“But Fergal did not have a tinnscra to offer. He is one of our order and took a vow of poverty.”
“Congal says there was no question of marriage. Fergal just mesmerized and played with the affections of Barrdub until she became too troublesome to him.”
“Mesmerized?” Fidelma frowned. “An interesting choice of word, Rimid.”
“It is true.”
“Did you rebuke Barrdub about her relationship?”
Rimid hesitated and shook his head.
“I was blind. I did not know what was going on behind my back until the day before the murder.”
“How did you find out?”
“Congal told me. I met him on the road that evening with anger in his face. Barrdub had told him that day.”
“And when did you know about her death?”
“I was going to Fergal’s bothán that morning to have it out with him when I met the Brehon and Congal on the path and they told me of Barrdub’s death. Two men were carrying Barrdub’s body on a litter and Fergal had been arrested for the crime.”
Fidelma glanced quickly to the Brehon for confirmation and he nodded.
“How long have you been a herb gatherer, Rimid?” Fidelma suddenly asked.
“Since I was a boy,” the man replied, hestitating slightly at her abrupt turn of tack.
“Did you, or Iland the herbalist, supply herbs to Brother Fer-gal?”
“I did not, but I knew that Iland did. I gather herbs for Iland. Fergal suffered from want of breath and took herbs for the condition.”
“Was that well known?”
“Many knew,” replied Rimid.
“Barrdub knew?”
“Yes. She mentioned it to me once when we were at religious service.”
“Congal? Did he know?”
Rimid shrugged. “Many knew. I do not know who specifically did or who did not.”
Fidelma paused and then smiled.
“I am finished.” She turned to the Brehon. “I am now prepared to plead before the court tomorrow.”
Most of the clan of the Eóghanacht of Cashel were assembled in the great hall of the chieftain. The chieftain, Eóghan himself, sat on the right-hand side of the Brehon, who would sit in judgment. It was law and courtesy to consult with the chieftain of the clan when judgment was made.
Brother Fergal stood before the Brehon and the chieftain, a thickset and muscular clansman at his shoulder, with sword and shield, to keep order. Fergal was placed before a small waist-high wooden bar which was known as the cos-na-dála, the foot of the court, from which all accused before the Dál, or court, had to plead.
To the right of this was a small platform which had been erected for the prosecution’s advocate or dálaigh; a thin, sharp-faced man. To the left, on a similar platform, sat Sister Fidelma, hands demurely folded in her lap, yet her clear green eyes missing nothing. The witnesses had been summoned and the Dál was crowded with the men and women of the clan, for never in the memory of the village had a member of the religieux been charged with the heinous crime of murder.
The Brehon, calling for silence, asked Brother Fergal if he accepted Sister Fidelma as his advocate for it was, according to ancient law, Fergal’s right to conduct his own defense. Brother Fergal shook his head and indicated that Sister Fidelma would speak for him.
The prosecution then delivered his case in the manner which the Brehon had already advised Sister Fidelma.
There was a murmur of expectation as Sister Fidelma finally rose to address the Brehon.
“Brother Fergal is innocent of this crime,” she began in a loud compelling tone.
There was silence among the people.
“Do you dispute the evidence?” asked the Brehon, smiling slightly now. “Remember, I went with Congal and discovered Barr-dub’s body lying in Brother Fergal’s bothán with Fergal asleep on his bed. I saw the blood on his clothes.”
“I do not dispute that,” Fidelma assured him. “But that in itself is no proof of the act of murder. The events as the prosecution describes them are not in contention, only the manner of their interpretation.”
Rimid let out an angry protest from the well of the court.
“Fergal is a murderer! She only seeks to protect one of her own!”
The Brehon gestured him to silence.
“Continue with your defense, Sister Fidelma.”
“Brother Fergal suffers from asthma. He is known to take herbal remedies to relieve his condition. This was known to several people. That night he returned to his bothan exhausted. He usually lit a fire of stramóiniam leaves and inhaled them before bed. But sometimes, when he was too exhausted, took a drink of an infusion of similar herbs.”
Brother Fergal was staring at her.
“Fergal, did you inhale or drink the herbs that night?”
“I was too tired to sit up and prepare the inhalation. I always kept a kettle with an infusion of herbs ready. So I merely heated and drank a measure.”
“And you knew no more until the morning?”
“Nothing until I was awakened by the Brehon and Congal,” agreed the monk.
“You slept soundly. Is that usual?”
Brother Fergal hesitated, frowning as if he had not considered the matter before.
“Unusual. My chest often troubles me so that I wake in the early hours and must ease it with more of the infusion.”
“Quite so. You slept unusually soundly. So soundly that someone could enter your bothán without disturbing you? As, indeed, did the Brehon and Congal. You had to be shaken awake by both of them or you would not have known of their presence.”
The court was quiet and the Brehon was looking at her with curiosity.
“What are you suggesting, Sister Fidelma?”
“I suggest nothing. I present evidence. I took a wooden vessel from Brother Fergal’s bothan in your presence and gave it to you as evidence.”
The Brehon nodded and indicated the wooden vessel on the table before him.
“This is so. There is the bowl.”
“Is this the vessel from which you drank, Fergal?”
The monk examined the vessel and nodded.
“It is mine. There is my name scratched on its surface. It is the vessel from which I drank.”
“There remains some liquid at the bottom of the vessel and I tasted it. It was not an infusion of stramóiniam.”
“What then?” demanded the Brehon.
“To please the court, we could call Hand, the herbalist, to examine it and give his opinion. But the court knows that I am an Anruth and qualified in the knowledge of herbs.”
“The court accepts your knowledge, Sister Fidelma,” replied the Brehon impatiently.
Fidelma bowed her head.
“It contains the remains of an infusion of lus mor na coille together with muing.”
“For those not acquainted with herbs, explain what these are,” instructed the Brehon, frowning.
“Certainly. The lus mór na coille, which we call deadly nightshade, is a powerful sedative inducing sleep, while muing, or poison hemlock, if taken in large doses can produce paralysis. Any person knowledgeable about herbs will tell you this. By drinking this infusion, Brother Fergal was effectively drugged. He slept the sleep of one dead and was oblivious to everything. It was lucky that he was aroused at all. It may well be that whoever provided him with the potion did not expect him to ever awake. Brother Fergal would simply have been found dead, next to Barrdub. The conclusion would have been that he killed her and then took this poisonous mixture in an act of remorse.”
She paused at the disturbance which her words provoked. Brother Fergal stood staring at her with a shocked, pale face.
The Brehon, calling for silence, then addressed himself to Fidelma.