Chalice of Blood (25 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Chalice of Blood
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‘He was a harsh critic, indeed,’ murmured Fidelma, feeling uncomfortable because she had often found it difficult to simply believe and not to question matters of dogma that seemed illogical to her.
‘There is much, much more,’ said Cunán. ‘Alas, it is difficult to find anyone who will admit to reading a copy of Celsus’s writings. I am told, however, that Tertullian and Minucius Felix knew his work and were influenced by it. I think the main thing Celsus was arguing for was that Christians should not remain aloof from other faiths and from politics. He apparently urged them not to claim another empire or any special position within the Roman empire but make peace with the emperors. He wrote, according to Origenes, that if all the other faiths followed the Christian example and abstained from the politics of the empire, the affairs of the empire would fall into the hands of wild and lawless barbarians.’
‘You appear to know a great deal about Celsus’s work,’ Eadulf commented with a frown.
Cunán actually grinned. ‘I have sat every day this year copying the text of Celsus. If nothing else, I know this work and its arguments. I was surprised that Brother Donnchad asked to see it. I have never met him, but we exchanged letters many years ago. I have a reputation as a copyist and I have also copied several of his own works. His reputation is well known.’
A thought suddenly occurred to Eadulf.
‘I have heard that every scribe has what is called a special “hand”, not just a way of forming letters but little idiosyncrasies in forming sentences and words. Would you know something about this?’
Cunán suppressed a smile of immodesty. ‘It is true and I believe that I know the hand of most of the leading scribes in this kingdom.’
Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. She immediately realised what
he had in mind. She took from her
ciorbholg
, comb bag, the piece of parchment that they had found under Brother Donnchad’s window. She handed it over to Cunán.
‘What do you make of that?’ she asked.
‘
Si vis transfer calicem istrum a me … Deicide. Deicide. Deicide
,’ he read carefully. ‘Take this chalice, or cup, from me. The last word written three times means god-killer, but you know that,’ he added quickly. ‘It is a claim that has often been levelled against the Jews by the Fathers of our Faith. It is as if Brother Donnchad was practising some phrase but it looks odd.’
 
 
F
idelma and Eadulf regarded Cunán in astonishment for a moment.
‘Are you saying that Brother Donnchad wrote this?’ Fidelma asked.
‘As I have just explained,’ Cunán said patiently, ‘I was the chief copyist of this library. Who does not know the hand of Brother Donnchad, one of the foremost scholars of this kingdom?’
‘Can you prove that it is his hand?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘After all, it is only a few words.’
‘Any good scholar who knew his work will tell you so. This is a good enough sample to spot the individual writer. Look at the words
calicem
and
deicide
. Brother Donnchad formed his letter “c” and the “d” in a very distinctive fashion. See there?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Why, I can prove it further, if you like.’
He stood up and hurried from the room.
Cumscrad smiled approvingly. ‘My son, Cunán, may not have the skills of governance to take over the chieftainship of the Fir Maige Féne but he has attended the bardic school for six years and achieved the degree of
Cli
, he knows the secret language of the poets, can recite the prescribed number of poems without fault and knows eighty of the ancient tales by heart.’
‘Then he is a son to be proud of,’ replied Fidelma just as the door reopened and Cunán returned holding a small scroll.
‘This was sent to me from Brother Donnchad some years ago and you can see clearly this formation on it,’ the young scribe explained.
Fidelma took it and examined it with interest. Cunán was correct. The same distinctive forms appeared in it. She could not help but read the opening: ‘Donnchad, a humble servant and an apostle of Christ, Jesus, to Cunán the scribe. Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.’
‘You knew him well, then?’ she asked.
‘Only by an exchange of letters. Our librarian knew him better,’ replied Cunán. ‘But he did ask me to copy some texts that we held.’
‘When was this?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Oh, long before he went off on his pilgrimage to the Holy Land.’
‘Can you remember what they were?’
‘Some letters of Paul the Apostle, as I recall.’
‘Nothing contrary to the Faith then?’ Eadulf sounded disappointed.
Cunán shook his head, then looked carefully at him. The young man was not lacking in wit.
‘Are you saying that there is some connection between the manuscript books he was examining here, his death and this attack on our library?’
‘Books that speak of things and people before the Faith might be enough to cause these things,’ intervened his father bitterly. ‘Look at the way we are condemned by that young upstart Brother Lugna.’
