The Subtle Serpent (15 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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Abbess Draigen nodded confirmation.
‘Has anyone been down the well shaft to see if the head was also placed down there?’
The abbess looked towards Sister Síomha.
‘The answer is - yes,’ Sister Síomha replied. ‘As steward it was my duty to arrange for the purification of the well. I sent one of our strongest young girls down it.’
‘And she was?’
‘Sister Berrach.’
Fidelma’s expression showed total astonishment.
‘But Sister Berrach is …’ She bit her tongue, regretting what she had been about to say.
‘A cripple?’ sneered Sister Síomha. ‘So you have noticed her?’
‘I merely observed that Sister Berrach is surely disabled. How can she be strong?’
‘Berrach has been in this community since she was three years old,’ said the abbess. ‘She was adopted not long before I came here myself and raised by the community. Although
the growth of her legs was stunted, she has developed a strength in her arms and torso that is truly surprising.’
‘And did she find anything when she went down the well? Perhaps I should hear this from her own lips?’
Abbess Draigen reach forward and rang the bell on the table before her.
‘Then you may ask her yourself, sister.’
Once more Sister Lerben, the attractive, young novice, opened the door almost immediately.
‘Lerben,’ ordered the abbess, ‘fetch Sister Berrach here.’
The novice bobbed her head and disappeared. It was only a few moments later that there was a timid knock at the door and, at the abbess’s response, the wary features of Sister Berrach peered around the portal.
‘Come in, sister,’ Draigen spoke to her almost consolingly. ‘Do not be alarmed. You know Sister Fidelma? Yes, of course you do.’
‘H … h … how can I se … serve?’ stuttered the sister, propelling herself forward into the chamber with her heavy blackthorn stick.
‘Easy enough,’ Sister Síomha intervened. ‘I had the responsibility of examining the well of the Blessed Necht after the headless corpse was removed. You will recall, Berrach, that I asked for your assistance in this, didn’t I?’
The disabled religieuse nodded, as if eager to please.
‘You asked me to go down the well, to be lowered on a rope with a lantern. I was to wash down the walls of the well and cleanse it with water that had been blessed by our mother abbess.’
She phrased her sentences like an oft repeated lesson. Fidelma noticed that her stammer vanished in the recital of this. She found herself wondering whether poor Sister Berrach was simple, a grown woman with a deformed body and the mind of a child.
‘That is so,’ Sister Síomha said approvingly. ‘What was it like in the well?’
Sister Berrach seemed to consider for a moment and then smiled as the answer came to her.
‘D … d … dark. Yes, it was very d … dark d … down there.’
‘But you had a means of lighting that darkness,’ Fidelma spoke encouragingly and moved forward towards the girl. She laid a friendly hand on her arm and felt its strength and sinew under the sleeve of the robe. ‘You had a lantern, didn’t you?’
The girl glanced up at her nervously and then returned Fidelma’s smile.
‘Oh yes,’ she smiled. ‘I was given a la … lantern and with th … th … that I c … could see well enough. But it was n … n … not really light d … d … down there.’
‘Yes. I understand what you mean, Sister Berrach,’ Fidelma said. ‘And when you reached the bottom of the well, did you see anything that … well … anything that should not have been down there?’
The girl put her head on one side and thought carefully.
‘S … sh … shouldn’t be d … down there?’ she repeated slowly.
Sister Síomha made her exasperation clear.
‘The head of the corpse,’ she explained bluntly.
Sister Berrach shivered violently.
‘There was no … nothing else d … down there but the dark and the water. I saw n … n … nothing.’
‘Very well,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘You may go now.’
After Sister Berrach had left the abbess sat back and studied Fidelma speculatively.
‘What now, Sister Fidelma? Do you still hold to your belief that this body is that of Sister Almu?’
‘I did not say it was,’ countered Fidelma. ‘At this stage of my investigation, I must speculate. I must hypothesise. The fact that Sister Comnat and Sister Almu are overdue in returning to this abbey may simply be a matter of coincidence. Nevertheless, I must be in possession of all the facts
if I am to progress. There must be no further playing of games. When I ask questions, I shall expect appropriate answers.’
