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-coloured 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, reed-like 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 séd, a gold coin which was the value of one milch cow. The fine, Barrán 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, Barrán indicated that the hearing could begin.
‘Remember that there are three doors through which the truth may be recognised 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-dála, for as Laigin was demanding compensation for a death, it was his right to present the arguments first. He did so simply and withouttheatrics, 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, Dacan 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 honour 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.
When, several centuries before, the High King, Edirsceal of Muman, had been assassinated, the Chief Brehon and his assembly had determined that the honour price of Edirsceal was such that they ordered that the kingdom of Osraige should be handed over to Muman. Now Laigin demanded that Osraige should be handed back to them as the honour price for Dacán.
Fidelma sat through Forbassach’s plea with bowed head. There was nothing new in his statement and he had delivered it in a moderate, unemotional and clear fashion which the court could follow with ease.
With a glance of complacent satisfaction in Fidelma’s direction, Forbassach returned to his seat. Fidelma saw the young king, Fianamail, leaning forward and smilingly patting his advocate on the shoulder in approval.
‘Fidelma of Kildare,’ Barrán turned to the Muman benches, ‘will you now plead for Muman?’
‘No,’ she said in a clear voice, causing a ripple of astonishment from the court. ‘I am here to plead for truth.’
There was an angry murmuring, especially from the Laigin benches, as Fidelma rose and made her way to the tribune before the Chief Brehon. Barrán was frowning in annoyance at her dramatic opening.
‘I trust that you do not imply that we have heard wilful lies before this court?’ There was a dangerous coldness in his voice.
‘No,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘Nor have we heard the whole truth but only so small an amount that no judgment can be safely made upon its evidence.’
‘What is the substance of your counter-plea?’
‘It is of two elements, Barrán. Firstly, that the Venerable Dacan was not honest about his activities when he came to Muman. That lack of honesty exonerates both the king and the abbot from their responsibilities under the law of hospitality.’
There was a gasp of indignation from the Laigin benches and she could see, from the corner of her eye, that the Abbot Noé was leaning forward in his seat, white-faced in scarcely controlled anger as he stared at her.
‘Secondly,’ went on Fidelma unperturbed, ‘that if the identity of Dacán’s murderer was revealed, and it was found that the murderer was not of the family of the king of Cashel, nor holding allegiance to him, then the advocate of Laigin would have no claim to make against Cashel. That is the substance of my plea.’
Forbassach had stood up.
‘I challenge this plea. The first argument is an insult to a compassionate and pious scholar. It accuses a devout man, now unable to defend himself, of lying. The second argument is mere contention and not supported by evidence.’
Barrán’s expression was serious.
‘You are experienced in the ways of the courts, Sister Fidelma. Therefore I would presume that you do not make these statements without some substantiation?’
‘I do not. But I will ask your indulgence as this is a long and complicated story and I will need a little time to unravel it to the court.’
She paused, her expression asking a question of the Chief Brehon. Barrán indicated that she should continue.
‘When I was asked to investigate the death of Dacan by my brother, Colgú, I did not realise what a long, tortuous path I had to tread. Not only had Dacan been killed but many others had to perish before I neared the end of that path. Cass, of the king of Cashel’s bodyguard, sent by my brother as my companion in this quest; Sister Eisten; many other religious of the house of Molua; and twenty innocent little children. And there were others at Rae na Scríne who have not been accounted.’
Forbassach was on his feet, protesting once again.
‘We are here to speak of the murder of Dacán and no others,’ he angrily pointed out. ‘To raise the matter of other deaths is merely some screen by which Fidelma is attempting to obscure Laigin’s case.’
Barrán frowned at Laigin’s advocate.
‘You will reseat yourself, Forbassach, and with a warning. Did I not recite the sixteen signs of bad advocacy? Wait until the dálaigh of Cashel has made her submission and then argue your case. I must point out that she did not interrupt your plea once.’
Forbassach slumped back with annoyance on his features.
‘I will continue,’ Fidelma went on quietly. ‘Truly, this was a complex affair. It has its roots centuries ago in the conflict over the kingdom of Osraige. During the last centuries Laigin have argued many times that Osraige should be returned to its jurisdiction and each time, at their assemblies, the Brehons ofthe five kingdoms have upheld the initial decision to cede it to Muman.
‘At the same time, for the last two hundred years, the people of Osraige have been ruled by kings from the Corco Loígde. This was because the Blessed Ciaran of Saighir, the son of an Osraige father and a mother from the Corco Loígde, imposed his own family as kings there after he had begun to convert the people of Osraige to the Faith. Since then the descendants of the native chieftains have lived under this injustice. Several Osraige kings from the Corco Loígde have been slain in quarrels in that troubled land.