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‘I need to sit in judgment today,’ Crón replied. ‘Minor cases I may judge even if my mother does not approve of my knowledge of the law.’

  It was true that a chieftain could act as judge in insignificant cases if they had no Brehon at hand to help them.

  ‘What manner of case?’

  ‘Nothing that would concern you,’ Crón replied immediately. Then she caught herself and conceded. ‘A case of animal trespass. One farmer of our community claims damages against another farmer of our community. It is a matter that needs to be dealt with immediately for the litigant is in great anger.’

  Animal trespass cases were common enough. Damage to either land or crops by the domestic animals of a neighbour was a major source of legal action in any farming community. Neighbouring farmers usually exchanged fore-pledges called tairgille to cover potential injury by animal trespass.

  In most walks of life the law relied on the use of a pledge to ensure that legal obligations were carried out. Even in Fidelma’s own office, being regarded as a professional judge, she had to place, with the chief judge or Brehon of the district, a pledge of five ounces of silver in case of dispute with her judgment. For if her judgment was found faulty by the chief judge, then she had to compensate those she had wronged by a false judgment. The confiscation of her pledge only happened if the litigant expressed dissatisfaction within a given period with her judgment and the chief judge then found her to be at fault. If a judge refused to put up this pledge then they were debarred from further practice in the territory.

  It was certainly a trivial matter and one that Crón could adequately deal with. Fidelma was about to make her excuses and leave when a sudden suspicion occurred to her. She swung back hurriedly.

  ‘Is one of the litigants a farmer called Muadnat?’

  Crón stared at her in surprise.

  ‘Do you have second sight, sister? What do you know of Muadnat?’ she demanded.

  Fidelma knew from her startled expression that she was right. Obviously Crón did not know that Fidelma had been Brehon at Lios Mhór. So this was why Muadnat had appeared at the chieftain’s rath.

  ‘Did you know about Muadnat’s case against his kinsman Archú?’

  Crón pursed her lips as if this helped her recall a memory. She nodded slowly.

  ‘I know only what local gossip tells me. Muadnat was forced to appear before a Brehon in Lios Mhór and lost a farm that he was claiming.’

  ‘I was that Brehon,’ Fidelma announced. ‘It was while I was in Lios Mhór that I received word from my brother to come here.’

  The blue eyes of the chieftainess regarded her curiously. Fidelma continued.

  ‘Against whom does Muadnat enter into litigation?’

  ‘With Archú again.’

  Fidelma’s mind worked quickly.

  ‘Can you tell me the details of his argument?’

  For a moment it seemed that Crón might refuse and then she appeared to think better of it.

  ‘I think there is a case to be answered by Archú,’ she said defensively.

  ‘But the details?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Simple enough. Since Archú took over the disputed farmstead by the Black Marsh, he became a neighbour of Muadnat, for Muadnat’s lands stretch by his. Muadnat claims that Archú, through malice and neglect, allowed his pigs to stray at night across his boundary fences where they inflicted damage to Muadnat’s property. What is more the animals defecated in Muadnat’s farmyard.’

  Fidelma took a slow breath and exhaled as she considered the matter.

  ‘In other words, if Muadnat speaks the truth about his claims against Archú, then he will be able to demand a great compensation from him?’ she asked.

  Crón’s face indicated that this was obvious enough.

  ‘Muadnat has already pointed that out to me.’

  Fidelma was cynical.

  ‘So Muadnat has already checked the law?’

  ‘What are you implying?’ demanded the young tanist sharply.

  ‘I am simply making an observation, not implying anything. It is true, however, that if through malice and neglect the animal trespass did happen then the owner of the animals is regarded on the same level as human trespass; if that trespass takes place at night, it doubles the level of the fine; that the animals defecated further increases the amount of compensation. In other words, Archú would have to pay a substantial amount in compensation to Muadnat.’

  Crón agreed.

  ‘Probably half or more of what his farm is worth,’ she said. ‘Unless he has additional value in livestock than just the value of the farm, he will doubtless lose the farm.’

  ‘And we both know that he has not,’ replied Fidelma tightly. ‘Muadnat will settle for nothing less than the farm.’