She glanced to Sister Síomha but directed her remarks to Abbess Draigen. She saw an angry look remould the features of the
rechtaire
of the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells.
‘That much is clear, sister,’ replied the abbess tautly. ‘And perhaps now that all our bruised dignities and self-esteems have been massaged, we may return to our respective businesses?’
‘Willingly,’ agreed Sister Fidelma. ‘But one thing more …’
Abbess Draigen waited with raised eyebrows.
‘I am told that there are some copper mines in this vicinity?’
The question was not expected by the abbess and Draigen looked surprised.
‘Copper mines?’
‘Yes. Is this not so?’
‘It is so. Yes; there are many such mines on this peninsula.’
‘Where are they in relationship to this abbey?’
‘The nearest ones are on the far side of the mountains to the south-west.’
‘And to whom do they belong?’
‘They are the domain of Gulban the Hawk-Eyed,’ replied Draigen.
Fidelma had expected some such answer and she nodded thoughtfully.
‘Thank you. I will detain you no longer.’
As she turned from the abbess’s chamber she saw Sister Síomha regarding her with an intense expression. If looks could kill, Fidelma found herself thinking wryly, then she would have been dead on the spot.
In returning to Adnár’s fortress that afternoon, Fidelma decided not to give any advance warning to the chieftain by crossing directly over the strip of water separating the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells from the fortress of Dún Boí, but to traverse the path through the forest, and come upon the fortress from the landward side. The journey was further, but she had been so long on shipboard that she desired a leisurely walk through the forest in order to clear her mind. The forest presented just the sort of countryside she enjoyed walking in. Its great oaks spread along the shoreline and across the skirts of the high mountain behind.
She had informed Sister Brónach of her intentions and left the abbey mid-afternoon. It was still a pleasant day, the mild sun warming to the skin when it flickered through the mainly bare branches of the trees. High up, beyond the snow-dusted forest canopy, the sky was a soft blue with strands of white, fleecy clouds straggling along in the soft winds. The ground was hard with a winter frost toughening what would otherwise have been soft mud underfoot. The sun had not yet penetrated it and the crisp leaves, shed weeks ago, crackled under her tread.
From the abbey gates a track drove through the forest around the bay but at a distance so that the sea’s great inlet was mainly obscured from the gaze of any traveller taking this route. Only now and again, through the bare trees, could a glimpse of flashing blue, caused by the sun’s reflection, be
discerned. Not even the sounds of the sea could be heard, so good a barrier were the tall oak trees, interspersed with protesting clumps of hazel trying to survive among their mighty and ancient brothers. There were whole clumps of strawberry trees with their toothed evergreen leaves, their short trunks and twisting branches rising twenty feet and more in height.
Through the trees, now and then, Fidelma could pick up the rustle of undergrowth as a larger denizen of the forest made its cautious passage in search of food. The startled snap of twigs and branches as a deer leapt away at the sound of her approach, the swish of dried, rotting leaves as an inquisitive red squirrel tried to remember where it had left a food hoard. The sounds were numerous but identifiable to anyone attuned to the natural world.
As she walked along, Fidelmá came to an adjoining road that led in the direction of the distant mountains and she saw that there were signs that horses had recently passed this way. While the ground was hard, there were traces of horses’ droppings. She remembered having seen, that morning, the procession of horses, riders and running attendants, moving down from the mountain and realised that this was the point where they must have joined the road.
For some reason she found that she had abruptly started to think about Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham again and wondered why he had sprung into her thoughts. She wondered if Ross would find any clue to the origins of the abandoned ship. It was much to ask of him. There was a whole ocean and hundreds of miles of coastline in which to hide any clue to what had happened on that vessel.
Perhaps Eadulf had not been on board at all?
No, she shook her head, deciding against the theory. He would never have given that Missal to anyone - voluntarily, that was.
But what if it had been taken from him in death? Fidelma shivered slightly and set her mouth in a thin, determined
line. Then whoever had perpetrated such a deed would be brought to justice. She would make it so.
She suddenly halted.
Ahead of her a chorus of protesting bird cries made a din that drowned out most of the forest sounds. They made an odd ‘caaarg-caaarg’ scolding. She saw a couple of birds flitting upwards to the high bare branches of an oak, recognising the white rump and pinkish-buff plumage of jays. In a nearby clump of alders, where they had been pecking at the brown, woody cones, several little birds with conical bills and streaked plumage joined in chirping in agitation.
