Whispers of the Dead (42 page)

Brother Corbb had been Brehon Spélan’s clerk for many years. He did not look prepossessing but Fidelma knew that he understood his job thoroughly and was as well versed in law as many who had qualified.

“Has Brehon Spélan told you that he has asked me to hear this case of death by neglect in his absence?” she opened.

The thin-faced man inclined his head. It was a swift almost sparrow-like movement.

“He has, lady.” Brother Corbb preferred to ignore her religious office and address her as the sister to Colgú, King of Muman.

“I am told it concerns a death in fosterage. Who is the plaintiff?”

“Fécho is the father of the dead child. He is a smith.”

“And the defendant?”

“Colla, a wainwright, lady, a maker of wagons.”

“Are they both in attendance in the Hall of Hearings? And all who are witness to this matter also present?”

“They are. Shall I give you the details about them?”

Fidelma shook her head.

“I do not want to prejudge anything, Brother Corbb. I will hear from the witnesses themselves and make my own interpretations and judgments as we proceed.”

“Be it as you wish, lady.”

She rose from the desk and Brother Corbb moved to the door to hold it open for her to pass through. Then with nimble movements he contrived to close the door behind her and then move back into a position to lead her into the Hall of Hearings.

There were many people there, comprising of the two extended families involved—the families of both the plaintiff and those of the
defendant. Young as well as old were included. As Brother Corbb led Fidelma into the hall and up to the raised platform on which she would sit as judge, a murmuring broke out which was quickly hushed by a movement from Brother Corbb, who banged a wooden staff on the floor to indicate the court was in session. Fidelma had put down the manuscript book and taken her seat. She examined the expectant upturned faces slowly before speaking.

“I am Fidelma of Cashel,” she announced.

“In the absence of Brehon Spélan it is I who will hear this case. Does anyone present object?”

There was a silence and she smiled dryly.

“Qui tacet consentit,”
she intoned. Silence implies consent. “Let the plaintiff or the
dálaigh
for the plaintiff stand forward and state their case.”

A man with dark hair, short of stature but well muscled, with clothes that betrayed his calling—a leather jerkin and trousers—stood up hesitantly and coughed as if to clear his throat.

“We are poor folk in Críonchoill,” he began. “We can’t afford the ten
séds
that a lawyer would cost to represent us. I will speak for my family.”

Fidelma frowned.

“I presume that you are Fécho the smith?” On receiving a gesture of confirmation, she continued: “Before you commence, I would offer a word of advice. If you do not have funds to pay for legal representation, have you considered the possible outcome of legal action? If you cannot present a good case and I find it so then you have to pay the court fees, that is the
aile déc,
which is called the judge’s fee. And if your testimony is found false against him that you accuse, you may find yourself having to pay fines and compensation.”

Fécho compressed his lips and shuffled his feet as he stood before her.

“I have discussed the matter,” he waved his hand to encompass
his entire family, “they have agreed that they will support me in this matter.”

“So long as you are aware of this fact,” Fidelma said. “I, myself, have to lodge five ounces of silver with this court to ensure that I carry out my duties as judge in an appropriate manner. If I do not, that is my loss. And if, on appeal, my decision is overturned because it is found in error, then I am fined one
cumal
—the value of three milch cows.”

She did not have to explain this but she saw the trusting and un-lettered people anxiously regarding her and felt that she had to make an effort to reassure them.

“Where is the defendant?”

The man who stood up was almost a replica of Fécho the smith, except his hair was a dirty, corn yellow. He, too, was tanned and muscular.

“I am Colla the wainwright,” he announced nervously.

“Understand, Colla, that what I have told Fécho also applies to you. If you are found guilty, you will have to pay the fines and the court costs. Do you understand?”

“I am not guilty and Fécho…”

“You will have an opportunity to speak later,” she interrupted him sharply. “I am telling you the course of the law. I presume that you have no legal representation?”

“I do not.”

