Whispers of the Dead

“You trusted him to go to Droim Sorn to bring back a valuable cross of silver.”

“It was the new cross for our high altar.”

“But you did not trust him with the money to pay for it, I understand.”

The old man blinked rapidly.

“There was no payment to be made.”

“You mean that Findach undertook to make this cross out of charity for the abbey?” Fidelma was puzzled.

The old abbot laughed, a slightly high-pitched laugh.

“Findach never gave anything out of charity. I should know for I was uncle to his wife Muirenn. He is an impecunious man. He made the cross for us in repayment for this indebtedness to the abbey.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

“Findach spent money like water. His wife owned the house in which he dwells and kept her own money as the law allows. In fact, all Findach owns is his forge and tools.”

Fidelma leant forward quickly.

“You mean that Findach will benefit from his wife’s wealth now that she is dead?”

The abbot smiled sadly and shook his head.

“He does not benefit at all. Half of her money is returned to her own family in accordance with the law. She was an aire-echta in her own right.”

Fidelma was surprised, for it was not often that a smith’s wife held an equal honor price to that of her husband.

The abbot continued: “She has bequeathed the residue of her property to this abbey in my name, for she knew how I had helped her husband over the years.”

Fidelma hid her disappointment at being first presented and then deprived of another motive for the murder of Muirenn.

“Findach had been asked to make some artifact for Imleach; and rather than admit to the abbot of Imleach that he had no money to purchase the silver needed to make it, he asked me for a loan. When he later confessed he could not repay it, I offered to provide him with enough silver so that he could construct a cross for our high altar. His craftsmanship was to be the repayment.”

“I am beginning to understand. I am told that Caisín had been to Droim Sorn before?”

“I sent him myself,” agreed the abbot.

“Last month I sent him to see Findach to remind him that the time to deliver the cross was approaching. He returned and told me that Findach had assured him that the cross would be ready at the appropriate time.”

Fidelma, fretting at the delay, had to spend the night at Cluain, and rode back to Droim Sorn the following morning.

She was met by Brehon Tuama, whose face mirrored some degree of excitement.

“It seems that we were both wrong, Sister. The boy, Braon, announced his guilt by attempting to escape.”

Fidelma exhaled sharply in her annoyance.

“The stupid boy! What happened?”

“He climbed out of a window and fled into the forest. He was recaptured early this morning. Odar let loose his hunting dogs after him and it was a wonder that the boy was not ripped apart. We caught him just in time. Odar has now demanded the imprisonment of his father as an accomplice.”

Fidelma stared at the Brehon.

“And you have agreed to this?”

Brehon Tuama spread his hands in resignation.

“What is there to be done? Whatever doubts I had before are now dispelled by the boy’s own admission of guilt. . his attempt to escape.”

“Does it not occur to you that the boy attempted to escape out of fear rather than out of guilt?”

“Fear? What had he to fear if he was innocent?”

“He and his father seemed to fear that, as they are of the class of bothach, looked down on and despised by many of the free clansmen of this place, they would not be treated fairly,” she snapped.

“The law is there so that no one should fear any unjust action. I regret that Odar does not appreciate that fact.”

Brehon Tuama sighed.

“Sadly, the law is merely that which is written on paper. It is human beings who interpret and govern the law, and often human beings are frail creatures full of the seven deadly sins that govern their little lives.”

“Are you telling me the boy is again imprisoned at Odar’s rath and is unhurt?”

“Bruised a little, but unhurt.”

“Deo gratias! And the father?”

“He has been imprisoned in the barn behind the chief’s house.”

“Then let us go to the chief’s house and have all those involved in this matter summoned. If, after hearing what I have to say you feel that there is a necessity for a formal trial, so be it. But the boy is not guilty.”

Half an hour later they were gathered in Odar’s hall. Along with Odar and his tanist were Brehon Tuama, the boy, Braon, and his father, Brocc, with Findach and Brother Caisín.

Fidelma turned to Brocc first. Her voice was brusque.

“Although you are a bothach, you have worked hard and gathered enough valuables to soon be able to purchase your place as a full and free clansman here. Is that correct?”

Brocc was bewildered by her question, but gave an affirmative jerk of his head.

“You would be able to pay the honor price for the death of Muirenn, the compensation due for her unlawful killing?”

“If my son were judged guilty, yes.”

“Indeed. For everyone knows that your son is under age. The payment of compensation and fines incurred by his action, if found guilty, falls to you.”

“I understand that.”

“Indeed you do. The law is well known.” Fidelma turned to Find-ach. “Am I right in believing that your wife Muirenn was of the social rank of aire-echta, and her honor price was ten séds-that is the worth of ten milch cows?”

“That is no secret,” snapped Findach belligerently.

Fidelma swung ’round to Odar.

“And isn’t that the very sum of money that Findach owed you?”

Odar colored a little.

“What of it? I can lend money to my own kinsman if I wish to.”

“You know that Findach is penniless. If Braon was found guilty, Findach would receive the very sum of money in compensation that he owed to you, perhaps more if the claim of theft to the value of twenty-one séds is proved as well. Would that have any influence on your insisting on the boy’s prosecution?”

Odar rose to his feet, opening his mouth to protest, but Fidelma silenced him before he could speak.

“Sit down!” Fidelma’s voice was sharp. “I speak here as dálaigh and will not be interrupted.”

There was tense silence before she continued.

“This is a sad case. There never was a cross of silver that was stolen, was there, Findach?”

The smith turned abruptly white.

“You are known to be a gambler, often in debt to people such as Odar. . and to your wife’s uncle, the abbot of Cluain. You are also lazy. Instead of pursuing the work you have a talent for, you prefer to borrow or steal so that you may gamble. You were in debt to your wife’s uncle, and when he gave you silver to fashion a cross as a means of repaying him you doubtless sold that silver.

“Having sold the silver, you had no cross to give to the abbey of Cluain. You have not used your forge in