Something was alarming them.
Fidelma took a pace forward hesitantly.
It saved her life.
She felt the breath of the arrow pass inches by her head and heard the thump as it embedded itself into the tree behind her.
She dropped to her knees automatically, her eyes searching for better cover.
While she crouched undecided as to what to do, there was a sharp cry and two large warriors, with full beards, and polished armour, came bursting through the undergrowth and seized her arms in vice-like grips before she had time to regain her wits. One of them held a sword, which he raised as if to strike. Fidelma flinched, waiting for the blow.
‘Stop!’ cried a voice. ‘Something is amiss!’
The warrior hesitantly lowered the weapon.
In the gloom of the woodland track, a figure mounted on horseback loomed up before them. A short bow was held loosely in one hand and the reins of his steed in the other. It seemed clear that he had been the perpetrator of her near clash with death.
Fidelma did not have time to respond to express her astonishment or protest because they then began to drag her
towards the mounted figure. They halted before him. He bent forward in his saddle and examined her features carefully.
‘We are misled,’ he exclaimed with disgust in his voice.
Fidelma threw back her head to return his examination. The stranger was impressive. He had long red-gold hair on which a circlet of burnished copper was set with several precious stones glinting. His face was long and aquiline, with a broad forehead. The nose was more a beak, the bridge thin, the shape almost hooked. The hair grew scantily from his temples and gathered in thickness at the back of his head, flashing in red, coppery glints as it fell to his shoulders. The mouth was thin, red, rather cruel, so Fidelma felt. The eyes were wide and almost violet in hue and seemed to have little trace of a pupil, although Fidelma conceded that this must clearly be a trick of the light.
He was no more than thirty. A muscular warrior. His dress, even had he not been wearing the copper circlet of office on his head, spoke of rank. He was clad in silks and linen trimmed with fur. A sword hung from his belt whose handle she saw was also worked with semi-precious metals and stones. A quiver of arrows hung from his saddle bow and the bow, still in his hand, was of fine craftsmanship.
He continued to examine her with a frown.
‘Who is this?’ he demanded coldly to the men holding her.
One of the warriors chuckled dryly.
‘Your quarry, my lord.’
‘Must be another wench from that religious house nearby,’ chimed in the other. Then, with some strange emphasis which Fidelma could not understand, he added: ‘She must have disturbed the deer that we were after, my lord.’
Fidelma finally found breath.
‘There was no deer within a hundred yards of me!’ she cried in suppressed rage. ‘Tell your men to unhand me or, by the living God, you shall hear more about it.’
The mounted man raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Both men holding her arms merely increased the bruising pressure. One of them starting laughing lewdly.
‘She has spirit, this one, my lord.’ Then he turned, putting his evil-smelling face next to her: ‘Silence, wench! Do you know to whom you speak?’
‘No,’ Fidelma gritted her teeth, ‘for no one has had the manners to identify him. But let me tell you to whom you speak … I am Fidelma,
dálaigh
of the courts, and sister to Colgú, king of Cashel. Does that suffice for you to unhand me? You are already guilty of assault before the law!’
There was a silence and then the mounted man spoke sharply to the two warriors.
‘Let her go at once! Release her!’
They dropped their hold immediately, almost like well-trained dogs obeying their master. Fidelma felt the blood gushing into her lowers arms and hands again.
The sounds of a horse crashing through the winter forest caused them all to turn. A second rider, bow in hand, came trotting up. Fidelma saw the flushed young features of Olcán. He drew rein and stared down, his expression was one of bewilderment as he recognised Fidelma. Then he had slid off his horse and was moving forward, hands outstretched.
‘Sister Fidelma, are you hurt?’
‘Small thanks to these warriors, Olcán,’ she snapped, rubbing her bruised arms.
The first rider turned to his men with an angry gesture.
‘Precede me back to the fortress,’ he snapped, and, without a word, both men turned and moved off at a shambling trot. As they did so the tall man bowed stiffly in his saddle from the waist towards Fidelma.
‘I regret this incident.’
