Tressach, standing nearby, was gazing aghast at Fidelma’s handling of the wooden fé.
“Sister,” he reproached, “it is highly unlucky to handle that. And to handle the very fé that measured this tomb for Tigernmas…”
Fidelma did not reply. She rose to examine the rest of the tomb.
It was an oval-shaped chamber cut into a mound of earth with its floors flagged with stones while granite blocks lined the walls and were placed so that they formed a natural archlike structure across the entire roof. The length of the tomb was about fifteen feet, and its width a little more than twelve. Fidelma was thankful that the open doors of the tomb had allowed fresher, chill evening air to dispel the fetid atmosphere.
There was no need to ask where the remains of Tigernmas were. At the far end of the tomb, in a central position, stood an upright, rusting iron frame. In it, almost crumbled to pieces, were the remains of a skeleton. There were some fragments of clothing on it; a metal belt buckle and a rusty sword had fallen nearby. It had been the custom for the ancients to bury their chieftains and great rulers standing upright and facing their enemies, sword clasped in their dead hand. This iron cage had obviously been designed to keep the corpse upright in the burial chamber. By this method, it was said, the aura of the dead was supposed to protect the living. The skull of the skeleton had fallen to one side in the cage so that its eyeless sockets appeared to be staring with malignant force in the direction of the dead Fiacc. The skeletal grin seemed to be one of satisfaction. Fidelma felt irritated at the way her imagination interpreted these images.
To one side of the tomb were the rotting remains of a chariot. This would be the king’s most cherished vehicle, left there to help transport him to the Otherworld. Jars and containers of what had once been his favorite foods and drink stood nearby, large bronze and copper containers made by skilled craftsmen.
Fidelma moved forward and her foot caught at something. She bent down and picked up a small but weighty bar of metal. Having examined it closely by Irél’s lantern, she realized that it was silver. She set it down carefully, and as she did so she saw a few brooches scattered about. They were of semiprecious jewels set in gold mountings. Again, it was the custom to bury a portion of wealth with a great chieftain, for he would also need some means to help him in his journey to the Otherworld. Frowning thoughtfully, Fi-delma continued to examine the rest of the tomb.
By the beam of the lantern, Fidelma noticed that a small trail of blood led from a point before the iron cage of the skeleton to where the corpse of Fiacc lay before the doors. She could also see scratch marks on the granite floor.
Irél, standing beside her, articulated her thoughts.
“He was obviously stabbed while standing by the cage and then contrived to drag himself to the doors.”
Fidelma did not bother to glance at him.
“Obviously,” she replied shortly.
At the entrance of the tomb, Garbh, the keeper of the cemetery, was standing with Tressach and the other warrior, watching her progress with fascination.
“Speaking of things obvious, does it not surprise you that there is so little dust and dirt on the floor of this tomb?” she asked Irél. “It is almost as if it had been recently swept.”
Irél stared at her, wondering whether she was making a joke. But she had passed on, examining the floor and looking carefully at one of the stone slabs that made up its surface. She pointed to the scratch marks across the floor.
“Bring your lantern closer,” she instructed. “What do you make of those?”
The captain shrugged. “It is probably where the floor stones were scored by ropes while they were being dropped into place.”
“Exactly so,” agreed Fidelma quietly. “And have you noticed anything else that is curious about this sepulcher?”
Irél glanced quickly around but shook his head.
“Tigernmas, although he subsequently developed an evil reputation, is accredited as the king who first encouraged gold and silver to be smelted and works of great art to be produced in this land.”
“I have heard the stories,” replied Irél.
“And it was the custom of our people to place grave goods in the tombs, together with symbols of their wealth and power.”
“That much is well known,” acknowledged Irél, slightly irritated at Fidelma for not addressing the more urgent problem.
“Apart from a few golden brooches and a silver bar, which I see lying on the floor there as if they were hurriedly discarded, where are the riches that one would have expected to find in this tomb? It is singularly devoid of any such items.”
Irél tried to see some connection that Fidelma’s remark might have with the murder of Fiacc but failed. He was not interested in the customs of the ancients.
“Is that significant?” he asked.
“Perhaps.”
Fidelma walked back to the corpse and looked down at it once more. There was a movement outside and Abbot Colmán came hurrying back.
“Fiacc was certainly due to attend the convention tomorrow,” he confirmed. “The steward says that Fiacc and his wife, Étromma, arrived in Tara a few days ago. However, and this is interesting, there was a problem, for, the steward says, Fiacc was to be heard before the Chief Brehon to answer charges which, if proved, would have debarred him from practice as a judge.”
“A special hearing?” Fidelma had heard nothing about such a contentious matter. She cast a final look around the tomb before returning her gaze to Colmán.
“Does the steward have details of the charges against Fiacc?”
“Only that it was something to do with malpractice. Only the Chief Brehon has the details.”
“Has Étromma been informed of her husband’s death?”
“I took it upon myself to send word to her.”
“Then I think I should go and speak with her.”
“Is that necessary? She will be distraught. Perhaps tomorrow would be a more suitable time?”
“It is necessary to see her now in order to clear up this mystery.”
Abbot Colmán spread his hands in acquiescence.
“Very well. What about…?” He did not finish but gestured toward the tomb.
It was Garbh who finished the question: “Shouldn’t the body of this man be removed so that I can reseal the tomb?”
“Not for the moment,” replied Fidelma. “Irél, have a guard mounted outside the tomb. Everything is to be left as it is until I order otherwise. Hopefully, I shall have resolved the mystery before midnight. Then the tomb can be resealed.”
She left the tomb and began to walk slowly and thoughtfully back through the graves of the High Kings. She paused for a moment, waiting for Abbot Colmán to catch up with her. He had paused a moment to issue final instructions to Irél. Her eyes flickered toward the yawning pit of a freshly dug grave and suppressed a shiver. Colmán came panting along a moment later and together they walked at a leisurely pace toward the lights of the main palace complex.
Étromma was surprisingly young to be the wife of a middle-aged judge. She was scarcely more than eighteen years old. She sat stiffly but in complete control of herself. There was little sign of anguish or of grieving on her features. The cold, calculating blue eyes stared with hostility at Fidelma. The lips were thinned and pressed together. A small nerve twitching at the corner of her mouth was the only sign of expression on her features.
“I was divorcing Fiacc. He was about to be disbarred and he had no money,” she replied coldly to a question Fidelma had asked her.
Fidelma was seated before her, while Abbot Colmán stood nervously by the fire.