The Subtle Serpent (34 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: The Subtle Serpent
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When Fidelma made no reply he, too, followed his sister from the
subterraneus.
It was later in her cell in the guests’ hostel that Fidelma, seated in front of Eadulf, flattened out the sheets of vellum she had recovered from Torcán’s body.
‘What are they?’ demanded the Saxon monk straining forward. ‘The abbess did not like it that you failed to enlighten her about them.’
Fidelma had identified them immediately she had removed them from Torcan’s body.
They were the missing pages from the book
Teagasg Ri
, the Instruction of the King. The missing pages of the biographical appendix to Cormac Mac Art’s philosophical instructions. She glanced through quickly. Yes; as she had suspected, there was the story of Cormac and the gold calf. The tale went on to speak of the revenge of the priest of the gold calf and how he was supposed to have murdered Cormac by causing three salmon bones to stick in the king’s throat.
‘After this infamy,’ Fidelma read aloud, ‘the ungodly
priest retired, taking with him the fabulous idol which was worth the honour price of all the kings of the five kingdoms of Eireann combined together with that of the High King himself. The priest returned to his own country in the farthest point of the kingdom, to the place of the Three Salmons, and hid the gold calf in the primal caverns to await the time when the new Faith could be overthrown. And for generations after that each priest of the golden calf, awaiting the day of atonement, took the name Dedelchú.’
Eadulf frowned.
‘The hound of Dedel? You mentioned that before.’
Fidelma smiled.
‘The hound of the calf. I checked with Longarad’s
Glossary
,
Dedel
is an ancient word, barely used now, meaning specifically a calf of a cow.’
‘Ah, didn’t I say that cave drawing was more like a calf than a hound?’ Eadulf observed brightly.
Fidelma suppressed a weary sigh.
 
It was on the next day that the sound of a trumpet from Adnar’s fortress caused Fidelma to come out of the guests’ hostel and look across the inlet. Two ships were entering the sheltered harbour. She had no difficulty recognising the
barc
of Ross. The sleek-looking vessel that accompanied it, trailing in its wake, was undoubtedly a warship, its streamers showing the colours of the kings of Cashel. Fidelma heaved a long sigh of relief. The waiting was over and, for the first time since Ross had departed, she felt no longer threatened.
They had gone down to the quay to meet the new arrivals. Fidelma and Eadulf, Abbess Draigen and Sister Lerben, whom Draigen had, in spite of Fidelma’s advice, confirmed as
rechtaire
of the abbey. They stood watching as the small boat from Ross’s
barc
tied up to the jetty.
Ross came forward accompanied by a tall, silver-haired man of imposing appearance. This elderly man was still handsome and energetic-looking in spite of his apparent years. He wore a golden chain of office over his cloak. Had not his physical appearance distinguished him, his chain proclaimed him as a man of rank.
Ross was beaming with relief as he saw Fidelma among the welcome party. He greeted her first, quite forgetting protocol by ignoring Abbess Draigen.
‘Thanks be that you are safe and well, sister. I have spent several sleepless nights since I left you here.’ He smiled a brief greeting to Brother Eadulf.
Fidelma returned his salutation.
‘We have kept well and safe, Ross,’ she replied.
‘Deo adjuvante!’
muttered the elderly official.
‘Deo adjuvante!
Your brother would never have forgiven me had anything happened to you.’
It was Ross who answered the question which came into Fidelma’s eyes.
‘This is Beccan, chief Brehon and judge of the clan Loigde.’
The elderly Brehon held out both hands towards Fidelma
with a grave expression but there was much humour in his eyes.
‘Sister Fidelma! I have heard much of you. I have been asked to stand here in place of Bran Finn, chieftain of the clan Loigde, to judge who is guilty and of what crimes connected with this treachery.’
Fidelma acknowledged the Brehon. She had surmised that Bran Finn would send his chief legal official to sit in judgment on the matter. She now introduced Eadulf.
Beccan was solemn.
‘If there was no other crime, brother, apart from your being held captive, then this matter would be grave indeed. The transgression of the laws of hospitality to strangers in our kingdom is one which is regarded as reflecting on all of us from the High King down to the lowest in the land. For this I ask your pardon and promise you will be compensated accordingly.’
‘The only compensation I require,’ Eadulf replied, with equal solemnity, ‘is to see that justice is done and truth prevails.’
‘Well said, Saxon,’ replied Beccan, his eyes widening a little at Eadulf’s fluency in the language. ‘Your tongue proclaims that you have studied in our colleges. You speak our language well.’
