Peter Tremayne - The Leper's bell

‘Not sent…?’ Fidelma was silent for a moment. ‘Thank you, old friend,’ she said softly. ‘Your statement may well be wanted soon.’

Brother Conchobar shrugged. ‘I am getting used to Brehon Dathal’s not taking formal statements on matters relating to the cause of death,’ he said irritably.

‘What do you mean?’ Fidelma enquired, turning back from the door.

‘Sárait’s manner of death, for example.’

‘You examined the body?’

‘I did, and should have been required to give evidence. No one asked me for a statement.’

Fidelma stared at him in surprise. In the initial confusion about who was investigating the case, the fact that Conchoille and Capa had mentioned the blood about the head and the stab wounds, she had neglected to ask who had made a formal pronouncement of death.

‘What evidence would you have given?’ she asked softly. ‘That she died from a heavy blow to the head?’

Brother Conchobar made a negative gesture.

‘That Sárait was already dead when the blow was struck. She had been the subject of a frenzied knife attack. There were five stab wounds in her chest and lacerations on her arms where she had tried to protect herself from the descending knife. She was facing her attacker when it happened. The blow to the head looks to me as if she fell during the attack and hit her head on something.’

There was a silence. Then Fidelma nodded slowly. ‘You have been a great help this day, my old friend,’ she said in thoughtful satisfaction.

A few minutes later she was in her brother’s reception chamber. The king’s conference had just broken up but he was still discussing what has been said with his tanist Finguine. They both glanced up in surprise as she entered without being announced.

With a quick wave of her hand to still their questions, she told them what she had discovered about Brother Conchobar’s report on Bishop Petrán.

Colgú sat in silence for a moment or two before turning to Finguine. ‘Go and release Brother Eadulf at once and bring him here.’ When he had gone, Colgú glanced uncomfortably towards his sister. ‘The duties of a king are arduous, Fidelma. Brehon Dathal is elderly.’

‘He is Chief Brehon of the kingdom. He cannot act like this.’

‘I agree. I do not mean to excuse him but I think age and pressure are telling on him. You know I have been trying to think of a way of asking him to stand down from his position. He is making increasingly erroneous judgements. Some time ago he made a really bad misjudgement at a hearing in Lios Mhór and it went to appeal. The appeal was successful and Dathal has had to pay several fines and compensation.’

Fidelma regarded her brother silently for a moment.

‘I recall being told that it was Brehon Dathal who was asked to hear the claims that Sárait’s husband, Callada, was killed by one of his men at Cnoc Áine. He found no case to answer. I wonder…?’

‘Too much time has passed to speculate on that judgement, Fidelma. However, Dathal has recently been getting ideas which become fixed in his mind and he has often pursued them without sufficient reflection on the evidence. He no longer has the sharp mind that is needed to be a Brehon, let alone Chief Brehon. But I need to allow him to leave with some dignity, Fidelma. You will appreciate that.’

Fidelma tried to put aside her personal feelings and view the matter objectively.

‘I can understand there are politics to be played here, but he must be made to stand aside and you have the responsibility for making him do so.’

Colgú nodded unhappily. ‘I would rather persuade him than force him.’

‘You are the king,’ she said grimly.

There was a knock on the door and Finguine came in. Eadulf was behind him.

Fidelma hurried towards Eadulf, catching him by the hands. ‘Everything is all right. It was all a mistake on Brehon Dathal’s part.’

Eadulf grimaced cynically. ‘I could have told you that,’ he said with an attempt at humour. ‘Finguine has just told me the news.’

Colgú came forward and embraced him.

‘My friend, husband of my sister, you must forgive us. Brehon Dathal leapt to conclusions with an impatience he should not have indulged. You should never have been put through such an experience, coming so soon after your own travails. At least our family is once again united.’

Eadulf felt awkward. He was embarrassed at the warmth exhibited by Fidelma’s brother and, in truth, a little unsure of the affection that Fidelma was displaying towards him.

Then he found Finguine holding out his hand and grinning. ‘Am I forgiven as well?’

Eadulf’s glance encompassed them all.

‘Well,’ he said, unable to banish all the sarcasm from his tone, ‘it is difficult to keep an equilibrium when first having one’s life threatened, then being incarcerated and finally being welcomed into a family again…’

Fidelma squeezed his arm hard. ‘We have much to apologise to you for, Eadulf. We will try to compensate you for the way you have been treated.’

Eadulf shrugged expressively. ‘You cannot say fairer than that,’ he sighed.

Colgú clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then we shall feast tonight, and-’

Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘Eadulf and I have a lot of work to do. There is still a mystery to be resolved and the killer of Sárait to be brought to justice. And you, my brother, have to deal with Brehon Dathal. When all this is done, then there shall be feasting.’

Some time later, the Chief Brehon of Muman was ushered into the king’s chamber.

Colgú motioned the old man to be seated. He had known Dathal since he was a boy. Indeed, Brehon Dathal had been a young judge at the court of his father, Failbe Flann, nearly thirty years ago now. Brehon Dathal looked grave. He had already been informed of Eadulf’s release on Brother Conchobar’s evidence. Colgú wondered how he should approach the delicate matter at hand.

‘Dathal, you have served this kingdom as Chief Brehon for a long time,’ he began gently.

Brehon Dathal, with a quick frown, picked up on the nuance.

‘Do you imply that it is too long?’ he retorted sharply.

‘Everyone reaches a point where they are not as youthful, not as active, as they were. My day will also come. I hope that I may have the good sense to acknowledge it when it does so that I can abdicate into a comfortable restfulness.’

‘Restfulness is a quality that cows have, my prince. It is not for people.’

Colgú smiled. ‘Didn’t Horace write that one should dismiss an old horse in good time lest it falter in the harness and become an object of pity or scorn to spectators?’

Brehon Dathal sniffed in irritation.

‘I made a mistake, that is all. Is not a judge entitled to a mistake? There is no harm done and the Saxon is free.’

‘The Saxon is my sister’s husband, Brehon Dathal,’ Colgú pointed out. ‘And compensation must be paid to him.’

‘I know the laws of compensation.’

‘I do not doubt you do,’ Colgú returned. ‘Remember that Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham might be a stranger, but he had status in his own land. He was a hereditary gerefa , a sort of judge among his people.’

‘Hereditary!’ sneered Brehon Dathal. ‘How can one inherit the competence of a judge without learning?’

‘The ways of the Saxons are not our ways,’ murmured the young king. ‘However, the point I am making is that Eadulf is deserving of respect if not for his own sake, then for my sake and that of my sister.’

Brehon Dathal said nothing.

‘Brehon Dathal, we have known each other a long time. Consider your position carefully now. You have made more than one error in recent times.’

Brehon Dathal’s chin came up aggressively.