‘Originally, I invited you here to register my protest that the Church has sent one of its own to deal with the matter at the request of the chief suspect. I thought you had come here to help exonerate the abbess.’
‘And now you have changed your mind?’ Fidelma caught the careful phraseology of the
bó-aire.
Adnár cast an uncomfortable look at Olcán.
‘Olcán assures me that he knows of your reputation; that you have been trusted by the High King himself as well as kings and princes in other lands. I am therefore content to leave this matter in your hands, sister, knowing that you will not exonerate where blame is due.’
Fidelma was studying the man, trying to keep her surprise to herself. That an accusation of this kind should be brought against the leader of a religious community was a matter of gravity.
‘Let me get this clear, Adnár,’ she said slowly. ‘You are openly claiming that the Abbess Draigen was responsible for the death of this young girl and the motive was to hide her own sexual partiality?’
Adnár was about to reply when Olcán interrupted.
‘No, I do not think that Adnár is making an official charge. He is pointing out an obvious course of inquiry. It appears common knowledge in these parts that the Abbess Draigen has a predilection for attractive young religieuses and encourages them to her abbey. That is no more than common gossip. Now we have a young female corpse found at the abbey. I think Adnár is advising you that it would be well to examine whether anything amiss has happened within the abbey walls.’
Fidelma was examining the young man while he was speaking. He appeared to speak with straightforward conviction and honesty but was intelligent enough to lead Adnár out of a dangerous path whereby he could stand answerable before the law for spreading dangerous stories about the abbess. Brother Febal did not appear to concern himself with the matter, continuing to pick at the food on the table. Olcán seemed merely anxious that she should know the full extent of the situation.
She sighed deeply.
‘Very well. This conversation will not go beyond these walls,’ she agreed at last. ‘In return, I will undertake to investigate closely any information that may lead to the culprit, however unpalatable it is for anyone of position and rank.’
Olcan sat back in relief.
‘That is all Adnár is concerned with, is that not so?’
The chieftain gestured affirmatively.
‘I am sure that you will find many people hereabouts to support our views of the Abbess Draigen. Brother Febal speaks as a churchman. He is extremely concerned at the stories which he hears about the abbess and is jealous for the good reputation of the Faith.’
Fidelma looked sharply at the religieux.
‘There are many stories?’
‘Several,’ agreed Brother Febal.
‘And have any of them been proved?’
Brother Febal shrugged indifferently.
‘There are several stories,’ he repeated.
‘Valeat quatum valere potest.’
He added the standard phrase when a person passes on information which has not been proved, meaning ‘take it for what it’s worth’.
Fidelma sniffed suspiciously.
‘Very well. But, if your accusation is correct, you would have to accept that many people in the abbey are in collusion with the abbess. To take this to a logical conclusion, someone else would have known if the abbess was having an affair with the murdered girl. If the corpse was a member of the abbey community, surely someone would know and, if so, there is the collusion. If not, the girl would either have been a local, in which case why has her disappearance not been reported to you, Adnár, as
bó-aire?
Or, she must have been a stranger, presumably staying at the abbey. Again, the community at the abbey would have known this.’
Brother Febal’s eyes darted quickly to Fidelma.
‘We see a sample of your deductive powers, sister,’ he said in a warm tone. ‘All my lords ask is that you use your talent fairly in finding the culprit.
Res in cardine est.’
Fidelma had begun to feel very irritated at what she saw was the patronising tone of the brother. She was also irked by his questionable Latin tags. To say that ‘the matter is on a door hinge’ was to imply that Fidelma would work out the truth soon enough. But he had prefaced his remark with a deliberate insult and she decided to take issue with Brother Febal’s suggestion that she would not undertake the investigation fairly.
‘The validity of my oath as an advocate of the courts of the five kingdoms has never been questioned before,’ she replied waspishly.
Olcán immediately reached forward and laid a consoling hand on her arm.
‘My dear sister, I think Brother Febal badly phrased his words. I believe that he merely wishes to express concern at this matter. Indeed, Adnár and I are very concerned. After all, the murder happened in the territory of Adnár, so you will agree that it is right for him, as magistrate, to show disquietude. Adnár’s allegiance is to my father, Gulban, whose interests I am forced to represent. Therefore, I also share his apprehension.’
Fidelma sighed inwardly. She knew that sometimes she could give way too easily to her prickly ire.
‘Of course,’ she responded, forcing herself to smile briefly. ‘Yet I am merely jealous of my reputation when it comes to judgments and the law.’
‘We are happy to leave the matter in your capable hands,’ Olcán agreed. ‘I am sure Brother Febal regrets if his words were ill-chosen … ?’
Brother Febal smiled ingratiatingly.
‘
Peccavi
,’ he said, placing his hand on his heart, expressing in Latin that he had sinned. Fidelma did not bother to answer him.
Olcán glossed the awkward moment.
‘Now, let us to other matters. Is this your first visit to this land of Beara?’
Fidelma confessed it was, for she had never been to the peninsula before.
‘It is a beautiful place, even in the throes of winter. It is a land of the primal beginnings of our people,’ enthused Olcan. ‘Did you know that this is the shore where the sons of Mil, the first of the Gaels, landed? Where Amairgen the Druid promised the three goddesses of the Dé Danaan, Banba, Fodhla and Eire, that the country would forever bear their names?’
Fidelma was suddenly amused at the young man’s enthusiasm for his native territory.
‘Perhaps when I am finished here I shall be able to see something more of this land of yours,’ she replied solemnly.
