She paused and Brehon Aillín took the opportunity to intervene in a mild tone. ‘I am sure that those gathered here do not need to be reminded of the basis of the Law of the Fénechus, Fidelma.’
She turned to him with a quick smile. ‘With due respect, I believe that you will find some who do need reminding. We believe that our native law has more in keeping with Christ’s teaching than those who support the Penitentials from Rome. However, I shall come to that later. I do need to outline the law a little more before I come to the main point. I would like to remind people of the
Cáin Sóerraith
, that is the law pertaining to all those who have a duty to the ruler of their clan.’
Colgú raised his head in surprise and glanced at Brehon Aillín before asking. ‘What has that to do with the matter in hand?’
‘This law, as some may know, states that a
sóerchéile
, a free clansman, has a duty to assist the lord of his clan. Whatever art or profession he follows, when his lord calls for help, he must obey on penalty of fines. If his lord wants him to help hunt down horse thieves or wolves, or protect the clan’s territories, the
sóerchéile
must obey and answer his call. He even has a duty to assist his lord in the prosecution of a blood feud. Is that not so, Saor?’
The assistant master builder jerked nervously and he licked his suddenly dry lips.
‘Do you recognise the law, Saor?’ she pressed.
‘I do,’ he answered after some hesitation.
‘And you thought you were obeying the law?’
Saor was looking confused.
‘Are you saying that it was Saor who killed Glassán?’ intervened
Abbot Iarnla nervously. ‘But he worked for Glassán. Technically, that made Glassán his lord.’
‘Not so,’ Fidelma replied before Brehon Aillín could rebuke the abbot’s intervention. ‘Glassán was not the lord of Saor’s clan. Saor was the
sóerchéile
, the clansman, called on to prosecute a blood feud. He did help his lord to kill Glassán as he was bound to do by his interpretation of the law. Therefore I have to say that Saor is exonerated from bearing the full blame for this crime of murder.’
Brehon Aillín made to intervene but Fidelma held up her hand. ‘Better if I came to the truth in my own way.’ The Brehon conceded and gestured for her to continue.
‘Glassán, as you know, was a master builder. What some of you may not have known was that he was master builder to the King of Laighin until ten years ago. Ten years ago he undertook to build a hall in stone for one of the King’s relatives in the south of the kingdom. However, he was a vain man who undertook many tasks at once. He did not fulfil his obligation and duty to the King to act as overseer on the building. Mistakes were made. The building collapsed, killing relatives of the King.’
‘Then why wasn’t he brought before the King of Laighin and his Brehon for this act?’ demanded Brehon Aillín.
‘He was,’ Fidelma replied calmly. ‘He argued that it was his assistant at the site who was to blame and not himself. This was technically true and the assistant had to pay the honour price of those who died to the families of the victims. But because Glassán tried to shift the blame for his own responsibility, the King and his Brehon dismissed him from the King’s service and ordered him to pay the court fines. Glassán went into exile in the kingdom of Connachta where he settled down among the Uí Briuin Sinna. He began to build up a reputation again as a builder.’
‘The Uí Briuin Sinna?’ Abbot Iarnla intervened. ‘But that’s where—’
‘Where your steward, Brother Lugna, comes from, yes,’ Fidelma said. ‘Brother Lugna knew of Glassán and his work before he went to Rome. When Brother Lugna returned from Rome and was given permission to rebuild this abbey in stone, he naturally called for someone he knew – he brought Glassán here as his master builder.’
‘No crime in that,’ snapped the sullen steward.
‘Of course not,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But in bringing Glassán here as your master builder it did open the path that was eventually to lead to his death.’
‘How so?’ demanded Brother Lugna.
‘We are not far from the borders with Laighin and eventually Glassán’s presence here was noted. Brother Echen, for example, is from Laighin.’
Heads turned towards the stableman who stood frowning.
‘Am I being accused of involvement in killing Glassán? I am innocent. Was it not I that actually told you about his background? ’
‘Indeed it was,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘Brother Echen had a cousin who was in charge of the stables of the King of Laighin. He knew the story of Glassán and when his presence here was mentioned in conversation, that knowledge spread to certain people. Sit down, Brother Echen, you are not to blame, although, like Brother Lugna, you also prepared the path to his death.’
‘But you have said that Glassán paid his fines to the King of Laighin and exonerated himself before the law,’ pointed out Brehon Aillín.
