Peter Tremayne - Our Lady of Darkness

‘I have not your proficiency in law, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he confessed. ‘I must seek advice on this matter.’

‘Then send for your Brehon now; let him stand here before me and argue precedents.’

Fianamail rose, shaking his head, and went to pour himself a glass of wine at the table.

‘He is not here at this time. I do not expect him to return until tomorrow.’

‘Then you must make your judgment without him, Fianamail. I do not lie to you about the law. On my honour as a dálaigh with or without the advice of your Brehon, if this kingdom has given a false or a mistaken judgment, then you may find that you are deemed to be notrue King and you will answer to a greater court which will judge you. No King is higher in authority than the law.’

Fianamail was struggling to see how best he should proceed. He raised his hands in a hopeless gesture and let them fall to his side.

‘What is it you seek?’ he asked, after he had hesitated for a moment or so. ‘Are you telling me that you claim immunity for the Saxon? That I will and shall not accept. His crime was too odious. What do you want?’

‘Ultimately, I would plead with you to return to the laws of our country,’ Fidelma replied. ‘The foreign Penitentials have no place in our thoughts. Killing for the sake of vengeance is not our law …’

Fianamail held up a hand to stay her eloquence.

‘I have given my word to Abbot Noé, my spiritual adviser, and to Bishop Forbassach, my Brehon, that the punishments decreed by the Faith will be carried out — a life for a life. Address your argument for an appeal in this matter of the Saxon but do not attempt to change my edict on the law.’

Fidelma felt a quickening of her pulse as she sensed a breach in his determination.

‘I am asking you to defer the execution so that the facts of this case may be examined to ensure that the law has been served.’

‘I cannot overturn my Brehon’s judgment; that is not in the King’s power anyway.’

‘Allow me a period to investigate this crime of which you claim Brother Eadulf is guilty and let me examine the facts based on a possible submission that he acted under protection as a fer taistil, an officer of the King’s court under immunity. Give me your authority to carry out such an investigation.’

She used the legal term fer taistil which, while meaning literally a ‘traveller’, meant specifically an emissary between kings.

Fianamail returned to his chair. His brow was furrowed as he considered the matter. It was clear that he was worried by acceding to her demands but was unable to find reasons to counter Fidelma’s arguments.

‘I do not wish to quarrel with your brother again,’ he admitted at last. ‘Nor do I wish to do anything which contradicts the protocols and justice of my kingdom.’ He paused and rubbed his chin ruefully. After a while he gave a long, deep sigh. ‘I will give you time to look into the crime of which this Saxon has been found guilty. If you can see anythingin the conduct and judgment of our courts which is not in order, then I will not challenge your right of appeal on those grounds.’

Fidelma suppressed a small sigh of relief. ‘That is all I ask. But I will need your authority.’

‘I will call for quill and vellum and set it down,’ he agreed, reaching forward. He took a small silver hand-bell and rang it.

‘Good.’ Fidelma felt a weight dissolving from her shoulders. ‘How long will you give me to make my examination?’

A servant entered and was instructed to bring the writing materials. The young King’s eyes were cold.

‘How long? Why, you have until noon tomorrow when the sentence on the Saxon is to be carried out.’

Fidelma’s momentary surge of relief was halted as she realised the restriction Fianamail had placed on her.

‘There you are,’ Fianamail smiled. ‘You cannot claim that I am disobeying the customs of our land. I have allowed you time to prepare an appeal. That is what you sought.’

The servant re-entered with the writing materials and the King scribbled swiftly on the vellum. Fidelma took time to recover her voice.

‘Are you giving me no more than twenty-four hours? Is there justice in that?’ She spoke slowly, trying to stop her surging anger from erupting.

‘Whatever justice it is, it is still justice,’ replied Fianamail vindictively. ‘I owe you no more.’

For a moment Fidelma was silent, trying to think of some other appeal she could make to him. Then she realised that there was nothing more she could say. The young man held the power and she had no greater power to overturn his desire for vengeance.

‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘If I find the grounds for an appeal, will you halt the execution pending the arrival of Barrán, the Chief Brehon, to hear the case?’

Fianamail sniffed slightly. ‘ If you find grounds for an appeal and they are considered worthy by my own courts of justice, then I shall allow a delay until the Brehon Barrán can be summoned. Those arguments of grounds for such an appeal must be substantial and not merely suspicions.’

‘That goes without saying. Will you also allow me to go without let nor hindrance where I will during these next twenty-four hours in pursuit of my enquiries?’

‘It is covered by this.’ The King held out the vellum to her. She did not take it.

‘Then you must append your seal of authorisation showing that I act with your consent and authority.’

Fianamail hesitated. Fidelma knew a piece of vellum giving consent for her to ask questions was worth nothing without the King’s seal.

The King wavered, once again undecided as to how he should act.

‘The killing of a techtaire is a serious offence before the Chief Brehon and High King,’ observed Fidelma firmly. ‘The death of a King’s messenger, whether by murder or by execution, has to be answered for. It is wise that you should authorise me to investigate the matter.’

Fianamail finally shrugged and took from the writing box a piece of wax, melted it over a candle onto the vellum and pressed his signet ring firmly into it.

‘You now have that consent. It cannot be said that I did not allow every possible avenue to be explored.’

Fidelma was satisfied and took the authorisation.

‘I would like to see Brother Eadulf immediately. Is he being held here in your fortress?’

To her surprise, Fianamail shook his head. ‘No, not here.’

‘Where then?’

‘He is held over at the abbey.’

‘What is he doing there?’

‘It was there that his crime was committed and there he was tried and sentenced. Abbess Fainder has taken a personal charge of this matter, for the victim was one of her own novices. It was in the abbey that the Saxon stood trial and where he will be executed tomorrow.’

‘Abbess Fainder? I thought the Abbey of Fearna came under the jurisdiction of Abbot Noé?’

‘As I told you, Abbot Noé is now my spiritual adviser and confessor …’

‘Confessor? That is a Roman concept.’

‘Call him a “soul friend” if you like to stick to the quaint old-fashioned ways of the Church. I have given him jurisdiction on religious matters throughout my kingdom. The Abbey of the Blessed Máedóc is now under the guidance of Abbess Fainder. Her stewardess is actually a distant cousin of mine, Étromma.’ He suddenly seemed apologetic. ‘A poor branch of the family with whom I have few dealings but who, I amtold, is good at running the day-to-day affairs of the abbey. However, it is the abbess herself who has demanded that the Penitentials be used to guide us in our Christian Faith as well as in our daily lives and to be the instrument of the Saxon’s punishment.’