Whispers of the Dead sf-15 Page 6

  Fidelma considered the matter silently for a moment. Then she turned to Brother Cass.

  “Do you have someone available who could take a message to Cashel for me?”

  Brother Cass glanced at the Brehon, who frowned.

  “What do you propose, Sister Fidelma?”

  “Why, since this chart is apparently central to the abbot’s supposed guilt, I would send to Cashel for an expert witness to verify its interpretation.”

  “What expert witness?”

  “Doubtless, as someone who has dabbled in the art, you have heard of Brother Conchobar, the astrologer of Cashel? He was taught by the famous Mo Chuaróc mac Neth Sémon, the greatest astrologer that Cashel ever produced.”

  The Brehon’s frown deepened.

  “I have heard of Conchobar, of course. But do we need worry him when everything is so clear?”

  “Oh, for the sake of justice,” smiled Fidelma, without humor, “we need to ensure that the abbot has the best defense and that implies someone who is an expert in the evidence against him. You have admitted to having only an amateur’s knowledge. I also have but a passing knowledge so it is best to consult a real expert.”

  The Brehon examined her features carefully. A suspicion crossed his mind as to whether she was being facetious. Then he glanced to Brother Cass and inclined his head in approval.

  “You may send for Brother Conchobar.”

  Sister Fidelma smiled briefly in acknowledgment.

  “And if we are to take this star chart seriously as evidence,” she went on as Brother Cass departed on his mission, “then I shall want to have proof that it was drawn up by Eolang at the time it is claimed. I shall want to examine those brethren with whom he discussed it and its conclusions. And, having some slight knowledge of the art, I shall want to see it for myself.”

  Brehon Gormán raised an eyebrow.

  “It sounds as if you do not trust my judgment?” There was a dangerous quality to his voice.

  “You are the Brehon,” Fidelma replied softly.

  “When you sit in your court and pronounce your judgment, having heard all the evidence and the plea from myself, as a dálaigh defending my client, then your judgment demands and receives respect. Until that time, I shall presume that you have not made any judgment, for if you had that would have been contrary to law.”

  Her features seemed inscrutable but he noticed her green eyes glimmering with an angry fire as they returned his stare.

  The Brehon’s cheeks crimsoned.

  “I. . of course, I have made no judgment. All that I have done is point out to you that I have accepted this chart as essential evidence. Also that the people to whom Brother Eolang spoke about its conclusions are satisfactory witnesses. The chart and witnesses will be presented to the court.”

  “Do you have the chart here?”

  “I have it and written on it is testimony as to when it was written and its interpretation in the very hand of Brother Eolang and witnessed.”

  “Show me,” demanded Fidelma.

  Brehon Gormán drew a vellum from a case and spread it on the table between them.

  “Note the date and time and Eolang’s signature in the corner. You will also note that a Brother Iarlug has signed his name as witness and dated it on the same day.”

  “This Brother Iarlug is available to testify?”

  “Of course, as are Brothers Brugach, Senach and Dubán to whom Eolang spoke of his prediction. They all will testify when this chart was drawn up and when he spoke to them.”

  Fidelma pursed her lips skeptically.

  “With five of the brethren, including the victim, forewarned of the day when the abbot would commit this alleged murder, it seems a curiosity that Brother Eolang was not given protection against the event.”

  Brehon Gormán shook his head, his face serious.

  “You cannot alter fate. Fate has no reprieve.”

  “That is a concept brought to us by Rome,” Fidelma rebuked. “Our own wise men say that whatever limits us, we call fate. Fate is not something which is inevitable whether we act or not. It is only inevitable if we do not act.”

  Brehon Gormán glowered at her for a moment but she was oblivious to his stare.

  “Now, let us examine this chart. You may explain it to me, as you confess to be something of an amateur in its deciphering.”

  It took a moment or two before Brehon Gormán became involved in the task and, in spite of his antagonism to Fidelma, his voice took on an enthusiastic tone.

