‘You have still not presented me with evidence of any of your claims or why there is this animosity between you.’
‘That old woman turned her head with her tales and with her …’
He stopped and shrugged.
‘While I was serving in Gulban’s army, my father and mother died. Draigen went to live with this old woman in the forests.’
‘This made you hate her?’
He shook his head.
‘No. I am not sure of the story but Draigen fell foul of the law and had to pay compensation. To do this she sold the pitiful plot of land and entered the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. The loss of the land was an annoyance to me. I will not deny that. I should have inherited some of it. I laid a claim against Draigen for my share of the land but a Brehon dismissed the claim.’
‘I see. This claim was the cause of the animosity?’
Adnár shrugged.
‘I resented what she had done. But I had accrued wealth. I did not really need it. It was principle. No, the hate started to come from Draigen. Perhaps she hated me for making the claim. She avoided me afterwards. When I became bó-aire of this district, she was forced to have dealings with me but always used a third party to intermediate. Her hatred of me was keen.’
‘Did Draigen give you a reason for her hatred?’
‘Oh yes. She claims to blame me for the death of our father and mother. But it does not ring true to me. Perhaps it really was simply resentment that I made a legal claim against her. Anyway, whatever the primary cause, the years have served merely to increase her hatred.’
‘She denies it and says that it is you who hates her. So, I ask you again, have you come to return her hate?’ Fidelma realised that she was faced with two opposing testimonies without room for compromise.
‘I felt hurt at first, then anger towards her. I do not think I have ever felt true hatred. Of course, there were stories from the abbey about Draigen. I heard stories of her liking for young novices. Then when I heard the story of the body of a young woman being found in the well, I feared the worst.’
‘Why?’
For the first time he raised his head and gazed directly into her eyes.
‘Why?’ he repeated, as if he had not understood the question.
‘Why should this make you come to the conclusion that your sister, your own sister, had murdered this girl as the result of some illicit relationship? I do not see how there is a connection. At least, not from what you have told me so far.’
Adnár looked uncomfortable for a moment or two as he gave the matter thought.
‘It is true that I cannot give you a truly logical reason. I just feel that it fits in some terrible way.’
‘Did your anam-chara, Brother Febal, suggest this explanation to you?’
The question was sharp and direct.
Adnár blinked rapidly.
Fidelma could tell by the slight tinge of colour that rose to his cheeks that she had scored a hit with her question.
‘How long have you known Brother Febal?’
‘Since I returned and became bó-aire here.’
‘What do you know of his background?’
‘Once the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells was a mixed community, a conhospitae as they are called. Brother Febal was one of the monks who dwelt there. Febal and Draigen married. Under the old abbess, Abbess Marga, Brother Febal was doorkeeper of the community. Then my sister was appointed rechtaire, or steward, which, as you know, is a position second only to the abbess. I understand the relationship between Draigen and Febal ended abruptly. Draigen, taking advantage of the frailty and age of the old abbess, began to purge the abbey of all its male members and designed to make it a house of female religieuses only. Brother Febal was the last to be driven from his post and came to join me as my religious advisor. Not long after, the old abbess died. It did not surprise me to find that my sister Draigen was appointed in her stead.’
‘You imply that Draigen is ruthless and ambitious?’
‘That you may judge for yourself.’
‘Well, what you are also saying is that Brother Febal has good cause to hate Draigen; good cause to stir up enmity between you and her and good cause to create rumours over the finding of this corpse.’
‘From an outsider’s position this may seem true,’ Adnár admitted. ‘I will not try to convince you to my views. The only reason I wanted to see and speak with you before Draigen, when you arrived yesterday, was to alert you to certain things. To ask you to follow those paths I have pointed to. Whether you choose to or not is your concern. You are an advocate of the courts and is not your war-cry, quaere verum?’
‘To seek the truth is our maxim not a war-cry,’ she corrected pedantically. ‘That I shall endeavour to do. But accusation is not truth. Suspicion is not a fact. I shall need to speak further with this Brother Febal.’
Adnár ran a hand through his black curly mane of hair.
‘You may return with me to the fortress, though I am not sure whether Febal will be there now. As I came away, I believe he was about to conduct Torcán and his men to a place of pilgrimage across the mountain.’
‘If he has done so, when will he return?’
‘Later this evening, undoubtedly.’
‘Then I will see him tomorrow. Tell him to come to the abbey.’
Adnár looked uncomfortable.
‘He would probably not wish to, Draigen would not make him welcome.’
‘My will over-rules Draigen in this matter,’ Fidelma replied coldly. ‘He will meet me at the guest’s hostel after the breaking of the fast. I shall expect him.’
‘I will convey that to him,’ sighed Adnár.
Adnár suddenly raised his head in a listening attitude. A moment later Fidelma heard the crunch of shoes on the frosty ground and turned. Coming along the woodland path was the figure of a religieuse, head bowed and cowled, a sacculus slung across her shoulder. She did not see Adnár and Fidelma until she was ten yards away when Fidelma hailed her.
‘Good day, sister.’
The girl halted and glanced up startled. Fidelma recognised her immediately. It was the young Sister Lerben.
