Hemlock At Vespers (25 page)

“By what authority do you interrupt this trial, Sister?” he demanded querulously as he came into the chamber where Fidelma had been conducted. Fidelma told him of her qualification as a
dálaigh.

“Is Liadin of the Uí Dróna represented by an advocate?” she demanded.

“No,” he replied. “She refuses to plead.”

“Then I am here to plead her case for her. I would request a postponement of the hearing for twenty-four hours that I may consult with Liadin.”

Rathend grimaced diffidently.

“This will be difficult. Besides, how do you know she will accept your advocacy?”

Fidelma glared hard at the Brehon. Rathend tried to return her gaze but eventually dropped his eyes uncomfortably.

“Even if she accepts your advocacy, everyone has already gathered to hear the opening arguments,” he explained lamely.

“The purpose of the hearing is for justice to be done, not for the convenience of an audience. The opening of the hearing can be delayed under law.”

A slight color tinged the sallow cheeks of the thin Brehon. He was about to reply when the door of the room burst open abruptly and a young woman entered. Fidelma quickly appraised her and had to admit that she was attractive in spite of a prominent aquiline nose, sallow skin and dark hair which made her rather foreign in appearance. Her dark eyes flashed vivaciously. That she was a woman of rank was obvious.

“What does; this delay mean, Rathend?” The dark eyes fell on Fidelma and registered suspicion. “Who is this?”

“Sister Fidelma is an advocate come to plead Liadin’s case,” Rathend said obsequiously.

A flush of annoyance tinged the woman’s cheeks.

“Then you are late in coming here, Sister.”

Fidelma let her gaze move almost languidly over the shorter woman’s haughty features.

“And you are … ?” she asked softly, reminding Rathend of his breach of etiquette and causing the woman’s flush of annoyance to intensify.

“This is Irnan; chieftainess of the Uí Dróna,” Rathend supplied quickly. “You stand in her
ráth.”

Fidelma let a smile deepen the corners of her mouth and she inclined her head in acknowledgement of the woman’s rank rather than in deference.

“Whether I am late or early, Irnan of the Uí Dróna, the point is that I am here and justice must be served.” A
dálaigh
of Fidelma’s rank of
Anruth
could speak on equal terms with a provincial king and could even sit in the presence of the High King himself, though only at the latter’s invitation. Fidelma turned back to Rathend. “I shall need to consult with Liadin to arrange her defense. I need twenty-four hours’ delay before the opening arguments.”

“Defense?” Was there a bitter humor in Irnan’s interruption. “What defense can there be for this woman?”

Fidelma barely glanced at her.

“I shall be able to inform the court of my defense once I have had access to Liadin.”

“The case is clear,” Irnan snapped. “Liadin killed her husband and her son.”

“For what reason?” demanded Fidelma.

“It was an arranged marriage. Perhaps Liadin hated Scoriath?” the chieftainess sniffed. “Who knows?”

“A weak reason when she could have sought the redress of law. And why kill the child? What mother would kill her own child? Why, indeed kill after three and a half years of marriage if, as you say, it was in pique at an arranged marriage?”

Irnan’s eyes flashed with uncontrolled anger. Her tone told Fidelma that here was a woman used to being firmly in control of a situation and obeyed without question. Opposition was something that Irnan was clearly unused to.

“I am not on trial here, Sister. I cannot answer your questions.”

“Someone will have to answer them,” replied Fidelma calmly. She turned to the Brehon again. “To that end, will you grant the postponement?”

Rathend seemed to glance at Irnan before responding. Fidelma saw, from the corner of her eye, the chieftainess shrug. Rathend sighed and inclined his head in affirmative.

“Very well, Sister. You have twenty-four hours before the court sits to hear the charges. Be warned that the charge is that of
fingal,
kin-slaying, and is so grave in this instance that we are not talking of compensation in terms of an
eric
fine. If Liadin is judged guilty, so heinous is this crime that she will be cast adrift on the high seas in an open boat without oars, sail, food or water. And if she survives, if she is cast ashore by the will of God, on whosoever’s shore she lands, that person has the right of life and death over her. That is the judgment prescribed by law.”

