The Subtle Serpent (30 page)

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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Fidelma made a negative gesture.

‘Not him, Eadulf. He didn’t survive. We encountered the merchant ship under sail the next morning but with no one aboard.’

‘No one? Then what happened?’

‘I think I now know that mystery,’ Fidelma said quietly. Ross and Odar were leaning forward with eyes straining in eagerness, awaiting her solution to the puzzle that had mystified them these last several days.

‘Can you really explain?’ asked Ross.

‘I can hypothesise and be fairly certain that my account is accurate. This Gaulish captain was a brave man. Did you ever know his name, Eadulf?’

‘Waroc was his name,’ Eadulf supplied.

‘Waroc was a brave man then,’ Fidelma repeated. ‘Well, he escaped from the island of Dóirse where the ship was moored. We know that part of the story from the information which Ross gathered there, and which fits into your tale, Eadulf. Waroc, having escaped his captors again, decided that he would attempt to sail his ship single-handed. A brave but foolhardy adventure. Perhaps he thought only to move it along the coast to a friendly port and raise assistance.’

‘How did he do it?’

‘He cut the mooring ropes with an axe. We saw the severed ropes when we came upon the ship.’

Odar nodded grimly as he remembered pointing out the severed ropes to Ross and Fidelma.

‘Then he probably let the tide drift him out of the sound,’ Ross said, knowing the waters there.

‘He managed to raise his main sail,’ continued Fidelma. ‘The most difficult sail to raise was the tops’l. We cannot be sure whether he was hurt or not by his captors or during his escapes or even by his efforts to raise the sails single-handed. However, he went aloft and almost succeeded in raising it into place. Perhaps the ship lurched, perhaps there was a gust of wind, or he may have lost his footing. Who can say? But Waroc fell. A spar or a nail ripped his shirt and perhaps his flesh. We found a blood-stained strip of linen on the rigging. We also found blood on the rigging itself. As he fell, he made one desperate attempt to clutch at something. His hand caught the rail of the ship. A blood-stained hand print was there. Then, unable to keep his hold, he went over the side. He could not have lasted long in those winter waters. Perhaps he was dead in moments.’

There was an uneasy silence for a moment or two before Fidelma concluded.

‘It was later that morning that Ross’s barc came close to the merchant ship being blown hither and thither in the currents. Ross is an excellent sailor and was able to trace the tides and winds. I was determined to find you, Eadulf.’

Eadulf looked surprised.

‘You were on this
barc
?’

‘I had been asked to go to Sister Comnat’s abbey to investigate the discovery of a corpse.’

‘But how did you know I was on the ship? Ah!’ A look of understanding came into his eyes. ‘You found my book satchel in the cabin where I left it?’

‘I have your Missal safely,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘It is at Sister Comnat’s abbey which is not far from here. And we must reach it before dawn, otherwise questions will be asked.’

Sister Comnat was examining Fidelma anxiously.

‘You mentioned a corpse? You said that Sister Almu had not successfully escaped … You said that she was dead.’

Fidelma reached forward a hand and gently pressed the arm of the elderly religieuse again in comfort.

‘I do not know for sure, sister, but I am fairly convinced that the corpse discovered over a week or so ago is that of Sister Almu.’

‘But someone must have recognised the corpse?’

Fidelma did not want to cause the sister further grief but it was no use keeping the truth from her.

‘The corpse was decapitated. The head was missing. It was that of a young girl, barely eighteen. There were ink stains on the right hand, on thumb, index finger and along the little finger which tells me that she worked as a copyist or in a library. There were also signs that she had recently worn a manacle and had been scourged on the back.’

Sister Comnat caught her breath.

‘Then it is poor Almu but … where was the body discovered?’

‘In the main well of the abbey.’

‘I do not understand. If she was caught by Gulban’s men or anyone of the Ui Fidgenti why would they draw attention to the matter by placing her in the abbey’s well?’

Fidelma smiled tightly.

‘That is a mystery that I have still to sort out.’

‘We must make a plan,’ interposed Ross. ‘It will not be long to daylight and as soon as Sister Comnat and the Saxon are found missing there will be search parties sent out.’