‘But it doesn’t explain why the Uí Liatháin would attack our
library or the barge taking the books to Ard Mór,’ pointed out Cunán.
‘That is true, Cunán,’ said Fidelma after a moment or two of thought. ‘I would like to speak to the bargemen about the attack on them and also to the man who found the barge.’
‘Very well,’ Cumscrad said, rising abruptly. ‘Let us find Muirgíos.’
Muirgíos, as befitted someone whose name meant ‘sea strength’, looked every inch the sort of person whose profession had to do with the sea or the waterways. He was a stocky individual with sandy hair, sea-green eyes, and a weather-beaten face, and he had a habit of standing with his feet wide apart as if balancing on the deck of a ship. They found him on board one of the broad river barges that traded along The Great River. He was mending some of the rigging on the vessel.
He greeted Cumscrad with a gesture of his chin towards the still smouldering library building.
‘A bad business. The Uí Liatháin have over-reached themselves this time.’
Cumscrad did not reply but indicated Fidelma.
‘This is the Lady Fidelma, sister to Colgú. She has come to hear our complaint.’
It was clear that Muirgíos was not impressed for he did not rise from his seat nor interrupt his work on the rigging.
‘Then you have come at the right time. Now you can see their viciousness for yourself.’
‘At the moment, it is the attack on your barge that I want to talk about,’ she replied, ignoring Gormán’s look of outrage at what he saw as the man’s discourtesy towards the King’s sister.
‘It is as we told our chieftain, Cumscrad,’ the man replied. ‘We were not far from Lios Mór when we saw a man lying on the southern bank of the river. He appeared to be in distress. So we pulled towards the bank. It was a ruse. The next moment,
without warning, an arrow struck our steersman. Then warriors appeared from behind the trees and bushes and swarmed over the side. One of our men injured one of the attackers in the arm with his knife. But we were not armed as warriors. No reason to be. So we surrendered.
‘Our steersman was badly hurt but is now recovering. The crewman who caused injury to one of the attackers was beaten severely. They took us from the barge and bound us, leaving us on the river bank. Then they sailed off downriver. It was as simple as that.’
‘How did you know that they were of the Uí Liatháin?’ asked Eadulf.
The bargeman laughed bitterly. ‘You are a stranger, judging by your accent. Well, it is easy to tell, stranger. Firstly, you should know that each clan has its own symbol, its own totem. The banner of the Uí Liatháin is the head of a grey fox on a white background. That banner was carried by one of those who attacked us.’
Eadulf nodded slowly and then said, ‘And what else?’
The bargeman frowned. ‘What else?’
‘You began by saying “firstly” as you explained about the banner. I presumed there was a second point.’
‘Well, you’re right. As they were leaving us, one of them said loudly to his companion, “Uallachán will be pleased.” Uallachán is—’
‘We know who Uallachán is,’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘Can you remember the features of any of these raiders, anything distinctive? ’
The bargeman regarded her curiously and shook his head. ‘Nothing particular.’
‘Was there a
bánaí
with them, a thin man with white hair and—’
‘I know well what a
bánaí
is. I heard that one of the raiders
was shot this afternoon and he was one. I cannot swear he was among those who stole the barge. All I know is that they were men of the Uí Liatháin.’
‘Did you not consider it strange that these thieves made no attempt to hide their identity?’
The bargeman shrugged indifferently. ‘All that is bad in this area is down to the Uí Liatháin. They have always had their eye on our fertile lands. It is not the first time they have crossed north over the Bríd River into our territory to attack and rob us.’
‘Yet it is curious that they should do so openly. They know such attacks would bring down the wrath of my brother and his warriors.’
‘Maybe they have no fear of the King at Cashel,’ Muirgíos commented dismissively. ‘He sits far away in a comfortable palace.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Gormán and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Fidelma motioned with her hand to still him.
‘It is well known that the Eóghanacht of Cashel are not well favoured by either the Uí Liatháin or the Fir Maige Féne. Nevertheless, Colgú is the King and you are both answerable to him. If the Uí Liatháin are in open rebellion then they must face the consequences – as, indeed, will any of the clans of Muman who disobey the law.’
Muirgíos stared in surprise at the authority in her voice.
Then Cumscrad interrupted the awkward silence by calling to a passing man to come aboard.
‘This is Eolann, the man who found the missing barge.’
Eolann was almost a replica of Muirgíos. His story was also simple.
