‘Then as a man who believed that woman had no place in the church, you must have resented being in a conhospitae, a mixed house? I still wonder that you joined such an institution. Furthermore, I wonder that you even contemplated marriage to Draigen.’
‘I have said that I was young when I joined the abbey. I had not read the scriptures in their entirety. I had not come across the works of Finian nor of Cuimmine. And at first Draigen was a quiet girl, willing and ready to obey. I did not know that she was merely biding her time, learning what she could as she awaited her opportunity.’
‘Draigen’s opportunity being her appointment to rechtaire? Was that when you sought to annul the marriage?’
‘We ceased to be husband and wife within a year or so of our marriage. We went our own separate ways within the abbey. I loathed her. I will not deny it. I was doorkeeper and when the old rechtaire died I should have been promoted to the office. But old Abbess Marga had taken a liking to Draigen …’
‘How old was Draigen at this time?’
Febal frowned, trying to recall.
‘She was in her mid-twenties, I believe. Yes, that is the age that she would be.’
‘And Abbess Marga made Draigen her house-steward?’
‘Yes. The second most powerful office in the abbey. And Draigen certainly liked to exercise all that power.’
‘In what way?’
‘She began to make life difficult for the male community and introduce more and more women into the abbey. She became strident against any man who showed talent. She would send men off on missions or give them penances which necessitated them going on pilgrimages abroad. Soon there were hardly any men left in the abbey.’
‘Are you saying that Draigen disliked men?’
‘She hated all men!’ snapped Brother Febal.
Fidelma prompted him gently.
‘And is your own attitude to women governed by how she treated you, or had you come to your dislike of women in the church before that time?’
‘My attitude is based on logic,’ reproved Febal without rancour. ‘I do not like nor dislike all women. But the Blessed Columbanus wrote a poem:
Let everyone who is dutiful in mind avoid the deadly poison
That the proud tongue of an evil woman has.
Woman destroyed life’s gathered crown …
‘In that poem, he points out that the downfall of our kind was due to Eve,’ added Febal smugly.
‘I see that you left out the last line of that verse,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘The line is—
But woman gave long lasting joys of life.
‘In that line he refers to Mary as the mother of our saviour.’
Brother Febal flushed in annoyance at being corrected.
‘She knew her place,’ he said. ‘Draigen did not. She was an evil woman who used her power to promote her own welfare.’
‘Ah yes. According to Adnár, Draigen began to prefer the company of young women.’
‘She had many young female lovers,’ Febal assured her without hesitation. ‘Probably, she had affairs with older women which made her rise in rank through the abbey so quickly.’
Fidelma leant forward towards Brother Febal and looked at him coldly in the eyes.
‘It is now my duty, as a dálaigh of the courts, to caution you, brother. If you wish to have this mentioned as a matter of record, then you must be prepared to stand by your accusation. If that accusation is false, then you are liable under the law …’
‘I know the law in that respect. I stand by what I have to say. Abbess Draigen is known to take many young novices to her bed.’
Under the law, homosexuality was not a punishable offence unless it be that Draigen used a position of power to coerce unwilling young girls into her bed. Usually, homosexuality was only a ground for divorce by either party under the Cáin Lanamna. In Fidelma’s own abbey of Kildare, it was known that Brigid, the founder of the community, had a lover named Darlughdaca, a young novice, who shared her bed. Once, when Darlughdaca looked appraisingly at a young warrior staying at Kildare, Brigid flew into a jealous rage, and, according to the accounts, made Darlughdaca walk on hot coals as a penance. But when Brigid died, it was Darlughdaca who became abbess.
‘Known by whom?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘It is common knowledge.’
‘Usually, that means that it is simply rumour. I would want a more specific witness before I accepted that. Now tell me, how did Draigen became abbess?’
Brother Febal raised a hand to scratch the tip of his nose reflectively with his finger.
‘The Devil’s will, I suppose. Marga was old, as I have said. She had an ailing chest. In the end, Draigen insisted that she, and she alone, would nurse the old abbess. She prepared the medicines and attended in the abbess’s chamber. I was not surprised when it was announced that Marga was dead.’
‘When was this … ?’
‘Five summers ago now.’
‘And so Draigen became abbess?’
‘Oh, there was a meeting of the community, for, like all the houses in the five kingdoms, the community met and argued the rival merits of candidates.’
‘But Draigen was the only candidate?’
‘I made a protest and demanded my name go forward to be considered as abbot.’
‘And?’
‘By that time there was only myself and two elderly brothers in the abbey. We were laughed at. Draigen did, indeed, become abbess. At that very meeting she announced that the abbey would cease to be a conhospitae. I was also stripped of my position as doirseór. Together with my brothers I was told to leave.’
‘You left and joined Adnár?’
‘Yes. My two companions decided to go north and join the community of Emly. I stayed here for Adnár, the chieftain, sought a brother who would be a soul-friend and celebrate the mass for him.’
‘When did you know that Adnár was Draigen’s brother?’
