Peter Tremayne - Valley of the Shadow

Eadulf gave a nervous jerk of his head.

‘You will correct me if I am in error?’ he asked.

‘Be assured of that,’ Murgal affirmed with grim humour.

‘The legal commentaries, as I understand them, say that the status and character of a suspect must be taken into account in this decision. Will anyone in this court deny that Sister Fidelma is of noble status and degree not only in her birthright but in her legal qualification as a dálaigh ?’

There was a stirring among the people in the chamber.

‘We have never denied this,’ Murgal replied with a tired voice.

‘Is there anyone in this court that challenges the fact that Sister Fidelma is of unblemished character and her name is spoken of with affection not only in Cashel but in Tara’s halls?’

Again his voice rang through the chamber in challenge and there was silence.

‘No one denies this,’ affirmed Murgal.

‘Then you must accept that, according to law, if Sister Fidelma takes oath, the fír testa, as you call it, then you must accept her word until proof is sworn against her. Sister Fidelma can leave this court on her own recognisances.’

Laisre looked at Murgal sharply, an eyebrow raised in question, but Murgal shook his head and spoke directly to Eadulf.

‘That is the law. As you say, we can accept her oath until proof is sworn against her. But we have a witness whose testimony cancels out her oath.’

Fidelma had seen this coming. She had seen enough cases being tried before competent Brehons to know that Murgal would know that a witness to the murder, making a statement to that effect, would cancel out the oath Eadulf had alluded to. The fact that the witness was only relating what he or she thought they saw did not invalidate the statement until disproved at the trial.

Eadulf’s eyes had sought out Artgal who stood grinning at the back of the chamber.

‘Bring forward your witness,’ Eadulf instructed coldly. ‘Let him testify.’

‘He will testify at the trial in nine days’ time,’ Murgal replied sharply. ‘This is not the time for his testimony.’

‘He must testify now!’ insisted Eadulf raising his voice above the murmur from the people. ‘It is today that we are dealing with the competence of Fidelma’s oath and if his testimony cancels out that oath then he must testify now.’

Murgal swallowed hard. He stared at the Saxon with a mixture of surprise and growing admiration. He had brought forth alegal stratagem to examine Artgal’s testimony without waiting for the trial.

Artgal came swaggering forward even before Murgal had instructed him to do so.

‘I am here, Saxon,’ he announced boastfully, ‘and I am not changing my testimony in spite of your strutting and pretence at being a dálaigh.’

Murgal stirred uncomfortably at the hostility of the witness.

‘Artgal,’ he warned sharply, ‘the Saxon is a stranger in our land. Let us show him that we respect our laws of hospitality by giving him respect.’

Artgal drew himself up but the sneer did not leave his face. He remained silent.

Eadulf glanced towards the Brehon and imperceptibly grimaced his thanks before he turned to the warrior.

‘I have no wish to make you change your testimony, Artgal,’ he began quietly. ‘I accept that you have related what you thought you saw.’

There was an intake of breath from several people and even Fidelma turned with a puzzled stare wondering where Eadulf was heading with his strategy.

‘Then why do you wish to question him?’ demanded Murgal, somewhat perplexed, putting the question that had sprung into her mind.

‘Forgive me, Murgal,’ Eadulf almost looked as if he were pleading, ‘I merely need advice on the law at this point.’

Fidelma was not the only one who wondered if Eadulf had realised the advantage that he was throwing away by not pursuing Artgal’s evidence and seeking to destroy it. For Fidelma it seemed the only logical route that he could take.

Murgal cleared his throat noisily.

‘Well, my advice is that if you have no wish to interrogate Artgal to make him change his testimony against Fidelma, then he need not be summoned and his testimony against Fidelma stands. That being so, your argument for her release falls.’

Artgal gave a bark of sardonic laughter and started to move back to his former position.

‘Stay where you are!’

The sharpness in Eadulf’s voice was so unexpected that it rooted Artgal to the spot in astonishment. Eyes turned to Eadulf as if they could not believe that the mild supplicant of a second ago had spoken so harshly. Even Fidelma was momentarily shaken by the stern manner of his command.

Eadulf had turned back to Murgal and resumed in a quieter tone.

‘I have yet to put my question,’ he protested mildly, though it seemed that there was a tone of rebuke in his voice.

Murgal blinked a little in wonder.

‘Then proceed,’ he invited after a moment or two.

‘I know little of the procedure of the court but I have consulted the text called “the five paths to judgment”. Artgal is called as a witness which you call fiadú — one who sees.’

‘That is correct,’ affirmed Murgal.

‘The text says that such a one, in giving testimony, must be sensible, honest, conscientious and of good memory.’

‘I am all that, Saxon,’ intervened Artgal, relaxing with a smile again. ‘So what?’

‘Tell me, learned judge,’ went on Eadulf, ignoring him, ‘what does the legal maxim given in the text mean when it says — foben inracus accobar ?’

The question was asked innocently enough but there was a sudden silence in the chamber, an instant tension.

‘It means that “greed detracts from honesty”,’ Murgal interpreted, though everyone felt that Eadulf already knew the meaning well enough.

‘It means that a man cannot give evidence if it brings advantage to himself, doesn’t it? His evidence is thus excluded from the hearing and justified by that legal maxim.’

If a grain of sand had fallen in that chamber, the silence had grown such that Fidelma felt it might well have been heard striking the floor. She wondered to what position Eadulf was proceeding with his arguments.

He had turned to face Artgal whose expression was no longer contemptuous. His features had grown grave, the face slightly ashen.

‘Artgal, do you stand to profit by your evidence against Fidelma of Cashel?’

Artgal made no reply. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.

After several long moments, Murgal spoke slowly and clearly: ‘Witness, you must answer — and, remember, you stand on your oath not only as a clansman but as a privileged warrior-bodyguard of our chieftain.’

Artgal realised the bad impression he was making by his hesitation and tried to recover his poise.

‘Why would I profit?’

‘A question is no answer to the question that I asked you,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘Do you stand to profit from your evidence?’

‘No.’

‘No? You have sworn an oath.’

‘No.’

‘No, again? Do I need to remind you of a certain sum of two séds that has already exchanged hands and a further séd which will pass into your possession when Fidelma’s trial is over? Each séd representing one milch cow?’

There was a gasp through the chamber.

‘You will need to prove this accusation, Saxon,’ Murgal called sharply.

‘Oh, I shall prove it, never fear,’ Eadulf smiled grimly. ‘Do you wish me to name the person from whom this largesse came, Artgal?’

The warrior seemed to deflate before Eadulf s confident stand. He shook his head.

‘Then tell us why you were to receive this money?’

‘It was no bribe,’ Artgal began to protest.