‘I was not aware that these rules were laid down by anyone other than those men who decided that their isolated communities needed guidance – many years after Christ was crucified! You should know enough of the law of your people – the law you now want to reject – to know that the oath of the Brehons is to maintain the truth, and pledges are given which are forfeit if their judgement is found false. I am, indeed, an Eoghanacht and have long known that the very term is considered a badge of antagonism to one of the Ui Fidgente!’
‘Fidelma!’ The quiet word from Prince Donennach was enough of a warning not to let her temper overstep the mark. She sat down, biting her lip, trying to ignore the broad smile on Abbot Nannid’s twisted features.
Prince Donennach had caught sight of the expression on Eadulf’s face. He gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘You look as if you want to contribute a comment, Brother Eadulf?’
There were some startled gasps from the company and even Fidelma looked surprised at the invitation.
‘He is a foreigner and has no right to speak here!’ Abbot Nannid immediately asserted. ‘Even if the sister of the King of Cashel has married him, he has no such right.’
Eadulf coloured and would have remained silent but Prince Donennach took no notice of the abbot’s protest.
‘I am inviting Brother Eadulf to speak here and he does so under my authority,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember how Eadulf used his healing skills on me many years ago when a would-be assassin shot an arrow into my leg. No one asked then if he had a right to do so.’
‘He will only say what she wants him to say!’ the abbot interrupted again, causing Fidelma to start to rise from her seat.
But Donennach replied sharply: ‘I know, further, that when he speaks he will speak with his own voice.’
Eadulf stood up slowly.
‘Indeed, I will speak on my own terms,’ he began. ‘I represent no one in my opinions but myself. Had I sought to ingratiate myself with the views of my wife or her family, the Eoghanacht, as Abbot Nannid implies, then you would be seeing me here with the tonsure of John on my head instead of that of Peter. I have continued to wear it to indicate my religious allegiance for many years. Unlike some, I do not wear the tonsure of John yet uphold the rules of Peter of Rome, Abbot of Mungairit. I am no fawning dog who will do what pleases the moment.’
This was said in an even tone, devoid of rancour. Some of those attending suppressed chuckles while Abbot Nannid’s face whitened.
‘So how do you see this predicament, Brother Eadulf?’ enquired Prince Donennach before the abbot could gather his wits to respond.
‘I see no predicament in the matter of law. In my own country I was an hereditary gerefa before I enter the religious. I came and studied in this land of the Five Kingdoms before travelling to Rome, where I embraced the theology of Rome. I have travelled to many lands in which the New Faith was adopted, but in all of them they have kept their own laws so long as they were compatible with the New Faith. You have your own laws without which you would not have existed, these countless centuries. Rome has no more changed her native laws in favour of John the Ascetic’s rules for his community than you should. That is all I have to say.’
‘Such comments are appreciated, Brother Eadulf.’ Prince Donennach sighed gently. ‘However, I am still left with a choice of two possibilities. One is that I authorise the punishment of Gorman to be given under the laws of the Fenechus, in accordance with the wisdom of our Brehons. In that case I court the disapproval of my clergy. The second choice is that I do as the abbot demands and prescribe punishment under the Pententials. In the second case the punishment is extreme and would bring conflict to this land.’
Abbot Nannid was smiling thinly. ‘You must think well on this matter, Prince Donennach. The first choice also leads to conflict.’
‘Conflict in what manner?’ demanded Conri, the warlord, belligerently.
The Abbot of Mungairit gave him an amused glance. ‘I did not hear that a warrior was invited to express opinion here or ask questions.’
‘Nevertheless, the commander of my warriors has a pertinent question even if it is not protocol for him to ask it. I shall then ask it in his stead. You may answer to me, Abbot Nannid.’
‘All I say is that many of the Ui Fidgente are prepared to defend their Faith – with the sword if necessary. Prince Donennach, the fate of the Ui Fidgente has passed into your hands. After the Eoghanacht defeated our armies at Cnoc Aine and Prince Eoghanan was slain, you have steered a course of peace for our people. Some have whispered it was peace at any cost. You recently went to seek the approval of the High King for the course you have pursued. But remember that you rule by the will of your derbhfine and the approval of all your people. The Church has, through me, formed an opinion about what should befall the murderer of one of the leading churchmen of the Five Kingdoms. That opinion would be ignored at the peril of undoing all your strivings for peace.’
Abbot Nannid resumed his seat, sitting with folded arms and a smug look on his face.
An obvious threat was implied. Unless Gorman was turned over to punishment under the terms of the Penitentials – and that meant certain death – then Abbot Nannid believed that a civil warfare could be unleashed among the Ui Fidgente. Abbot Nannid must be sure of his support, Fidelma thought, otherwise he would not have dared to speak so openly and in such terms to the prince.
Fidelma rose to her feet again. ‘I think we have reached a conclusion about where we all stand,’ she said. ‘Prior Cuan and I, representing the King of Cashel and his Chief Brehon, agree that the laws of these kingdoms are the laws we must use. Whereas Abbot Nannid, saying he represents all the churchmen of the Ui Fidgente, implies that in accepting the New Faith we must also accept the Penitentials as the law of that Faith. He suggests that Prince Donennach should convene a council to discuss whether the laws of the Ui Fidgente be changed from the laws of the Brehons to the laws of the Penitentials. That is a great task and one which, undoubtedly, will threaten repercussions not only in Muman, but in Laighin, Connachta, Ulaidh and even in Midhe, the Middle Kingdom of the High King.’
She looked around at all those present.
‘That will be the choice facing the Ui Fidgente – and no one can tell you which choice to make. However, we are not really here to discuss the right of the Ui Fidgente to hold a council to decide such a matter. We are here to discuss a matter that is more specific: should Gorman of Cashel, in the current circumstances, face punishment under the laws of the Fenechus, the judgement of the Brehons, or face punishment under the rules of the religious community as advocated by Abbot Nannid? Is that not the basic question?’
There was some further muttering and then Prince Donennach uttered a tired sigh. ‘Put like that, lady, it is the main question.’
‘Then we are not considering it correctly.’
There was a silence while everyone stared in bewilderment at her.
‘Not considering it correctly?’ queried Brehon Faolchair. ‘How so?’
‘It is simple. We are looking at the sentence before the hearing.’
A frown crossed Brehon Faolchair’s features. ‘I am Prince Donennach’s Brehon, and I enquired into this case. A hearing was held under my jurisdiction and attended by the prince. How is that not correct?’
‘You examined the witnesses and then you constituted a formal hearing at which you judged the accused as guilty?’
‘I have said as much. That is the normal course of events.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Fidelma confirmed solemnly. ‘And as this was a serious matter of homicide, advocates and others are usually invited to attend. So who represented the prisoner?’
The question was asked with sudden emphasis and Brehon Faolchair blinked for a moment.
‘The prisoner represented himself. No other advocate was here to receive the log mberla,’ he said, referring to the payment that was given to an advocate to represent the defence of an accused. ‘But as well you know, a prisoner can represent himself.’