Sister Fidelma knew well the penalty for extreme cases of murder.

“Only if she is found guilty,” she added softly.

Irnan let out a sharp bray of laughter.

“There is little doubt of that.”

She turned and swept from the room, leaving Rathend gazing in unhappy confusion after her.

The two women broke apart from their embrace. Fidelma’s eyes were troubled as she gazed at the face of her friend. Liadin was shorter than Fidelma, with a shock of chestnut hair, pale skin and dark brown eyes that seemed almost black from a distance. Her face was strained, the flesh under the eyes was dark with worry, the skin almost bloodless and etched with lines.

“Fidelma! Praise the saints that you have come at last. I had given you up. I did not kill Scoriath, nor my son Cunobel.”

“No need to convince me,” Fidelma replied quickly. “I have succeeded in getting a postponement of your trial for twenty-four hours. You must now tell me everything so that I will know best how to defend you.”

Liadin let out a small sob.

“My mind has not worked since I heard the terrible news of Scoriath’s death. I have been numbed with shock and could not believe that I was being accused. Somehow I thought I would awake from all this… that…”

Fidelma squeezed her friend’s hand as her voice trailed off.

“I will do your thinking for you. Simply tell me the facts as you know them.”

Liadin wiped her tears and forced a smile.

“I feel such hope now. But I know so little.”

“When we last met, you told me you were very happy with Scoriath. Had anything changed since then?”

Liadin shook her head vehemently. “We were blest with contentment and a fine child.”

“Was Scoriath still commander of the bodyguard of the chieftainess of the Uí Dróna?”

“Yes. Even, when Irnan succeeded her father Drón as chieftainess of the clan a month ago, Scoriath continued as her commander. But he was considering giving up war and simply working his own land.”

Fidelma pursed her lips. She could not help but recall the hostility which Irnan had displayed toward Liadin.

“Was there any conflict of personality? What of the Tanist? Was there enmity with the heir-elect?”

“Conn? No, there was no animosity between Scoriath and Conn.”

“Very well. So let us turn to the facts of the death of Scoriath and your son.” Time enough to commiserate with her friend later.

“It happened a week ago. I was not here at the time.”

“Explain. If you were not here, on what grounds are you accused of carrying out the dead? Start at the beginning.”

Liadin made a little gesture of helplessness.

“On the day it happened I had left Scoriath and the child here and had ridden to visit a sick relative, my aunt Flidais. The illness was minor and when I reached her dwelling I found her past any danger and almost entirely well. It had been nothing but a slight chill. So I returned here, reaching the fortress in the late evening, about an hour after sunset. As I made my way to our chambers, Conn came out of our apartments and seized me.”

“Seized you? Why?”

“It is all so hazy now. He was shouting that Scoriath was slain along with my son. I could not believe it. He seemed to be accusing me.”

“For what reason?”

“He had found a bloodstained knife and clothing, my clothes, hidden in my private chamber. Scoriath and my son had been found in our chambers—stabbed to death.”

“You immediately denied responsibility?”

Liadin nodded fiercely. “How could anyone think a mother could slaughter her own child?”

Fidelma pursed her lips and shrugged. “Alas, it has been known, Liadin. We have to look at things as logically as we can. Did they have any other grounds to accuse you?”

Liadin hesitated a moment.

“There came another witness against me. A house servant, Branar, came forward and said she had witnessed Scoriath and me in argument that very day.”

“Witnessed? And had she?”

“Of course not. I had not seen Branar that day.”

“So she lied? How could she claim to have seen this argument then?”

“She said that she had
heard
it,” corrected Liadin after a moment’s thought. “She said that she was passing our bedchamber door and she heard our voices raised in angry exchanges. She then thought it prudent to depart. I denied it but no one would believe me.”

“Who brought you the news of your aunt’s illness?”

“A monk from the monastery of the Blessed Moling, which is not far from here. A Brother named Suathar.”

“And who saw you leave the
ráth
to visit your aunt?”

“Many people. It was midday when I left.”