‘A long time ago.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Adnár returned from serving the armies of Gulban the Hawk-Eyed a few years before Draigen was appointed as rechtaire of the abbey. There was a lot of talk at the time. He even made a legal claim against her for his share of the land. It was rejected.’
‘Rejected?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘Yet it sounds as if Adnár had a good case.’
‘Yet it was rejected. Everyone knew that I had been married to Draigen and Adnár obviously felt sympathy with me.’
‘And have you used that relationship?’
‘Why should I use it and in what manner?’
‘You had come to feel bitter about Draigen. Did that reflect on your service to her brother?’
Febal smiled. There was no warmth or humour in it.
‘I did not have to use it. Brother and sister hated one another from the start. Adnár blamed Draigen for the loss of his land. Draigen blamed Adnár for the death of her father and of her mother.’
‘It could be argued that you sought a position in the house of Adnár in order to play the one off against the other. To stir up more trouble between them. It could be argued that you have spread lies about Draigen. The matter of her preference for young novices, for example?’
‘It is untrue. There was enough trouble between them. Adnár offered me the hospitality of Dún Boí. I accepted. It satisfied me that Draigen had not succeeded in driving me entirely from the land that is my home.’
‘But you must also hate and resent Draigen?’
‘No one knows the hatred that lives in my heart for that woman. But if you say that I lie about her, then seek out Sister Brónach and ask her if the abbess ever shares her bed with Sister Lerben.’
Fidelma was slightly surprised that Brother Febal was suddenly specific in his accusation.
‘I will do so. But let me remind you, brother, that hatred is not a tenet of our Faith. Does John not quote our Saviour as saying: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also
love one another.”’
Brother Febal laughed bitterly.
‘The Christ was talking of loving our fellows. Draigen is a serpent, a devil … the Devil. Does Peter not call upon us to hate the Devil and be vigilant? I obey Peter and hate the serpent that presides over this place.’
Fidelma could feel that such was the intensity of Febal’s anger against the abbess there was no chance of logic healing the rift.
‘Is it merely your anger, then, that prompted you to tell Adnár that it was probably his sister who murdered the headless corpse? Otherwise what grounds have you for such an accusation? Do not tell me that it is common knowledge.’
Febal glanced at her quickly.
‘You don’t know then that Draigen has killed before?’
Fidelma was not expecting this reply.
‘You must substantiate this accusation. Whom did she kill?’
‘Some old woman who dwelt in the forests not far from here.’
‘When was this?’
‘Just before she joined the community, when she was fifteen.’
‘So? Then you do not give first-hand testimony?’
‘No. But the story is known.’
‘Ah. It is known,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘Know by whom?’
‘It was rumoured …’
‘Rumour is not evidence …’
‘Then ask Sister Brónach.’
‘Why Sister Brónach?’
‘It was her mother that Draigen killed.’
For a moment or two Sister Fidelma stared at Febal in quiet astonishment.
‘Let me get this right,’ she said slowly, after a while. ‘Are you telling me that Abbess Draigen killed Sister Brónach’s mother? The same Brónach who is now her doirseór?’
‘The same,’ grunted Febal indifferently.
‘And are you telling me that Brónach knows about this?’
‘Of course. Ask her, if you do not believe me. And she will also confirm that Lerben shares the bed of the abbess.’
Fidelma was silent.
‘I believe that you believe this,’ she said after a moment or two. ‘So curious a tale can only be the truth for if it were a lie it could be uncovered easily. However, you have not said whether this was an unlawful killing.’
‘Is any killing lawful?’ sneered Febal.
‘That is true, but some killings can be judged worse than others. Cold, premeditated killings. Do you know the facts of the case?’
The handsome religieux shrugged.
‘I would rather you took your facts from Brónach, for then it will not be said that I misled you.’
‘Very well. But it is a long path from a killing twenty years ago to your suspicion that Draigen killed the person whose body was found in the well of this monastery. And if she was responsible for that death then logic would have it that she was responsible for the death of Sister Síomha.’
Brother Febal gave a disdainful gesture.
‘It is not beyond the realms of possibility, Sister Fidelma.’
‘Granted. If all your allegations have substance,’ conceded Fidelma.
At once Brother Febal bristled with indignation.
‘Do you call me liar?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘Let us examine what you have told me. You say that you have heard that Draigen killed someone before she came to this abbey. You say that rumour had it that Draigen was encouraging young novices to her bed. Even if you witnessed such matters it is not an unlawful act.’
‘Unlawful in the eyes of God!’ growled Febal.
‘So, you also speak for God?’ Fidelma’s voice was soft. Then she said more sharply, ‘You have told me nothing that can be used as evidence in a court of law against Draigen in order to prove that she is responsible for the deaths which have occurred at this abbey. But you have made allegations which could well convict you of spreading malicious stories and putting a blemish on the reputation of Draigen. A good advocate could destroy your story in a court by the very fact that you were once married to Draigen and were dismissed from your office in her abbey before being thrown out of the abbey itself. You are not in a strong position at all, Febal, to argue evidence and law.’
