The Subtle Serpent

by Peter Tremayne

  However, the crews’ quarters were fairly tidy although not as neat as the cabins that were presumably used by the officers of the ship. Still, there was no sign of disorder or hasty departure. The stores were stowed meticulously.

  From the crew’s quarters, Ross led the way into the central hold of the ship. Another smell caught Fidelma’s senses, it being a rapid change of sensual stimulus from the stale bitter odour of the crew’s quarters. Fidelma halted, frowning, trying to place the perfume that assailed her nostrils. A combining of several spices, she thought, but something else dominated it. An aroma of stale wine. She peered around in the gloom of the hold. It appeared to be empty.

  Ross was fiddling with some tinder and flint and struck a spark to light an oil lamp so that they could see the interior better. He exhaled softly.

  ‘As I said, the ship was riding high out of the water which made her doubly unwieldy before the weather. I expected that we would find an empty hold.’

  ‘Why would there be no cargo on board?’ Fidelma demanded as she peered round.

  Ross was clearly puzzled.

  ‘I have no idea, sister.’

  ‘This merchant ship is Gaulish, you say?’

  The seaman nodded.

  ‘Could the ship have sailed from Gaul without a cargo?’

  ‘Ah,’ Ross saw her point immediately. ‘No, it would have sailed with a cargo. And likewise it would have picked up a cargo in an Irish port for the return journey.’

  ‘So we have no idea when the crew deserted her? She might have been on her way to Ireland or on her way back to Gaul? And it could well be that her cargo was removed when her crew deserted her?’

  Ross scratched his nose reflectively.

  ‘They are good questions but we have no answers.’

  Fidelma took a few paces into the empty hold and began to study it in the gloom.

  ‘What does a ship like this usually carry?’

  ‘Wine, spices and other things not so easily come by in our country, sister. See, those are racks for the wine kegs but they are all empty.’

  She followed his outstretched hand. There was, together with the empty racks, a certain amount of debris, of pieces of broken wood and, lying on its side, was a iron-shod cartwheel, with one of the spokes broken. There was something else which caused her to frown a little. It was a large cylinder of wood around which was tightly wound a coarse thick thread. The cylinder was two feet in length and some six inches in diameter. She bent down and touched the thread and her eyes widened a little. It was a skein of animal gut.

  ‘What is this, Ross?’ she asked.

  The sailor bent, examined it and shrugged.

  ‘I have no idea. It has no use aboard a ship. And it is not a means of fastening anything. The skein is too pliable, it would stretch if any tension was placed on it.’

  Fidelma, still on her knees, had become distracted by something else that she had observed. She was examining patches of brown red clay which seemed to lie on the wooden decking of the hold.

  ‘What is it, sister?’ demanded Ross, reaching forward and holding the lamp high.

  Fidelma scooped some of it up on her fingers and stared down at it.

  ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just red clay. I presume it was probably trodden from the shore by those who filled the hold. But there seems a great deal of it about this place.’

  She rose to her feet and moved across the bare storage area to a hatchway on the far side towards the bows. Suddenly she paused and turned back to Ross.

  ‘There is no way anyone would hide under this deck, is there?’ she asked, pointing to the flooring.

  Ross grimaced wryly in the gloom.

  ‘Not unless they were a sea rat, sister. There is only the bilge under here.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I think it would be well if every place aboard this vessel were searched.’

  ‘I’ll see to it directly,’ agreed Ross, accepting her effortless authority without complaint.

  ‘Give me the lamp and I’ll continue on.’ Fidelma took the lamp from his hand and moved through the hatch into the for’ard area of the ship while Ross, glancing about nervously, for he had all the superstition of a seaman, began calling for one of his crewmen.

  Fidelma, holding the lamp before her, found a small flight of steps which passed a cable tier where the anchor of the large vessel was stored. At the top of the stairs were two more cabins, both were empty. They were also tidy. It was then that Fidelma realised what was lacking. Everything was tidy; too tidy for there were no signs of any personal possessions such as must have belonged to the captain, his crew or any person who might have taken passage on the ship. There were no clothes, no shaving tackle, nothing save a pristine ship.

  She turned, moved up a short companionway to the deck to seek out Ross. As her hand ran along the polished rail she felt a change in texture against her palm. Before she could investigate she heard someone moving across the deck and calling her name. She continued up into daylight.

  Ross was standing near the companionway entrance with a glum face. He saw her at the top of the companionway and came forward.

  ‘Nothing in the bilge, sister, except rats and filth as one would expect. No bodies, that’s for sure,’ he reported grimly. ‘Alive or dead.’

  Fidelma was staring down at her palm. It was discoloured with a faint brown texture. She realised what it was immediately. She showed her palm to Ross.

  ‘Dried blood. Split not all that long ago. That’s the second patch of blood on this vessel. Come with me.’ Fidelma retraced her steps down towards the cabins with Ross close behind. ‘Perhaps we should be looking for a body in the cabins below?’

  She paused on the stairway and held up her lamp. Blood had certainly been smeared along the rail and there was more dried blood on the steps and some which had splashed against the side walls. It was older than the blood on the linen cloth and on the handrail of the ship.