‘You are right, Ross,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘One of us must sail to Ros Ailithir and alert Bran Finn and my brother. Some warriors must be sent here so that these infernal engines — the
tormenta
as Eadulf calls them — can be destroyed before they can be used against Cashel.’

‘We should all go. The abbey is no safe place now,’ replied
Ross. ‘If Adnár suspects something, you will not be safe. Adnár holds the fortress opposite the abbey,’ he explained for Eadulfs sake, ‘and, at the moment, his guests are Gulban’s son Olcán, and Torcán of the Ui Fidgenti.’

Eadulf whistled softly.

‘That does not augur well.’

‘And Adnár, if he is involved in this conspiracy, may have accomplices in the abbey itself,’ added Fidelma meditatively.

‘So we should all get to my
barc
and head for Ros Ailithir. We can be there by tomorrow evening.’

‘No, Ross. You will take Sister Comnat and sail immediately for Ros Ailithir to inform Abbot Brocc. Sister Comnat will be your witness. Messengers must also be sent to my brother at Cashel in order that he may prepare for any Ui Fidgenti attack. At the same time, ask Bran Finn to send warriors to the copper mines as soon as possible so that the
tormenta
may be destroyed and the Frankish mercenaries captured before they can set off for Cashel.’

‘And what about us?’ Eadulf asked.

‘I must return to the abbey, otherwise it will be realised that the plot is uncovered and Gulban’s men may act that more quickly against Cashel. Because of this, the Gaulish ship must remain where it is, otherwise its disappearance would also alert our enemies. As for you, Eadulf, you will go with Odar. Odar and a few of Ross’s men have been acting as a skeletal crew on board the Gaulish ship. You will hide on board. Odar and his men will act as an escape route in case I am discovered.’

‘What if they suspect you, already? They know that you are Colgú’s sister,’ protested Ross. ‘They may take you for a hostage.’

‘It is a chance that I have to take,’ Fidelma replied determinedly. ‘There is another mystery here. as well as this plot to overthrow Cashel. I must stay and see it through. If all goes well, Ross, you could return within three days.’

‘And who guarantees your safety for these three days,
Fidelma?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘If you stay at the abbey, I should also stay there.’

‘Impossible!’

But Ross was nodding in agreement.

‘The Saxon is right, sister,’ he offered. ‘Someone should stay and keep close to you.’

‘Impossible!’ repeated Fidelma. ‘Once Sister Comnat and Eadulf’s escape is noticed, someone will think of looking for them at the abbey. Eadulf will stand out like a sore thumb. No, Eadulf will stay on board the Gaulish ship with Odar.’

‘But surely that is equally as dangerous,’ Odar objected. ‘Once Ui Fidgenti know where the Gaulish ship is, they will come to reclaim it.’

‘They have known where it was for some days now,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘The Gaulish ship was probably recognised as soon as Ross sailed it into the Dun Boí inlet. That was probably why Adnár tried to claim salvage rights on it. It was a method of recovering it without attracting attention. I think it suits our enemy’s purpose to allow it to anchor off Dún Boí for the moment. The Gaulish ship will be the last place that they will think of looking for you, Eadulf. I will arrange a system of signals to let Odar and you know if there are difficulties.’

‘A good idea,’ Odar finally gave his slow and deliberate opinion. ‘If there is any trouble, you must signal, sister, or make your way to the ship so that we may sail if danger threatens.’

‘I still cannot see why you must remain at the abbey?’ Eadulf objected.

‘I have my oath as a
dálaigh
to fulfil,’ Fidelma explained. ‘There is some evil at the abbey that I must resolve. An evil which I believe is unconnected with what is happening here, something which is above the desire for political power. There have been two deaths at the abbey which need to be resolved.’

Sister Comnat let forth a soft moan.

‘Another death, one apart from poor Sister Almu? Who else has perished at the abbey, sister?’

‘Sister Siomha, the
rechtaire
.’

Sister Comnat’s eyes widened.

‘Sister Almu’s friend? She is also dead?’

‘And slain in the same manner. There is something that is malignant there and I must destroy it.’