Brother Febal rose to his feet.
‘I would have expected as much from you.’
Fidelma calmly returned his angry look.
‘You should explain that,’ she invited in a voice that was ice.
‘You are a woman! “Let everyone who is dutiful avoid the proud tongue of a woman!” You merely stick together, protecting each other.’
‘You misquote the poem,’ pointed out Fidelma.
‘It matters not. The sense is the same. I have heard that you like to quote from Greek and Latin sages. Then here is a quote for you, Fidelma of Kildare. It is from Euripides—“woman is woman’s natural ally”. I should have expected that you would do your best to protect Draigen, she being woman as are you.’
Fidelma carefully folded her arms and forced a gentle smile.
‘I will not take offence, Febal. I think it is your hate of Draigen talking. Go back to Dun Boí and calm yourself. There is much anger in you.’
Brother Febal stood, swaying a little as if he had no balance, he appeared to be making up his mind as to whether he would say anything further. Then he turned and strode away, anger showing in the demeanour of his walk and the hunching of his shoulders.
Fidelma watched him until he had disappeared around the shoreline.
She suddenly felt a terrible sadness. A sense of loneliness.
She always felt sad when she came across someone whose views of life were so embittered. And she realised immediately why she was feeling a sense of loneliness. She was thinking of Brother Eadulf. There was a man who liked life and people. There was no malice in him. Malice. Why had she picked that word? Malice was what she felt in Febal. His hostility was imbued with a malevolence.
It is true that a man can find many justifications for his emotions after the event which were not there when the seed of those emotions was planted. Misognynism could certainly be found in the Penitentials of Finian which Febal might have found as justification of his hatreds. But perhaps his hatred had other roots. And a man capable of hatred, capable of strong emotions, could certainly be capable of expressing those emotions in other channels. Even murder.
She stood up and stretched, feeling abruptly uncomfortable. She had a feeling of distaste; distaste not for the individual misogynism of Febal but for a movement in the Faith which he represented. Fidelma was a person born of her culture but the Faith was now changing that very culture as the new ideas from Greece, Rome and other cultures, which helped shape the Faith, were changing the philosophies propounded by the churches of the five kingdoms. It had been women, as well as men, who had converted the five kingdoms to the new Faith—their names were legend; the five sisters of Patrick, Chief Apostle of the five kingdoms, and women like Darerca, Brigid, Ita, Etáin and countless others. Fidelma could reel their names off like a litany …
But two hundred years of the spread of the Faith had produced men, and even a few women too, who sought to reject the rule of civil law and, led by Finian of Clonard, they had devised ecclesiastical laws which sought to replace the Law of the Fénechus by which the five kingdoms were governed.
Febal had mentioned the Penitentials of Cuimmíne, which had been inspired by Finian’s laws. These were now being taken from religious foundation to religious foundation, with the approval of Ultan of Armagh. Cuimmine had died only four years ago and already his ecclesiastical laws were finding converts among the male religious for they, like Febal’s views, were based on the precepts of Paul of Tarsus.
Fidelma had good reason to resent the Penitentials of Cuimmine. Cuimmine had been responsible for the tragic death of her childhood friend, Liadin, who had been educated with her at Cashel. Liadin had become a religieuse and a poet of remarkable talent. She met a fellow poet from the kingdom of Connacht named Cuirithir and they had fal
len in love. Cuimmine was the abbot of the community in which Cuirithir served and he sent him away, forbidding him ever to see Liadin again and using the arguments of Paul of Tarsus to forbid the relationship. He was an abbot of ascetic extremism. Cuirithir had left the shores of the five kingdoms and was never seen again. Liadin eventually sickened and died, broken and unhappy. Her grief had been extreme.
Fidelma had little respect for laws which made people unhappy for no accountable reason, that denied human beings their greatest asset — love. Liadin and Cuirithir should have ignored the ascetic extremism of Cuimmine and been strong enough to have gone away together. As she had lain dying, young Liadin had written her last song, ending:
Why should I hide
That he is still my heart’s desire
More than all the world.
A furnace blast
Of love has melted my heart
Without his love, it can beat no more.
A few days later she had indeed stopped her heart from beating.
Fidelma suddenly exhaled and shook her head. This was not what she should be thinking of. She should not be making moral judgments but looking for the evidence which would identify the person responsible for two horrendous killings.
At least her next step was clear. She must have a longer talk with Sister Brónach.
She rose and began to walk along the seashore and up to the wooden jetty.
As she ascended the steps on to the quay she suddenly noticed a sail, white against the green and brown of the far hills which marked the opening to the inlet. She could hear a horn sounding across the little bay from the fortress of Adnár, obviously warning the occupants of the entrance of a ship into the inlet.
Fidelma raised her hand to shield the sun from her eyes and peered across the stretch of sparkling water.
Suddenly her heart began to beat more rapidly.
It was the Foracha, Ross’s barc, sailing swiftly and surely into the harbour.
The Subtle Serpent Page 19