Whispers of the Dead by Peter Tremayne Page B

relics. I greased the stone so that she could swing it open by herself when she wanted. She often spoke of joining the holy saint. I did not think she meant to kill herself.”
    “What happened?” demanded the abbot.
    “I brought the pilgrims to the oratory and went inside before them in case there was a worshiper at prayer. I had no wish to disturb anyone. I saw her body lying in the open grave with both hands gripping the knife in her breast. I realized with horror what she had done. There was no time nor place to hide the body from the pilgrims. If I had attempted to swing the tomb shut those outside would have heard me. I forced her hands from their grip on the knife and put them at her sides. I tried to remove the knife but it was buried to the hilt, that was when the spots of blood stained my sleeve and hand. I think I panicked, believing the pilgrims would come in any moment. The only thing I could think of was to pretend the saint’s body was uncorrupted and hope it would distract the pilgrims to run down to the abbey to report the news, giving me time to dispose of the body. I did not count on…”
    He glanced toward Fidelma and shrugged.
    “The crime of suicide forbids her being laid in hallowed ground,” pointed out Sister Corb. “The suicide is classed as a
fingalach,
a kin-slayer; a person no better than a murderer.”
    “That is why I tried to protect her so that her soul could journey on to the otherworld in peace,” sobbed the youth. “I loved her that much.”
    “There is no need to worry,” Fidelma assured him gently. “Sister Aróc can be buried in consecrated ground.”
    Here the abbot began to protest. Fidelma cut him short.
    “Sister Aróc, for legal purposes, was classed a
mer,
one of unsound mind. The law states that the rights of the mentally disturbed should take precedence over other rights. A lenient view is taken of all offenses committed by them.”
    “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