  ‘There is no sign of blood on the deck,’ observed Ross. ‘Whoever was hurt must have been hurt on these stairs and moved downwards.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  ‘Or else was hurt below and came up here to be met by someone who bound the wound or otherwise prevented the blood from falling to the deck. Still, let us see where the trail leads.’

  At the foot of the companionway, Fidelma bent down to examine the decking by the light of the lantern. Her eyes suddenly narrowed and she smothered an exclamation.

  ‘There are more signs of dried blood down here.’

  ‘I do not like this, sister,’ muttered Ross, anxiously casting a glance around. ‘Perhaps something evil haunts this vessel?’

  Fidelma straightened up.

  ‘The only evil here, if evil it be, is human evil,’ she chided him.

  ‘A human agency could not spirit away an entire crew and a ship’s cargo,’ protested Ross.

  Fidelma smiled thinly.

  ‘Indeed, they could. And they did not do a perfect job of it for they have left bloodstains which tell us that it was, indeed, a human agency at work. Spirits, evil or otherwise, do not have to shed blood when they wish to destroy humankind.’

  She turned, still holding her lantern up, to examine the two cabins adjoining the foot of the companionway.

  Either the wounded person, for she presumed the amount of blood had come from someone who had been severely injured, had been gashed with a knife or a sharp instrument at the foot of the companionway or in one of the cabins. She turned into the first one, with Ross unwillingly trailing in her wake.

  She paused on the threshold and stood staring around trying to find some clue to the mystery.

  ‘Captain!’

  One of Ross’s men came clambering down behind them.

  ‘Captain, I’ve been sent by Odar to tell you that the wind is getting up again and the tide is bearing us towards the rocks.’

  Ross opened his mouth to curse but, as his eye caught Fidelma’s, he contented himself with a grunt.

&n
bsp; ‘Very well. Get a line on the bow of this vessel and tell Odar to stand by to steer her. I shall tow her into a safe anchorage.’

  The man scampered off and Ross turned back to Fidelma.

  ‘Best come off back to the barc, sister. It will not be easy to steer this vessel to shore. It will be safer on my ship.’

  Fidelma reluctantly turned after him and as she did so her eyes caught something which she had not perceived before. The open cabin door had shielded it from her as she had stood in the cabin. Now, as she turned to go, she saw something unusual hanging from a peg behind the door. Unusual because it was a tiag liubhair, a leather book satchel. Fidelma was astonished to see such an item in the cabin of a ship. It was true that the Irish kept their books, not on shelves, but in satchels hung on pegs or racks around the walls of their libraries, each satchel containing one or more manuscript volumes. And such satchels were also generally employed to carry books from place to place. It was always necessary for a missionary priest to have Gospels, offices and other books and so such satchels were also designed to transport them on their missions. The tiag liubhair which hung behind the cabin door was one that was commonly slung from the shoulder by a strap.

  Fidelma was unaware of Ross now pausing impatiently at the foot of the companionway.

  She unhooked the satchel and reached in. Inside there was a small vellum volume.

  Suddenly her heart was racing, her mouth dry, and she stood rooted to the spot. The blood pounded in her ears. For a moment or two she thought she was going to pass out. The volume was a small, innocuous looking manuscript book, its vellum leaves bound in heavy calf-leather and embossed with beautiful patterned whirls and circles. Fidelma had recognised that it would be a Missal even before she turned to the title page. She knew also what would be inscribed on that page.

  It was now over twelve months since Sister Fidelma had last held this book in her hands. Over twelve months ago, on a warm Roman summer evening, in the herb-scented garden of the Lateran Palace, she had stood holding this little book. It had been the evening before she had left Rome to return home to Ireland. She had handed the book to her friend and companion in adventure, Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, from the Saxon land of the South Folk. Brother Eadulf, who had helped her solve the mystery of Abbess Etain’s murder at Whitby and later of the murder of Wighard, the archbishop-elect of Canterbury in Rome.

  The book which she now held in her hands, in this mysterious abandoned ship, had been her farewell gift to her closest friend and companion. A gift that had meant so much to them in that emotional parting.

  Fidelma felt the cabin beginning to rock and turn around her. She tried to still her racing thoughts, to rationalise the awesome dread which she felt choking her lungs. She staggered dizzily backwards and collapsed abruptly onto the bunk.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Sister Fidelma! Are you all right?’

  Ross’s anxious face was peering close to Fidelma’s as she opened her eyes. She blinked. She had not really passed out only … she blinked again and silently rebuked herself for showing weakness. However, the shock was real enough. What was this book, her parting gift to Brother Eadulf in Rome, now doing in the cabin of a deserted Gaulish merchant ship off the coast of Muman? She knew that Eadulf would not part with it so lightly. And if not, then he had been in this cabin. He had been a passenger on this merchant ship.

  ‘Sister Fidelma!’

  Ross’s voice rose in agitation.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma replied slowly and cautiously stood up. Ross leaned forward to help her.

  ‘Did you feel giddy?’ queried the sailor.

