Whispers of the Dead (33 page)

Brocc stood uncertainly with lips compressed. Fidelma went on:

“Since you are here, Brocc, you may tell me a little about your son, Braon. Did he frequently work for Findach?”

“Not for Findach, that mean…!” Brocc caught himself. “No, my boy worked for his wife, Muirenn. Muirenn was a kindly soul, a good soul. My boy would never have harmed her.”

“How often did he work for Muirenn and in what capacity?”

“My boy and I are cowherds. We hire our labor to those who need an expert hand.”

“So you knew Braon was going to work for Muirenn that morning?”

“I did. She had asked him to tend her cows in the pasture above the house.”

“And that was a usual task for him?”

“Usual? It was.”

“Did anyone else know he was going to Muirenn’s house this morning?”

“The boy’s mother knew and doubtless Muirenn told that mean husband of hers.”

Fidelma was interested.

“Why do you call Findach mean?”

“The man was tightfisted. It was well known. He behaved as if he was as poor as a church mouse.”

Fidelma glanced to Brehon Tuama for confirmation. The tall magistrate shrugged.

“It is true that Findach was not renowned for his generosity, Sister. He always claimed he had little money. The truth was he spent a lot on gambling. In fact, only the other day Odar told me that Findach owed him a large sum. Ten
séds,
as I recall. Yet Findach would not even employ an assistant or an apprentice at his forge.”

“Yet he did pay for help with his cow herd.”

Brocc laughed harshly.

“The herd was his wife’s property and she paid my son.”

A wife, under law, remained the owner of all the property and wealth that she brought into a marriage. Fidelma appreciated the point.

“So, as far as you knew, your son went off to work as usual. You noticed nothing unusual at all?”

“I did not.”

“And during that day, you never went near Findach’s house nor his forge?”

“Nowhere near.”

“You can prove it?”

Brocc glowered for a moment.

“I can prove it. I was in Lonán’s pastures helping him thresh hay. I was there until someone came with the news of Braon’s arrest.”

“Very well.” Fidelma rose abruptly.

“I think I would like to see Findach’s house and speak with this renowned smith.”

The house of Findach the Smith stood on the edge of the township. It was isolated among a small copse of hazel and oak.

Findach was a stocky, muscular man of indiscernible age. He had a short neck and the build that one associated with a smith. He gazed distastefully at Fidelma.

“If you seek to defend my wife’s killer,
dálaigh,
you are not welcome in this house.” His voice was a low growl of anger.

Fidelma was not perturbed.

“Inform Findach of the law and my rights as a
dálaigh,
Tuama,” she instructed, her eyes not leaving those of the smith.

“You are obliged by law to answer all the
dálaigh
’s questions and allow free access to all…”

Findach cut the Brehon short with a scowl and turned abruptly inside the house, leaving them to follow.

Fidelma addressed herself to Brehon Tuama.

“Show me where the body was lying.”

Tuama pointed to the floor inside the first room, which was the kitchen.

“And where was the boy found?”

Findach answered this time, turning and pushing open a door sharply.

“The killer was hiding in here,” he grunted.

“I understand that you knew that Brother Caisín would be arriving to collect the silver cross you had made for his abbey?”

Findach glanced at Brehon Tuama who stood stony-faced. Then he shrugged. His voice was ungracious.

“I expected someone from the abbey to come to collect the piece. It was the agreed day.”

“You brought the cross from your forge to the house. Wasn’t that unusual?”

“I brought it here for safekeeping. There is no one at my forge at night and so I do not leave valuable items there.”

“How valuable was this cross?”

“My commission price was twenty-one
séds
.”

“Describe the cross, its weight and size.”

“It was of silver mined at Magh Méine. Just over a meter in height and half of that across the arms. It was heavy. The only way I could carry it was by means of a rope slung across my back.”

“Brother Caisín was to carry it in the same fashion?”

“I believe he arrived on an ass, realizing the weight to be transported.”

“And where did you leave the cross?”

“It was standing in that corner of the room.”

Fidelma went and looked at the corner that he indicated.