‘Wouldn’t it better to wait until Ross returns with help?’ Eadulf suggested. ‘Then you can pursue your investigation without fear of an assassin or worse.’

Fidelma smiled at the Saxon monk.

‘No; I must work while there is no suspicion that the plot has been discovered. For, if I am wrong, and there is some involvement, then my quarry might well flee before I can resolve these crimes.’

Sister Comnat was shaking her head.

‘I have no understanding of this.’

‘No need. We must now be on our way, and you must tell Abbot Brocc at Ros Ailithir and Bran Finn, chieftain of the Loigde, all that you know of the events here.’

Fidelma stood up and helped the elderly sister to her feet. She could see that Ross kept peering at the sky and was clearly in some agitation at the approaching onset of the dawn.

‘Calm yourself, Ross,’ she admonished with humour. ‘Horace in his
Odes
adjures
aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem —
maintain a clear head when attempting difficult tasks. Take the good sister to your
barc.
I shall expect to see you back here within three days.’ She glanced at Odar. ‘When you have seen Eadulf safely aboard the Gaulish ship, make sure that you return the horses. We do not want Barr coming in search of them and alerting Adnár.’

She swung up on her own steed. They set off at a swift canter just as the eastern sky was beginning to dissolve into lighter shades along the horizon.

Chapter Sixteen

Sister Fidelma groaned as she felt herself being pulled bodily out of a warm, dark, womb-like cocoon into the harsh cold and grey of the light. Sister Brónach was bending over her and shaking her by the shoulder.

‘You are oversleeping, sister. It is late,’ Sister Brónach cajoled.

Fidelma blinked rapidly, her heart beating fast. It took her a few moments to remember where she was. Then she realised that she had slunk back into the abbey, into the guests’ hostel, just as dawn was coming up. She had left the others in the woods behind the abbey to depart to their appointed tasks, walking the short distance in the bitterly cold, frosty pre-dawn, into the abbey complex. She had been exhausted, throwing off her clothes and tumbling into her cot. It seemed but a moment ago. It was actually barely two hours ago, or so she judged by the light at the window.

For a moment, she wondered whether she should tell Sister Brónach that she wanted to sleep on. Perhaps she could claim that she felt ill? But Sister Brónach was standing watching her with disapproval and she did not want to raise any suspicion that she had been out all night. She climbed unwillingly from the warm bed. It was very cold and she noticed there were lumps of ice in the hand bowl awaiting her morning ablutions. She was aware of Sister Brónach watching her as she began to wash.

‘There is a young warrior waiting to see you,’ Sister Brónach finally said with disapproval.

Fidelma felt the nape of her neck tingle.

‘Oh? Do you know who he is?’ she asked, swinging round from the bowl and reaching for the towel.

‘Yes, I know him. It is young Olcán, the son of the chieftain of the Beara.’

Fidelma felt her jaw set automatically.

So! Had the warriors at the copper mine alerted Olcán of the escape of Comnat and Eadulf already?

‘Tell him that I shall be with him shortly,’ Fidelma said as she bent to continue her morning wash. Sister Brónach left. Fidelma splashed herself feeling. desperately tired and wishing she could crawl back into her warm, comfortable bed. She resisted the impulse, trying to force herself to look as though she had spent the night in deep relaxing sleep.

Ten minutes later she found Olcán seated in the
duirthech,
the oak chapel of the abbey. The fire was alight in the brazier at the back of the chapel and this seemed the only place of warmth outside of the forbidden confines of the domains of the community where visitors could shelter from the elements.

‘A good morning to you, sister,’ Olcán rose. He seemed bright and smiling. ‘I understand that you overslept?’

Fidelma wished Sister Brónach would have been more circumspect with her information.

‘The feast that Adnár prepared last evening was a pleasant one,’ she countered. ‘The excellent wine and good food is not everyday fare for me. I fear I indulged too freely of its richness.’

‘Yet you left early,’ Olcán remarked.

Fidelma kept her face straight, trying to deduce whether there was any innuendo in the young man’s tone.

‘Early for you but not for one of the Faith,’ she replied. ‘It was midnight as I came to the abbey.’