  ‘I believe that is the law.’

  Fidelma thought carefully before speaking again.

  ‘As chieftain-elect, it is your right and responsibility to sit in judgment in your clan territory – and you may sit alone when there is no Brehon available.’

  ‘I am aware of my rights and duties.’ Crón’s eyes narrowed a little in suspicion.

  ‘I mean no offence when I ask you, to what level have you studied law?’

  ‘I have studied only the Bretha Comaithchesa, the Law of Neighbours, for we are a small farming community and this is the law that most applies here. But I am not qualified in law. I studied at Lios Mhór for only three years to the level of Freisneidhed.’

  Fidelma nodded slowly. The degree of three years of study was one which most chieftains in the five kingdoms could boast of obtaining. Chieftains had to be educated for they had to fulfil many duties and being a judge of the tribal court was one of them. She realised that Crón was regarding her with some hostility. She would have to be diplomatic, as Eadulf had implored her to be, for her relationship with Crón was already a difficult one.

  ‘Would you allow me to sit with you and advise in this case?’

  Crón flushed, thinking some insult was meant.

  ‘I think I am capable of making judgment in this matter,’ she responded protectively. ‘I have sat and watched my father make judgments many times.’

  ‘I did not say that you were not capable,’ Fidelma replied in a pacifying tone. ‘But I have a feeling that there is something more here than a simple case of trespass. Remember, I have seen Muadnat attempt to use the law to dispossess Archú before.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that make you biased in your judgment?’ Crón asked, trying hard to repress the hint of a sneer.

  ‘Perhaps I am biased,’ agreed Fidelma benignly. ‘But what I suggest, however, is that you make the judgment, while I merely am seated at your side to advise you on any matters of law. I promise you that my advice will be strictly on matters of law.’

  Crón hesitated, wondering if there was some hidden meaning to Fidelma’s offer.

  ‘The judgment is mine to make?’

  ‘You are the chieftain-elect of the Araglin,’ acknowledged Fidelma. ‘You will make the judgment.’

  Crón thought for a moment. It was true that Fidelma, as a dálaigh qualified to the level of anruth, one degree below the highest awarded in the five kingdoms, could simply demand to take her seat in judgment. That was the law for, in a place where there was no permanent Brehon, a visiting judge could, depending on their degree of office, outrank a minor chieftain. That Fidelma had asked permission merely to sit and advise was clearly her way of showing that she did not wish to interfere with Crón’s authority.

  ‘What could be wrong with Muadnat’s plea?’ Crón demanded, still defensively.

  ‘That remains to be seen. Muadnat was bitter when the law was pronounced against him and he lost the farm to young Archú.’

  Crón accepted this.

  ‘Do you think that Muadnat has concocted this charge then?’

  ‘As you will sit in judgment on him, it is better, perhaps, if I kept my thoughts to myself,’ Fidelma immediately replied. ‘But let me sit with you and I will advise you mer
ely on the law, and you will judge the facts. My words will be on law, no more. You have my oath on it.’

  ‘Then, to that I agree.’ For the first time in the presence of Fidelma, Crón gave what appeared to be a genuine smile of friendship.

  ‘What time is Muadnat to present himself before you?’

  ‘At the midday hour.’

  ‘Then I will go and tell Eadulf.’

  ‘He is an interesting man, that Saxon of yours,’ Crón observed slyly.

  ‘Of mine?’ Fidelma arched an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Eadulf belongs to no woman or man.’

  ‘You appear friendly enough,’ Crón replied. ‘Surely, the handsome brother does not believe in the ideas that Father Gormán teaches about the servants of God, male and female, remaining in celibacy?’

  Fidelma found herself flushing.

  She realised that although she had debated all the aspects of Roman teaching with Eadulf they had never touched on the concept of celibacy. While Rome made no hard and fast rule on the celibacy of the religious, it was true that there was a growing number of the clergy who believed in the idea that members of the religious should not cohabit or marry. It was surely such an alien idea to human beings that it would never be accepted.

  She found Crón watching her with some amusement.

  She thrust out her chin.

