The Subtle Serpent (38 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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‘It is confusing,’ admitted Fidelma, ‘but the fact is, while he thought Torcán was guilty of murdering Almu and Síomha, he also killed him in premeditation in order to prevent him revealing that he, Adnár, was part of the insurrection. He is, therefore, still guilty of murder.’
There was a moment of silence before Adnár started to protest.
‘You can’t prove that I knew about the plot and what was happening at the copper mines.’
‘I think I can,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You see, when you entered the cave and slew Torcan, you were able to recognise Brother Eadulf here by name. How would you know who he was if you did not know what was going on at the copper mines and that he had just escaped from them?’
Adnár made to speak but hesitated, his guilt written on his face. He sat down abruptly as if the strength had left him.
Beccan looked satisfied as he addressed Fidelma.
‘This leaves Brother Febal as the murderer of Almu and Siomha?’
‘That is so. He slew Almu and laid the false trail. When Torcan came close to him, he sacrificed Síomha. And Síomha was his lover.’ She looked across to Sister Lerben. ‘Síomha was not visiting Adnár at Dún Boí, as you thought, but Febal.’
Brother Febal had stood, hands bound, between the two warriors. He started to laugh, a slight hysterical note in his voice.
‘All very clever,
dálaigh
! Didn’t I tell you once that all you women stick together. Well,
dálaigh,
tell me this; where is the gold calf now? If I have done so much to find it, where is it now?’
The Brehon Beccan looked across to Fidelma.
‘Though we seem to have enough evidence and confession, Febal has raised an interesting point. Where is this fabulous gold calf that has cost so much blood?’
Fidelma shrugged eloquently.
‘Alas, that is a mystery that may never be solved.’
There were gasps of astonishment.
‘You mean my sacrifice was for nothing?’ Febal’s voice rose to a high pitch.
‘Your sacrifice?’ thundered Beccan. ‘You killed two members of this community and your scheming caused the death of Torcán.’ He gestured to the warriors. ‘Remove him from this place and take him aboard my vessel. Adnár also. They will be taken to Cashel.’
Adnár and Febal were hustled from the
duirthech
by Mail and his warriors.
Beccan gazed quizzically at Fidelma.
‘Are you saying that this gold calf never really existed?’ he asked.
Fidelma gave a wry grimace.
‘I think it probably did. Who are we to doubt the words of the ancient chronicles? But it is certainly no longer in the
cave. It may be that it was removed from that cave many long years ago. And perhaps that may be the reason as to why the entrance had been blocked up. Perhaps, years ago, one could enter that cave complex from the inlet and that was how people originally went in and out.’
‘What makes you say this?’
‘Because of the casks. The two wooden casks floating on the underground pool, knocking into each other.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Simple enough. How had the casks come into the cave? How could the statue have been placed in that cave or have been removed? The entrance through which Febal and Síomha gained their access was, as I and Eadulf know, only two feet wide. The logic is that the casks came by another entrance and through that same entrance the statue had been placed or removed. One thing more; the casks were less than a century old by the look of them. They were certainly no older for they were not rotten. They were still fairly dry inside and firm enough to create the hollow knocking when they banged together. I’d hazard a guess that when those casks were taken into the cave, the gold calf was taken out.’
‘So we may never know who removed the gold calf or its whereabouts now?’
Fidelma’s lips twitched slightly. Before answering she let her gaze wander slowly around from the large gold altar cross and the other gold icons hanging on the walls of the
duirthech.
Then she returned her mocking blue eyes to the figure of the Brehon.
‘I think, perhaps, when Necht the Pure drove the pagan Dedelchú and his people away from here and purified this place in the new Faith, the gold calf vanished with them.’
There was a pause and then the Brehon rose from his seat.
‘This hearing is now ended. We have seen here today much wisdom from you, Fidelma of Kildare,’ Beccan said approvingly.
Fidelma shrugged diffidently.
‘Vitam regit fortuna non sapientia,’
she responded in deprecation.
‘If chance, not wisdom, governs human life,’ retorted the Brehon dryly, ‘then you are truly possessed of a great deal of luck.’
Fidelma met Brother Cillín at the door of the chapel.
‘Congratulations, sister. It was a complicated case well presented.’
‘Febal is not the only one here who seems to have fallen from the path of the Faith,’ Fidelma said pointedly.
Brother Cillín glanced in the direction in which she had been looking and saw Abbess Draigen talking intently to Sister Lerben.
‘Ah yes. The arrogance of the abbess.
Vanitas vanitatum, omnis vanitas.
I have the authority from Abbot Brocc to request that the abbess go on a pilgrimage in order that she may discover true humility again. Sister Brónach will be placed in charge of the abbey here under my direction.’