‘It is true that he paid fines to the King but there were members of the families of those who perished who felt that Glassán had not answered to them for the deed. He was the
person who designed the building and should have overseen the work. The relatives of the dead received no compensation from him and did not believe he had repented. Eventually, the word came to the son of the chieftain who had perished in that building. As a young man he had sworn that his role would be the
díglaid
– the person who would take vengeance on behalf of his clan. He came to this abbey, ascertained that it was, indeed, Glassán who was working here and then sent for one of his clansmen to help him. That clansman was Saor.’
She paused and looked at Saor.
‘I was told that it was not long after Saor arrived that several accidents began to happen on the building site. No one was badly injured until Eadulf went to look at the site because of something that had occurred to him. Thankfully, he had a lantern with him. As he came under a half-finished doorway, he heard a lintel being pushed. It would have fallen on his head had he not raised his lantern to discover the source of the noise. The light on his features showed he was not the intended victim. One of the two would-be vengeance-seekers recognised him in time and gave him a hard shove in the back, just as the lintel fell. The lintel missed him but Eadulf smashed his head on a wooden support which knocked him out.’
Saor was looking at the ground.
‘Am I not right, Saor? You were the person who pushed the lintel.’
The assistant master builder shrugged but said nothing.
‘I accept that you felt duty bound, under law, to assist your chieftain in pursuing this blood feud,’ went on Fidelma. ‘You told young Gúasach that you were from a clan called the Uí Bairrche in southern Laighin. That was where the building collapsed, wasn’t it? Your chieftain demanded your
help in pursuing vengeance against Glassán. Since that is the reason for your actions, you will not feel the full weight of the law.’
Saor looked up with a resigned expression. ‘It was not only that I obeyed the call of my chieftain,’ he said slowly. ‘My brother was the carpenter working on the building that fell. He was killed. I was willing and pleased to help against Glassán.’
‘So when you were called by your chieftain, you came willingly?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you for confirming that your chieftain is here with us. Was it him or was it you who paid Gealbháin, the previous carpenter and assistant master builder on this job, to leave the site so that you could present yourself to Glassán as his replacement?’
Saor’s lips compressed and he shook his head. ‘I will say no more.’
‘No matter.’ Fidelma swung round and looked at the physician, Brother Seachlann. ‘Your chieftain can speak for himself.’
The physician stood up and gave her a curious half bow.
‘I am Seachlann of the Uí Bairrche,’ he said quietly.
There were several gasps round the hall.
‘Do you deny these charges that are levelled against you?’ demanded Brehon Aillín.
Seachlann stood erect, his head held high.
‘There is no need to deny them. I am the
díglaid
and, as such, I claim that the law supports me. When the perpetrator does not compensate the victims and their families, the
Críth Gabhlach
says that the
díglaid
can pursue a blood feud even into other territories where the perpetrator might seek refuge.
I have done so and I rejoice that I have fulfilled an obligation to my family and clan.’
‘Are you, in truth, chief of the Uí Bairrche and therefore related to King Fáelán of Laighin?’ queried Colgú in surprise.
‘I am. Both my parents perished in the building that Glassán was supposed to construct. My brother, who was heir to my father, also perished, along with fifteen others of my people, including Saor’s brother. I was a young man and had newly entered the religious. I was just finishing my studies in the healing arts at the abbey at Sléibhte.
‘Glassán showed no remorse for his negligence. He claimed he should not be held responsible in any way. He complained when the King imposed the fines and exiled him, although we whose family members perished felt it was a mild punishment. Glassán was clever and he disappeared quickly and for years we could not discover where he had fled. I had been inaugurated chieftain. My
tanist
, my heir, was chosen, and so I left the affairs of my people to him while I continued in the practice of medicine. Then I heard from Brother Echen’s relative at the palace of my kinsman, King Fáelán, that Glassán was here. As you rightly deduced, Fidelma of Cashel, that is why I came.’
‘And is everything else correct as Fidelma has charged?’ demanded Brehon Aillín.
‘Everything else is correct. But, as the
Críth Gabhlach
states, I acted as the
díglaid
. I acted under the law and therefore no charge can be brought against me.’
‘Except that you may have overlooked one thing,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘In my preamble, I explained carefully what the basis of our law was. Recompense and rehabilitation. The matter of blood feud can only be enacted against an incorrigible, one who refuses to come to law and be judged. Under
special circumstances, a king’s Brehon could approve of the
díglaid
. Glassán had been judged and paid the requirements of the law.’