  ‘Brother Eadulf and I have been friends, and friends alone, since we met at the council held at Hilda’s abbey in Northumbria. That is all.’

  It was clear that Crón treated the assurance with some scepticism.

  ‘It is nice,’ she observed meaningfully, ‘to have such a friend.’

  ‘Speaking of friends,’ Fidelma returned slyly, ‘I must find Dubán.’

  ‘What is so important that you need speak with him so urgently?’ queried the tanist.

  ‘Have you heard of Gadra?’

  Crón looked surprised.

  ‘Why do you wish to know about Gadra?’

  ‘So you do know him?’ pressed Fidelma eagerly.

  ‘Of course. I have not seen him since I was a tiny girl. I can just remember him. He lived at Teafa’s cabin for some years. But he went away again. He is a hermit. Nowadays the young ones think he is just a bogeyman. Because he is a hermit who vanished into the hills, some people use him as a means of scaring children into obedience.’

  ‘Do you know where Gadra may be found?’

  Crón shook her head.

  ‘I doubt if he still lives.’ She shrugged. ‘But if he does then it would take a brave person to go in search of him for it was said he refused to acknowledge the Faith and consorted with evil.’

  ‘Consorted with evil?’

  Crón nodded seriously.

  ‘He clung to the faith of our pagan ancestors and they say that this was why he withdrew into the vastness of the dark mountains.’

  There was a movement behind Fidelma and she turned to see the middle-aged warrior enter self-consciously.

  Dubán glanced from Fidelma to Crón quickly, trying to feign surprise at finding them together, and then raised a hand in salute to his tanist. Fidelma was aware that anyone who could act with such duplicity might well be able to be equally evasive in other matters.

  ‘The talk is of lack of success in your venture, Dubán.’ Crón greeted him with a slightly querulous voice as if she had not seen him previously that morning.

  The big warrior grimaced, an expression which summed up the futility of his search.

  ‘We scoured the hillside for miles but there was no sign of the raiders. Two cows were driven off from the farmstead of Dioma. We followed the tracks as far as the borders of the Black Marsh but lost them in the forest.’

  Crón was clearly troubled by this.

  ‘I cannot remember the last time when brigands were allowed to raid our valley with impunity. They must be dealt with. Our honour is at stake.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ muttered Dubán. ‘As soon as I have gathered a fresh band of warriors …’

  ‘It is futile now. Anyway, we have the legal hearing to consider. Sister Fidelma has suggested that she might sit with me. I have agreed. I have also told the sister that you will be able to help her with some information about old Gadra.’

  Crón swung away and left the assembly hall leaving Dubán with an uncertain expression on his face.

  ‘What does she mean?’ he asked awkwardly after a moment or two. ‘About Gadra, that is?’

  ‘I am told you knew Gadra.’

  ‘Gadra the Hermit,’ Dubán acknowledged. ‘Yes, I did but that was twenty years ago. He is dead.’

  Fidelma had a sinking feeling.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Dubán rubbed his chin reflectively.

  ‘Not sure. But I have not seen him since I left Araglin when I was young. He must be dead.’

  Fidelma clung to her course of action.

  ‘Crón said she saw him when she was a young girl; that he came to stay with Teafa in the rath. If he were still alive, would you know where he might be found?’

  Dubán indicated with a jerk of his head upwards.

  ‘Up in the mountains, to the south. There is a little valley where he used to dwell.’

  ‘Would you take Brother Eadulf and myself to where he might be found?’

  Dubán looked confused.

  ‘After all this time. He is probably dead,’ he repeated.

  ‘But you don’t know for sure?’

  ‘No. But the journey will doubtless be wasted. It is nearly a day there and a day back.’

  ‘Will you take us?’

  ‘I have my duties …’

  ‘Crón seemed to indicate that she had no objections to your taking us.’ Fidelma felt that she was not distorting the truth. ‘Or is it that you have some other objections?’

  ‘But why would you want to see old Gadra? Even if he is still living, he will be an old man. What would he know that would be of help to your investigations?’

  ‘That is more my concern than yours, Dubán,’ she replied firmly.

  Dubán was reluctant but finally said: ‘When would you want to leave?’

