The Dove of Death by Peter Tremayne Page A

lot. Harsh lives make harsh morals. So it was for the first century of its existence as a kingdom. That left its mark on the lines of the kings. Canao, for example, killed three of his brothers to claim the kingdom. I am told that he died sixty years ago.’
    ‘What or who is this Waroch, then?’
    ‘He was an earlier King than Canao. After Canao died, his one surviving brother, Macliau, became King – and when he died, his son, another Canao, became King. Then he died and Judicael of Domnonia claimed the kingdom. In fact, Judicael claimed kingship of all the Bretons and also descent from Waroch. So he named the kingdom as Bro-Waroch, the country of Waroch.’
    ‘I thought Alain Hir was King of the Bretons?’ Fidelma said.
    ‘He is the son of Judicael,’ Brother Metellus confirmed. ‘Judicael died about ten years ago, but it was he who merged the two kingdoms of Domnonia and Bro-Warwoch into one.’
    ‘You sound disapproving?’
    ‘I am a Roman. It matters not to me the machinations of these kings. I care only for the souls of the people. Meanwhile I am content with the simple life I lead. Alain Hir is a good King, so far as kings go.’
    Fidelma smiled slightly. ‘If you have so little time for kings, perhaps you have little time for authority – hence your problem with your Abbot?’
    ‘Not so.’ Brother Metellus grimaced sourly. ‘Kings are, perhaps, a necessary evil. Before my own people sank into the stupidity of emperors, they had a good system – res publica , “affairs of the public”. Every year the people elected consuls from the Senate to rule them.’
    ‘And who were the people who comprised the comitia centuriata who elected the consuls, my Roman friend?’ Fidelma asked sweetly.
    Brother Metellus stared at her in surprise. ‘Why, the citizens of Rome.’
    ‘But wealth governed a man’s ability to be part of this Roman democracy,’ countered Fidelma. ‘As the vote had to be made in Rome itself, the rural people never had a chance to participate. What’s more, the rich always voted first and separately – and as the declaration of the result was made on a simple majority as soon as the first section voted, the poor hardly ever voted at all. And consuls could only be chosen from the Senate, whose membership for life was already made from those patrician families. No citizen was free to address that assembly without the consent of the magistrates and tribunes, and they alone had the right to debate matters.’
    Brother Metellus’ surprise turned into an expression of amazement. Fidelma felt moved to explain.
    ‘I spent a period in Rome and occupied my time – well, some of it, that is – in studying some of your legal texts, ancient as well as modern.’
    ‘You are saying that you believe our imperial system was better?’ queried the Roman.
    ‘Not at all. In fact, there were faults with both systems. Who your father was and what wealth he had acquired should be no gauge of your own ability.’
    ‘Yet you are the sister of a king,’ Brother Metellus pointed out, meaningfully.
    Fidelma shrugged as if it were of no consequence.
    ‘Presumably you were the daughter of a king as well?’ he pressed.
    ‘It so happened that my father, Failbe Flann, was indeed a king. He died when I was a small child.’
    ‘So your brother succeeded him? Where is the merit in that?’
    She tried to explain. ‘That is not how kings are chosen in my land. Our system also relies on who is most able in the family – man or woman – to be head of the family and assume the role of King. During a king’s lifetime, the derbhfine of the family have to meet and elect from their number the successor. They could be sons, brothers or cousins. My brother was the fourth ruler since the death of our father, chosen only after thirty years had passed and he had grown to manhood. No one who is not of mature age and reason can be a king.’
    ‘What happened to the others? Were they murdered by their successors?’ There