Sanctuary (sister fidelma) Page 2
Brother Mongan glanced in the direction she was looking and nodded quickly. “But what formalities?” he pressed again.
“Sanctuary has to follow certain legal requirements,” she replied. “When the fugitive came here, did he properly identify himself?”
“He said he was Ulam Fionn of the territory of the shy; Echach Cobo. That he sought protection because he was being pursued and sought to escape impending harm.”
“That harm coming in what form?”
“He said that his life was in danger. He was falsely accused of murder. He told me that he had caused the death of someone but in self-defence. He said he was attacked by this person and had to defend himself. Those chasing him would not listen to reason and meant him harm.”
Fidelma regarded Brother Mongan thoughtfully. It was a different side of the story from that told by Faichen Glas.
“So you offered sanctuary to Ulam Fionn and accepted that you were legally entitled to act for him?”
Brother Mongan nodded but did not speak.
“You are prepared to confirm and guarantee that Ulam Fionn will not take advantage while dwelling in this sanctuary, that he will engage in no unlawful activity? That he will not use this as a base to ride out to bring harm or loss to anyone?”
“Of course.”
“And, as in the manner you have already informed me, all who come here are informed that the chapel has become a sanctuary and they must abide by the laws appertaining to that provision?”
“Yes,” agreed Brother Mongan impatiently.
So far, Fidelma thought, it seemed straightforward enough.
“Then I simply need to see this Ulam Fionn and speak with him.”
Brother Mongan hesitated and seemed about to protest. Then he shrugged.
“Wait here. He is nervous, so it is best that I speak with him first.”
He turned and made his way into the church. Fidelma turned and absently patted her horse’s muzzle. With a thoughtful frown she turned to where the other two horses were grazing.
Brother Mongan’s voice called from the door of the chapel.
“You may come in, my daughter.”
She walked up the path and entered the doorway of the chapel, halting for a few moments to get used to the darkness of the interior. There were a few high windows and the place was lit with candles, but it was still gloomy; shadows danced everywhere in accordance with the dictates of the flickering flames.
“You want to see me?”
Ulam Fionn was a short, thin man with close-set eyes and a beak of a nose. His voice was sharp. Fidelma could not help disliking him and then she felt guilty. She was allowing her personal prejudices to form judgments. Brehon Morann had long taught that those practising law should be free of forming such ridiculous intolerant bias.
“Ulam Fionn, I am sent here to ensure that the proper laws relating to sanctuary have been observed. I understand from Brother Mongan that they have.”
The fugitive stood without movement. He did not reply.
Fidelma sighed. She glanced around quickly.
“You have come seeking sanctuary for yourself only?”
“I am alone here.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
“Intend to do?” a slight frown crossed the man’s face.
“Sanctuary cannot be granted indefinitely. Faichen Glas, who has pursued you here, can now appeal to the abbot in whose authority this chapel comes for permission to plead your case before him and his Brehon…. You cannot stay here forever.”
“What…?” Ulam Fionn shot a startled look at Brother Mongan. Fidelma saw the religieux was looking bewildered.
“I thought the Faith guaranteed that no person could violate sanctuary,” he said stubbornly.
“Faichen Glas has to bring his witnesses and his own Brehon to argue his case in the presence of the abbot. Abbot Sionna,” explained Fidelma. “The abbot has to decide, together with Faichen Glas’s own judge, whether there is a case to be answered. He can set a time limit to the duration of the sanctuary or hand you over to Faichen Glas for trial immediately.”
“Then I am done for,” Ulam Fionn said with bitterness. “I have no witness to support me. I will be condemned on the word of the widow of Nessán, whom I killed in self-defence. And it is Nessán’s own cousin who pursues me.”
“You killed the man in self-defence? Tell me your story,” Fidelma said.
“I was taking a shortcut across Nessán’s lands, near his farmhouse, when he suddenly appeared and started to attack me. I sought to defend myself and in doing so Nessán was killed. I heard his wife start screaming ‘Murder!’ I hid, for I knew Nessán had many friends in the area and I did not. Then word came that Faichen Glas said he would cause me to pay for what I had done. He was a rich and powerful noble. I fled south.”
“But why would Nessán attack you?”
Ulam Fionn shrugged indifferently. “Give a dog a bad name. He and his kind have always disliked me. They accuse me of all sorts of things of which I am innocent. The whole world is against me.”