Olcán looked from Fidelma to the man, frowning. Then he realised his manners.
‘Fidelma, may I present my friend, Torcán. Torcán, this is Fidelma of Kildare.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed as she recognised the name.
‘Torcán, the son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti?’
The tall man again bowed from the saddle, this time it was more of a sort of mock salute.
‘You know me?’
‘I know of you,’ Fidelma replied curtly. ‘And you are a long way from the lands of the Ui Fidgenti.’
The Ui Fidgenti occupied the lands to the north-west of the kingdom of Muman. She knew from her brother that they were one of the most restless of his peoples. Eoganán was an ambitious prince, ruthless in his desire to dominate the surrounding clans and expand his power base.
‘And you are surely a long way from Kildare, Sister Fidelma,’ riposted the other.
‘As an advocate of the courts, it is my lot to travel far and wide to maintain justice,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘And what is the reason for your journey to this corner of the kingdom?’
Olcán intervened hurriedly.
‘Torcán has been a guest of my father, Gulban of Beara and is currently enjoying, with me, the hospitality of Adnár.’
‘And why was it necessary to shoot at me?’
Olcán looked shocked.
‘Sister …’ he began but Torcán was smiling quizzically down at Fidelma.
‘Sister, it was not my intention to shoot at you,’ protested Torcán. ‘I was actually shooting at a deer, or so I thought. However, I concede that my men were lacking in manners, and in this regard I fear that injury to yourself lies, not in my badly aimed arrow, for which I do heartily wish to atone.’
Torcán was either short-sighted or an easy liar for Fidelma knew that there was no animal near her when the arrow was fired. Nor could any experienced hunter have mistaken her movements for that of a deer in the bare forest. Still, there was a time when confrontation did not achieve any result and
therefore she would pretend that she accepted the explanation. She let her breath exhale softly.
‘Very well, Torcán. I will accept your apology and not press a case in law for injury to myself in that you have placed me in fear of death. I do so accepting that it was an accident. However, the behaviour of your warriors was no accident. From them, a fine of two
séts
each will be paid for their mishandling and bruising of me and further conveying the fear of death. In this you will find that I act in accordance with the fines outlined in the
Bretha Déin Chécht.’
Torcán was regarding her with mixed emotions, though it appeared that a reluctant admiration of her cool attitude was uppermost.
‘Do you accept the fine on behalf of your warriors?’ she demanded.
Torcán chuckled hollowly.
‘I will pay their fine, but I will ensure that they pay me.’
‘Good. The fine shall be a contribution to the funds of the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells to help them in their work.’
‘You have my word that it will be paid. I shall instruct one of my men to come to the abbey with the fine tomorrow morning.’
‘Your word is accepted. And now I shall be obliged if you will allow me to continue my way.’
‘In which direction is your objective, sister?’ asked Olcán.
‘My journey takes me to Adnár’s fortress.’
‘Then let me share my saddle with you,’ offered Torcán.
Fidelma declined the offer to ride behind the son of the prince of the Ui Fidgenti.
‘I prefer to continue on foot.’
Torcán’s mouth tightened and then he shrugged.
‘Very well, sister. Perhaps we will see you at the fortress in a while.’
He turned his horse, slapped its flank with the side of the bow which he still held and sent it cantering along the forest path. Olcán stood hesitating a moment, looking as if he wished to speak further with Fidelma. Then he remounted his horse and raised a hand in farewell before turning and riding swiftly after his guest. Fidelma stood still, staring after them for a while, her face frowning in concentration. She tried to fathom out what this encounter meant; indeed, if it meant anything at all. Yet it must have some meaning. She simply could not believe that Torcán was serious in suggesting that he had mistaken her for a deer in the forest, especially a winter forest with fair visibility among the mainly bare trees and sparse undergrowth. And if it was no more than an accident, why had he allowed his men to manhandle her? It seemed logical to conclude that he was not expecting her - for as soon as she gave her name and station, he had ordered her release. Then who was it that he had been expecting along that road? A woman? A religieuse? Surely that much was certain for none could mistake her gender or her calling by the distinctive robes she wore. Why would a visitor to this area, the son of the prince of the Ui Fidgenti, want to kill a religieuse?

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