that Brother Fergal suffers from asthma and that he is in the habit of inhaling the fumes of the burning leaves of stramoiniam or drinking an infusion of similar herbs each night to ease his chest?”

The Brehon shrugged.

“Some people are so afflicted,” he conceded, perplexed at her comment. “Is it important?”

“Where will we find Rimid?”

“He may be at his work at this hour,” the Brehon sighed.

Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression that Rimid did not work because Congal intimated that he was in no position to pay the tinnscra.”

The Brehon smiled broadly.

“Congal objected to the fact that Rimid could not pay the full bride-price. Rimid is not a man of wealth but he is a freeman of the clan and, unlike Congal, can sit in the clan assembly.”

“Congal cannot? He is so poor?”

“As you saw. A self-inflicted poverty. He has great schemes but they all come to nothing for he dreams of marvelous ways to gain respect and advancement in the clan but his expectations always exceed his means. He often has to rely on the generosity of the clan to feed himself. It makes him bitter.”

“And Barrdub? Was she bitter also?”

“No. Her hope was to escape her brother’s poverty through marriage.”

“She must have been disappointed when Congal refused Rimid’s offer of marriage.”

“This was so. I thought she might wait until she reached the aimsir togu, the age of consent, when she would be a woman and with full right of choice. Then I thought she would marry with Rimid. When she reached the age where she could decide, there would be no question of Congal being able to demand a bride-price. I think Rimid shared that belief. He was bitter when he learnt that Barrdub was throwing herself at Brother Fergal.”

“Was he now?” mused Fidelma. “Well, let us go and speak with this Rimid. You say he might be at his work? Where would that be?”

The Brehon sighed.

“He might be at the bothán of Iland, the herbalist.”

Fidelma halted and stared at the Brehon in astonishment.

“Is Rimid a herbalist?”

The Brehon shook his head.

“No, no. He is not a professional man. He is employed by the herbalist to go abroad each day and gather the herbs and flowers wanted for the preparations.”

Rimid’s face was full of bitter hatred. He was a flushed-faced, excitable youth, scarcely beyond the age of choice.

“Yes. I loved Barrdub. I loved her and she betrayed me. I might have won her back, but for this man, Fergal. I will kill him.”