‘I understood that you were going to Gulban’s capital across the mountains?’
‘I am. I intend to raise a new religious house there and this abbey, once cleansed of the sin of pride, will take instruction from it. Let us pray that Abbess Draigen may accept the lesson and learn from it.’
‘Was it Syrus who said
vincit qui se vincit
— they conquer who conquer themselves?’
Brother Cillín chuckled.
‘Who knows themselves and overcomes their problems can go on to achieve many things in life. It is a fine thought. I hope that it is not too late and that Draigen is not as arrogant as to misunderstand the sentiment.’
‘Will you be able to insist that she obeys? She is not someone who meekly accepts instruction?’
‘There is the matter of her incitement of Sister Lerben to commit murder which you have told me of. Murder might well have resulted if you had not interceded to protect Sister Berrach. I will make it plain that Draigen has a choice, to obey in humility or answer for her behaviour before a council of her ecclesiastical peers at Ros Ailithir.’
‘In that case, I am sure that she will go. Draigen is conceited but her arrogance hides a life that was destroyed before it began. Conceit is only the armour she has put on to protect her against life.’
Brother Cillín looked at her wryly.
‘Am I to have pity for her? Surely her conceit is comfort enough for her?’
‘It would be sad if we did not feel pity for the wreckage of life.’
‘Rather would I feel pity for her daughter, Sister Lerben. She had been doomed by her mother and has suffered from the actions of her father. What hope for her?’
‘That will be up to you, Cillín,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Your hand must now guide the paths of these people.’
‘It is a heavy responsibility,’ agreed the monk. ‘I would rather pilgrimage among the barbarians who have not heard the word of Christ than tried to solve the conflicts of these minds and souls. I will be sending Sister Lerben to Ard Fhearta where she must spend the time learning from her elders.’
‘Poor Lerben. She was proud of being
rechtaire
here.’
‘She has much to learn before she can guide or have authority over others.’ Brother Cillín held out his hand.
‘Vade in pace,
Fidelma of Kildare.’
‘Vale,
Cillín of Mullach.’
Fidelma rejoined Eadulf in the courtyard of the abbey.
‘What now?’ asked the Saxon monk anxiously.
‘Now? I have no wish to stay in this sad place. I am returning to Cashel.’
‘Then we will journey together,’ Eadulf said brightly. ‘Am I not the emissary of Theodore of Canterbury to your brother at Cashel?’
On the quay, they found Ross was waiting for them. Fidelma saw Sister Brónach standing to one side with Sister Berrach, supporting herself on her heavy staff. It was clear that Brónach and Berrach were both waiting to speak with her. Fidelma, with a muttered excuse to Eadulf and Ross, went across and greeted them.
‘I did not want you to go before I could speak to you,’ Sister Brónach began hesitantly. ‘I wanted to thank you …’
‘There is nothing to thank me for,’ Fidelma protested.
‘I also wanted to apologise,’ the solemn-faced religieuse went on. ‘I thought that somehow you had suspected me …’
‘It is my profession to suspect everyone, sister, but is it not said
vincit omnia veritas
— truth eventually conquers?’ she replied whimsically.
Sister Berrach snorted loudly and pointed towards the abbey buildings.
‘Should your Latin tag not be that from Terence —
veritas odium parit?’
Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly in amusement.
‘Truth breeds hatred?’ She glanced towards the abbey buildings. The abbess was engaged in heated argument with Brother Cillín. ‘Ah yes. I am afraid that is the nature of truth because so many people seek to hide the truth from one another. But the greater hatred arises when the person has hidden the truth from themselves.’
Sister Berrach bowed her head in acceptance of the wisdom.
‘I would like to thank you, Fidelma. Had it not been for you, I would also have stood falsely accused. Prejudice would have convicted me.’
‘Heraclitus says that dogs bark at people they do not know.
Indeed, prejudice is but a child of ignorance. People often hate others because they do not know them. I cannot blame you, but you yourself did contribute something to that ignorance by playing the role others gave you instead of standing firm for yourself. You pretended that you were something of a simpleton, pretended to stutter, pretended to be uneducated and confined your reading to the hours when no one could observe you.’
‘We cannot eliminate prejudice,’ replied Sister Berrach, defensively.
‘Knowledge is the one thing that makes us human and not simply animal. Sister Comnat will be looking for a new assistant librarian. If she had knowledge of your ability among books, Sister Berrach, I am sure that she would offer you that role.’
Sister Berrach responded with a wide smile.
‘Then I will ensure that she has that knowledge.’
Fidelma nodded and then, glancing at Brónach, said softly: ‘Your mother should be proud that you are her child, Sister Berrach.’
