Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

Fidelma used the legal term gúach whose connotation meant that the injustice arose not from error but bias.

Firbis sat quietly examining her for a moment or two.

“Then you have decided that there was a false judgment here?”

Fidelma did not reply for the moment, then she said quietly: “An injustice in dismissing evidence does not necessarily imply that the overall judgment of the case was wrong or false within the definition by which a blemish might arise on the character of the Brehon. Were I to press forward, would there be any more revelations to come forth?”

The question was suddenly sharp and directed to the Druimcli.

Brehon Morann coughed, suddenly restive.

“There are several other students to be examined this day, Fidelma. I believe you have taken up enough of our time.”

The Brehon’s face was stern again, his brows drawn together in disapproval.

“Then you wish a judgment from me?” Fidelma said quietly, her head bowed. “Yet I do not feel that I have been given sufficient time nor all the facts in this case.”

Brehon Morann gave a soft sigh, a quiet hiss of breath that seemed to indicate his displeasure.

“Fidelma, today was the appointed day for your final examination in this series. The result of this day will determine whether you achieve the degree of Dos, the minimum graduate degree. Those that pass this degree can continue their studies, and should they pass six to eight more years of study here, then the accolade of ollamh might await them at which they could sit with the High King himself and speak a judgment even before he speaks. But the person who has the quickest hand, let them have the white hound and the deer in the hunt. So let me remind you of certain facts.”

Brehon Morann paused, his eyes piercing upon her.

“Certain facts?” murmured Fidelma, trying to concentrate.

“Knowing these things, you came late to your examination. Did you not attempt to make an excuse for doing so?”

Fidelma hesitated for a fraction of a second and then said: “There was no excuse.”

“You came here and instead of responding to a direct question, you began to question a Druimcli, someone who has achieved the seventh and highest grade of wisdom and your questions have been. . severe and condemning in tone. Let us put it this way, Fidelma, you have not set out to win our approval and yet the decision whether you obtain the degree of Dos lies in our hands.”

Fidelma flushed.

“I did not think that obtaining a degree lay with attempts to win approval from anyone. I thought it depended on an assessment of my knowledge of law,” she said quietly.

“Of law and your ability to apply it. Do you feel that you have displayed the knowledge that is relevant to judge the question that has been put before you?” Morann replied, his tone not changing.

“A very wise judge once told me that one should not give their judgment on hearing the first person’s story but to wait until one has heard the other side.”

Brehon Morann, in spite of his gravity, looked amused.

“Are you now trying to win my approbation by quoting me?”

“Not at all. What is true is true no matter whose mouth gives it utterance.”

“So you are saying that you cannot make a judgment?” intervened the Druimcli.

Fidelma turned to him and shook her head.

“I cannot make a judgment on the particular case that I have heard but I can make a decision on the judgment given by the Brehon in that case.”

Druimcli Firbis sat back with a half smile and made a gesture of invitation with one hand.

“You have a choice-the choice between firbrith or true judgment or cilbrith or false judgment.’

Firbis put the choice in the correct legal terms.

“I say that the judgment given by the Brehon in this case was cilbrith -a false judgment. I also believe, Druimcli, that the blemish rests on you; that you were the Brehon in this case.”

Firbis’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Why do you say this?”

“Because you seem to have an extraordinary knowledge of why the judge did certain things in this case. I also take into account the manner in which you selected the evidence, always in the judge’s favor, to present to me. You frequently showed how protective you were of the Brehon. That is, as I say, because I believe that you were the Brehon.”

Druimcli Firbis smiled.

“Belief is not evidence.”

“No. But you are a Druimcli at Ardagh, which is the principal town of Tethbae where you said this case took place. In your haste to defend the Brehon in this case you also mentioned that he came from Ardagh. There is one conclusion to all these things. You spoke with the authority of the Brehon involved in the case and therefore you were the Brehon.”

Firbis’s expression was, curiously, one of approval.

Brehon Morann was smiling with equal accord.

“Well, Fidelma. .”

“There is one thing more,” Fidelma interrupted.

Morann hesitated and raised an eyebrow in query.

“Something more?”

Fidelma nodded.

“This entire case was a fiction. It never happened. The reason why Firbis spoke with the authority of the Brehon in the case was because he invented the whole story and developed it as we went along as a means of testing me. No one of Firbis’s attainment would have acted in the way this Brehon would have done and yet, it was clear, that the Brehon involved was none other than Firbis. What was I to make of that? Feranaim, indeed! They very word means ‘Man without a name’! This was a test. Therefore, I concluded that Firbis invented the story to test the student.”

Brehon Morann was smiling.

“You are the first student that has ever seen beyond the nature of the test to that fact,” he said.

“The first student that has even spotted the identity of the Brehon,” agreed Firbis. “Most students try to make a guess answer at the moment that I ask the initial question.”

“But some others demand more knowledge?” queried Fidelma.

“Others do, but when we,” Firbis motioned to Morann, “argue and try to dissuade them from pressing their questions, they usually give up long before you did so. You kept on tenaciously. You have a good inquiring mind.”

“The purpose of this test is not only to show an inquiring mind and not spring to snap judgments,” Brehon Morann explained, “but to show to us that you have the tenacity in the face of opposition to carry on against odds, against authority, in your efforts to seek out the truth. Truth might be great and always prevail, but sometimes it needs someone who is tenacious in the face of apparently insurmountable barriers to prise it out of its hiding places. You have done well, Fidelma.”

Fidelma stood up looking from Firbis to Morann.

“Does that mean that I have passed this test?” she inquired blandly.

Brehon Morann almost grinned.

“The results will be announced in the morning assembly. You shall hear the result then-that is if you are not late again.”

Fidelma nodded, her gesture encompassing both Morann and Firbis.

At the door, she paused and turned back to them with a thoughtful expression.

“Will you also tell me tomorrow whether I passed today’s other test?” she asked brightly.

Brehon Morann regarded her warily.

“Other test?”

“I presume that locking me in my room on the morning of this test so that I might be late and therefore distracted was also to test my tenacity and whether I would function under stress?”

The expression in Brehon Morann’s face told her that she was correct in her assumption. With a mischievous, almost urchin-like smile, she closed the door quietly behind her.