“You believe that the boy, Braon, came into your house, saw this cross, killed your wife, and took it, as heavy as it was, and then—presumably having hidden it—returned to this house? Having done that, hearing the arrival of Brother Caisín, he then hid himself in that room, where he was discovered?”

Findach scowled at her smile of skepticism.

“How else do you explain it?”

“I don’t have to, as yet. What time did you leave that morning to go to your forge?”

Findach shrugged.

“Just after dawn.”

“Did you know that boy was coming to help with your wife’s herd?”

“I knew. I never trusted him. His father was a
bothach,
always cadging money from the better off.”

“I understand that you were not one of them.” Fidelma’s riposte caused Findach’s face to go red.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said defensively.

“I heard that you were regarded as poor.”

“Silver and gold costs money. When I get a commission, I have to find the metals and don’t get paid until the commission is complete.”

“Braon had worked for your wife often before, hadn’t he?” Fidelma changed the subject.

“He had.”

“And you had no cause to complain about him before? Surely you have left valuable items in your house on other occasions?”

“My wife is murdered. The silver cross is gone. The boy was a
bothach
.”

“So you imply that you were always suspicious of him? As you say, he was a
bothach
. Yet you left the silver cross in your house and went to the forge. Isn’t that strange?”

Findach flushed in annoyance.

“I did not suspect that he would be tempted…”

“Quite so,” snapped Fidelma. She turned to Brehon Tuama.

“I suppose that you have asked Brother Caisín to remain in Droim Sorn until the case in concluded?”

“Indeed, I have. Much to his annoyance. But I have sent a message to his abbot to explain the circumstances.”

“Excellent.” Fidelma swung ’round to Findach. “Now, I would like to see your forge.”

Findach was astonished.

“I do not understand what relevance…?”

Fidelma smiled mischievously.

“You do not have to understand, only to respond to my questions. I understand the forge is a hundred yards from here?”

Findach bit his lip and turned silently to lead the way.

The forge lay one hundred yards through the trees in a small clearing.

“The furnace is out,” observed Fidelma as they entered.

“Of course. I have not worked here since yesterday morning.”

“Obviously,” Fidelma agreed easily. Then, surprising both Findach and Brehon Tuama, she thrust her right hand into the gray charcoal of the brazier. After a moment, she withdrew her hand and without any comment went to the
umar,
or water trough, to wash the dirt off. As she did so, she surveyed the
cartha,
the term used for a forge. It was unusual for a forge to be so isolated from the rest of the township. Smiths and their forges were usually one of the important centers of a district, often well frequented. Findach seemed to read her mind.

“I am a craftsman only in silver and gold these days. I do not make harnesses, shoe horses, or fix farm implements. I make works of art.”

His voice possessed arrogance, a boastfulness.

She did not answer.

The great anvil stood in the center of the forge, near the blackened wood-charcoal-filled brazier and next to the water trough. A box containing the supply of wood charcoal stood nearby, ready for fueling the fire. There was a bellows next to the brazier.

“Do you have examples of your work here?” she asked, peering around.

Findach shook his head.

“I have closed down my forge out of respect to my wife. Once this matter is cleared up…”

“But you must have molds, casts… pieces you have made?”

Findach shook his head.

“I was just curious to see the work of a smith who is so renowned for his fine work. However, to the task at hand. I think, Brehon Tuama, I shall see the boy now.”

They retraced their steps to Odar’s house. The chieftain was out hunting, but his
tanist,
his heir-apparent, led them to the room where the accused boy was held.

Braon was tall for his sixteen years. A thin, pale boy, fair of skin and freckled. There was no sign that he had yet begun to shave. He stood up nervously before Fidelma.

Fidelma entered the room while Brehon Tuama, by agreement, stayed outside as, under law, if she were to defend the boy, it was her privilege to see him alone. She waved him to be seated again on the small wooden bed while she herself sat on a stool before him.

“You know who I am?” she asked.

The boy nodded.

“I want you to tell me your story in your own words.”

“I have already told the Brehon.”