‘Then I will be delighted to accompany you,’ offered Olcán. ‘Why, from the side of the mountain behind us, I can point out the distant island where the god of death, Donn, gathered the souls of the departed to transport them in his great black ship to the west, to the Otherworld. Adnár also has much knowledge of the local history. Isn’t that so, Adnár?’
The chieftain bowed his head in stiff acknowledgment.
‘As Olcán says, should you wish to see the ancient sites of this land, we would be pleased to offer you our company as guides.’
‘I shall look forward to that,’ agreed Fidelma, for she did have a great fascination for the ancient legends of her land. ‘But now I should be returning to the abbey to continue my investigation.’
She rose from the table and they reluctantly rose with her.
Olcán placed his hand familiarly under Fidelma’s elbow and guided her from the feasting hall. Brother Febal seemed content to reseat himself and continue his meal without a gesture of farewell while Adnár quickly followed them.
‘It has been good to meet with you, Fidelma,’ Olcán said, as they came out on to the steps, pausing for a moment. ‘It is sad, however, that this meeting has been precipitated by such a terrible event.’ The view of the inlet was lit by the pale light of the sun. Olcán glanced across to where the Gaulish merchant vessel was anchored, the solitary ship in the bay. ‘Is that the ship in which you came from Ros Ailithir?’ he asked, regarding its alien lines with sudden interest.
Fidelma quickly sketched the mystery.
Then Adnár broke in.
‘I shall be sending my men aboard the Gaulish ship this afternoon,’ he said decisively.
Fidelma turned to him in some astonishment.
‘For what purpose?’
Adnár gave a complacent smile.
‘Surely you are acquainted with the salvage laws?’
His tone immediately drew Fidelma’s indignation.
‘If your purpose is sarcasm, Adnár, I would advise against it. It never wins an argument against logic,’ she replied coldly. ‘I know the salvage laws and still ask you on what grounds you plan to send your men to claim the Gaulish ship?’
Olcán smiled wryly at Adnár’s red-cheeked mortification.
Resentfully the
bó-aire’s
mouth narrowed.
‘I am advised on the texts of the
Mur-Bretha,
sister. I have to know such things as I am magistrate of a stretch of this shoreline. Any salvage thrown up on this sea shore belongs to me …’
Olcan turned to Fidelma with an apologetic smile.
‘Surely, he is right, sister? But in so far as the object of salvage is valued to five
séts
or cows. If it is worth more, then the excess has to be divided, one third to the
bó-aire,
a third to the ruler of this territory, my father, and a third to the heads of the major clans in this area.’
Fidelma regarded the triumphant features of Adnár and turned back to Olcán with a grave expression.
‘You neglected to add, in your reading of the sea laws, that your father would also have to give one-fourth of his share to the provincial king, my brother, and the provincial king would then have to give one fourth of that share to the High King. That is the strict law of salvage.’
Olcán chuckled loudly in appreciation of Fidelma’s knowledge of the law of salvage.
‘By my soul, you live up to your reputation, Sister Fidelma.’
If the truth were known, Fidelma had only recently read the texts of the
Mur-Bretha
while investigating the problem at Ros Ailithir. At the time, she had found that she was woefully deficient in her knowledge of the laws appertaining to the sea. Only her recent study had now made her so perspicuous on the matter.
‘So you will also know,’ Adnár added, almost slyly, in his
confidence, ‘as
bó-aire
I have to impose a fine on Ross for not immediately sending out a notice to me and the chieftains of this district that he has brought this ship as salvage into this port. That also is the law.’
Fidelma looked at Adnár’s grinning face but remained solemn. She slowly shook her head and saw his expression change into one of disconcertion.
‘You need to study your laws on the
frith-fairrgi,
or “finds of the sea”, more closely.’
‘Why so?’ Adnár demanded, his tone losing its former confidence at her calm assurance.
‘Because if you had studied the text carefully, you would see that if a man brings in a valuable article floating on the sea, which includes a ship as well as mere flotsam and jetsam, and he has salvaged that article beyond the distance of nine waves from the shore, then he has a right to it and no other person can lay claim to it, not even the High King. The ship, therefore, belongs to Ross and no other. Only if the salvage was made within the distance of nine waves from this shore do you have any claim on it.’
The length of nine waves was considered to be the length of a measure called a
forrach
and
each forrach
was one hundred and forty-four feet. So Ross’s encounter with the Gaulish ship had been well out of territorial waters and on the high seas.
The distance of nine waves had a symbolism going back to pagan times. Even now, among those who purported to believe in the new Faith of the Christ, the magical symbol of the nine waves was entirely accepted. Two years previously, when the awesome Yellow Plague was devastating the five kingdoms of Ireland, Colmán, the chief professor of the Blessed Finbarr’s college at Cork, had fled with his pupils to an island so as to place nine waves between him and the Irish mainland. He had claimed ‘pestilence does not make its way farther than nine waves’.
Adnár stared at Fidelma aghast.
‘Do you jest with me?’ he demanded, almost through clenched teeth.
Olcán saw Fidelma’s brows drawing together and disarmed her with a hearty laugh.
‘Of course she does not, Adnár. No officer of the courts will ever jest about the law. You, my dear
bó-aire,
have been misinformed about the law.’
Adnár turned his outraged gaze to the young prince.
‘But …’ he began to protest but was silenced with a quick, angry glance from Olcán.
‘Enough! The matter wearies me as I am sure it does Sister Fidelma.’ He smiled pleasantly at her. ‘We must let her return to the abbey now. You will bear in mind the advice from Adnár and Brother Febal? Yes, I am sure you will,’ he went on before she could answer. ‘However, if there is anything you wish while you are staying in our land of Beara you have but to ask. I believe I speak for my father, Gulban, as well as myself.’