“Then having warned you of the consequence, I presume your
fine,
your kindred, are prepared to pay if the case goes against you?”

“But it will not…” he began to protest.

A plump woman at his side tugged at his sleeve and said loudly: “The kindred are prepared to pay and will appeal if the judgment goes against us.”

“So long as you both understand. Colla the wainwright is classed, I see, as a chief expert wright, and his honor-price is adjudged in law as even greater than the highest grade of judge. Some twenty
séds
is
the sum. Likewise, Fécho, the smith, is similarly classed as having an honor price of twenty
séds.
”

“We know this,” interrupted Colla brusquely. “The equality of our honor prices is why we exchanged the contract for this fosterage.”

Fidelma sighed softly and indicated that the wainwright should be reseated. It was little use explaining to him the etiquette of court procedure.

“Let us hear your case, Fécho. Keep only to the facts as you know them and do not indulge in any story that you have heard or cannot prove.”

The blacksmith ran a hand nervously through his hair.

“My son was called Enda and he was seven years old. I claim he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Fidelma was startled. “I thought that this was a case of death by neglect?”

“So I thought at first until Tassach…”

Fidelma raised a hand to still him.

“Let’s us begin at the beginning. You may start by telling me how Enda came to be in fosterage with Colla.”

“As a wainwright Colla was well known to me for he often brought work to my forge. His workshop is on the far side of the hill from my forge. It occurred to me that Colla, who has several children and two apprentices whom he instructs in his art of wagon making, would be the ideal person to foster my son. One month ago we agreed on this course of action.”

“And was this fosterage done for affection or for fee?”

Fécho shrugged.

“As we have explained, we are poor here, and so we agreed that I would supply my services without cost, if Colla fostered the child and taught him his arts.”

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

“And this, you say, was agreed just a month ago?”

“It was. A week ago, Colla came to me in his wagon. He told me
that there had been an accident. That Enda, my son, had fallen into a pool near the house and drowned. That poor little Enda…”

There was a sudden catch in the man’s throat.

“Take your time,” Fidelma advised him gently.

“Tell me what created the suspicion in your mind that this was not an accident as Colla maintained?”

“Things were blurred for a while. I was so shocked, and so was my wife, who even now remains at home prostrate with grief, for little Enda was our only child. I recall that Colla had brought the body of little Enda in his wagon and I lifted it down and carried it into my
bothán.
We sat a long time before the body. Colla had left. Then it was that my cousin Tassach arrived and he said…”

“Just a moment. Who is Tassach, apart from being your cousin, and is he in this court?”

A stocky young man stood up.

“I am Tassach, learned Brehon. I am a physician as well as cousin to Fécho.”

“I see. In that case, we will interrupt Fécho’s testimony to hear what you said at this time.”

The young man gestured with his hand toward Fécho.

“I came to visit my cousin and found him and his wife kneeling before the body of little Enda, their only son. His little body was laid out on the table. They were upset; Fécho and his wife, that is. Fécho told me that the child had drowned while in the care of Colla. I was puzzled at this.”

“Puzzled? Why?”

“Because Enda swam like a fish. He was a strong little swimmer. I have seen him fight the torrents of the Siúr like a salmon racing upriver.”

“Even the strongest swimmers can sometimes have accidents and drown,” observed Fidelma.

“This is certainly true,” replied Tassach. “However, to drown in
the pool by Colla’s house would take an accident of exceptional means.”

“You speak as if you know that pool?”

“This is a small community, learned Brehon. We all know one another and know the territory of our clan as we know the interior of our own
bothán.
”

“So you were suspicious and told Fécho so?”

“Not at once. I examined the body of Enda.”

Fidelma had been forming a theory that the claim was being brought by parents motivated by grief and hurt and not able to accept the loss of their only child. But with a physician involved, the evidence was changing. Fidelma turned her undivided attention on the physician.

“And, as a physician, what do you say was the result of your examination?”

“The child had the appearance of having been immersed in water, but on the back of his skull was an abrasion, a deep cut as though he had been hit from behind with something heavy. Perhaps a rock. I believe the child was dead before he was immersed.”