  “The chart is easy to follow. See here-” He thrust out a finger to the symbols on the vellum.

  Sister Fidelma bent over it, silently thanking the time she had spent with old Conchobar learning something of the mysteries of the art.

  “It seems that Eolang was so worried that he asked a question ‘Am I in mortal danger from Abbot Rígán?’ This is called a horary question and the chart is timed for the birth of the question. It is like looking at a natal chart but, in this case, it is the birth of the question.”

  Fidelma suppressed a sigh of impatience. She knew well what a horary question was. But she held her tongue.

  “It seems from the chart that Eolang was ruled by Mercury ruling the Virgo ascendant with the moon as co-ruler. His enemy, the abbot, is represented by the ruler of the seventh house, signified by Jupiter in the seventh house in Pisces.”

  “Very well. That I can follow. Continue.”

  “Brother Eolang’s first impression was that Mercury was very weak in Pisces, being in detriment and fall and also retrograde. Also Mercury was close to the cusp of the eighth house of death. Jupiter on the other hand was powerful. It was in its rulership and angular and disposed Mercury. Jupiter, importantly, also ruled the eighth house of death.”

  Sister Fidelma followed the Brehon’s pointing finger as he indicated the positions on the chart.

  “Now, see here: the moon applied to the sun, ruler of the twelfth house of self-undoing and was combust. We astrologers. .,” he smiled deprecatingly, “have long regarded this as the worst condition for any planet. The sun and moon were in the eighth house and the moon in Aries is peregrine or totally without power.”

  Fidelma now found herself struggling to understand the various angles which were depicted on the chart. Her knowledge was insufficient to discern the nuances.

  “In Brother Eolang’s interpretation, what did all of this mean?” she asked.

  “All these indications told Brother Eolang that he was powerless against Abbot Rígán. It told him that he would suffer death at the abbot’s hands either by drowning or poisoning. Drowning was more likely with Pisces being a water sign. And, see, Jupiter in Pisces indicates a large, powerful man, religious and well respected in the community. Who else did that identify but the abbot?”

  “And from your knowledge, you find this interpretation acceptable?” Fidelma asked curiously. Certainly, from her own limited knowledge of how astrologers worked, she could see no flaw in his presentation.

  “I accept it completely,” affirmed Brehon Gormán.

  “Very well. Let us now send for these witnesses to see what they have to say. Firstly, Brother Iarlug who signed the chart as a witness to its provenance.”

  Brother Iarlug was thin and mournful and had no hesitation in verifying that he had witnessed Eolang drawing up his chart. Eolang had also explained what the chart portended. That within the week Eolang would be dead and at the hands of the abbot.

  “Why, then, was nothing done to protect Eolang if he believed this knowledge,” demanded Fidelma, not for the first time.

  “Eolang was a fatalist. He thought there was no escape,” Brother Iarlug assured her, while Brehon Gormán smiled in satisfaction behind him.

  One after the other, Brothers Brugach, Senach and Dubán all told how Brother Eolang had showed them his chart over a week before. He had predicted the very day on which he would be found in the lake. Each of them confirmed that they believed in inescapable fate.

  Fidelm
a was exasperated.

  “Everyone here seems a slave to predestination. Has no one free will?” she sneered.

  “Fate is. .” began Brehon Gormán.

  “Fate is the fool’s excuse for failure,” she snapped at him. “Am I to believe that you believed this event would happen and simply sat down and waited for it?”

  “It is the fate of the leaf to float and the stone to sink,” intoned Brother Dubán. “We cannot change our destiny. Even the New Faith tells us that. In this place we have all studied the writings of the great Augustine of Hippo-De Civitate Dei, The City of God. Does he not argue that we cannot escape our fate? Our fate was predestined even before we were born. Even before God made the world, the Omnipotent One had decreed the fate of the meanest among us.”

