Another child's voice began to sniffle in protest.
The voice of Cetach admonished the whining one, who was surely Cosrach.
"It will not be for long," Fidelma heard the first voice say in a more cajoling tone. "Father and I will be able to get you away from this place within the next day or so."
"Will Father be coming with us?" asked Cetach's voice.
"Yes. We will soon all be home in Osraige."
Fidelma moved behind the sarcophagus as she heard soft steps begin to descend into the vault. It was pointless confronting the sons of Ulan at this time. There were some final links to be put into place before the mystery was completely resolved.
Behind the sarcophagus she was surprised to see a dark opening and instead of dousing her candle, as she had been poised to do, she moved into the darkness. It was a passageway which twisted and turned a few times until it came to a flight of stone steps. They led sharply upwards.
Curiosity led her up until the steps ended about four feet from a rocky ceiling. She thought for a moment that she had come to a dead end but she became aware of a small aperture, two feet in width and three feet high. A faint flickering light came through it. This time she did douse her candle and she saw a pale moonlight. Carefully she leaned through the aperture.
She caught her breath in surprise as she observed what was beyond it.
She was leaning out into a circular well some ten feet below its opening to the sky. She turned her head and saw nearby, in the gloomy light, iron rungs running close by the aperture; close enough for her to reach out and swing herself up onto them. In a few minutes she was clambering over the lip of the well up into the moonlit herb garden behind the back of the abbey's church.
She sat for a moment or two on the edge of the well's circular stone wall, smiling with a genuine satisfaction.
She had all the main pieces now. It was a question of sorting them and fitting them into place.
Time enough to reveal the tangled skein at the assembly in the morning.
Chapter Nineteen
The abbey church itself had been turned into the Dal, or court, for the purpose of the High King's great assembly. The building was bursting with people, both religious and others, who spilled through the doors. The occasion was regarded as momentous; for never in the memory of the people had a High King held an assembly outside his personal territory of royal Meath. On a specially constructed dais before the High Altar sat the Chief Brehon of the five kingdoms of Éireann. He was the one person who was so influential that even the High King was not allowed to speak at the great assemblies until he had spoken. Fidelma had never seen Barrán before and she tried to gauge his personality in spite of his ceremonial robes of office which disguised his features. All she could make out were bright, unblinking eyes, a stern, thin-lipped mouth and a prominent nose. He could have been any age at all.
Next to him on the dais, at his left hand, sat his personal ollamh, a learned advocate to consult with him on matters of law, then sat a scriptor and an assistant to keep the record. On the Chief Brehon's right hand sat the High King himself—Sechnassach, lord of Meath and High King of Ireland. He was a thin man, in his mid-thirties, with scowling features and dark hair. Fidelma knew from her own experience at Tara that Sechnassach was not the stern, authoritarian ruler that he appeared to be. He was a thoughtful man, possessed of a dry sense of humor. She wondered whether he would recall that without her aid, in solving the mystery of the theft of the High King's ceremonial sword, Sechnassach might never have sat on the throne. Then she felt guilty for allowing such a thought to come to her mind as if some personal bias would influence the High King in her favor.
Next to the High King sat Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, Chief Apostle of the Faith of the five kingdoms. He was a dour, elderly man, with white, untidy hair. Fidelma knew that Ultan had the reputation of being supportive to the Roman faction and had often favored the idea that the ecclesiastical laws should displace the civil laws of the five kingdoms.
Directly in front of this impressive gathering of judges was a small lectern which had been set up in the manner of the cos-na-dála, the tribune from which each dálaigh, or advocate, would plead their case.
On the right-hand side of the High Altar, in the transept, the benches were occupied by the representatives of Laigin with their fiery young king, Fianamail, and his advisors. Fidelma had already picked out the grim, gray-visaged Abbot Noé of Fearna. And she saw that in front, seated next to his king, was the thin, cadaverous Forbassach, who would be presenting the claims of Laigin.
Fidelma's brother Colgu and his advisors filled the benches in the transept on the left-hand side of the High Altar. Fidelma, as their dálaigh, sat alongside her brother, awaiting her turn to be called before the cos-na-dala to state the case for the kingdom of Cashel.
The rest of the church, along the broad nave, was packed with spectators of every degree and station, filling it with a stuffy, airless atmosphere in spite of the grandeur and sweep of the tall building. Fidelma had noticed several warriors bearing the insignia of the High King; these were his fianna or bodyguard. They were stationed at strategic points around the church and were the only armed warriors allowed at the assembly. The warriors of Colgu and Fianamail were confined to quarters outside the abbey walls.
The proceedings opened abruptly with Barrán, the Chief Brehon, rapping on the wooden table before him with his staff of office and calling for silence.
The hubbub of the assembly slowly died away and an expectant quiet emerged.
"Be it known that there are three ways to destroy wisdom in a court of law," intoned the Chief Brehon with the words of the ritual opening. His voice was deep and rich in tone, resounding through the church. His light-colored eyes glinted as he glared around. "The first way is a judge without knowledge, the second way is a pleading without understanding and the third way is a talkative court."
Archbishop Ultan then rose slowly and asked a blessing on the court and its proceedings in his thin, reedlike monotone.
After Ultan had reseated himself, the Chief Brehon called on the advocates of either side to stand and identify themselves. Once they had done so he reminded them of the procedures of the court and of the sixteen signs of bad advocacy. For any one of the sixteen prohibitive aspects, an advocate could be fined one sèd, a gold coin which was the value of one milch cow. The fine, Barràn reminded them, would be imposed if the advocates abused each other, incited those attending the court to violence, indulged in self-praise, spoke too harshly, refused to obey the orders of the court or shifted the grounds of their pleas without reason. Having accepted that they understood, Barràn indicated that the hearing could begin.
"Remember that there are three doors through which the truth may be recognized in this court: a patient counter-pleading; a firm case; and reliance on witnesses," Barrán gave the ritual warning to the advocates.
Forbassach moved forward to the cos-na-dala, for as Laigin was demanding compensation for a death, it was his right to present the arguments first. He did so simply and without theatrics, merely stating that the Venerable Dacán, a man of Laigin, had been given hospitality by the king of Muman, in that he had been allowed into the kingdom to both study and teach at the abbey of Ros Ailithir. It was the abbot's immediate responsibility to provide for the safety of those he took into his house.
Nonetheless, Dacán had been murdered in a most horrible fashion at Ros Ailithir. No murderer had been found and so the responsibility lay with the abbot and ultimately with the king of Muman. The king was responsible for the safety of Dacán firstly because he had been welcomed into the kingdom and secondly because the abbot was a kinsman and the king was head of his family and responsible for all fines made against that family. That was the law. And that law was specific in terms of culpability. For every death the fine was seven cumals, the worth of twenty-one milch cows. That was the basic fine. But what of Dacán's honor price? He was a cousin to the king of Laigin. He was a man of the Faith, whose benevolence and scholarship were known throughout the five kingdoms of Éireann.