  ‘If the court reaches a conclusion soon, we could set out this very afternoon.’

  Dubán tugged at his beard thoughtfully.

  ‘The journey will mean at least one overnight encampment, even if we do find Gadra,’ he repeated.

  ‘I am used to travel,’ Fidelma said pointedly.

  Dubán spread his arms in resignation.

  ‘After the court reaches its conclusion then. If Gadra lives then we must respect his right to be a recluse. Only I will accompany you and the Saxon brother. No one else.’

  ‘It is agreed,’ Fidelma confirmed as she left the hall.

  Outside, she came face to face with Archú’s sweetheart, Scoth. The young girl’s face lightened as she recognised Fidelma and she caught at both the hands of the religieuse.

  ‘Oh, sister! I prayed that you would not have left here. We stand in great need of your help.’

  Fidelma was sympathetic.

  ‘So I have heard. Is Archú here to answer the new charges?’

  ‘He has gone to find accommodation for us.’ Scoth was tense and unhappy.

  Fidelma quietly took the girl by the arm and guided her towards the guests’ hostel.

  The young girl gave a painful smile.

  ‘Muadnat is like a battle scavenging crow, waiting for the right moment to swoop on us. We felt that our only hope was if you were still at the rath.’

  ‘Well, I am here.’

  ‘Thank God! Had Muadnat been a more careful man he would have discovered this fact. But he was so greedy to seize possession of the land that he came racing to the rath little realising that he could have to face your judgment again.’

  Fidelma shook her head.

  ‘He doesn’t face my judgment. It is Crón, your tanist and chieftain-elect, who sits in judgment here.’ Scoth looked aghast and halted in mid-stride, turning to Fidelma.

  ‘
But you must sit in judgment. You cannot abandon Archú,’ she wailed. ‘Crón will look after her own!’

  ‘I have not abandoned anyone, Scoth. Am I to presume, from what you say, that Muadnat has invented this charge of animal trespass?’

  ‘No, he has not.’

  It was Archú who spoke and Fidelma turned to find the young man standing behind her.

  Fidelma digested his admission.

  ‘Then I am sorry to see you in this plight, Archú,’ she replied sadly.

  ‘But you can intervene and dismiss the charge,’ Scoth insisted, desperation in her voice.

  ‘Scoth!’ Archú was sharp. ‘Sister Fidelma is bound by oath to the courts.’

  They were standing outside of the guests’ hostel and Fidelma gestured for them to precede her inside. Eadulf came forward and greeted them with an exclamation of astonishment. Fidelma explained to him the news before turning to Archú.

  ‘Tell me the truth. You say that Muadnat has not made up this charge against you? That his claim is true?’

  Archú was flushed. He gestured helplessly.

  ‘He is too cunning to make up such a charge.’

  Fidelma was silent in thought for a moment.

  ‘Then you realise what this means?’

  Archú was bitter.

  ‘It means that Muadnat, my dear cousin, will reclaim what momentarily belonged to me. He will take back my mother’s farmstead. I will be landless once more.’

  Chapter Ten

  The proceedings were formal. Crón was wearing a long parti-coloured cloak of office over her dress of blue silk. It was fastened with an ornate gold brooch. Fidelma was amused to see that she wore doeskin gloves on her hands. Among many clans, it was the practice of chieftains to wear parti-coloured cloaks and gloves as badges of office when giving judgments. Fidelma noticed that Crón had been careful, in her dress, her toilet and her choice of perfume for the scent of lavender filled the air. Obviously, Crón took her role as chieftain-elect with seriousness.

  Crón sat in her chair of office in the hall of assembly. Beside the ornately carved wooden chair a second chair had been placed on the dais for Fidelma. Dubán stood in front of the platform, slightly to one side, in his official capacity of commander of the guard, while those engaged in the litigation were seated on wooden benches which had been brought forward in front of the dais. Muadnat, with the dark, lean-faced companion who had been at Lios Mhór, were seated to the right while Archú and Scoth were seated to the left with Eadulf. Warriors of Dubán’s guard had taken up strategic positions at the rear of the hall. As she came into the hall, Fidelma noticed that Father Gormán was seated towards the back.