“It was that morning that Brother Caisín had been sent by the Abbot of Cluain to collect the cross. I have questioned Brother Caisín who says that he arrived at Findach’s house early in the morning. He noticed that the door was open and he went in. Muirenn lay on the floor with blood on her head. He tried to render assistance but found that she was dead, apparently killed by a sharp blow to the head.
“Brother Caisín then said that he heard a noise from a side room and found the boy, Braon, hiding there. There was blood on his clothes.
“It was then that Findach arrived back at his house and found Brother Caisín and Braon standing by the body of his wife. His cry of anguish was heard by a passerby who, ascertaining the situation, came in search of me as Brehon of Droim Sorn.”
Fidelma was thoughtful.
“At what point was it discovered the silver cross was missing?” she asked.
Brehon Tuama looked surprised.
“How did you know that it was the silver cross that had been stolen? The object of the theft was not specified when I sent for you.”
Fidelma made an impatient gesture with her hand.
“I did not think that you would spend so much time and detail telling me about Findach’s commission from Cluain if it had no relevance to this matter.”
Brehon Tuama looked crestfallen.
“What did the boy have to say?” Fidelma continued. “I presume the boy’s father was sent for before you questioned him?”
Brehon Tuama looked pained.
“Of course. I know the law. As he was under the ‘Age of Choice,’ his father is deemed responsible for him in law.”
“So the father was summoned and the boy was questioned?” pressed Fidelma impatiently.
“The boy said that he had been asked to go to Findach’s house by Muirenn, who often used to employ him to look after a small herd of cattle they kept in the upper pastures behind the house. Braon said he found the door open. He saw the body and went inside in order to help, but Muirenn was already dead.”
“And bending by the body accounted for blood on his clothes?”
“Precisely. He said that he was about to go for help when he heard someone approaching. Fearing the return of the killer, he hid in the room where Brother Caisín discovered him.”
“And those are all the facts, so far as you know them?”
“Exactly. It is all circumstantial evidence. I would be inclined to dismiss the charge for lack of evidence. However, Odar insists that the boy should be prosecuted. A chieftain’s orders are sometimes difficult to disregard,” he added apologetically.
“What about the cross?”
Brehon Tuama was baffled for a moment.
“I mean,” went on Fidelma, “where was it found? You have not mentioned that fact.”
The Brehon shifted his weight.
“It has not been found,” he confessed.
Fidelma made her surprise apparent.
“We made a thorough search for the cross and found no sign of it,” confirmed Brehon Tuama.
“Surely, that further weakens the case against the boy? When could he have had the time to hide the cross before being discovered by Brother Caisín?”
“Odar argues that he must have had an accomplice. He favors the boy’s father. He suggests the boy passed the cross to his accomplice just as Brother Caisín arrived.”
“A rather weak argument.” Fidelma was dismissive. “What I find more interesting is the motivation for your chieftain’s apparent determination to pursue the boy and his father. You tell me that it is because the dead woman’s husband is his cousin? That does not seem sufficient justification. I would agree with your first conclusion, Tuama. The whole affair is based on circumstantial evidence. By the way, how big was this silver cross?”
“I do not know. We would have to ask Findach. Findach said it was valuable enough. The silver alone being worth. .”
“I am more interested in its size, not value. Presumably, a high altar cross would be of large size and therefore of great weight?”
“Presumably,” agreed the Brehon.
“Also too heavy, surely, for the boy, Braon, to have hidden it by himself?”
Brehon Tuama did not reply.
“You say that Findach’s forge was a hundred yards from his house. Isn’t it unusual for a smith to have a workshop at such a distance from his house?”
Brehon Tuama shook his head.
“Not in this case. Findach was a careful man. Do you know how often smiths’ forges burn down because a spark from the furnace ignites them?”
“I have known of some cases,” admitted Fidelma. “So Findach and his wife Muirenn lived in the house. Did they have children?”
“No. There were just the two of them. .”
There was a sudden noise outside and the door burst open.
A wild-looking, broad-shouldered man stood on the threshold. He was dressed in the manner of a man who worked long hours in the fields. His eyes were stormy.
Brehon Tuama sprang up from his seat in annoyance.
“What is the meaning of this, Brocc?” he demanded.
The man stood breathing heavily a moment.
“You know well enough, Brehon. I heard that the dálaigh had arrived. She’s been to see Odar and now you. Yet you told me that she was coming to defend my boy. Defend? How can she defend him when she consorts only with his persecutors?”
Fidelma examined the man coolly.
“Come forward! So you are the father of Braon?”
The burly man took a hesitant step toward her.
“My son is innocent! You must clear his name. They are trying to lay the blame on my son and on me because they hate us.”
“I am here to listen to the evidence and form my opinion. Why would people hate you and your son?”
“Because I am a bothach!”
In the social system of the five kingdoms of Éireann, the bothach was one of the lowest classes in society, being a crofter or cowherder. Bothachs had no political or clan rights, but they were capable of acquiring their own plots of land by contract. While there were no restrictions placed on whom they could work for, they were not allowed to leave the clan territory except by special permission. If they worked well, they could eventually expect to acquire full citizen’s rights.
“Aye,” Brocc was bitter. “It is always the lower orders who are blamed when a crime is committed. Always the bottom end of the social scale who get the blame. That is why Odar is trying to make out that my boy and I were in league to rob Findach.”
Fidelma was beginning to understand what Brehon Tuama had been trying to tell her about Odar’s insistence that Braon stand trial.
“You and your son have nothing to fear so long as you tell the truth,” she said, trying not to let it sound like a platitude. “If I believe your son is innocent then I will defend him.” Fidelma paused for a moment. “You realize that under the law it will be your responsibility to pay the compensation and fines if your son is found guilty? Are you more concerned about that or whether your son is innocent?”
Brocc scowled, his features reddening.
“That is unjust. I will pay you seven séds if you simply defend him. That is a token of my faith in my son.”
The sum was the value of seven milch cows.
Fidelma’s face showed that she was not impressed.
“Brehon Tuama should have informed you that my fees, which are payable directly to my community and not to me, do not vary but stand at two séds and only change when they are remitted because of exceptional circumstances such as the poverty of those who seek my assistance.”
Brocc stood uncertainly with lips compressed. Fidelma went on: