Whispers of the Dead Page 6

  “But Brother Ross lied,” pointed out Sister Corb, angry and determined that someone should be punished.

  Fidelma countered her anger softly.

  “The law also looks kindly on those whose concern it is to protect those unable to protect themselves. Brother Ross may now rest assured that Sister Aróc’s soul can now depart in peace.”

  The abbot glanced around hesitantly before heaving a low sigh of acceptance.

  “Amen!” he muttered softly. “Amen!”

  THE ASTROLOGER WHO

  PREDICTED HIS OWN

  MURDER

  I can appreciate why the bishop has sent you to defend Abbot Rígán, Sister. However, I think that you will find this is an open and shut case. The abbot is demonstrably guilty of the murder of Brother Eolang.”

  Brehon Gormán was a tall, dark man, swarthy of complexion. He sat back regarding Sister Fidelma, seated across the table opposite him, with a look of cynical amusement. He had an arrogance of manner which irritated her. They were using the chamber of Brother Cass, the steward of the Abbey of Fota, who stood nervously to one side.

  “As I understood the circumstances, there were no eyewitnesses. How, then, can the abbot be demonstrably guilty?” she asked coldly, with an emphasis on the words he had used.

  The sharp-faced Brehon smiled even more broadly. The smile made Fidelma feel a coldness at the nape of her neck. It had all the warmth of a shark about to snap at its prey.

  “Our law takes cognizance of the words of a man uttered before his death,” remarked the Brehon in the manner of a teacher explaining something to a backward child.

  “I do not follow.”

  “The victim named the abbot as his murderer before his death.”

  Sister Fidelma was stunned into silence by his calm announcement.

  It had been only that morning when the Bishop of Cashel had called her into his chambers and asked her if she, being a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts, would undertake the defense of Abbot Rígán, whose abbey of Fota stood on an island in a nearby lake. The abbot had been accused of killing one of his own brethren. Brehon Gormán was to hear the case and it was known that Gormán was no lover of the religious. The Bishop of Cashel was concerned for the abbot, who was, by all accounts, a man with a reputation for kindliness and largess, whose good works had distinguished him among the brethren. However, the abbot was also known to be a man of strict obedience to the Rule of Rome which brought him into conflict with many of his fellow religious.

  The community of the Abbey of Fota was a small exclusive brotherhood of leather workers and a few scholars. They were a self-sufficient community. As protocol requested, Fidelma had introduced herself to the worried looking steward, Brother Cass, who had then introduced her to Brehon Gormán who had ensconced himself in the steward’s chamber. She had asked to be informed of all the facts of the case.

  The facts seemed simple, according to the Brehon. Brother Eolang, a member of the community, had been found by the lake under a wooden landing pier. He had evidently been drowned but there was bruising and cuts to his head. The community’s apothecary, Brother Cruinn, had expressed suspicion about the death. Brother Eolang had not been an elderly man. He was in the prime of his life and the bruising seemed to indicate that he had been struck on the forehead and pushed into the lake where he had drowned.

  Brother Gormán had been sent for. After some initial inquiries he had placed Abbot Rígán in custody pending a full trial.

  For a moment or two Fidelma sat gazing at Brehon Gormán in astonishment.

  “My understanding of what I have been told is that Brother Eolang was dead when he was discovered in the lake? Is this not so? But you say he was able to name the abbot as his killer. How was this miracle accomplished?”

  “He was certainly dead when his body was found,” agreed the Brehon.

  “Then explain this riddle which you have set me.”

  “It is quite simple. Brother Eolang told several of his brethren a week ago that he would be murdered on a particular day and that the abbot would be responsible.”

  Fidelma found herself in the unusual position of being unable to comment for a moment or so. Then she shook her head in bewilderment, trying to control the growing sarcasm in her tone.

  “This is the evidence? He predicted he would be murdered by the abbot?”

  Brehon Gormán smiled again, even more coldly.

  “Brother Eolang also foretold the exact manner of his death,” he added.

  “I think you need to explain more precisely, Brehon Gormán,” Fidelma said. “Was Brother Eolang a prophet?”

  “It would appear so, for we have the accusation and prediction written in Brother Eolang’s own hand.”

  Sister Fidelma sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  “I am listening attentively to your explanation,” she said quietly.

  “Please tell me the facts so that I do not make any assumptions.”

  “There was no love lost between Abbot Rígán and Brother Eolang,” replied the Brehon. “There are witnesses to several arguments between them. They arose because the abbot did not agree with some of Brother Eolang’s beliefs and activities. . . .”

  Fidelma frowned, still feeling lost.

  “Activities? What activities?”

  “Brother Eolang was the assistant to the apothecary of the abbey and an adept at making speculations from the patterns of the stars.”

  “Medicine and astrology were often twins in the practice of the physician’s art,” conceded Fidelma. “Its use is widespread throughout the five kingdoms of Éireann. Why was the abbot so condemning of the practice?”

  Fidelma herself had studied the art of star charts and their interpretation under Brother Conchobar of Cashel, who had once told her that she would have made an excellent interpreter of the portents. However, Fidelma placed no great reliance on astrologers, for it was a science which seemed to rely solely on the interpretive ability of the individual. However, she did accept that much might be learnt from the wisest among them. The study of the heavens, nemgnacht, was an ancient art among the people of Éireann, and most who could afford to do so had a chart cast for the moment of their children’s birth which was called nemindithib, a horoscope.

  The more ancient forms of astrology used by the Druids before the coming of Christianity had fallen out of use because the New Faith had also brought in new forms which were practiced among the Greeks and Romans and originated in Babylon.

  “The abbot did not approve of astrology, Sister,” interrupted the steward of the community, Brother Cass, who had been standing quietly by during the initial exchange. “The abbot disliked Brother Eolang on account of his practice of astrology. The abbot had read a passage in one of the Scriptures which denounced astrology and so he took his teaching from it. He tried to forbid its practice within our community.”

  Fidelma smiled softly.

  “Forbidding anything is a sure way of encouraging it. I thought we were more tolerant in such matters? The art of the réaltóir, the astrologer, has been one that has its origins from the very time our ancestors first raised their eyes to the night sky. It is part of our way of life and even those who have accepted the New Faith have not rejected the fact that God put the stars in the sky for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise.”

  There was a silence, then Brother Cass spoke again.

  “Yet there was an animosity between Eolang and the abbot over this matter.”

  “Over a week ago,” commenced the Brehon, “according to certain members of the community, and as they will testify, Brother Eolang became so worried about the animosity that he cast a chart, what is a called a horary chart, to see if he was in any danger from the abbot. He did this because the abbot’s language had grown quite violent in the denunciation of Brother Eolang’s beliefs.”

  Fidelma did not make any comment but waited for the Brehon to continue.

  “Eolang told certain of his comrades among the bret
hren that within a week from the time he had cast that chart, he would be dead. The chart, he said, showed that he was powerless against the abbot and would suffer death at his hands either by drowning or poisoning.”

  Brehon Gormán sat back with a smile of triumph.

  Fidelma regarded him with some skepticism.

  “You appear to believe this.”

  “I have seen the chart. I am an amateur in such things but my knowledge is such that the accuracy of the prediction becomes obvious. I shall accept it into evidence along with the testimony of those of the brethren with whom Brother Eolang discussed the meaning of it before his death.”

  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 explai
ned 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.

  Fidelma 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.”