Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

Fidelma listened to the young man with a certain degree of admiration for his oratory for not once had he, so far, sung his own praises as to his ability. Yet in praising the ability of the man who had nominated him, Talamnach was winning the hearts and minds of the derbfine .

“I have watched Cúan deal with many difficult problems. That is the responsibility of being a chief for only difficult problems are laid before the chief. If problems were easy to resolve then someone else would have already resolved them.”

Talamnach paused to cough, as it was clear his throat had become dry from the acrid atmosphere put out by the burning-brand torches that lit the great hall.

He turned to pick up one of the small mugs of mead and sipped it before turning back to the derbfine .

“I say this, that I would. . I would. .” He paused and coughed again. His smile became a frown and then an expression of agony. He took a sudden step forward, hand outstretched and, then, with a croaking sound in his throat, he pitched headlong onto the floor.

Consternation arose suddenly among the people. Most were on their feet, shouting and moving about in agitation.

Fidelma rose, too, hearing Declan calling for an apothecary. She began to push her way through the crowd, finally emerging to see Declan and another man bending over Talamnach. The second man was shaking his head. Declan glanced up and saw Fidelma and gave an angry grimace.

“He is dead,” he said angrily. “Did I not warn that there would be trouble?”

Fidelma pushed her way to the pottery mug, which Talamnach had just drunk from, and placed a fingertip in it; holding it to her nose, she sniffed. Then she repeated this action with the mug nearer to Cúan.

She turned swiftly back to Declan.

“No one must drink from these mugs. It is Tre luib eccineol,” she said sharply. “I recognize its odor. He has been poisoned.”

Declan was looking shocked.

“Are you sure?” he demanded. Tre luib eccineol was a deadly herb. It was said that the herb being introduced in his food had murdered the satirist Cridenbél. The look that she gave him was enough for him not to question her further.

“Everyone, everyone return to your seats. No one is to leave the hall,” Declan was shouting. Warriors were called from outside the hall to stand guard at the doors and while people were still milling around looking bewildered, Declan had ordered the attendant who had brought in the mead to be seized and escorted back to the hall.

Cúan was seated in his chair, looking stunned. Fidelma glanced quickly ’round. The crowd around Selbach was huddled together and talking animatedly among themselves. Augaire was sprawled in his seat, now wearing a supercilious smile as if something amusing had happened, although his companions looked shocked and nervous. Only Berrach, the wife of Cúan, had not changed her expression, which was one of total detachment and disinterest.

Declan stepped forward, hand raised to still the muttering of the derbfine .

The body of Talamnach lay sprawled before him.

“Talamnach has been poisoned, murdered before our eyes,” he announced. “If we need look for a motive, we should remind ourselves as to why we are gathered here.”

Several people now turned their suspicious gaze toward Selbach.

The man rose from his seat.

“I object!”

“To what do you object, Selbach?” inquired Declan blandly.

“Why. . why, to your inference!” spluttered the man indignantly.

“I have inferred nothing. I have indicated a motive, that is all. I have sent for the attendant who brought in the mead that has been poisoned. It is fortunate that we have among us Sister Fidelma, Fidelma of Cashel, who most of you know by reputation as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts. That she is sister to our king, Colgú, makes her well placed to sit in judgment on the Uí Liatháin. I will ask her to assist me in resolving this crime.”

He glanced toward Fidelma as if seeking her permission and she hesitated only for a moment before acknowledging her acceptance.

“Is the attendant who brought in this poison apprehended?” demanded Declan from one of the warriors.

“He is,” the man said.

“Bring him forth.”

The attendant was an elderly man, white-haired, and as he was pushed, none too gently, before the assembly, he looked understandably bewildered and frightened. He seemed to be shivering in fright.

“Well, Muirecán, things look bad for you,” Declan declared, his tone threatening.

Fidelma frowned in disapproval. It was not the way she would examine a suspect. She moved forward and touched Declan’s arm gently.

“As you have invited me to assist you, perhaps I might question this man?”

Declan glanced at her in surprise and then shrugged.

“By all means.”

Fidelma turned on the aged servant and smiled reassuringly.

“Your name is Muirecán, I believe?”

“It is.”

“How long have you been in service to the chief?”

“Ten years to Cúan, lady, and twenty-three years to his father, Cú Chongelt, who was chief before him.” The man was holding his shaking hands clasped tightly before him. He was glancing from side to side, like some animal seeking a means of escape.

“There is no need to worry, Muirecán, provided you tell us the truth,” Fidelma said gently.

The man nodded quickly.

“I swear it on the Holy Cross, lady. I will tell the truth.”

“You brought in the mead to this hall. We all saw you do that.”

“I did. I don’t deny that. But I did not know it was poisoned.”

“So tell us how you came to bring in the mead. Did you draw the mead yourself?”

“I did. From the large barrel in the kitchen.”

“A new barrel?”

He shook his head.

“It is half full and many a drink has been served from it.”

“Who instructed you to draw the mead and bring it into the hall?”

The man looked blank and shook his head.

“No one, lady. It is the custom of Cúan and his tánaiste to have a drink placed at their side during any official meeting in the great hall.”

Fidelma glanced to the still shocked and numbed-looking chieftain and had to prompt him for confirmation. He eventually nodded in agreement.

“It was the custom,” he echoed hollowly.

“And everyone knew of this custom?” she asked, turning back to the attendant.

“Everyone,” affirmed Muirecán.

Fidelma was silent for a moment and then smiled encouragingly.

“So let us continue. You drew the two mugs of mead and placed them on the tray. Did you come straight into the hall?”

Muirecán shook his head.

“I did not. I came straight from the kitchen to the antechamber outside and there I found that Cúan had not yet arrived. So I put down the mead on a table that is there. .”

“Was anyone in the antechamber?”

“The Brehon,” he nodded to Declan; “my lady, Berrach, the wife of Cúan; the chief’s son, Augaire; and the chief’s brother, Selbach. . oh, and Talamnach entered shortly afterwards.”

“And so you stood by the tray awaiting the arrival of the chief?”

Muirecán shook his head.

“Talamnach asked me to go to Cúan’s quarters and warn him that everyone was waiting. The Brehon was with Talamnach at the time and had been speaking with him when Talamnach gave me the order.”

Fidelma glanced at Declan, who nodded.

“It is true. I went to the antechamber and found it as this man has described. I spoke to Talamnach and mentioned that everyone was ready and suggested that the servant be sent in search of Cúan.”

The chief of the Uí Liatháin suddenly leaned forward and spoke, recovering something of his equilibrium.