Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“An eyewitness?” Fidelma’s voice was sharp. “Who is your eye-witness?”

Father Allan looked pained as if dealing with a dim-witted pupil. “Why, Brother Aedo of course.”

“But you told me that he was only an eyewitness to this woman kneeling by the side of Moenach and holding a bloody rock in her hand. That is not an eyewitness to the actual murder.”

Father Allan opened his mouth to protest and then, seeing the angry glint in Fidelma’s eyes… were they green or light blue?… he fell silent. When annoyed, her eyes seem to dance with a curious ice-colored fire.

“I don’t pretend to be learned in law,” he said stubbornly. “I have no time for such nuances.”

“The law text of the Berrad Airechta states clearly that a person can only give evidence about what he or she has seen or heard and what does not take place before a witness’s eyes is irrelevant. Nor can hearsay evidence be accepted.”

“But it was obvious…” began Father Allan.

“I am here to deal with law, not supposition,” snapped Fidelma. “And as a dálaigh, I would counsel you to be more careful with the words you choose. Tell me more about this… this saintly youth.”

Father Allan heard the slight sarcastic emphasis in her voice. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should chide her mocking tone, but finally decided to ignore it.

“He was the son of a chieftain of the Uí Fidgente. He displayed a rare gift as a musician, playing the cruit like an angel would play a harp. His poetry was sweet and pure. He was given to us for his fosterage when he was seven years of age and, after reaching the age of choice last year, he decided to stay on with us as a member of our community.”

“So he had a reputation as a musician?”

“He would be invited to attend the feastings of chieftains and abbots for miles about here,” Father Allan repeated.

“But what sort of person was he?”

“A pleasing person. Kind, wise, considerate of his brethren and of all who met him. He would always go out of his way to please his superiors and attend their needs. He was especially fond of animals and…”

“Was he beyond all human frailties, then?”

Father Allan took her question seriously and shook his head. With a sniff, Fidelma stood up. The set smile on her face was somewhat false. Father Allan was too full of angelic visions of his acolyte to be of further use to her.

“I would now speak with the woman, Muirenn,” she said. “After that, I wish to see Brother Aedo.”

The Father Superior slid reluctantly from his seat on the wall and indicated that she should follow him to a corner of the settlement buildings.

Muirenn sat in a corner of the small cubiculum, perched on the edge of the cot which she had been provided for a bed. She looked up defiantly as Fidelma entered. She was a small, reedlike woman with angry dark eyes, a thrusting jaw and a tumble of greying black hair. She was not really old but it could not be rightfully claimed that she was of middle age.

“I am Fidelma, a dálaigh of the courts,” announced Fidelma as she entered. She had asked Father Allan to leave her alone with the prisoner.

The woman, Muirenn, snorted.

“You have come to punish me for something I did not do,” she growled. There was anger in her voice, not fear.

“I am come here to discover the truth,” Fidelma corrected her mildly.

“You whining religious have already decided what is the truth. You should return from whence you came if you mean simply to confirm Allan’s prejudices.”

Fidelma sat down instead.

“Tell me your story,” she invited. “You are from the village be-low this settlement?”

“God curse the day that the religious started to build here,” muttered the woman.

“I am told that you are a widow? That you have no children but help the village apothecary. Is this the truth?”

“It is so.”

“Then tell me your story.”

“I was in the forest, gathering herbs and other plants for medications: I heard a cry nearby. I pushed forward to see what I could see. In a small clearing I saw a young religieux lying face down on the ground. On the far side of the clearing the bushes rustled, marking the passage of someone leaving the clearing. I thought I might help the young boy. I knelt down and I saw that it was too late. His skull had been smashed in beyond repair. I automatically picked the rock up that lay near his head; it was covered in blood.

“It was then that I heard a gasp behind me. I turned and saw another young religieux standing at the edge of the clearing staring at me. I scrambled to my feet and fled in terror back to my bothán.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

“Why would you run in terror when you beheld a young Brother standing there? Surely the natural thing would have been to seek his help?”

Muirenn scowled in annoyance.

“I ran in terror because I thought he was the murderer come back.”

“Why would you think that?” demanded Fidelma. “He was clearly a member of this community.”

“Exactly so. When I first entered the clearing and saw the bushes closing over the retreating figure, I caught a glance of his back. He was wearing the brown robe of a religieux. Moenach was killed by a member of his own community. I did not kill him.”

Outside the cell Father Allan glanced expectantly at Fidelma.

“Do you still wish to see Brother Aedo or have you concluded your investigation?”

Was there eagerness in his voice? He seemed so anxious that she simply endorse his claim that Muirenn was guilty. Fidelma pursed her lips and gazed at him for a moment before replying.

“I have just begun my investigation,” she replied softly. “Tell me, how many Brothers reside in this community?”

“What has that to do…?” Father Allan bit his tongue as he saw the furrows on her brow deepen and caught the angry flash of fire in her eyes. “There are ten Brothers altogether.”

“Did Brother Moenach have any special companions here?”

“We are all companions of each other,” sniffed the Father Superior. “Companions in the service of Christ.”

“Was he liked equally by everyone in the community?” she tried again.

“Of course,” snapped Father Allan. “And why wouldn’t he be?”

Fidelma suppressed a sigh.

“Has his cubiculum been cleared?” she asked, deciding to try another tack.

“I believe so. Brother Ninnedo would know. He is tending the garden there.” He pointed to where the fair-haired young monk was trimming a bush across the grassy slopes. “Come, I will…”

Fidelma held up a hand.

“I can see him. You need not trouble yourself, Father Allan. I will speak to him. I will find you when I am ready. Alert Brother Aedo to my intention to see him after I have spoken to Brother Ninnedo.”

She turned and made her way toward the young man, who was bent industriously to his work.

“Brother Ninnedo?”

The young man glanced up. He looked uncomfortable. His eyes darted toward the disappearing figure of Father Allan behind her.

“I am a dál -” Fidelma began to introduce herself.

The young man interrupted before Fidelma could explain.

“You are a dálaigh. I know. The community has been expecting you for some days since.”

“Good. And do you know why I am here?”

The young man simply nodded.

“I understand that you shared a cubiculum with Brother Moen-ach. I suppose you knew him well?”

Fidelma was surprised when she saw a positive expression of repugnance cross the young man’s face.

“I knew him well enough.”

“But you did not like him?” she asked quickly.