There was a murmuring throughout the hall and then Fidelma approached Brehon Aillín and whispered to him. He nodded slowly and she returned to her place. The murmuring dissolved to silence as the Brehon spoke.
‘There may well be exonerating circumstances, Seachlann. But a judgement cannot be pronounced as a legal finding until you have argued it before the Chief Brehon of Laighin and your King. Glassán was judged before them and paid the fines imposed on him. Technically, according to the law, he was then a free man and entitled to the protection of his freedom. My advice to my King,’ he glanced at Colgú, ‘would be to have you and Saor escorted to the King of Laighin and for him and his Chief Brehon to consider your case accordingly.’
Seachlann acknowledged the authority of the Brehon with a slight bow. ‘I am most willing to accept that course of action. Our main task here is done and I am prepared to answer for all my actions.’ He glanced at Saor who nodded slightly. ‘And so is my companion in this matter.’
Colgú leant forward to Brehon Aillín and held a whispered conversation before the judge turned to Seachlann and Saor.
‘The recommendation has been accepted. After these proceedings are over, and a record made of these events, two of the King’s warriors will accompany you and your companion to Ferna, where the King of Laighin may sit in judgement on this matter. As victims and perpetrators are men of Laighin, it is no longer in our jurisdiction and the matter is turned over to Laighin for judgement.’
Seachlann glanced to Saor and smiled encouragement before reseating himself.
Brehon Aillín sat back and looked at Fidelma. ‘Are you prepared to proceed on the other matters?’
Fidelma allowed a moment of silence. Eadulf gave her an encouraging smile.
‘I am. I am now ready to proceed in the matter of the murder of Brother Donnchad.’
‘
B
rother Donnchad was the victim of extreme virtue, or should I say intolerance disguised as virtue,’ began Fidelma. ‘He was a great scholar. Had he lived, he might have been one of the greatest scholars of the Five Kingdoms.’
‘His name will be remembered in such a light,’ came the stern voice of Lady Eithne. ‘That is why I sanctioned the rebuilding of this abbey. By these stone buildings, he will be remembered as a great teacher of the Faith.’
Fidelma allowed the murmuring to die away. Then, without looking at Lady Eithne, she said loudly, ‘Is that what he would have wanted to be remembered as?’
There was a stir of surprise among the brethren.
‘Truth is great and will prevail, so let us consider what the truth is. For some time I did not know why Brother Donnchad was killed. Without a motive, I could not present a case against the killer. Finally, I discovered that motive.’
Everyone was hanging on her words now, leaning forward in their seats in silent expectation.
‘The reason why he was killed was because he had lost his Faith.’
There was immediate uproar. Lady Eithne shouted in outrage but her words were lost in the hubbub. Abbot Iarnla was white
with shock and Brother Lugna’s features were drawn into a mask of barely controlled fury.
‘It is well known that Brother Donnchad was a great scholar of the Faith,’ Brehon Aillín admonished. ‘I cannot allow such a statement to be admitted in this court.’
Even Abbot Ségdae looked astounded at her words.
‘You can if it can be proved,’ protested Fidelma.
‘I must accept the proof, as we know it. The knowledge and respect accorded to Brother Donnchad and his known writings on the Faith constitute proof of his views and are a precedent, a
fásach
, which cannot be challenged.’
Eadulf stood up and coughed nervously. ‘I am not qualified to speak here, Brehon Aillín, but could I bring to your attention, through the
dálaigh
, that the
Uraicecht Becc
states that among the
senfásach
there is this admonition: that a Brehon cannot expect to find all truth contained in a
fásach
. It empowers the Brehon to consider any argument designed to overturn the precedent.’
Fidelma turned to Eadulf in surprise. He passed her the text and she read it rapidly. Then she approached Brehon Aillín and handed it to him. The Brehon read it, pursed his lips and shook his head.
‘I cannot accept the statement you have made without proof. But I am willing to follow this admonition from the
Uraicecht Becc
and hear your evidence, Fidelma. If you cannot prove your claim then I must impose a fine on you. Will you attempt to prove it?’
‘It shall be proved,’ Fidelma replied, ‘and in the words of Brother Donnchad himself.’
‘How can that be?’ called out Brother Lugna, with a sneer. ‘Are you going to practise witchcraft and conjure him from his grave?’
There were gasps of horror at his words and several of the brethren performed the sign of the Cross.
‘That is unworthy of you, Brother Lugna,’ snapped Brehon Aillín. ‘There should be no need to remind you of the reputation of the learned advocate in this kingdom and even beyond.’