“So it was well known that you had left the
ráth
to visit your aunt?”

“I suppose so.”

“And who saw you arrive back that night?”

“Conn, of course, when he seized me.”

Fidelma frowned slightly.

“He saw you arrive through the gate, you mean? And then seized you later?”

Liadin shook her head in bewilderment.

“No. I meant that he saw me at the time he seized me at the door of my chambers.”

“So no one saw you actually arrive back? So far as people were concerned, you could have come back much earlier that evening. You traveled on horse. How about the stable boys?”

Liadin looked worried.

“Ah, I see what you mean. No one was about in the stable at the time. I unsaddled my own horse. I am afraid that no one saw me arrive back.”

“But your aunt will witness the time that you left her?”

“My aunt has come here already to testify but Rathend says this matters little. No one disputes that I went to see my aunt, nor that I returned that evening. They say, however, that I could have arrived back earlier, that I went straight to Scoriath, slew him, and then my child, and was going to sneak back out into the night to feign a later arrival hoping that the bodies would have been found before my return.”

Fidelma chewed her lower lip in thought.

“It seems, indeed, that Branar is then central to the argument of your guilt, for she presents us with a motive: the motive being that your relationship with Scoriath was not what you claimed it to be. If the quarrel was not between Scoriath and yourself then either Branar is mistaken, or lying. Was Scoriath seen by anyone after this alleged quarrel?”

“Of course,” Liadin said at once. “Cunobel was with Branar all afternoon while Scoriath was attending Irnan at the assembly of the clan and while I was away from the
ráth.
The assembly rose at sunset. But what of the knife and bloodied clothes in my chamber?”

“Anyone can plant such evidence. And there is an obvious contradiction there. You would hardly leave such evidence in your chamber and be sneaking back out into the night to gain an alibi, would you?”

Liadin paused to reflect on the logic and then she nodded with a faint smile.

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

Fidelma gave her an encouraging grin.

“You see? Already we find a lack of logic in the arguments against you. The case against you seems so circumstantial. Has anyone put forward an argument as to why you should want to slay your own husband and your child? Have they ascribed a motive, a reason why you argued with Scoriath and why you would have killed him and your son?”

“Rathend believes I did it in some uncontrolled fit of jealousy.”

Fidelma looked hard at her friend.

“And did you have reason for jealousy?” she asked softly.

Liadin raised her chin defiantly, a hot color on her cheeks.

“With Scoriath? Never!”

“So did he have enemies? As commander of the bodyguard, and as a foreigner in this land, he was surely bound to have created animosities. But was there anyone in particular that you know of?”

Liadin was frowning reflectively.

“None that I can name. But Scoriath became morose a few weeks ago and would not tell me what ailed him. All that Scoriath said was something I found very strange. We were talking about his giving up command of Irnan’s bodyguard. As I said, he had decided to give up the profession of warfare and farm his own land. But he was brooding and depressed. As we were talking he suddenly said, ‘I will become a farmer unless the Jewess has plans to destroy our peace.’ ”

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

“The
Jewess?
Who did he mean?”

Liadin shrugged.

“I have no idea. I know of no Jewess in the kingdom.”

“You asked him to explain, of course?”

“I did, but he laughed it away and said it was nothing but a bad joke.”

“Can you repeat exactly what he said, and the manner in which he said it?”

Liadin did so. It did not make matters clearer.

Sister Fidelma rose to her feet, her brows drawn together. Then she focused on her friend’s worried features and smiled to reassure her.

“There is a mystery here, Liadin. Something curious that itches my mind like a bug bite. I cannot yet scratch. I must investigate further. Do not worry. All will be well.”

Conn, the Tanist of the Uí Dróna, stood awkwardly in front of Sister Fidelma, occasionally shifting his weight from one leg to another, trying to maintain an expressionless countenance. He was a fair-haired and handsome man.

Seated to one side was the Brehon Rathend, who, as the law ordained, had to attend any questioning of witnesses, excepting the questioning of the accused person, before the trial. His job was to observe and not to question nor even participate unless the
dálaigh
did not abide by the rules set forth for pretrial interrogations.