  She shook her head. She again rebuked herself sternly for such a display of emotion. Yet to deny the feeling would surely be a greater betrayal of herself? She had been fighting back her emotions ever since she had left Eadulf on the quay in Rome. He had been forced to stay in Rome as tutor to the Theodore of Tarsus, the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, while she had to return to her own land.

  However, the year that had passed had been filled with memories of Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham and feelings of loneliness and longing, as if of a home sickness. She was home. She was in her own land among her own people again. Yet she missed Eadulf. She missed their arguments, the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise good-naturedly to the bait. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them.

  Eadulf had been trained in Ireland, at both Durrow and at Tuaim Brecain, before accepting the rulings of Rome on matters of the Faith and rejecting the Rule of Colmcille.

  Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself without hiding behind her rank and role in life, without being forced to adopt a persona much like an actor playing a part.

  Now she began to realise that her feeling for Eadulf was stronger than mere friendship.

  To discover the gift that she had given him abandoned on a deserted vessel off the coast of Ireland sent a riot of panic-stricken thoughts through her mind.

  ‘Ross, there is a mystery to this ship.’

  Ross grimaced wryly.

  ‘I thought that we had already agreed on that matter.’

  Fidelma thrust out the Missal which she still held in her hand.

  ‘This belonged to a friend of mine whom I left in Rome over a year ago. A close friend.’

  Ross looked at it and scratched his head.

  ‘A coincidence?’ he offered hazily.

  ‘A coincidence, indeed,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly. ‘What could have happened to the people on this ship? I must find out. I must find out what happened to my friend.’

  Ross look awkward.

  ‘We must get back aboard the barc, sister. The wind is coming up again.’

  ‘You intend to tow this ship to shore?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then I will make a closer search of her when we are in sheltered waters. What point are you making for?’

  Ross rubbed his chin.

  ‘Why, the nearest harbour is the very place I was taking you to, sister. To the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells.’

  Fidelma let out a low breath. Her discovery had caused her to momentarily forget why she was in passage with Ross in the first place. Yesterday morning the abbot of Ros Ailithir, with whom she had been staying, had received a message from the abbess of The Salmon of the Three Wells, a small community of religieuses perched at the end of one of the far western peninsulas of Muman. An unidentified body had been discovered there and it was feared that it might be that of a female member of the Faith, though there was little means of recognition. The head of the body was missing. The abbess sought the assistance of a Brehon, an officer of the law courts of the five kingdoms, to help her solve the mystery of the identity of the corpse and discover who was responsible for its death.

  The community came under the jurisdiction of the Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir and he had asked Fidelma if she were willing to undertake the investigation. The community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was but a day’s sailing along the rugged coastline and therefore Fidelma had sought passage in the barc of Ross.

  The discovery of the deserted Gaulish merchant ship and the book satchel, containing her parting gift to Brother Eadulf, had caused all thoughts of the reason for her journey to be driven momentarily from her mind.

  ‘Sister,’ insisted Ross, in agitation, ‘we must return to the barc.’

  Unwillingly, she agreed, replacing the Missal back into the leather satchel and swinging it over her shoulder.

  Ross’s men had fastened lines from the bow of the Gaulish ship to the stern of their smaller vessel and two men were left aboard her, the steersman, Odar, and another man, while Ross and Fidelma accompanied the others to the deck of the Foracha.

  Fidelma’s mind was preoccupied as Ross issued instructions to ease his ship away from the bigger vessel and turn
before the wind. Soon the tow lines grew taut and the smaller craft began to make way with the larger ship, clawing through the choppy seas, after her. The wind was up again and there was no doubt that had Ross not intervened then the Gaulish ship would have already foundered on the hidden rocks and reefs that lay nearby.

  Ross kept an anxious eye on the straining ropes and the wallowing vessel behind them. Odar was an expert steersman and skilfully kept the bigger ship on course. Ross then turned to judge his course for the coast. He was heading for one of the great bays between two south-westerly thrusting granite peninsulas, towards a large peninsula along which tall mountains ran, dominated by one distant high round dome that overpowered all other peaks. Before this peninsula rose the squat, bulbous shape of a large island and Ross ordered his helmsman to guide the barc towards the inlet between this island and the coast of the peninsula.

  Fidelma had perched herself, with folded arms, against the stern rail, her head bowed in thought, oblivious to the approaching coast and its spectacular scenery. She also seemed oblivious to the pitch and toss of the barc as it was propelled before the winds tugging its prize after it.

  ‘We’ll soon be in sheltered waters,’ Ross informed her, feeling sympathy for the young religieuse for the distress which her discovery had caused showed plainly on her features.

  ‘Could it have been slavers?’ she suddenly asked him without preamble.

  Ross thought a moment. It was known that raiders, seeking slaves, often penetrated Irish waters, sometimes attacking coastal villages or fishing boats and carrying off inhabitants to be sold in the slave markets of the Saxon kingdoms or even further afield in Iberia, Frankia and Germania.

  ‘Perhaps slavers might have attacked the merchant ship and carried everyone off?’ Fidelma pressed as he hesitated.

  Ross made a negative gesture of his head.