‘I will explain,’ Fidelma said. ‘The words of Brother Donnchad were written down before his death and hidden because he feared, correctly, that someone might kill him and destroy them. They certainly did their best to do so. They removed all traces of his writings and documents from his room, just in case his words were hidden among them. Thankfully, they were not and they have survived.’
‘Do you mean to present them before us?’ asked Brehon Aillín.
‘I will do so although I am loath to as Brother Donnchad presents some disturbing arguments as to why he lost his Faith.’
There was some confusion in the
refectorium
.
‘And have you proof that they were written by him?’ pressed the judge.
‘I can present someone who can testify to the handwriting of Brother Donnchad for I have learnt that each scribe forms letters in his own way and has a particular style of writing. Further, I will present the person to whom Brother Donnchad gave this writing, with the request that it be hidden.’
There was now silence.
‘Very well,’ Brehon Aillín said after a quick consultation with Colgú and Abbot Ségdae. ‘You may sum up what Brother Donnchad said in this work on condition that the work is afterwards presented to us and verified to be his work.’
‘I can do that simply. I do not have to remind you that Brother Donnchad was a talented scholar, able to read and write several languages. The librarian of this abbey, Brother Donnán, has pointed out on several occasions that Brother Donnchad was
most interested in the works of the early believers in the Faith – indeed, in the very origins of how the Faith spread from the Holy Land across the world.’
‘That is not denied.’ Abbot Iarnla was frowning. ‘He was always interested in those origins.’
‘For Brother Donnchad, his pilgrimage to the Holy Land was a golden opportunity to further his studies. What concerned him were the references to James in the scriptures, particularly in the gospels according to Mark and Matthew, and in the epistle to the Galatians. James was said to be the brother of the Christ and executed by the Romans some thirty years after the execution of Jesus. The references were to James Adelphotheos, Brother of the Lord.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ cried Brother Lugna, standing up. ‘The name was miswritten, it was mistranscribed. The name should have been James Alphaeus, who—’
‘I cannot debate the translation,’ cut in Fidelma. ‘I do not have that scholarship. I am merely stating what Brother Donnchad said and believed. He had pored over the texts of the Faith that were translated into Latin by the Blessed Jerome who was also called Eusebius Hieronymus. Donnchad found references that confused him, references not only to James as the brother of Jesus, but also to Joses, Simon and Judas, and to sisters, one of whom was called Salome. They were all clearly identified as brothers and sisters of Jesus.’
Brother Lugna, still on his feet, began to argue.
‘Sit down, Brother Lugna,’ ordered Brehon Aillín. ‘This is not a scholastic debate.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘I am allowing these statements, Fidelma, only on the grounds that you are presenting what Brother Donnchad’s thoughts were and that these thoughts have a direct bearing on his murder.’
‘I have said as much,’ agreed Fidelma firmly. ‘I am not as
authoritative as Brother Donnchad so merely I repeat what he says. Brother Donnchad records that the relationship of those I have mentioned is termed
adelphos
throughtout the texts.
Adelphos
means brethren in the blood relationship sense. Had the writer wanted to suggest brethren as in the meaning of the brethren of this community, the word he would have used is
suggeneia
.’
She paused but no one spoke.
‘I repeat, I am no scholar in this regard. Brother Donnchad believed that he would be able to find out more when he went to the Holy Land. He made inquiries and then, when he was waiting in Sidon, which I understand is a port on the coast of the Holy Land, he began to hear stories that truly shocked him. He found that he could not even discuss them with his own brother Cathal, who remained untroubled and secure in his Faith. This he comments on in his record.
‘He heard one story that particularly distressed him. The story referred to Jesus, and we must remember Jesus is but the Greek form of the Hebrew name Yeshu or Joshua. The story was about a Yeshu ben Pantera.’
‘Yeshu was a very common Hebrew name of the time.’ This came from Brother Donnán. He glanced apologetically at the Brehon. ‘I am sorry, but I had to mention that, just in case it was thought that the name Jesus is a unique name. It’s meaning in Hebrew is “red-handed hero”.’
‘You are no doubt correct,’ Fidelma replied mildly. ‘However, Donnchad was directed to a work called the
Tosefta
, which is a collection of Jewish oral law, and in it is a reference to Yeshu ben Pantera. The text makes clear that this was none other than Jesus of Nazareth. The word “ben” signifies “son of”, as in our own word, “mac”.’
