‘We came across him and his gang of cut-throats in the forest,’ Conrí said sombrely. ‘When we counted their spoils, we recognised your wand of office and the emblems of the Nasc Niadh. Before he died, we persuaded this fellow to tell us what had happened to those he took these things from. He described you so that we knew it was you, lady. He swore that he had let you go unharmed.’
‘You are not the first travellers that this man and his companions have robbed,’ added Socht. ‘We have been seeking him for some time. His crimes are many.’
‘So that is how we came to be searching for you,’ Conrí ended.
‘And so this man was hanged,’ Eadulf stated the obvious. ‘What of his men? He had four companions when he robbed us.’
It was Socht who answered. ‘They were given the opportunity to surrender or to die fighting. They chose to die. Their bodies were buried where they fell. This one,’ he jerked his thumb towards the dead man, ‘seeing his men fall, pleaded for mercy, and threw down his sword. So we brought him here. For such a man, justice was swift. Perhaps it was too swift.’
‘He should have been heard before a Brehon,’ Fidelma said sternly.
‘He was,’ Conrí replied, to her surprise.
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed. ‘The spirit of our law is compensation for the victims and rehabilitation for the wrongdoer. He could have been made a bondservant and worked for the rest of his life to compensate for his crimes. What Brehon would sanction death as a punishment except in very exceptional circumstances?’
As if in answer, Conrí turned to the group of men and waved one of them forward, a man in religious robes with his head almost covered by a cowl. Beneath the shadow of his cowl, he was revealed as a youthful man but one who had obviously not shaved for days. He carried himself with an air of self-importance as he approached.
‘This is Brother Adamrae who served me temporarily as my Brehon,’ said Conrí before introducing Fidelma.
‘I am told that you sanctioned the hanging of this man.’ Fidelma’s tone was curt and she did not spend time on niceties.
The young man’s eyes glinted in the shadow of his cowl. ‘I did,’ he replied and there was truculence in his tone.
‘Under what law?’
Brother Adamrae’s jaw came up aggressively. ‘Under the just laws of the Penitentials, the Canon of the Church. Does not Canon Four state that a thief found in possession of stolen goods may be put to death?’
For a moment or two Fidelma stared at the man in surprise.
‘You have allowed the taking of this man’s life under these Penitentials which are contrary to our laws. Tell me, young Brehon,’ there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, ‘where did you study and qualify in law?’
‘I studied at the Abbey of the Blessed Machaoi on the island of Oen Druim,’ he replied after a slight hesitation.
‘In the country of the Dál nÁraide of Ulaidh? I have heard of it,’ Fidelma said. ‘But I do not hear the accents of the Kingdom of Ulaidh in your voice. Your voice has the accent of these parts.’
The young man shrugged. ‘That is because I was sent to be fostered by Uí Fiachrach Aidne before I return to my own clan.’
‘The Uí Fiachrach Aidne? Their territory touches on the northern border of this kingdom. I would have placed your accent further to the south. Anyway, it is a long way even for fosterage links.’
‘It was my family’s choice,’ asserted the man in a stubborn tone. It was hard for Fidelma to decide whether he was a youth or just youthful-looking.
‘And what is your degree?’
It seemed for a moment that Brother Adamrae was going to refuse to answer. Then he said: ‘I am of the level of freisneidhed.’
‘You have studied law for three years only?’ Fidelma’s eyes widened.
‘It is enough when there are laws yet to be written to bring our barbaric society into keeping with the laws of the Church,’ retorted the man.
‘Ah, so you make up the law as you proceed?’ Fidelma’s tone was sarcastic. She turned to Conrí, who now seemed uncertain. ‘I would advise you to have a care of who you appoint as your advisers as to law. After three years of study, this youth has a lot to learn about the laws of the Fénechus.’
‘What right have you to say so?’ protested Brother Adamrae in anger.
Gormán, who had so far been silent, moved threateningly forward. ‘You are speaking to Fidelma of Cashel, sister to King Colgú, dálaigh of the courts of the Five Kingdoms, qualified to the level of anruth. That is her right to say so.’
Brother Adamrae’s reaction was marked. Almost as if he had received a blow, he took a step backwards. His features tightened.
‘An Eóghanacht?’ he breathed in surprise.
‘You have a problem with that?’ snapped Gormán.
‘I had not realised the lady’s legal rank,’ muttered the man. The qualification of anruth was only one below the highest degree that the secular or ecclesiastical colleges could award.
‘What brings someone from Ulaidh to the land of the Uí Fidgente?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I came to turn people from the ways of heresy and to teach the law of the True Faith.’
‘Did you now?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Would it not be best to return to the Abbey of Oen Druim and learn something of the laws of your own people before coming and misleading others with your own?’
Brother Adamrae flushed. ‘I protest,’ he replied. ‘The laws of the Faith take precedence over barbarian laws. We should adhere to the words of the truth Faith coming from Rome and-’
‘I think even a student in their first year would know the introduction to the first of our law texts, Brother Adamrae,’ Fidelma said.
‘I don’t understand,’ he replied hesitantly.
‘I quote that introduction — “What did not clash with the word of God in written Law and in the New Testament, and with the consciences of the believers, was confirmed in the laws of the Brehons by Patrick and by the ecclesiastics and the princes of Éireann, and this is the Senchus Mór”. Do you not know that Patrick, and his blessed companions, the bishops Benignus and Cairnech, agreed to confirm those laws on behalf of the new Faith?’
Brother Adamrae looked confused.
‘I suggest you retire and think about it, Adamrae,’ Fidelma advised. ‘Perhaps your thoughts might take your footsteps back to where you may continue your studies. Even though you are scarce qualified to pronounce any judgement, you are qualified enough, I see, for your cheeks to become blotched — which, we are told, is the blemish of one who gives false judgement.’
The young man’s hand automatically went up to his red cheeks.
‘Go, Brother Adamrae,’ ordered Fidelma, ‘and remember that even a judgement given in ignorance can still evoke penalties.’
The young man turned and strode angrily away.
Conrí shrugged and glanced at the hanging body. ‘Even so, Fidelma, death is often better than habitual crime.’
‘Not in our law,’ she replied stubbornly. ‘Our lawgivers believe if you kill the evil-doer, you are as bad as they are. These Penitentials being adopted by the religious are foreign ideas that are simply laws of vengeance. They resolve nothing. Those who adopt them are the enthusiasts for these new teachings from Rome. Well, they have not yet replaced our own legal system. You would have been wise to wait until you found a qualified Brehon before listening to that arrogant youth.’
‘Perhaps,’ the Uí Fidgente war chief said thoughtfully. ‘I fear though that you have made an enemy in Brother Adamrae. Young, arrogant men take the questioning of their abilities as a personal insult.’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘If I were worried about who I upset by the advocating of the law and my decisions pertaining to it, I would not have become a dálaigh. How did that young man come here — and how is it that you have no proper qualified Brehon?’