Fidelma had a slight feeling of guilt that she could dislike the man simply because of his looks. If she was going to be successful as a dálaigh, a pleader before the courts of the Brehons, when she left Brehon Morann’s law school, then she would have to curb any emotional prejudice such as judging on people’s looks. Looks were no measurement. What was it Brehon Morann often told his students? The tree that has handsome foliage often has a bitter fruit. The reverse was also true.
“The law is not there to take sides but to seek the truth,” she placated, feeling sorry for the man. “You should be able to find an experienced lawyer to represent you.”
“The nobles of the Echach Cobo are powerful,” complained the fugitive. “They will not rest until they have taken vengeance on me.”
“The law says that a killing in self-defence is not murder,” Fidelma reminded him.
Ulam Fionn laughed sharply. “And I must prove self-defence?”
She shook her head. “Your accusers must prove murder,” she pointed out.
“Well, I prefer not to fall into their hands to argue the matter.”
Brother Mongan coughed sharply. “That is not the way to look at things, my son,” he intoned somewhat piously. “You are safe here for a while but you must heed the counsel of this learned lawyer. When you are in a more reflective mood, you may consider what course you must follow.”
Fidelma turned to the religieux. “Thank you, Brother Mongan. I am sure that you will add your voice in advising that the best course is for Ulam Fionn to resort to the law and put his case before Abbot Sionna and his Brehon.”
“I will advise him, my daughter,” agreed the religieux. “Is there anything else that I can assist you with?”
Fidelma thought for a moment.
She had carried out the legal requirements, but she had a strange feeling of dissatisfaction. She did not really want to leave. She wondered if it was because, should Ulam Fionn be truthful in his claim, and it was certainly a possibility, then she ought to help him resolve the matter. After all, she knew some powerful families could find ways to thwart justice, and if it was a case of self-defence then she did not wonder that the man was afraid to seek resolution in the law.
She glanced round the interior of the chapel.
“Are you comfortable here?” she suddenly asked. “It must be cold and draughty living in this old chapel.”
“I get by,” replied the fugitive, curious at her sudden concern.
“Do not bother yourself on that account, daughter,” began Brother Mongan. “There is a small cellar below the altar where there is warmth and comfort. We…”
He suddenly cut off and dropped his eyes.
“I am comfortable enough,” Ulam Fionn added quickly.
“Then I need hear no more,” Fidelma said, as if making up her mind. “Everything seems in order.”
Brother Mongan accompanied her to the door of the cha
pel.
“Is this the first time that you have had to offer sanctuary to a fugitive?” she asked at the door.
“It is,” replied the other, seeming relieved by her approval.
“It is difficult to know what to do, to make sure we follow the law,” she went on. “I suppose you have read the Cáin Snádud?”
Brother Mongan frowned slightly. “The what?”
“The law of legal protection.”
He shook his head. “I am no scholar, my daughter. I leave interpretation of the law in the hands of good people like yourself. I am merely concerned with issues of the Faith.”
“Of course,” Fidelma replied. “But you did seem to know and obey the legal requisites.”
“I knew the basic rules, of course,” replied the religieux. “What one of us in authority over a chapel or an abbey would not know those?”
“Indeed. And you are fortified by the fact that the Faith also offers such sanctuary so that it does not conflict with the civil law.”
“Just so, just so.” Brother Mongan smiled.
“What is it that Scripture quotes that gives the foundation for the bestowal of sanctuary? Nescitis quia templum Dei estis et Spiritus Dei habitat in vobis … ?”
“Just so, just so,” agreed Brother Mongan again.
“From Paul’s letter to the Hebrews, I think.”
“You are very learned, my daughter,” Brother Mongan agreed gravely. “I wish you a safe journey back to the school of Brehon Morann.”
Fidelma raised a hand in farewell, then mounted her horse and rode away.
Two days later she was seated before the fire in the chamber of the Brehon Morann and sipping a glass of mulled wine, which the chief professor had offered her.
“I congratulate you, Fidelma. But how were you able to resolve this matter?”
Fidelma examined the fire pensively for a moment, as if the dancing flames would help her clarify her thoughts.
“It was not hard.” She spoke slowly. “Mostly, I suppose, it was merely a guess.”
Brehon Morann snorted sceptically.
“A guess? Do you realise what might have happened if your guess had been wrong? There should be no guesswork in law.”