She had to wait while the cacophony of voices that greeted her statement subsided.
‘I will not go on to recount the research that a distraught Donnchad continued to conduct. I know that he was also led to a work by a Greek philosopher named Celsus who wrote that Mary, or Miriam, the original Hebrew name, was a girl who lived in Sepphoris in Galilee. The Romans marched through the town and she was raped by a Roman soldier of Phoenician birth called Abdes Pantera and bore him a child—’
There was a gasp and Brother Lugna was first on his feet, shouting, ‘Sacrilege, blasphemy!’
‘I am only recounting what Celsus wrote. I do not claim that he speaks the truth or that I agree with him,’ Fidelma went on determinedly. ‘Celsus wrote that the parents of Mary, who many other sources claim to have come from this city near Nazareth called Sepphoris, drove her out from their home in shame. But eventually Joseph, a carpenter, accepted her and her son.
‘In Sidonia, Brother Donnchad found other sources that spoke of a local man from the city called Abdes Pantera. He was an archer and he had joined the Roman army some years before the birth of Jesus and when he became a Roman citizen, he took the name Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera. It is said that his regiment took part in the destruction of Sepphoris under the command of the Governor Quinctilius Varus.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ cried Brother Lugna in outrage. ‘It is profanity against the Faith. Are we to sit here and hear our Faith insulted?’
‘Once again I say that I do not offer this as fact,’ Fidelma continued doggedly. ‘It is what Brother Donnchad discovered in his research, came to believe as fact and formed his opinion.’
‘I have already ruled that it may be presented for that purpose,’ added Brehon Aillín. ‘If understanding this leads to the discovery of who killed him, then I am prepared to hear it.’
‘Brother Donnchad discovered that the name Abdes in the language spoken in Sidonia meant a “servant of Isis”, a god of the Egyptians. Abdes joined the first cohort of archers and rose to be the standard bearer, a
signifer
. Abdes served forty years in the Roman army and Brother Donnchad discovered that his regiment, the
Cohors Primus Sagittariorum,
was stationed in Judea until Jesus was nine years old. Then the cohort was moved to the northern frontier in Germania Superior along the banks of the River Renos. Abdes was stationed in a fort called Bingium where, at the age of sixty-two years, he died and where he was buried.’
‘You say all this was written down by Brother Donnchad?’ demanded Abbot Ségdae, then he turned to the Brehon. ‘Forgive me, Brehon Aillín, I want to be absolutely sure on this point.’
‘It was,’ replied Fidelma. ‘His written account will be presented to you as evidence. I know nothing of these places or their history. All I know is that Brother Donnchad wrote this down and was influenced by it. On his return journey, when he landed at Tarentum, he bade farewell to his blood brother, Cathal, and continued his journey north. He crossed the mountains. Finally, he arrived in Bingium by way of the River Renos. There, so he recounts, he found a guide who led him to the grave of Abdes Pantera. The Latin inscription was still clearly legible. He recorded it word for word.’
‘But all this proves nothing about who killed him,’ Brehon Aillín interjected.
‘What this is meant to prove is the state of Brother Donnchad’s mind – and a motive for his killing. As I have frequently said, I do not vouch for its accuracy one way or the other. But Brother Donnchad found himself troubled by the story, which is known to the people of Judea, the story of a rape in Nazareth, mentioned
in a Jewish law text, recounted by the Phoenicians in Sidonia, and by Greek and Latin writers like Celsus. The story Celsus tells was even rebutted by Origenes who took the arguments seriously enough to argue with them. Brother Donnchad went so far as to trace the tomb of Abdes in Germania. Brother Donnchad was a great scholar. True or not, this was the matter that troubled him.
‘What he had uncovered created such doubts in his mind that he was losing his belief in the new Faith, He was a very logical man. But, at times, belief calls upon us to shed our rational minds and simply accept that which we are unable to prove.
Credo quia impossible est
, I believe it because it is impossible, as many of our priests would say. Well, faced with evidence of a rational story about Christ, Brother Donnchad found he could no longer believe what logic told him was impossible.’
There was another ripple of angry mutterings in the
refectorium
. Eadulf looked round uncomfortably. Fidelma was only presenting arguments that had caused Brother Donnchad to slip away from the Faith but to those who sincerely believed, it was as if she was preaching heresy or attacking the Faith itself.
Brehon Aillín rapped his staff of office. ‘And you maintain that his doubts provoked such anger in someone that that person killed him?’