‘I have spent some years studying at Durrow and at Tuam Brecain,’ explained Eadulf.
The Abbess Draigen intervened, vexed that she was being ignored. In normal circumstances, protocol demanded that she should have been the first to greet the Brehon.
‘I am glad that you have come, Beccan. There is much that needs to be sorted out here. Unfortunately, this young
dalaigh
sent by Brocc does not appear capable of resolving these mysteries.’
Beccan raised his eyebrows in interrogation.
‘This is the abbess of the community,’ Fidelma introduced her, ‘and this is her
rechtaire.’
The Brehon greeted them gravely, ignoring the chagrin on Draigen’s face that she had to be announced to Beccan.
‘Come, abbess, walk with me. Bring your youthful steward and we will discuss what is to be done.’
He inclined his head with a half smile towards Fidelma and ushered the abbess and her acolyte away.
‘He is an astute man,’ Ross observed. ‘He knows we need some time to speak without Draigen to overhear us.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘Truly, I was in fear for your life, Fidelma. I thought that you might have been caught up in the insurrection.’
‘What news of that? What has happened?’ Fidelma asked eagerly.
‘I left here to sail to Ros Ailithir with Sister Comnat. We were only half a day’s sail from here when, as luck would have it, we encountered a loyal warship of the Loigde. The captain, whom I knew, took it upon himself to sail directly to the copper mines of Gulban. We went on to Ros Ailithir and sought out Abbot Brocc and Bran Finn who immediately raised his clan and sent messengers to your brother at Cashel. Bran gave me a warship as escort and together with the Brehon, here, we sailed back as fast as we could. Sister Comnat has also insisted on returning.’
‘Has any attack taken place on Cashel?’ Eadulf intervened, knowing how anxious Fidelma was about her brother.
‘We do not know,’ Ross replied. ‘Beccan has been instructed to confine Adnár and any others who might support Gulban. He will protect the abbey until he hears further from Bran Finn. As soon as we hear news from Cashel then Beccan can sit in judgment on the matter of the abbey deaths.’
Fidelma considered for a moment or two.
‘That is acceptable to me, Ross,’ she agreed. ‘In fact, the delay is a help for there are a few more points I wish to clear up before I present my case. But are we safe enough here from Gulban’s men?’
Ross silently indicated the warship of Cashel in the inlet.
‘A fair enough guarantee,’ grunted Eadulf. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘And here comes the local chieftain, Adnár, to make himself known to the Brehon.’
A boat was pulling away from the quay of Dún Boí and crossing the water. The black-haired figure of Adnár could be seen sitting in the stern.
‘I think, Ross, that I would like to come out to your
barc
and have a word with Sister Comnat,’ Fidelma said, not particularly wishing to confront Adnár again at that moment.
Ross immediately helped Fidelma into his boat, with Eadulf following, and they were able to leave before Adnár’s boat arrived at the quay.
They found Sister Comnat in the cabin of Ross’s
barc.
While her face was a little strained, she appeared in far better health than when Fidelma had last seen the elderly religieuse.
‘Is everything all right?’ Sister Comnat asked almost immediately as Fidelma and Eadulf entered the cabin.
‘Apparently we will not know that for a day or two, sister,’ replied Fidelma. ‘However, Torcán of the Ui Fidgenti can be added to the list of deaths in the abbey.’
‘The son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti? Has he been at the abbey?’ There was alarm on the face of the elderly librarian.
Fidelma seated herself on the side of the bunk and gestured to Sister Comnat to resume her seat.
‘You mentioned that you saw him training Gulban’s men when you were captured with Sister Almu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Brother Eadulf has identified him as the young chieftain in charge at the mines.’
‘Yes. He was at the copper mines.’
‘Tell me, Sister Comnat, as you are a good scholar, do you know the meaning of the name Torcán?’
Sister Comnat was perplexed.
‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘Indulge me.’
‘Well, let me see … It would derive from
torcc,
a wild boar.’
‘You told me that Sister Almu said something to you before she escaped which you did not understand, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. She said …’ Her voice trailed off as she realised the connection. ‘Perhaps I heard the remark wrongly. Almu said something about a wild boar, or so I thought … Are you saying that it was Torcán who helped Almu escape and then slew her? But why? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘You mentioned that Almu was a friend of Síomha, didn’t you?’
Sister Comnat nodded.
‘They were very good friends.’
