Whispers of the Dead

THE HEIR-APPARENT

There’s bound to be trouble. Mark my words!”

Brehon Declan was gloomy with pessimism as he and Sister Fidelma walked slowly across the main courtyard of the rath of Cúan, chieftain of the Uí Liatháin, toward the great feasting hall. Already many others were moving through the darkening twilight in the same direction.

“I don’t understand,” replied Fidelma. She had been on her way to the abbey at Ard Mór on the coast. Her route lay through the territory of the Uí Liatháin, one of the larger and more influential clans of the kingdom of Muman, and she had decided to visit her old colleague, Declan. He had been a fellow student at the law school of the Brehon Morann. On her arrival at the rath, or fortress of the Uí Liatháin, she found a state of great agitation and excitement. The heir-apparent of the chief had been injured and died in a stag hunt and, having mourned for the prescribed time, the clan was about to elect a new tanist, who would be successor to the chief. “I don’t understand,” repeated Fidelma. “Is it that the chief’s nominee for the office, Talamnach, is so unpopular that he will be opposed?”

Declan, a dark, saturnine man, eased his lean features into a thin smile and shook his head.

“You must know that the choosing of a tanist, an heir-apparent, to the chieftain, can be a problematic business. At least three generations of the ruling family must meet in conclave and cast their votes for who should be the successor. There are always going to be factions and what suits one group will not suit another, even though they are part of the same family.”

Fidelma sniffed in disapproval.

“Even Cicero, centuries ago, wrote of the bellum domesticum-the strife of families. It is nothing new.”

“That is certainly true,” admitted Declan, “but the strife within Cúan’s family is particularly vicious now that he has named his nephew Talamnach as his nominee for successor.”

“Why so?”

“Firstly, Cúan’s own son, Augaire, is unhappy, to say the least. He is nineteen years old but, with youthful arrogance, he was expecting to be nominated. So, too, was his mother, Berrach-I mean that she was expecting her son to be nominated and, so it is said, she has made her displeasure known to her husband.”

“It is not unusual for a mother to have ambition for her child.”

“Berrach is more than tenacious for her son’s future. She dotes on him and panders to his every wish. Now he has outgrown her and nothing will ever bring him to discipline.”

Fidelma smiled softly.

“Remember what Aristotle wrote? That the reason why mothers are more devoted to their children and have more ambition for them than their fathers is that they have suffered more in giving them birth and are more certain that they are their own.”

Declan pulled a face.

“It is true that Augaire is more akin to Berrach than Cúan and therein is the reason why Cúan has nominated Talamnach instead. Augaire lacks modesty, he is quick to anger and slow to forgive. A hint of any insult will have him reaching for his dagger. He is an immature youth, vain, pretentious and unable to withstand any hint of criticism. That is why he is unfit to be the heir-apparent to the chieftain of the Uí Liatháin. I can say that with authority as his cousin.”

Fidelma stared at Declan’s animated features for a moment as he finished his vehement declaration.

“So you also have a vote in the derbfine?”

He shrugged and suddenly smiled.

“I beg your pardon, Fidelma. In expressing my prejudice I over-step the bounds of my calling, which is to be at my chief’s side and see that the proper forms are observed for the meeting of the derbfine of the chief, the electoral college to proclaim who is next heir-apparent. I am technically of the derbfine but, as Brehon, I shall abstain in the vote.”

“Well, we cannot help being human, Declan. We cannot pretend that we do not have feelings. What is important is that we, as members of the legal profession, must subordinate our feelings so that the law is followed and the views of the derbfine are made plain and carried through.”

Declan inclined his head.

“Have no fear on that score. But I am sure that Augaire and his mother are up to something. And then there is Selbach.”

Fidelma paused for a moment or two and then prompted: “Who is Selbach?”

“My uncle. He is Cúan’s own younger brother but has disapproved of his brother for many years. He so disapproved of some of Cúan’s methods that he took ship ten years ago and went to rule the Uí Liatháin community that lives across the seas in the kingdom of Kernow. Now he has returned with the expectation that his supporters will name him as heir-apparent. He has made a fortune abroad and now struts about like a turkey-cock, all dressed up in those clothes rich and fashionable Britons wear with their newfangled Roman style pockets.”

Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly at his ardor.

“You say that he has expectations that his supporters will name him heir-apparent. How valid are such expectations?”

“There are some cousins who would support him. Probably only a small group. But the majority are for Talamnach. But the trouble that will arise at the meeting, and the trouble that I fear, is the plotting and planning.”

“You would say that Talamnach is a good choice as heir-apparent?”

“Undoubtedly. He has all the qualities. He has even studied law. .”

“If that is a recommendation,” smiled Fidelma mischievously.

Declan was serious.

“He is temperate in all things. A good judge. A good negotiator and, above all, he keeps the interests of all the people in mind, not just certain influential sections of the people.”

“He sounds a paragon,” observed Fidelma dryly.

They had reached the great hall of Cúan and people, recognizing Declan in the glow from the torches that lit the entrance, began to greet him and Fidelma. They were all relatives of Cúan the chief, and formed the derbfine who were to elect from their number the heir-apparent to the chieftainship who would take over when Cúan resigned or died in office. Chiefs, provincial kings and even the high king might die after a lifetime in office. Many times, however, they simply retired. Sometimes, when they had not promoted the commonwealth of their people, the same derbfine who elected them to office would meet and strip them of their rank and confirm the heir-apparent as new chief, king or high king.

Declan had guided her to a seat among the rows of witnesses. These were the religious, lawyers and historians who were not part of the derbfine but who were the observers of the event and bore witness to the legality of its proceedings. Declan left her, as he had to see about the preparations, exiting the hall through a side door.

The great hall, lit by flickering torches and lamps, smoky and hot, seemed packed. There were at least three generations of Cúan’s family there, predominantly the male members. There were several women there, it was true, and prominent among them, seated to one side, was a tall, austere woman, with a sharp face and dark eyes. Fidelma had already met Berrach, who had come from the neighboring clan of the Déices. She was attending out of courtesy, but not because she had any public voice in the election of an heir to her husband, for a woman belonged to the derbfine of her father and not of her husband.

It was rare that a woman was elected to chieftainship or king-ship. This was not because women were excluded from office because the law gave equal status to women. In fact, only one woman had ever become High “King” of the five kingdoms of Éireann. Fidelma learnt this from the ancient king lists. But there were several tribes who not only elected women as chieftains but as military leaders. The female heir-apparent, the banchomarba, appeared usually when there was no acceptable male heir. Because the social system was based on the clan, female succession might lead to the alienation of the title and lands of the clan by marriage with people from another clan.