Hemlock At Vespers Read Online Free PDF Page B

plausible,” conceded the Brehon. “But not conclusive.”
    “Then let me put this before the court. Your argument is that Brother Fergal stabbed Barrdub to death in a mad frenzy. Then, exhausted, too exhausted to take the body out of his bothán to conceal the murder, he fell asleep on his bed and was found the next morning.”
    “That is as the prosecution contends.”
    “Where then is the weapon?”
    “What?” The word came slowly from the mouth of the Brehon, a growing doubt appearing in his eyes.
    “You made no mention of a weapon, the knife by which Barrdub was stabbed to death. If you did not take it when you found Fergal that morning, it must have still been there. I searched the bothán. I found no weapon. Brother Fergal carries no such knife.”
    The Brehon bit his lip.
    “It is true, no weapon was found.”
    “Yet a weapon must exist with Barrdub’s blood upon it.”
    “Fergal could have hidden it,” countered the Brehon, realizing his fault for not instigating the search before.
    “Why? Why hide the weapon when he was too exhausted to hide the body?”
    “Your arguments are possible explanations. Yet if Fergal did not murder Barrdub, who did?” Before she could answer, the Brehon’s eyes lit up. “Ah, so that is why you were interested in the hermit Erca’s herbs? Do you contend that he did this? That he did it to harm Fergal? We all know that he hates every Christian.”
    Fidelma shook her head emphatically.
    “Erca hates all Christians, but he did not do this. He simply confirmed my suspicion that I had tasted two powerful drugs which could be easily obtained in the vicinity. A deeper motive lies behind this murder than simply a hatred of Christians.”
    She turned and caught Rimid’s pale face. The man’s lips were trembling.
    “She is trying to lay the blame on me!” he cried.
    The Brehon also was looking at Rimid with deep suspicion. He demanded: “Was not your hatred of Fergal great? You said as much to us yesterday.”
    “I did not do it. I loved Barrdub … I …” Rimid sprang to his feet and began to fight his way out of the great hall.
    “Seize him!” cried the Brehon. Two clansmen moved forward.
    But Fidelma had turned to the Brehon with shaking head.
    “No, let him go. It was not Rimid.”
    The Brehon frowned. Rimid, caught between the two clansmen, halted his struggles and glanced back in bewilderment.
    “Who then?” the Brehon demanded in exasperation.
    “Barrdub was murdered by Congal.”
    There was a gasp.
    “A lie! The bitch lies!” Congal had leapt to his feet in the great hall, his face pale, his hands clasped into fists.
    “Congal murdered his own sister?” The Brehon was incredulous. “But why?”
    “For one of the oldest motives of all. For gain.”
    “But, Barrdub had no property. What gain is in this deed?”
    Sister Fidelma sighed sadly.
    “Congal was an impecunious man. His father had held a good position within the clan and Congal, if all went well, could have expected no less. But things were never well for Congal. He was capricious, undependable. He preferred to dream and make great plans which always went awry. He was reduced, with his sister, to living in a poor wood and mud bothán, hiring out his labor to his neighbors who were better off than he was. They pitied him. That made him bitter. All this was common knowledge. You, Brehon, told me as much.
    “Rimid and Barrdub were in love with each other. Rimid was not possessed of great wealth. He survived as most of us do, content to earn his living. But when Rimid went to ask Congal’s approval to marry Barrdub, who was not yet at the age of consent, Congal refused. Why? Because Congal did not care for his sister’s happiness. He cared for wealth. He demanded the full bride-price or tinnscra due for the daughter of a free hostel keeper of the tribe, even though both his sister and he had long fallen from that social position.”
    “Yet that was his right in law,” interposed the