‘Good day,’ she mumbled.
Adnár rose smiling.
‘It seems a custom of the abbey religieuses to tread this path this day,’ he observed ironically. ‘Surely it is dangerous to be alone here, sister? It will be dark before long.’
Lerben’s eyes flashed in annoyance and then she dropped them.
‘I am on my way to see,’ she hesitated and glanced at Fidelma, ‘to see Torcán of the Ui Fidgenti.’ Her hand went automatically to the sacculus.
Adnár continued to smile and shook his head.
‘Alas, as I was just explaining to Sister Fidelma, Torcán has just left my fortress and will not return until this evening. Can I give him some message?’
Sister Lerben hesitated again and then nodded swiftly. She removed a small oblong object wrapped in a piece of cloth from her sacculus.
‘Would you ensure that he is given this? He requested its loan from our library and I was asked to deliver it.’
‘I will pass this on with pleasure, sister.’
Fidelma reached forward and effortlessly intercepted the package before Adnár could take it. She unwrapped the cloth and gazed at the vellum book.
‘Why, this is a copy of the annals being kept at Clonmacnoise, the great abbey founded by the Blessed Ciarán.’
She raised her eyes to see an anxious look on Sister Lerben’s face. But Adnár was smiling.
‘I had not realised young Torcán was so interested in history,’ he said. ‘I will have to speak with him about this.’
He reached forth a hand but Fidelma was glancing through its vellum pages. She had spotted some stains on one page, a red muddy stain. She had time only to see that the page contained an entry about the High King Cormac Mac Art before Adnár had gently but firmly removed it from her hold and rewrapped it in the cloth.
‘This is not the place to study books,’ he observed jocularly. ‘It is far too cold. Do not worry, sister,’ he told Lerben. ‘I will make sure the book is safely delivered to Torcán.’
Fidelma rose to her feet and began to brush the leaves, twigs and dusty, rotting wood from her dress.
‘Do you know Torcán well? It is a long way from the land of the Ui Fidgenti.’
Adnár tucked the book under his arm.
‘I hardly know him at all. He was a guest of Gulban at his fortress and has come down here as a guest of Olcán, to hunt and see some of the ancient sites for which our territory is renowned.’
‘I did not think that the Ui Fidgenti were welcomed by the people of the Loígde.’
Adnár chuckled dryly.
‘There have been battles fought between us, there is no denying that. It is time, however, that old quarrels and prejudices were overcome.’
‘I agree,’ Fidelma said. ‘But I point out the obvious. Eoganán, the prince of the Ui Fidgenti, has conspired in many wars against the Loígde.’
‘Territorial wars,’ agreed Adnár. ‘Were everyone to keep to their own territory and not try to interfere in the concerns of other clans then there would be no need for warfare.’ He grinned crookedly. ‘But, thanks be to God that there was need for warriors when I was a young man otherwise I would not have risen to my present station.’
Fidelma gazed at him a moment, head to one side.
‘So you, who won your wealth in wars against the Ui Fidgenti, are now entertaining the son of the prince of that tribe?’
Adnár nodded.
‘It is the way of the world. Yesterday’s enemies are today’s bosom friends, although, as I pointed out, to be precise, the young man is Olcán’s guest and not mine.’
‘And yesterday’s brother and sister are today’s bitterest enemies,’ added Fidelma softly.
Adnár shrugged.
‘Would it were otherwise, sister. But it is not otherwise but thus.’
‘Very well, Adnár. I thank you for your frankness with me. I shall expect Brother Febal tomorrow.’
She turned to where Sister Lerben had been standing nervously, as if unable to make up her mind whether to depart or join in this conversation. Fidelma looked at the young girl with a warm smile. Lerben was surely no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.
‘Come, sister. Let us return to the abbey and we will talk on the way.’
She turned down the path and began to retrace her steps through the wood. After a moment, Lerben fell in step with her, leaving Adnár standing by his horse, absently stroking the horse’s muzzle as he watched them disappear among the trees. He took the book from under his arm and, unwrapping the cloth covering, stared moodily at it, seemed locked into his thoughts for a long time before rewrapping it, thrusting it in his saddle bag, untying the reins of his steed and clambering up. Then he nudged his horse’s belly with his heels and sent it trotting along the forest track in the direction of his fortress.
Chapter Nine
Sister Fidelma was awake even before the tense voice cut through the darkness. Her sleep had been disturbed by the turning of the handle on her small chamber door and her mind, alert to possible dangers, caused her to become wide awake in an instant. A shadow stood framed in the doorway. It was still night and only the ethereal light of the moon illuminated the space beyond. The cold was intense and her breath made clouds as she struggled upwards in the pale blue light which bathed everything.
‘Sister Fidelma!’ The voice was almost a nervous cry from the tall figure of the religieuse.
Fidelma recognised it in spite of the unnatural tone of the voice. It was the Abbess Draigen.
Immediately Fidelma was sitting up in bed, reaching for the flint and tinder to light the tallow candle.
‘Mother abbess? What is the matter?’
‘You must come with me straight away.’ Draigen’s voice was cracking with ill-concealed emotion.
