He paused and when no one answered him he indicated Fidelma with a motion of his hand.
‘You may all know that this is Fidelma, sister to the King of Muman in the land of Éireann. I am told that she is a lawyer of some repute in her own land. Even beyond the boundaries of her own country, she has been consulted by King Oswy of Northumberland and by the head of your religion of Christ who dwells in far-off Rome. Though I represent the law of the Wuffingas which accords no place of authority to women, even though I be of the ancient faith, I have accepted that Fidelma of Cashel may have authority under me to pursue the truth of the events that have taken place here. Let none among you deny her authority, for in doing so you deny my authority and that of your King whom I represent. Is this understood?’
Again there was a silence, while the congregation looked at one another in surprise but said nothing. The Angles and Saxons were momentarily shocked at what Sigeric was suggesting. That a woman argue law before them was beyond their experience. Sigeric simply took their stunned silence as a sign of assent. He returned to his seat and motioned for Fidelma to take his place before them.
Fidelma had argued before bigger and grander gatherings and had no fears of addressing an assembly that was both surprised and hostile. It seemed that only Gadra’s party and the Irish religious were not perturbed by Fidelma’s being asked to officiate. Many of them were smiling, pleased that one representing their own legal system was to argue the case before them.
‘There is a saying among my people,’ Fidelma began, ‘that evil enters like a needle and grows like an oak tree. Truly, there was a great evil within these walls.’
Her flat opening statement caught their attention and the whispering that had begun among the Angles and Saxons as she stepped forward to address them slowly faded. There followed a silence, broken only by the murmuring of Brother Laisre who had taken it on himself to interpret from Saxon into Irish for the benefit of Gadra. Garb seemed to have enough command of the language to follow the proceedings.
‘It is appropriate that we are gathered here in this place today on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. This is the day when we remember the infants of Bethlehem who were killed by the order of King Herod in an attempt to be rid of the child Jesus. This is the day we commemorate the shedding of innocent blood. What better day to ask account of the innocent blood that has been shed here?’
She paused to gather her thoughts.
‘There have been several killings within these walls and even emanating from these walls. Blood almost saturates them. That is not right for a house of religious devotion. Since coming here I have heard how the original brethren were chased out and some were executed. Brother Pol, for example, was hanged outside the gates as a heretic. We have heard that the abbot’s wife, unhappy and alone, also met her death. Some claim she met that death by her husband’s own hand, others say that she wandered into a nearby mire to meet her tragic end.
‘We have heard that local people, during the last six months, have come to expect raids on their farms and homesteads. Mul, a local farmer who is present, lost his wife and two children to the swords of these raiders.
‘Brother Eadulf’s friend, Brother Botulf, asked us to come to this place because he needed help. The morning of the day we arrived, he was murdered. Two days ago, Botulf’s cousin, one of Aldhere’s outlaws, and several more of his men were slain. The evidence indicated that they were slain by the brethren of this abbey and, indeed, Mul will tell you that the evidence at his farmstead points to the raiders’ being the religious of this abbey.’
This brought forth gasps of astonishment from many of the brethren, while the men of Aldhere and Gadra cast angry and threatening glances towards the abbey’s religious.
Fidelma held up a hand to quiet them.
‘Throughout all these troubles, the abbot claimed that he was haunted by the ghost of his wife, Gélgeis.’
‘God’s justice!’ sang out Brother Tola from the ranks of the Irish religious. ‘The shade of a wronged woman, murdered. May she haunt him to hell!’
An uneasy muttering broke out and Fidelma had to hold up her hands to still it once again.
‘So obsessed was Abbot Cild that he even accused me of conjuring this wraith that seemed to haunt the abbey grounds. Last night he came across a young woman who he thought was that shade and in his madness he struck out with a knife and slew her.’
She saw Brother Redwald sitting shivering.
‘It was her,’ he whispered, loud enough to be heard. ‘It was the lady Gélgeis. I saw her.’
Gadra had sprung up, his face contorted by anger, when the statement had been interpreted.
‘What nonsense is this?’ he demanded. ‘My daughter was murdered by Cild months ago. Who says that she was slain last night?’
‘Peace, Gadra of Maigh Eo,’ instructed Fidelma. ‘Things will be revealed but all in their time. This mystery has several strands — separate strands that, in some predestined pattern, seem to entwine and meet together in this gloomy spot. I will unravel each in turn, or make the best attempt I can. I have the word of the high steward Sigeric that no one need fear this process unless they are directly connected to treason or an unlawful death.’
Sigeric nodded from his chair.
‘I have made clear my intentions,’ he announced firmly. ‘Continue.’
‘Let us start firstly with an area in which I have some expertise. Gadra’s troscud. Gadra.’ She turned towards him.
The elderly chieftain from Maigh Eo rose again from his seat.
‘You know well the conditions of the ritual fast, Sister Fidelma. You will not dissuade me from it.’
‘Indeed. But you have heard that Abbot Cild is insane. The law in the text Do Brethaibh Gaire, which is designed to protect society from the insane, and likewise protects the insane from society, states that you cannot fast against someone who is insane.’
She had begun speaking to him in Irish while Eadulf interpreted for those who did not understand the language.
Gadra was not perturbed.
‘Should it be that Cild is proved to have gone insane — and proof is required under the law — then it does not affect the outcome of my search for justice.’
‘How so?’ replied Fidelma, knowing full well but wishing him to explain the law to the assembly.
‘Because the crime against my daughter, Gélgeis, was committed when he was sane. Therefore, he was still legally responsible and the matter of compensation for my daughter’s death is still payable.’
‘But a dásachtarch,’ Fidelma resorted to the legal term for an insane person subject to violent and destructive moods, ‘is not liable.’
‘No, but his kin are,’ replied the old chieftain sourly. ‘In this case, as a religieux, the community of this abbey are his kin and must recompense me for the death of my daughter. If they do not, my ritual fast becomes a fast against this abbey and I will maintain it to the death.’
Fidelma shook her head sadly.
‘Never have I seen a man pursue death so eagerly, Gadra,’ she murmured.
Aldhere arose and was smiling his usual cynically amused expression.
‘At least my brother, Cild, did one good thing, Sister. He went into the church and the church became his family. So I am absolved, under your laws, from paying compensation for his deeds.’
‘The law is as Gadra says,’ she agreed. ‘So, Gadra, you are determined to continue with the troscud and all that will come of it?’
Garb was on his feet in support of his father.
‘My father has said so,’ he snapped. ‘Just because the murderernow seeks asylum in the dark reaches of his mind it does not abrogate his responsibility.’