  “On the contrary. Did not our own great theologian Pelagius argue in De Libero Arbitrio-On Free Will-that meek acceptance of fate is destructive to man’s advancement? We are given information to make choices upon, not to sit back and do nothing. Doing nothing, as Augustine suggests we do, imperils the entire moral law of mankind. We have to take the initial and fundamental steps for our salvation. If we are not responsible for our actions, good or bad, then there is nothing to restrain ourselves from indulging in sin.”

  “But that’s a Druidic teaching. .” protested the Brehon.

  “And Pelagius was accused of trying to revive the Druidic philosophy,” interrupted the Brother Dubán in annoyance. “That was why he was declared a heretic by Rome and excommunicated by Pope Innocent I.”

  “But that judgment was not accepted by the churches here, nor in Britain nor Gaul nor even by many of the Roman bishops,” answered Fidelma sharply.

  “Even Pope Zosimus, who succeeded Innocent, rescinded that degree and declared Pelagius innocent of heresy. Only the African bishops, the friends of Augustine, refused to accept the Pope’s ruling and persuaded the Roman Emperor Honorius to issue an imperial decree denouncing him. It was for political reasons, not those of faith, that Pope Zosimus had to reconsider and change his ruling, which lifted the excommunication.”

  Brehon Gormán was studying Fidelma with an expression of suspicion and annoyance.

  “You seem well informed on this?”

  “As lawyers, is it not our duty to imbibe as much information as we can?” she demanded. “Our knowledge must surely be as wide as we can make it, otherwise how can we profess to set ourselves up as judges of other people’s actions?”

  Brehon Gormán seemed confused for a moment.

  Fidelma continued in a confident tone: “Now, I shall want to see the person who found Brother Eolang’s body, the apothecary who examined it and, of course, the abbot.”

  “The body was found by Brother Petrán,” the Brehon responded sourly. “The apothecary is Brother Cruinn and you will find the abbot confined to his chamber. I do not think there is need for me to accompany you for I am conversant with their evidence. It is of little importance.”

  Sister Fidelma raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She glanced at the surly Brother Dubán.

  “Then perhaps Brother Dubán will show me where I may find them?”

  Brother Dubán reluctantly led the way to the herb garden of the community. There was a single brother working in it.

  “Petrán tends the garden and you will see our apothecary’s shop in the far corner. There you will find Brother Cruinn.”

  Brother Dubán turned and walked swiftly off without another word.

  The rotund, red faced religieux who was tending some bushes in the garden, turned as she approached. He frowned for a moment and then gave a friendly smile.

  “Sister Fidelma?”

  “Do you know me?” she asked, puzzled by the greeting.

  “Indeed. But you would not know me. I was in the court when you defended Brother Fergal from a charge of murder. Have you now come to defend our abbot?”

  “Only if I believe him to be innocent,” agreed Fidelma.

  “Innocent enough,” the man was now serious.

  “I am Brother Petrán and I found the body of poor Eolang.”

  “But you do not believe that the abbot is guilty?”

  “I do not believe that a man should be condemned on the evidence of a claim based on obscure maps of the stars.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was going to go to market to buy new plants for the herb garden. This involved crossing the lake,” he added unnecessarily.

  “I went to the pier where our boat was tied up. It was then that I saw the body of Brother Eolang in the water under the pier.”

  “Under the pier?” Fidelma asked quickly, with emphasis.

  “The pier is made of thin wooden planking. Some of it is loose and missing. You have to look down to make sure you step surely. That was how I was able to see him. I was keeping my eyes on where I was placing my feet. I saw the body between a gap in the planking. Mind you, I do not suppose I would have looked down so closely at that spot had it not been for the man calling to me and pointing down.”

  Fidelma tried not to show her surprise.

  “What man?” she asked slowly.

  Brother Petrán did not seem perturbed.

  “There was a man on horseback on the far bank. As I came onto the pier he started to shout and wave to me. I wondered what was up. It was too far to hear any words distinctly. He kept gesturing with his arm toward the water and that was when I looked down and saw the body.”

  “Are you saying that this man might be a witness to what happened?” she asked quietly.

  Brother Petrán shrugged.

