days, perhaps weeks. Your furnace was as cold as the grave. And speaking of coldness. . when Braon touched the body of Muirenn to see if he could help, he remarked the body was cold. Muirenn could not have been killed that morning after you left. She had been dead many hours.”
Findach collapsed suddenly on his chair. He slumped forward, head held in his hands.
“Muirenn. .” The word was a piteous groan.
“Why did you kill Muirenn?” pressed Fidelma. “Did she try to stop you from faking the theft of the cross?”
Findach raised his eyes. His expression was pathetic.
“I did not mean to kill her, just silence her nagging. Faking the theft was the only way I could avoid the debts. . I hit her. I sat in the kitchen all night by her body wondering what I should do.”
“And the idea came that you could claim that the silver cross, which you had never made, was stolen by the same person who murdered your wife? You knew that Braon was coming that morning and he was a suitable scapegoat.” She turned to Brehon Tuama.
When Findach had been taken away and Braon and his father released, Brehon Tuama accompanied Fidelma as she led her horse to the start of the Cashel road.
“A bad business,” muttered the Brehon. “We are all at fault here.”
“I think that Odar’s chiefship is worthy of challenge,” agreed Fidelma. “He is not fit to hold that office.”
“Was it luck that made you suspicious of Findach?” queried Tuama, nodding absently.
Sister Fidelma swung up into the saddle of her horse and glanced down at the Brehon with a smile.
“A good judge must never rely on luck in deduction. Findach tried to scatter thorns across the path of our investigation, hoping that the boy or Caisín would pierce their feet on them and be adjudged guilty. He should have remembered the old proverb: He that scatters thorns must not go barefooted.”
GOLD AT NIGHT
By this time tomorrow, thanks be to God, it will be all over for another three years. I have to admit that I am quite exhausted.”
Sister Fidelma smiled at her companion as they walked along the banks of the broad river of Bearbha. Abbot Laisran of Durrow was a portly man, short of stature, with silver hair and a permanent air of jollity about him. He had been born with a rare gift of humor and a sense that the world was there to provide enjoyment to those who inhabited it. In this he was in contrast with many of his calling. In spite of his statement, he looked far from fatigued.
Fidelma and Laisran paused a while to watch some boys fishing in the river, the abbot watching their casts with a critical eye.
“Was it worth your coming?” he suddenly asked.
Fidelma considered the question before answering. She did not like to give glib answers for the sake of politeness.
“The great Fair of Carman is an experience not to be missed,” she replied with studied reflection.
The Aenach, or Fair of Carman, was held once every three years over the days of the Feast of Lugnasadh, the first days of what the Romans called the month of Augustus, and it was one of the two major fairs held within the kingdom of Laighin. It was attended in person by Fáelán of the Uí Dúnláinge, King of Laighin, and no less than forty-seven of his leading nobles. During the period of the fair, there were games, contests in sports and the arts. Poets would declaim their verses and strong men would contest with one another in all manner of feats of skill as well as strength. So would women, because there were special times set aside for contests between women. In addition to the entertainment, there were markets for all manner of livestock, produce and goods.
In fact, Laisran had been telling Fidelma how he had to chase a stall keeper from the fairground because the man had been selling potions for destroying pests such as foxes and wolves. But the very noxious brews that would kill a fox or a wolf could kill other animals and, as such, were prohibited from sale at the Fair. Yet it was true that many wonderful and curious things were to be found on sale in the stalls of the Aenach Carman.
But there was also a serious side to the Aenach Carman, unlike the Aenach Lifé, which was Laighin’s other great fair and devoted to horse racing.
During the days of the Aenach Carman, the assembly of the kingdom met. All the nobles, the chiefs of clans, the Brehons and lawyers, the professional men and women gathered to discuss the laws. On the first day, the men and women of the kingdom held separate councils at which the other sex was not allowed to enter. The women’s council admitted no man and the men’s council admitted no woman. Each council met and decided matters pertaining to their sex and elected representatives to go forward to attend the formal meetings of the Great Assembly of Laighin. Both sexes attended this and matters pertaining to all the people were discussed and decided upon. The King, his Brehons, or judges, and representatives of all the people would discuss any necessary amendment to the laws and agree on the fiscal policies of the kingdom for the next three years.
While Fidelma was from the neighboring kingdom of Muman, and therefore not qualified to voice any opinion in the councils nor Assembly, she had been invited by the women’s council to attend and speak to them as their guest. She was asked to advise them on certain laws in her own kingdom and how they might be applicable to Laighin. For while the great law system applied equally in all five kingdoms, there was a section of laws called the
Fidelma had been delighted, although not surprised, to find her distant cousin and friend, Laisran, Abbot of Durrow, the great teaching college, attending the fair. Not only attending it, but being present as advisor to the Great Assembly. It had been Laisran who had persuaded her to join the nearby Abbey of Brigid at the Church of the Oaks, not far from the plain by the river Bearbha on which the Aenach Carman was held. But Fidelma had long since left the Abbey of Brigid to return to her own land.
“What did you think of the competence of our law-makers?” Laisran was asking. “Do we pass good laws and have good government?”
Fidelma chuckled.
“Did not Aristotle say that good laws, if they are not obeyed, do not constitute good government?”
Laisran answered his young cousin’s infectious humor.
“I might have expected that from a lawyer,” he said. “Seriously, have you enjoyed the Aenach Carman?”
Fidelma agreed but added: “Although I have often wondered why it is so called. Wasn’t Carman a malevolent female figure who had three sons, and didn’t they blight all the crops in Éireann until the children of Danu defeated them and drove them into exile? How, then, does it come about that the people of Laighin do honor to her by naming their principal festival after her?”
Laisran’s eyes had a twinkle.
“Well, if I were to tell you. .”
“My lord!”
A man who came running toward them cut the abbot’s words short. He was well dressed and wore a chain of office.
“Lígach, chieftain of the Laisig,” whispered Laisran in quick explanation. “The Laisig are the hereditary organizers and stewards of the fair.”
The man halted somewhat breathlessly before the abbot. He was clearly disturbed about something.
“My Lord Abbot. .,” he began, and then had to pause to gulp some air.
“Calm yourself Lígach. Catch your breath and then state calmly the matter that is troubling you.”
The chieftain paused and took several breaths.
“We need your services. Ruisín is dead. I have sent for an apothecary but we cannot find one on the field. I know you are not without some medical skills, Lord Abbot.”
“Ruisín dead? How did he die?”
