Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“Is that significant?” he asked.

“Perhaps.”

Fidelma walked back to the corpse and looked down at it once more. There was a movement outside and Abbot Colmán came hurrying back.

“Fiacc was certainly due to attend the convention tomorrow,” he confirmed. “The steward says that Fiacc and his wife, Étromma, arrived in Tara a few days ago. However, and this is interesting, there was a problem, for, the steward says, Fiacc was to be heard before the Chief Brehon to answer charges which, if proved, would have debarred him from practice as a judge.”

“A special hearing?” Fidelma had heard nothing about such a contentious matter. She cast a final look around the tomb before returning her gaze to Colmán.

“Does the steward have details of the charges against Fiacc?”

“Only that it was something to do with malpractice. Only the Chief Brehon has the details.”

“Has Étromma been informed of her husband’s death?”

“I took it upon myself to send word to her.”

“Then I think I should go and speak with her.”

“Is that necessary? She will be distraught. Perhaps tomorrow would be a more suitable time?”

“It is necessary to see her now in order to clear up this mystery.”

Abbot Colmán spread his hands in acquiescence.

“Very well. What about…?” He did not finish but gestured toward the tomb.

It was Garbh who finished the question: “Shouldn’t the body of this man be removed so that I can reseal the tomb?”

“Not for the moment,” replied Fidelma. “Irél, have a guard mounted outside the tomb. Everything is to be left as it is until I order otherwise. Hopefully, I shall have resolved the mystery before midnight. Then the tomb can be resealed.”

She left the tomb and began to walk slowly and thoughtfully back through the graves of the High Kings. She paused for a moment, waiting for Abbot Colmán to catch up with her. He had paused a moment to issue final instructions to Irél. Her eyes flickered toward the yawning pit of a freshly dug grave and suppressed a shiver. Colmán came panting along a moment later and together they walked at a leisurely pace toward the lights of the main palace complex.

Étromma was surprisingly young to be the wife of a middle-aged judge. She was scarcely more than eighteen years old. She sat stiffly but in complete control of herself. There was little sign of anguish or of grieving on her features. The cold, calculating blue eyes stared with hostility at Fidelma. The lips were thinned and pressed together. A small nerve twitching at the corner of her mouth was the only sign of expression on her features.

“I was divorcing Fiacc. He was about to be disbarred and he had no money,” she replied coldly to a question Fidelma had asked her.

Fidelma was seated before her, while Abbot Colmán stood nervously by the fire.

“I do not see how the two things fit together, Étromma,” she commented.

“I do not want to spend my life in poverty. It was an agreement between us. Fiacc was an old man. I married him only for security. He knew that.”

“What about love?” queried Fidelma mildly. “Had you no feelings for him?”

For the first time Étromma smiled, a humorless parting of her lips. “Love? What is that? Does love provide financial security?”

Fidelma sighed softly.

“Why was Fiacc facing disbarment from practice as a judge?” Fidelma chose a new tack.

“During this last year he had made many wrong judgments. He was, as you know, judge of the Ardgal. After so many wrong judgments, he was no longer trusted by the people. He had made himself destitute from the continual payment of compensation.”

Fidelma knew that a judge had to deposit a pledge of five séd, or ounces of silver, for each case he tried as a surety against error. If, on appeal by the defendant to higher judges, a panel of no fewer than three more experienced judges, a judge was found to have made an error, then this pledge was confiscated and the judge ordered to pay further compensation of one cumal, the equivalent of the value of three silver séd.

“How many wrong judgments had your husband made this last year, then? How could he have become poverty-stricken?”

“There were eleven wrong judgments during this last year.”

Fidelma’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Eighty-eight silver séd, which could buy nearly thirty milk cows, was a staggering sum to have to pay out in compensation in a single year. No wonder there was talk of disbarring Fiacc.

“He was to be heard before the Chief Brehon to answer the fact that he had gone into debt to pay fines and to answer for his competency as a judge,” Étromma added.

“Are you saying that he had borrowed money to pay?”

“That is why I was divorcing him.”

Fidelma realized that a judge who turned to moneylenders to support him would certainly be disbarred if he could not present a valid argument to endorse his actions. Clearly, Fiacc had been in considerable trouble.

“So your husband was worried about his situation?”

Étromma chuckled drily.

“Worried? No, he was not. At least not recently.”

“Not worried?” pressed Fidelma sharply.

“He tried to stop me divorcing him by claiming that it was only a temporary matter and that he was not really destitute. He said that he was expecting money shortly and, after that, if the people did not want him as judge, he would be rich enough to live without working.”

“Did he explain where the money was coming from? How would he pay off his debts and find the money to live for the rest of his life in any degree of comfort?”

“He did not explain. Nor did I care. I think he was just a liar or a fool. It was his problem. He knew that if he lied to me and he was disbarred and shown to be penniless then I would leave. It was as simple as that. I was not going to recall my application for divorce.”

Fidelma tried to conceal her dislike of the cold, commercial attitude of the young woman.

“You were not at all interested where your husband would suddenly obtain money if he actually did so?”

“I knew he would not. He was a liar.”

“At what point did he become confident that he would manage to obtain money to pay his debts?”

The woman Étromma reflected for a moment.

“I suppose that he started to brag that he was going to overcome this problem a day or so ago. Yes, it was yesterday morning.”

“You mean that he was worried until yesterday morning?”

“Precisely so.”

“When did you both arrive here at Tara?”

“Four days ago.”

“And during that time, Fiacc was concerned? Then yesterday morning his attitude changed?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Did he meet with anyone here?”

Étromma shrugged. “He was known to many people here. I was not interested in his friends.”

“I mean, was there anyone in particular with whom he spent some time at Tara? Was there anyone who could be described as a close friend or confidant?”

“Not so far as I know. He was a solitary man. I do not think he met with anyone here. He kept to himself. The only thing that I know he did was go for walks on his own in the graveyard of the High kings.” Étromma paused to sniff. “I thought he was getting maudlin. But, as I said, yesterday he came back grinning like a cat who had found a dish of cream. He assured me that things would be all right. I knew he was a liar, so I was not going to alter my plans to leave him.”

Fidelma stood up abruptly.

“I will not express my condolences, Étromma,” she said with emphasis. “Doubtless you do not expect them. You are obviously more concerned with the financial arrangements. Fiacc was still your husband when he met his death. Your husband was murdered. I think I now know who the murderer is and, if proven, the compensation due for the slaying of your husband, as a Brehon of lower rank, is three séd of silver. It is not a fortune but it will keep you momentarily from poverty, and doubtless you will soon find someone else to support you.”