‘And now it is well after the eighth hour,’ Olcán said, rising and stretching himself before the brazier. He strode to one of
the windows of the chapel which gave a view across the inlet. ‘I see Ross’s
barc
has sailed again. It must have gone on the early morning tide.’

Was Olcán playing some subtle game with her? She could not see where his remarks were leading.

She crossed to join him and looked out across the bay. Only the Gaulish merchant ship, with its tall masts, was riding at anchor on the calm blue waters. Silently, she breathed a sigh of relief that Ross had departed unnoticed.

‘So it has,’ she said, as if it were news to her.

Olcan glanced searchingly at her.

‘You did not know that he was leaving?’ The question was sudden and spoken sharply.

‘Ross does not confide his business in me. I know he trades along this coast regularly. I presume he will return eventually. He has not only left some of his crew here to look after the ship he claims as salvage,’ she indicated the merchant ship, ‘but he is to transport me back to Ros Ailithir when I have concluded my investigation.’

‘And is this investigation concluded?’

‘As I said, last night, there is still much to learn and much to consider.’

‘Ah? I thought that there might have been some developments.’

Fidelma managed to look at him with a bewildered expression.

‘Some developments? Since I left the feast last night? No one has awakened me to inform me of any developments.’

‘I meant …’ Olcán hesitated and then shrugged. ‘I meant nothing. It was just an idea.’

He hesitated awkwardly.

‘Sister Brónach said that you wanted to see me,’ Fidelma now pressed her advantage. ‘I presume that it was something other than to see if I had slept well and to inform me that Ross’s ship had gone?’

Olcán looked confused for a moment at the slight sarcasm in her voice.

‘Oh, it was just that Torcán and I are going hunting. We wondered whether you might join us for you said, when first we met, you would like to see some of the ancient sites of this peninsula and we will be passing some fascinating spots.’

Fidelma kept her features solemn. It was obvious that this excuse had only just occurred to Olcán.

‘I thank you for the idea. Today I have to continue my inquiries here.’

‘Then, if you will forgive me, sister, I will rejoin Torcán and set off. Adnár’s master huntsman has spotted a small herd of deer on the mountain to the west.’

Fidelma watched the young man pulling his cloak around him as he strode out of the chapel. She followed him to the door and studied his retreating figure as he walked across the courtyard and through the buildings. A moment later, she saw him mounted on a horse, riding swiftly off through the woods in the direction of Adnár’s fortress.

It was clear to her what Olcán’s purpose had been.

She hurried back to the guests’ hostel and found Sister Brónach.

‘I am sorry that I overslept, sister,’ she greeted. ‘I feasted with Adnár last night. Is there a possibility that there is something with which I might break my fast for I have missed the call to the refectory.’

Sister Brónach regarded her with curiosity for a moment.

‘A long feast it must have been,’ she observed slyly, turning into the common room of the guests’ hostel. ‘I have already laid a platter for you, sister, realising that you had missed the first meal of the day.’

Fidelma slid gratefully into a chair. Dishes with some hardboiled goose eggs, some leaven bread and honey were placed before her with a small jug of mead. Fidelma was
helping herself when she suddenly realised the meaning of Sister Brónach’s remark and she glanced at the mournful-faced sister questioningly.

Sister Brónach almost smiled as she answered the unasked question.

‘I have been too long in charge of this guests’ hostel not to know the comings and goings of the guests.’

‘I see,’ Fidelma was reflective.

‘However,’ continued the doorkeeper of the abbey, ‘it is not my position to question the hours our guests keep so long as they do not interfere with the running of this community.’

‘Sister Brónach, you know why I am here. It is essential that my absence from the abbey is not generally known. Do I have your word on this?’

The middle-aged
doirseór
of the abbey grimaced almost disdainfully.

‘I have said as much.’

After breakfast, Fidelma made her way towards the library. On the way she met the Abbess Draigen who greeted her with disapproval.

‘You seem no nearer to solving this mystery than when you first arrived,’ the abbess opened in a sneering tone.

Fidelma did not rise to the bait.