Fidelma managed to light the candle and turn to the figure.
The abbess was fully dressed and her face, even in the yellow glow of the candle light, seemed pale and her features were etched in horror.
‘Has something happened?’ Fidelma realised that her question was superfluous almost at once. Without waiting for a reply, she rose swiftly from her bed. She was now oblivious to the cold as she realised something terrible had taken place. ‘What is it?’
The figure of the abbess stood trembling but more from some fearful emotion than from the cold night air. She appeared unable to answer coherently. She seemed to be suffering from some kind of shock.
Fidelma threw on her cloak and slipped into her shoes.
‘Lead the way, Draigen,’ she instructed calmly. ‘I am with you.’
The abbess paused only a moment and then turned, moving towards the courtyard. It was almost as bright as day outside for there had been another snow flurry which now reflected against the light of the moon.
Fidelma glanced at the sky, noting automatically the moon’s position, and judged that it was some hours beyond midnight. It was still, however, well before dawn. The stillness of the night seemed absolute. Only the sound of their leather shoes, crunching on the icy snow of the courtyard, sounded in the silence of the night.
Fidelma noticed that they were heading for the tower.
She followed behind the abbess, saying nothing, one hand holding the candle and the other shielding its flame from any wayward breath of wind. But the cold, wintry night was so still that there was hardly a flicker from the flame.
The abbess did not pause at the doorway to the tower but entered immediately. Inside, the library was dark but Draigen hurried to the foot of the steps which led up to the second floor almost without waiting for Fidelma to light the way. They moved rapidly to the third floor where the copyists worked. At the foot of the next set of steps which led on to the floor where the water-clock was situated Fidelma noticed an extinguished candle and its holder lying separately on the floor as if it had been carelessly flung aside. Draigen abruptly halted here, so that Fidelma was forced to stumble a little for fear of colliding with her. In the light of Fidelma’s flickering candle, Abbess Draigen’s face was ghastly. However, she appeared to be slowly composing herself.
‘You should prepare yourself, sister. The sight which you will see is not a pleasant one.’ They were the first words Draigen had uttered since rousing Fidelma from her sleep.
Without another word, she turned and mounted the steps.
Fidelma did not say anything. She felt that there was nothing to say until she knew the meaning of this night’s excursion.
She followed the abbess into the room of the clepsydra. There was a soft red glow from the fire, the water was still steaming in the great bronze bowl. There were also two lanterns whose light made her candle superfluous.
She was but a second in the room when she saw the body stretched on the floor. That it was female and wore the dress of a sister of the community required no great inspection. That much was obvious.
Abbess Draigen said nothing, merely standing to one side.
Fidelma placed her candle carefully on a bench and moved closer. Even though she had witnessed many violent deaths in the violent world in which she lived, Fidelma could not suppress the shudder of revulsion that went through her.
The head of the corpse had been severed. It was nowhere in sight.
The body would have been lying face down, had there been a face. It was lying with arms outstretched. She noticed immediately that there was a small crucifix in the right hand and around the left arm was tied a small aspen wand with some Ogham characters. There was a mess of blood, still red and sticky, around the severed neck. She saw that there was another pool of blood under the body at chest level.
Fidelma took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
‘Who is it?’ she asked of the abbess.
‘Sister Síomha.’
Fidelma blinked rapidly.
‘How
can you be so sure?’
The abbess uttered a strangled noise which had been intended for a short bark of cynical laughter.
‘You lectured us on recognising a corpse by means other than a face only a short while ago, sister. Those are her robes. You will find a scar on the left leg where she once fell and cut herself. Also, she was on duty as keeper of the water-clock for the first cadar of the day. By these things I know it is Síomha.’
Fidelma pressed her lips together and bent down. She raised the hem of the skirt and saw, on the white flesh of the left leg, healed scar tissue that had once been a deep gash. Fidelma then pushed the corpse towards its left side and looked at the front of it. From the amount of blood and the slashed clothing, she presumed that Síomha had been stabbed in the heart before her head had been severed. Gently, she allowed the body to resume its original position. She peered at the hands of the corpse and was not surprised when she saw the brown red mud under the fingernails and on the fingers themselves. Then she reached forward and untied the aspen wand and read the Ogham inscription.
‘The Mórrigú is awake!’
She frowned and, holding the stick in her hand, she rose to her feet and faced Draigen.
The abbess was not entirely recovered from her shock. Her eyes were red, the face pale, her lips twitching. Fidelma felt almost sorry for her.
‘We must talk,’ she said gently. ‘Will it be here or would you prefer to go elsewhere?’
‘We must rouse the abbey,’ Draigen countered.
‘But first the questions.’
‘Then it would be better if you asked your questions here.’
‘Very well.’
‘Let me tell you this immediately,’ Draigen went on before Fidelma could frame her first question. ‘I have already caught the evil sorceress who did this deed.’
Fidelma controlled her utter surprise.
‘You have?’
‘It was Sister Berrach. I caught her red-handed.’
Fidelma was unable to restrain her astonishment. Abbess Draigen’s announcement deprived her of speech for a space of several moments.
The Subtle Serpent Page 14