“Are you saying that Barrdub was killed in Fergal’s bothán while he slept and he did not know it?”
“No. I am saying that the person who drugged Fergal killed Barrdub elsewhere and carried her body to the bothán, leaving it inside. That person then rubbed some of her blood on Fergal’s hands and clothes while he lay in his drugged slumber. Having created the scene, that person then departed. The murderer made several errors. He left the tell-tale evidence of the drinking vessel in which were the remains of the drugs. And he left Barrdub’s blood smeared on the side of the door when he carried her body into the bothán.”
“I recall you showing me that stain,” the Brehon intervened. “At the time I pointed out that it was probably caused when we removed the body.”
“Not so. The stain was at shoulder height. When you removed the body, it is reported that your men placed it on a litter. Two men would have carried the litter.”
The Brehon nodded confirmation.
“The highest the litter, with the body, could be carried in comfort would be at waist height. But the stain was at shoulder height. Therefore, the stain was not caused when the body was removed from the bothán but when it was carried in. The murderer, being one person, had to carry the body on his own. The easiest method to carry such a dead weight is on the shoulders. The stain was made at shoulder height when the body was carried inside by the murderer.”
“Your argument is plausible,” conceded the Brehon. “But not conclusive.”
“Then let me put this before the court. Your argument is that Brother Fergal stabbed Barrdub to death in a mad frenzy. Then, exhausted, too exhausted to take the body out of his bothán to conceal the murder, he fell asleep on his bed and was found the next morning.”
“That is as the prosecution contends.”
“Where then is the weapon?”
“What?” The word came slowly from the mouth of the Brehon, a growing doubt appearing in his eyes.
“You made no mention of a weapon, the knife by which Barrdub was stabbed to death. If you did not take it when you found Fergal that morning, it must have still been there. I searched the bothán. I found no weapon. Brother Fergal carries no such knife.”
The Brehon bit his lip.
“It is true, no weapon was found.”
“Yet a weapon must exist with Barrdub’s blood upon it.”
“Fergal could have hidden it,” countered the Brehon, realizing his fault for not instigating the search before.
“Why? Why hide the weapon when he was too exhausted to hide the body?”
“Your arguments are possible explanations. Yet if Fergal did not murder Barrdub, who did?” Before she could answer, the Bre-hon’s eyes lit up. “Ah, so that is why you were interested in the hermit Erca’s herbs? Do you contend that he did this? That he did it to harm Fergal? We all know that he hates every Christian.”
Fidelma shook her head emphatically.
“Erca hates all Christians, but he did not do this. He simply confirmed my suspicion that I had tasted two powerful drugs which could be easily obtained in the vicinity. A deeper motive lies behind this murder than simply a hatred of Christians.”
She turned and caught Rimid’s pale face. The man’s lips were trembling.
“She is trying to lay the blame on me!” he cried.
The Brehon also was looking at Rimid with deep suspicion. He demanded: “Was not your hatred of Fergal great? You said as much to us yesterday.”
“I did not do it. I loved Barrdub … I…” Rimid sprang to his feet and began to fight his way out of the great hall.
“Seize him!” cried the Brehon. Two clansmen moved forward.
But Fidelma had turned to the Brehon with shaking head.
“No, let him go. It was not Rimid.”
The Brehon frowned. Rimid, caught between the two clansmen, halted his struggles and glanced back in bewilderment.
“Who then?” the Brehon demanded in exasperation.
“Barrdub was murdered by Congal.”
There was a gasp.
“A lie! The bitch lies!” Congal had leapt to his feet in the great hall, his face pale, his hands clasped into fists.
“Congal murdered his own sister?” The Brehon was incredulous. “But why?”
“For one of the oldest motives of all. For gain.”
“But, Barrdub had no property. What gain is in this deed?”
Sister Fidelma sighed sadly.
“Congal was an impecunious man. His father had held a good position within the clan and Congal, if all went well, could have expected no less. But things were never well for Congal. He was capricious, undependable. He preferred to dream and make great plans which always went awry. He was reduced, with his sister, to living in a poor wood and mud bothán, hiring out his labor to his neighbors who were better off than he was. They pitied him. That made him bitter. All this was common knowledge. You, Bre-hon, told me as much.
“Rimid and Barrdub were in love with each other. Rimid was not possessed of great wealth. He survived as most of us do, content to earn his living. But when Rimid went to ask Congal’s ap-proval to marry Barrdub, who was not yet at the age of consent, Congal refused. Why? Because Congal did not care for his sister’s happiness. He cared for wealth. He demanded the full bride-price or tinnscra due for the daughter of a free hostel keeper of the tribe, even though both his sister and he had long fallen from that social position.”
“Yet that was his right in law,” interposed the Brehon.
“A right, truly. But sometimes rights can be a form of injustice,” replied Fidelma.
“Carry on.”
“Rimid could not afford the full tinnscra. Barrdub was indignant and made it clear to her brother that when she reached the age of consent, when she had free and equal choice, she would go with Rimid anyway. Her brother would not profit from any tinns-cra then.”
Sister Fidelma paused a moment to gather her thoughts.
“Congal had conceived the idea that his only hope to alleviate his poverty and become respectable in the tribe was to get his hands on twenty milk cows which a prospective husband would pay for the full tinnscra or bride-price. Then a new idea came into his mind. A fantastic idea. Why settle for twenty milk cows for the bride-price? If his sister was slain, the murderer or his family would have to pay compensation and that compensation was set in law at no less than forty-five milk cows, the foundation of a respectable herd and one which would make him a person of position in the tribe. But he would have to ensure that the person charged with the crime could pay such a sum.
“Then Brother Fergal appears. It is true that an individual monk is not wealthy. However, it is the law that members of the fine or family of a person unable to pay the eric or compensation become responsible for the payment to the victim’s family. It is well known that the Abbey stands in place of a family. If a member of the Abbey is found guilty of a crime, then the Abbey would be expected to pay the eric. Congal reasoned that the Abbey could well afford the forty-five milk cows that would be the compensation. Poor Barrdub’s fate was then sealed.
“Congal knew of Fergal’s ailment and means of medication. He prepared the potion, threw out Fergal’s usual mixture and substituted his own drugged brew. He reasoned that Fergal would not check the contents of his kettle before he heated the herbal drink. Then Congal saw Rimid and prepared the way further by telling him that Barrdub was smitten by Fergal, that they were in love. Finally, Congal went to find Barrdub and the rest we already know.
“He killed her, carried her into Fergal’s bothán as soon as the monk had dropped into his deep sleep, and left her there, smearing Fergal’s hands and clothes with her blood. His two major mistakes were not leaving the murder weapon at the scene and not destroying the traces of the herbs in Fergal’s bowl.”