Whispers of the Dead

“Oh yes. When the servant, Muirecán, put it on the table, young Augaire went to grab one of the mugs.”

Fidelma’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Did he drink?”

“Thanks be to God, I did not!” roared Augaire, his laughter echoed by his friends. “I think even your observation will show that I still live, dálaigh.”

“It is a moot point whether your existence has life in it, young man,” snapped Fidelma. “It strikes me that it has more of dissoluteness than real life. However, you seem certain that the mead was already poisoned when it was placed on the table in the antechamber. Can you share your knowledge with us? How did you know it was poisoned.”

Augaire flushed angrily.

“I did not know. I. . I assumed.”

Fidelma smiled cynically.

“Ah, assumption? Only a short time ago, we had your views on conjecture, did we not?” Then sharply: “Why did you not drink the mead if you took up the mug?”

“I stopped him,” came Berrach’s firm tone.

Fidelma swung ’round on her.

“For what reason?”

The woman still bore her expressionless face. She did not even bother to look at Fidelma.

“The reason is simple enough. The mead was there as was normal practice to be carried in for the use of my husband and his tanist, also. .”

“Also?” prompted Fidelma when she paused.

“Also, my son had, in my opinion, drunk too much already before coming to this derbfine.”

Augaire gave an angry hiss, which Fidelma ignored.

“Thank you for your honesty, Berrach,” she said softly. “It is hard to acknowledge the faults of one’s offspring.”

Augaire had stood up with two or three of his young friends and they were moving toward the door.

“Stop!” cried Fidelma. “You have no permission to leave.”

Augaire glanced back, mockingly.

“You have no authority in this place, woman of Cashel,” he sneered. “You can resume your cackling to others but I am a chief’s son and will do what I like. No woman who hides behind religious robes will tell me what to do.”

He turned and urged his companions to leave with him.

“Warriors! Stop them!”

It was Cúan’s sharp voice that echoed through the hall. Two of his warriors came forward and barred the young men’s path. The chief was shaking with rage.

“That my own son shames me thus!” he growled. “You and your sycophants will return to your seats and will not leave until you have permission. Had you concentrated on your education you would know that the powers of a dálaigh, and the powers of the sister of our king, Colgú of Cashel, are not to be challenged lightly. Your ignorance puts shame not only on me as chief, but on our family, on our clan. That display of ignorance is demonstration of why you will never be elected as chief nor will you ever be able to aspire to any office. You are worthless!”

The silence in the hall was deathly. Augaire and his youthful companions returned to sit in white-faced silence as Cúan rebuked them.

“Fidelma of Cashel, accept my apologies. I know that apologies are not enough for this insult to your office. We stand ready to pay the fine.”

Fidelma nodded gravely.

“Let Augaire rise from his seat and face me.”

The young man hesitated, bringing forth the sharp cry “Augaire!” from his father. Augaire rose to his feet, sullen and defiant.

“Know this, young man, and spread light in the darkness of your ignorance. Insult is regarded with the utmost seriousness in our law. I am now talking about insult to office, for I am a dálaigh, conducting a murder inquiry. In that respect, even a king has to accept that I take precedence in the procedure. The law text called the Bretha Nemed déidenach is quite clear on the ways of insulting people and the penalties that are incurred. Any offense relating to insult requires the payment of the honor price of the person insulted.”

“Lady!” The cry was wrung from Berrach. “The boy does not have such a sum. You are sister to the king and also a dálaigh of renown. That means your honor price is at least seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. I know that the law then says if he does not or cannot pay he must lose all rights and freedoms until he works to gain sufficient funds in order to pay the honor price. He will become a servant without honor or land. Is there no other way? No other way?”

Augaire had gone pale as he listened to his mother’s plea, perhaps realizing for the first time the enormity of his offense.

Fidelma stood thoughtful for a moment.

“The offense cannot be ignored, for it is written in the law that the king or chieftain who tolerates insult must themselves lose their honor price,” she said. “The boy may be immature and stupid but he is two years older than the age of choice and should know right from wrong. However, there is a way in which the boy himself may reduce the penalty. Sincere apology made in the presence of those who were also present when the insult was made may reduce the proscribed fine.”

“He will apologize, lady,” Berrach said, moving anxiously forward, but Fidelma held up her hand.

“An apology made while the blood is still tempered and there still exists anger is not valid. Augaire has been forced to return, to stand, and there he is, brooding and sullen. Knowing the penalty, he will say words without meaning. Let him sit down and wait for this hearing to end. Let him think of his responsibility, for the three young men whom he led from this place did not know what they were doing but followed him out of misguided loyalty- therefore, the penalty is his, not theirs. Let others advise him of the law and the fines and why our law denounces insults so strongly. Then let us all return at noon tomorrow and hear whether he truly understands and truly repents.”

Cúan nodded quickly.

“It shall be as you say, Fidelma, and we thank you for your justice and your wisdom. Sit down Augaire and do not let me hear from you again unless you are asked a specific question by the dálaigh. Then you may answer with respect.”

Fidelma turned back to those gathered in the hall.

“I do not think we need to detain you much longer. The facts of this murder are becoming clearer.”

That caught their attention.

Brehon Declan was nodding.

“We are agreed on that, Fidelma,” he said. “One person benefits from this and one person had the opportunity.”

Fidelma glanced at him.

“Broadly speaking, there is no disagreement in that. But can that person be identified?”

“Well, I think it is easy,” replied Declan, confidently.

Fidelma looked toward Muirecán the attendant.

“Surely Muirecán had the opportunity to poison the mead?”

The elderly servant groaned and swayed.

“I did not, I did not,” he almost whimpered.

“Of course, he did not,” affirmed Declan. “The poor man’s only involvement was to draw the mead from the barrel and bring it to the antechamber where his guilt lay in leaving it unattended for the murderer to slip in the contents of the phial of poison.”

“Very well, Declan. Let us examine first the motive. Remember what our old mentor, Brehon Morann, used