‘If Almu had reached the abbey safely, it would have been natural for her to seek out Síomha, perhaps, before speaking with, say, even the Abbess Draigen, wouldn’t it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Let me take you back to the day that the old beggar came to sell you the copy of the work by the High King Cormac the work called
Teagasg Ri.
Do you remember that?’
Sister Comnat was baffled. She would have demanded to know why Fidelma was leaping from one subject to another but she caught the glint in the young advocate’s eye.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It was the week before Sister Almu and I set out for Ard Fhearta.’
‘Did the beggar come directly to the library?’
‘No. He went to the abbess and gave her the book. The abbess then sent for me and asked me whether it was worth buying. Abbess Draigen has many talents but librarianship and the knowledge of books is not one of them. I saw that it was a good copy.’
‘There were no pages cut or damaged in the copy?’
‘No. It was in excellent condition for a book so old. It had
an additional value. At the end of the book was added a short biography of the High King. So I agreed that the abbey could well buy it or barter food for it with the old man.’
‘I see. Did the abbess keep the book?’
‘No, I took charge of it and brought it straight to the library. I asked Sister Almu to examine it and catalogue it.’
‘Sister Almu was a competent scholar in spite of her tender years?’
‘Very competent. She wrote a good hand and knew Greek and Latin as well as Hebrew.’
‘Did she know Ogham and the language of the Féine?’
‘Of course. I had tutored her myself. She had a quick mind. With respect to her shade, she was not entirely devoted to the propagation of the Faith but she was particularly enthusiastic in her attitude to books and fond of ancient chronicles.’
‘So Sister Almu examined the book?’
‘She did.’
‘If she had found anything of significance in that book, to whom would she have talked about it?’
Sister Comnat frowned slightly.
‘I am the librarian.’
‘But,’ Fidelma chose her words carefully, ‘if she did not want to bother you, might she, as a friend, confide in Sister Síomha?’
‘It is possible. I do not understand why she should do so.’
Fidelma stood up abruptly and smiled.
‘Do not worry, Sister Comnat. I think I am beginning to understand more completely now.’
Outside, on the deck, Fidelma asked Ross if one of his sailors could row them directly to Adnár’s fortress. On the way across, Eadulf confessed his total perplexity even though Fidelma had discussed all the events that had occurred since she had arrived at the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. Eadulf had seen Fidelma’s bland expression before. He knew the meaning of the trite, composed features. The
closer Fidelma was to her quarry, the more she was loath to reveal what was in her mind.
But she laid a hand on his arm and was reassuring.
‘We will not be able to have the hearing until Beccan is prepared,’ she said. ‘Plenty of time for you to obtain an understanding.’
‘Are you saying that Almu and Síomha shared some secret that Torcán was after? A secret that he killed them for and would have killed us?’
‘You have a quick mind, Eadulf.’ Fidelma smiled briefly. Then the boat had come up alongside the quay of Adnár’s fortress.
A warrior barred their entrance to the fort.
‘Adnár attends at the abbey, sister. He is not here.’
‘It is not Adnár that I wish to see. It is Olcán.’
‘Olcán is a prisoner. I do not have the authority to let you see him.’
Fidelma scowled.
‘I am a
dálaigh
of the courts. You will accept my authority.’
The warrior hesitated and then, observing the gathering storm on her brow, decided on a hurried retreat.
‘This way, sister,’ he muttered.
Olcán was locked in a cell in the vault below the fortress. He looked dishevelled and angry.
‘Sister! What is happening?’ he demanded, springing up from where he had been laying on a straw palliasse. ‘Why am I being held captive like this?’
Fidelma waited until the warrior had removed himself outside the cell, closing the door behind him, before replying to the young man.
‘Hasn’t Adnár told you?’
The son of Gulban looked from Fidelma to Eadulf and spread his hands helplessly.
‘He accuses me of some conspiracy.’
‘Your father Gulban has conspired with the Ui Fidgenti to overthrow Cashel.’
‘My father?’ Olcán was bitter. ‘My father does not confide his plans in me. Am I to be blamed because I am my father’s son?’
‘Not for that reason but Adnár claims that you were involved in this conspiracy with Torcán. Are you denying that you know anything about this plot? Even though your friend Torcán was involved in it?’
Olcán’s face was an angry mask.
‘Torcán was a guest of my father’s. It was my father’s wish that I accompanied him to hunt and fish. I was asked to keep him company and extend every courtesy to him.’

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