Sister Brónach’s solemn face dissolved into awe.
‘You know even that?’ she gasped.
‘If you had not demonstrated your maternity by the way you keep close to Berrach and help her, the stories that you both told me were enough. You told me that your mother was Suanach. You told me that you were a member of this community, disagreeing with your mother’s adherence to the old ways. You came to this community, met someone and had a child. You felt you could not look after your daughter here and so you took her to your mother to be raised. Why did you find it so difficult to look after a child in this community? Because the child had physical problems which needed constant attention.’
Sister Brónach was pale but she held up her head defiantly.
‘It is so,’ she conceded. ‘Tell me no more truth.’
Berrach was clinging on to her mother’s arm.
‘I have known for some time. You are right, sister. My father would not help Brónach look after me. Only my grandmother helped until I was three years old. She was fostering another child then, a child who was older than I was. That child was full of malice and jealousy and in a fit of rage slew my grandmother, leaving me almost helpless. Then Brónach defied my father’s wishes and brought me back to the community and raised me — deformity and all.’
Sister Brónach grimaced.
‘The condition was that I would never identify her father. I have kept to that condition. The knowledge would not add pleasure for Berrach.’
‘I am happy in that ignorance,’ Berrach assured her. ‘It is no great loss.’
‘What is ironic is that the child who killed my mother would be allowed to enter the community also and eventually became our abbess.’
‘She will not be here for long. Neither will Sister Lerben,’ Fidelma assured them.
Sister Berrach reached forward and clasped Fidelma’s hand.
‘But you will tell no one of our story?’
‘No one,’ Fidelma reassured the girl. ‘Your secret is buried and forgotten, so far as I am concerned.’
Sister Brónach paused to wipe a tear from her eye.
‘Thank you, sister.’
Fidelma held out her hands, taking Brónach’s and Berrach’s hands in each of her own.
‘Care for one another, sisters, in the future as you have in the past.’
 
The canvas sail came cracking down the mast to fall into place. Ross watched his sailors with critical eyes as they swarmed up to secure it in place. A stiff winter wind was blustering across the inlet and bearing within its bosom snow squalls. The sky was almost black and the air was damp and
chill, yet Ross was in no way perturbed at putting out to sea, in spite of the fact that even in this inlet the waters were choppy and the
barc
was bobbing to and fro alarmingly. Now the sails were finally in place, with Odar at the helm, the ship began to move forward at a cracking rate.
Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf stood on the stern deck with Ross. The two religious gripped the side rails to steady themselves, both jealous of the easy manner with which Ross stood by the helm, feet apart, balancing against the pitch of the deck. The burly seaman turned half apologetically to them.
‘It will be rough for a while,’ he called above the blustering wind, ‘but it will ease when we have stood out to sea.’
Fidelma grinned at Eadulf’s anxious face.
‘I’d rather be at sea than confined further in the grim atmosphere of that abbey,’ she replied as Ross turned to his other tasks
‘I shall not be sorry to leave here either,’ Eadulf confessed. ‘It has not been the best of times.’
Fidelma glanced sympathetically up at him. Then her eye caught the sight of the tall Gaulish merchant ship, still bobbing at anchor, vanishing behind them in the inlet.
‘I thought it was a mark of a fine man that Ross forwent his salvage on that ship and returned it to its Gaulish crew for their safe return home.’
‘A pity Waroc was not with them. As I said, he was a brave man.’
‘How long do you think that you will remain at Cashel?’ Fidelma changed the subject abruptly.
‘I am not sure. Until I hear from Theodore of Canterbury, I suppose.’
‘I plan to spend some time at Cashel myself,’ Fidelma remarked lightly. ‘It is so long since my brother and I have had any time together.’
‘You will want some rest after this,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Plots and insurrections apart, the abbey of The Salmon of the
Three Wells seemed filled with vain, greedy and twisted people. It will be pleasant to be among friends.’
‘You are too hard on them. Sister Comnat was an upright and sensible lady. And as for Brónach and Berrach … they, at least, knew love and caring.’
‘Yes. I felt sorry for them, especially.’
‘Sorrow? No, I would have said envy was what one should feel for them. It is not given to many to give and receive an unselfish mother’s love.’
Fidelma suddenly frowned and turned looking seaward, leaning on the ship’s rail.
‘I wonder if Brónach will ever tell her daughter the name of her father?’ She had seen the pleading eyes of Brónach and obeyed that silent prayer not to utter the name of Febal. Perhaps it was as well.
Eadulf had not caught her words.
‘What was that?’
Fidelma looked up at the tall Saxon monk and her face relaxed into a look of contentment.
‘I am glad that you are coming to Cashel, Eadulf,’ she said.

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