“I did not think it was wrong at the time,” she said calmly.
“You have a legally trained mind. Take me through the process that produced the result.”
“I first went to see Abbot Sionna, as you told me. While speaking to me, he mentioned in passing that Brother Mongan was a scholar. A copyist of the Pauline letters, among other works.”
“And so?”
“When I arrived at the chapel, I saw that there were two horses tethered outside. As you know, a religieux does not own or ride a horse unless he’s of special rank or privilege. Brother Mongan had no such rank. The abbot told me Brother Mongan was the son of a poor farmer. So I wondered why two horses were there. Ulam Fionn said he was there alone. Then I recalled Faichen Glas saying he suspected Ulam Fionn had fled in this direction to join his cousin, Ulpach. I began to suspect that the other horse was that belonging to Ulpach.
“Having cleared up the matter of the legality of the sanctuary, I thought I would take the matter a step further and ask to see Ulam Fionn, to see if Ulpach was also sheltering in the chapel. He was not. Only Ulam Fionn and Brother Mongan were there. They swore that Ulam Fionn was the only one seeking sanctuary there. But what made me even more suspicious was when I asked about the comfort of residing in the chapel. Brother Mongan was about to talk about the cellar under the chapel and how comfortable it was. He caught himself in time, and Ulam Fionn tried to pass over his mistake quickly enough. I went along with it. My guess was that there was something in the cellar that they did not want me to see.”
Brehon Morann looked at her carefully.
“Suspicions only? Guesswork only? You needed more than that to do what you did.”
Fidelma smiled softly.
“I needed only the confidence of my interpretation of what my ears heard and my eyes saw. Abbot Sionna said that Brother Mongan was a scholar. When I congratulated him on his knowledge of the law and said he must have read the Cáin Snádud he replied that he did not know it and that he was no scholar at all. So I quoted a line that is to be found in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians-the line that says “Know you not that you are in the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” I quoted the line in Latin. It is the scripture that is often used to support the concept of sanctuary, for one cannot use violence in the temple of God. But I said it was from the letter to the Hebrews. Brother Mongan congratulated me on my knowledge.”
“Ah, and were he a scholar and copyist of the letters of Paul, he would have known better.”
“Exactly so.”
“So you rode back to Abbot Sionna?”
“And he sent the abbey’s Brehon and half a dozen stout members of the abbey. They went into the chapel, took hold of Ulam Fionn and his companion, and found in the cellar below the trussed-up form of the real Brother Mongan.”
“With the fake Brother Mongan turning out to be…?”
“Ulam Fionn’s cousin, Ulpach,” she ended triumphantly.
“A sad tale. Had Ulam Fionn and Ulpach sought genuine sanctuary, it probably would have been granted and they would have been safe.”
“Unfortunately, they trusted no one other than themselves. They were liars and thieves and could not conceive of having confidence in the good intentions of others, let alone depending on them. They did not even bother to ask Brother Mongan to grant them sanctuary.”
“I presume that Brother Mongan told Ulpach the rudiments of sanctuary law.”
“Ulpach forced Brother Mongan to confirm the basic requirements, but it was obvious to me that Ulpach did not know those things he should have known. He did not know that there is a limitation on sanctuary that applies to those accused of taking a person’s life, nor that the abbot has eventually to resolve the granting of sanctuary given by one of his clerics. That surprised the fake Brother Mongan and confirmed to me that it was Ulpach.”
Brehon Morann was thoughtful.
“So Faichen Glas will be taking Ulam Fionn and his cousin Ulpach back north to the lands of the shy; Echach Cobo?”
Fidelma grimaced. “There is, of course, the attack and imprisonment of Brother Mongan to be dealt with, and the New Faith will doubtless have something to say on that before they hand the culprits over to Faichen Glas.”
Brehon Morann smiled indulgently at his young pupil.
“You have much promise, Fidelma. Indeed, you have promise of becoming a fine lawyer. But you relied on guesswork. Consider this … you might have been wrong in your interpretation of these events.”
Fidelma shrugged. “Yet as it turned out, I was not. I was confident in my own ability. I have heard it said, ‘The confident person may succeed, but the person who hesitates may lose all.’“
Brehon Morann knew that he had often quoted the proverb to his students. He smiled sadly.
“Proverb for proverb, Fidelma. ‘The end of the day is always a good prophet.’“
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