‘I had been to Ard Mór to take a religious brother seeking transportation there. He had journeyed from Gúagan Barra, a little
abbey to the west of here. I have a boat that I can manoeuvre single-handed. Having delivered the brother to the abbey, I was returning. I was not far beyond the point where the River Bríd enters into The Great River when I saw Muirgíos’s sailing barge coming downriver. I was about to call a greeting when I saw the crew were all strangers. There was no sign of Muirgíos and there were no men of the Fir Maige Féne that I recognised. So I sailed on by with no more than a courteous wave as one bargeman gives another when passing on the river.’
He paused for a moment before continuing.
‘I knew Muirgíos well, and he had told me that he was taking books to Ard Mór on his next trip there. I also knew that Ard Mór was expecting his barge. So I drew in my sail and turned back after his barge. I let the flow of the river take me after it, keeping as close to the bank as I could. I saw it manoeuvre into the Bríd. So I hove to and waited for a while in the shelter of the bank. Then I went more cautiously along the river but it was not long before I found the barge abandoned.’
‘Which side of the river was it abandoned on?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I mean, was it on the side of the territory of the Uí Liatháin or was it on the side of the territory of the Fir Maige Féne?’
‘It was on the south side,’ confirmed Eolann immediately. ‘On the side of the Uí Liatháin.’
‘What then?’
‘Seeing no sign of anyone, I went aboard. I feared I would find Muirgíos and his crew below, perhaps slaughtered. But there was no sign of anyone. Curiously, the cargo seemed intact, although I saw some chests broken open and empty. I have sailed with Muirgíos before and realised that was where he usually stored the copies of manuscripts and books that were often transported from our library to Lios Mór and Ard Mór.’
‘How were you able to bring word here so quickly?’ Fidelma
asked. ‘You could not crew the barge and to sail here in your small boat would have taken a while against the current of the river.’
Eolann smiled. ‘I knew further upriver was a small settlement, a place where
compara
grows.’
Seeing Fidelma frown, Eadulf explained quickly: ‘The henna plant, camphire.’
‘I went there and sought out men who could bring the barge to the north bank into our territory. While they did that, I borrowed a horse and rode here directly across the hills, so that our chief could be immediately alerted to what had happened.’
Fidelma nodded approvingly. ‘You did well, Eolann. One more question. Did you glimpse a
bánaí
with these men?’
‘I heard one was killed in the attack on the library. I did not glimpse any such person, though.’
Fidelma turned to Cumscrad, glancing up at the darkening sky. ‘I have heard enough. My companions and I will ride south at first light to confront Uallachán on these matters before returning to Lios Mór. So I ask you for hospitality for the night. I would like your word that you will undertake no action against the Uí Liatháin until Gormán brings you Uallachán’s response and my advice. Do I have it?’
Cumscrad hesitated before agreeing.
‘Excellent. Have no concern, Cumscrad. The Uí Liatháin will be made to account for any deeds that they have committed contrary to the law. They will be answerable to my brother, just as you will be if you attempt to take the law into your own hands.’
 
It was not long after daybreak that Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán set off southwards over the forested hills towards the meandering Bríd, the river that marked the border between the two clans. The sky indicated fine weather for their journey, with
only a few clouds spread like woolly sheep’s fleeces across the blue. If the clouds grew larger, the innocent looking fleece could turn into thunderclouds. But the early signs, together with the glorious red sunset the previous evening, gave them every expectation of good weather.
From Fhear Maighe to the River Bríd was only some eight kilometres. Taking the track south-east, they moved through a small valley and from there only one large hill lay between them and the river. Once across the hill, they would descend on to a plain towards a fortress that had once dominated the river crossing and had long been a subject of dispute between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin. The disputed fortress was regarded as Fir Maige Féne, but it was still called Caisleán Uí Liatháin after the southern tribe’s claim. Ancient standing stones rose in the surrounding countryside.
The place was strangely silent as they rode by the deserted fortress walls. They could hear the distant sound of animals, the clucking of chicken, bleating of sheep and the occasional protesting moo of a cow, which they supposed belonged to an isolated farmstead further back on the hill. Yet Gormán was growing uncomfortable and Fidelma’s eyes searched the deserted buildings.
‘It’s too quiet,’ whispered Eadulf.
Fidelma did not reply; she had noticed a movement in the shadow of a wall.
‘Gormán,’ she said softly but Gormán was already reaching for his sword. Before he could draw it, a stentorian voice called out.

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