‘On the contrary, mother abbess,’ she replied, brightly, ‘I think much progress has been made.’

‘Progress? Another murder has been committed, that of Sister Siomha, while you were investigating. Is that progress? It seems to be remarkably akin to incompetence so far as I judge.’

‘Do you know much of the history of this abbey?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring the thrust.

Abbess Draigen looked a little disconcerted.

‘What has the history of the abbey to do with your investigation?’

‘Do you know of the history?’ insisted Fidelma, ignoring her counter question.

‘Sister Comnat would have been able to tell you, if she were here,’ replied the abbess. ‘The abbey was formed a century ago by the Blessed Necht the Pure.’

‘That much I have heard. How did she come to choose this spot?’

Abbess Draigen raised a hand to encompass the abbey buildings.

‘Is it not as beautiful a spot as any to set up a foundation to the new Faith?’

‘Indeed it is. But I have heard that the wells here were used by the pagan priests.’

‘Necht blessed and purified them.’

‘So this was a spot actually dedicated to the old faith before it became Christian?’

‘Yes. The story is that Necht came here and debated the doctrine of Christ with Dedelchú, chieftain of the pagans who lived here in the caves.’

‘Dedelchú?’

‘So the story is handed down to us.’

‘Do you know why Necht called this abbey that of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’

‘You should know that “The Salmon of the Three Wells” is a euphemism for the Christ.’

‘But there are also three wells here.’

‘That is so. A pleasing coincidence.’

‘In pagan times some of the ancient wells were claimed to have a salmon of knowledge dwelling at the bottom.’

Abbess Draigen merely shrugged.

‘I cannot see why you are so interested in ancient beliefs. But it is well known that the “Salmon of Knowledge” was a powerful image in ancient belief. It could well be why we hail the Christ as The Salmon of the Three Wells, expressing him as part of the trinity but fountain of knowledge. Surely that is not a matter to get us any further along the road to finding the person who is culpable of the murders committed here?’

Fidelma’s expression was bland.

‘Perhaps. Thank you, mother abbess.’

She continued on her way to the tower library, leaving the abbess staring in bewilderment after her.

‘Sister Fidelma!’

The tone of the voice was soft but urgent. For a moment Fidelma could not place it and turned to identify its owner. A slim figure was standing in the doorway of the stone-built store room next to the tower. It was Sister Lerben.

Fidelma left the path and crossed towards her.

‘Good morning, sister.’

Sister Lerben motioned Fidelma to come inside as if she did not want to be seen talking with her. Fidelma frowned but obeyed the urgent gesture. Inside the store room, Sister Lerben seemed to be sorting some herbs with the aid of a lantern. While the day outside was cloudy but bright, inside it was dark and gloomy.

‘What can I do for you, sister?’ Fidelma prompted.

‘Yesterday you asked me questions …’ began Sister Lerben. She paused but Fidelma did not make any attempt to coax her further. ‘Yesterday I said some things about … about Febal, my father.’

Fidelma returned her gaze steadily.

‘You wish to retract them?’ she asked.

‘No!’

There was a harsh vehemence in the word.

‘Very well. What then?’

‘Does it have to be reported anywhere? Abbess Draigen has … has now explained about the function of a
dálaigh.
She says that … well, I would not like it to come out that, well … what I said about the farmer and my father.’

Clearly the girl was in some emotional turmoil over the matter. Fidelma relented.

‘If the matter is of no relevance to my investigation of the deaths of Almu and Síomha, then it does not have to come out.’

‘If it is of no relevance? How will you know?’

‘When I have completed my inquiries. Speaking of which, it was surprising to find you in the wood the other day taking a book to Torcán at Adnár’s fortress. Were you not afraid that you might meet your father, Febal?’

‘Him?’ The voice assumed its sharpness again. ‘No. I am not longer afraid of him. Not any more.’

‘How do you know Torcán?’

‘I have never met him.’

Fidelma registered some surprise.

‘How, then, were you taking this book, what was it now … ?’

Sister Lerben shrugged.

‘Some old chronicle, I think. I do not know. I told you, I am not proficient in reading or writing.’