  “He certainly spotted the body and drew my attention to it.”

  “Did you tell the Brehon this?”

  “He thought it was irrelevant because of the evidence that showed the abbot’s involvement.”

  “Can you describe the man on horseback? Did you know him?”

  “He was a stranger. But he rode a fine horse and was dressed as a warrior. He carried the standard of the King of Cashel.”

  “Then he must have been a messenger of the King, passing on his way to Cashel,” Fidelma cried in relief.

  “We can find him.” Fidelma paused a moment and then continued: “What then? What happened after your attention was drawn to the body?”

  “I raised a cry for help and, being a good swimmer, I jumped into the water and brought the body ashore. By that time Brother Cruinn, our apothecary, had arrived to help me.”

  “And the man on the far bank?”

  “When he saw that I had brought the body out of the water, he raised his hand and rode off. There was little else he could do for there was no boat on his side of the water.”

  “You say that you could swim?” Fidelma went on. “Do you know if Brother Eolang was a swimmer?”

  Brother Petrán shook his head immediately.

  “He came from a small fishing community, islanders, who believe that it is wiser not to know how to swim for it is best to be drowned outright, falling into heavy, merciless seas, than prolonging the agony and torture of the body and soul by vain struggle.”

  Fidelma suppressed a shiver at the idea.

  “I have heard the philosophy although I do not agree with it. Was there no one else who came except the apothecary?”

  “No one.”

  “Do you know how long Brother Eolang had been in the water?”

  “I do not. But the apothecary, Brother Cruinn, said. .”

  Fidelma held up her hand to silence him.

  “Perhaps we should leave Brother Cruinn to recount what he said,” she advised. “You can only give evidence as to your own views.”

  Brother Petrán’s glance wandered past her shoulder and focussed.

  “Then there is no better opportunity to hear his words for here is Brother Cruinn.”

  Fidelma turned and saw an elderly man coming through the garden. He was strongly built, the arms of his robe rolled up around the elbows showing strong, muscular forearms. His hair was gray and eyes de
ep blue. He seemed puzzled at seeing the female religieuse in the herb garden.

  Brother Petrán introduced her and the apothecary’s face relaxed.

  “I was the one who noticed that this was no mere drowning, Sister,” he said with complacency.

  “Poor Eolang. He assisted me as apothecary, you know.”

  “Perhaps you will accompany me to the wooden pier and explain, on the way, the circumstances which aroused your suspicions?”

  They left the herb garden and passed through a small door in a high stone wall which led immediately onto the bank of the island. Fidelma saw that the lake was very wide at this point. The pier, standing on wooden piles, was certainly old. Some of the planking was rotten and did not seem secure.

  “This is in need of repair,” Fidelma commented.

  “Indeed. It is only used for landing materials for our garden. The primary landing stage is at the main gate as you will have doubtless observed when you arrived.”

  “Was there a specific reason why Brother Eolang was here?”

  The apothecary rubbed his chin.

  “He had gone out in the boat that morning to deliver something to the mainland and so, I presume, he was returning it so that Brother Petrán could use it to go to the market. Brother Petrán found his marsupium, his purse, still in the boat.”

  “His purse was found in the boat?”

  “He had probably forgotten it when he climbed onto the pier.”

  “I understand that Brother Petrán retrieved the body of Brother Eolang from the water and then you answered his cries for assistance. Is that so?”

  “I heard Brother Petrán from the herb garden and came straightaway,” confirmed Brother Cruinn.

  “I saw immediately that poor Eolang was dead.”

  “How long had he been dead? Could you tell?”

  “I am proficient in my work, Sister.” The apothecary was proud of his professional capabilities which made him sound a trifle haughty in manner. “He had not been dead long. The blood was still flowing from the wound on his forehead and that was when I realized that murder had been committed.”

  “Because of the wound? What was it like.”

  “It was on the forehead, between the eyes. It was clear that someone had picked up a cudgel of some sort and smote the brother, who fell into the water and drowned.”