“The Brehon is to sit in judgment on you. I am a
dálaigh,
who will defend you. So tell me.”

The young boy seemed nervous.

“What will happen to me?”

“That depends if you are guilty or innocent.”

“No one cares if a
bothach
is innocent when there is a crime to be answered for.”

“That is not what the law says, Braon. The law is there to protect the innocent whoever they are and to punish the guilty whoever they may be. Do you understand?”

“That is not how Odar sees it,” replied the boy.

“Tell me the events of that morning when you went to work for Muirenn,” Fidelma said, thinking it best not to pursue the matter of Odar’s prejudice.

“I did not kill her. She was always kind to me. She was not like her husband, Findach. He was mean, and I heard her reprimanding him often about that. He claimed that he did not have money but everyone knows that smiths have money.”

“Tell me what happened that morning.”

“I arrived at the house and went inside…”

“One moment. Was there anything out of the usual? Was there anyone about, so far as you saw?”

The boy shook his head thoughtfully.

“Nothing out of the usual. I saw no one, except for Odar’s hunting dogs… he has two big wolfhounds. I saw them bounding into the woods by Findach’s forge. But there was no one about. So I went to the house and found the door ajar. I called out and, receiving no answer, I pushed it open.”

“What did you see?”

“From the open door I could see a body on the floor of the kitchen beyond. It was Muirenn. I thought she had fallen, perhaps struck her head. I bent down and felt her pulse, but the moment my hand touched her flesh I could feel a chill on it. I knew that she was dead.”

“The flesh felt chilled?”

“It did.”

“What then?” she prompted.

“I stood up and…”

“A moment. Did you see any sign of the silver cross in the room?”

“It was not there. Something as unusual as that I would have noticed even in such circumstances. In fact, I was looking ’round when I heard a noise. Someone was approaching. I panicked and hid myself in an adjoining room.” He hesitated. “The rest you must know. Brother Caisín came in and discovered me. There was blood on my clothes where I had touched Muirenn. No one listened, and hence I am accused of theft and murder. Sister, I swear to you that I never saw such a cross nor would I have killed Muirenn. She was one of the few people here who did not treat me as if I were beneath contempt!”

Fidelma found it difficult to question the sincerity in the boy’s voice.

She joined Brehon Tuama outside.

“Well?” asked the Brehon morosely. “Do you see the difficulty of this case?”

“I have seen the difficulty ever since you explained it to me,” she replied shortly. “However, let us now find this Brother Caisín and see what he has to say.”

“He has accommodation in the hostel.”

They went to the town’s
bruighean,
which was situated in the center of Droim Sorn and provided accommodation and hospitality to whoever sought it there.

Brother Caisín was well built and, in spite of his robes, Fidelma noticed that he was muscular and had more of a build associated with a warrior than that of a religieux. It was when she examined his features that she found herself distrusting the man. His eyes were close set in the narrow face, shifty and not focusing on his questioner. The lips were too thin, the nose narrow and hooked. He spoke with a soft, lisping voice that seemed at odds with his build. The line from
Juvenal
came to her mind:
fronti nulla fides
—no reliance can be placed on appearance.

“Brother Caisín?”

Caisín glanced quickly at her and then at Brehon Tuama before dropping his gaze to focus on a point midway between them.

“I suppose you are the
dálaigh
from Cashel?”

“You suppose correctly. I am Fidelma of Cashel.”

The man seemed to sigh and shiver slightly.

“I have heard of your reputation, Sister. You have a way of ferreting out information.”

Fidelma smiled broadly.

“I am not sure whether you mean that as a compliment, Brother. I will accept it as such.”

“I must tell you something before you discover it for yourself and place a wrong interpretation on it.” The monk seemed anxious. “Have you heard of Caisín of Inis Geimhleach?”

Fidelma frowned and shook her head.

“I know Inis Geimhleach, the imprisoned island, a small settlement in Loch Allua, a wild and beautiful spot.”

At her side, Brehon Tuama suddenly snapped his fingers with a triumphant exclamation.