Brother Corbb had to bang his staff several times to still the hubbub that had broken out from Colla and his family.

Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the physician.

“What you are saying is that the boy was murdered.”

Tassach compressed his lips for a moment.

“That is a matter that only you can decide learned Brehon. I can only report what I found. What is clear is that the boy did not fall into the pool and drown.”

“And did your findings persuade Fécho to bring this action?”

“I would not say that it was my findings alone.”

“Really? What then?”

“Obviously, as one of the
fine,
the kindred of Fécho, even though I am physician and have taken the oath of Diancecht to uphold the
honor of my profession, my word would not carry as much weight as someone who was unconnected with our two families.”

Fidelma stared at the physician in surprise. The man obviously knew the law of evidence.

“And did someone unconnected with the families of Fécho and Colla make an examination of the body of Enda?”

Tassach turned slightly to where an elderly man with long white hair rose to his feet.

“If it please you, learned Brehon, I am the physician Niall. I can confirm the findings of my young colleague, Tassach, in so far as the boy had received a sharp blow on the back of the head.”

Fidelma pursed her lips.

“It seems, in this case, it is a curious coincidence that two learned physicians were on hand at the same time as Colla brought the body of Enda to his parent’s home.”

Niall, the physician, snorted indignantly.

“I was not at hand, learned Brehon, but had to be sent for. Tassach wisely, because of his relationship with Fécho and the dead boy, and because of his concerns as to the nature of the injuries, summoned me to attend at Fécho’s forge. I arrived there about an hour later. I am well known in Críonchoill and anyone will tell you that I have no connection with either family in this case.”

Fidelma stirred a little in discomfort, rebuking herself for thinking aloud so publicly.

“In your opinion, then, Niall, the injury on the boy’s head was one that was inconsistent with a drowning accident?”

To her surprise, he shook his head.

“I thought that you agreed with Tassach?” she demanded sharply.

Niall smiled gently.

“We can each only give testimony as to what we know. I confirmed Tassach’s medical opinion that the body was more likely than not dead when he became immersed in the water. That the death was due to the blow that the child received, which not only cut him
deeply but splintered pieces of his skull. But whether this was an
accident
or not, I cannot express an opinion. I do not know the pool in which the child is said to have met his death. Were any rocks there? Was the child thrown against a rock by a surge of water? These are things that others must consider.”

Fidelma sat back, unconsciously drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.

“Very well. Let me return to Fécho.”

The smith rose again.

“You have heard the evidence of Tassach and Niall?”

“I have.”

“It was on this basis that you charged Colla with death by neglect? Death by neglect and not unlawful killing?”

Fécho spread his hands.

“Lady, I am no lawyer. I do not know what happened except that Colla brought my son home and he was dead. Colla said he had drowned. The physicians said he had not. They say some rock struck him on the head. I can only raise the questions and only Colla can provide the answers.”

There was a murmur of agreement in the court.

“Then we shall ask Colla what he has to say about this matter.”

The burly wainwright stood slowly up.

“Fécho has told you the truth in that we agreed that I would take his son Enda into fosterage and instruct him in the art of building wagons. In return for this, Fécho promised that he would do all the work I needed in terms of his smithy’s art.”

“Then proceed to how Enda came by his death. You do not deny it occurred while in your care?”

“He was in my care as fosterer when the death occurred,” agreed Colla.

“I deny that his death occurred through any neglect or any action of mine.”

He paused for a moment, as if summoning his thoughts.

“It was in the morning. My wife was washing clothes while I
went to my carpenter’s shop with my two apprentices. We were turning spokes for wheels for a cart. The young children, my daughters, Una and Faife, and my son, Maine, with young Enda, had been allowed an hour of play. My wife, having finished the washing, was going to teach them their letters.” Colla glanced at Fécho. “This was in accordance with our agreement, that Enda would be taught to read and write alongside my own children.”