The Subtle Serpent

by Peter Tremayne

  She carried the lantern to the rocky walls and observed traces of a greenish surface film here and there marking indications of a metallic element veined into the rock.

  It was Eadulf who asked: ‘What’s that? Shine the light this way.’

  He was pointing to something just on the edge of the circle of light from the lantern, something on the cave wall at eye level. Fidelma drew closer.

  The scratch marks on the wall resembled those at the foot of the steps on the arch into the storage cave behind them.

  ‘The hound of Dedel,’ Fidelma said quietly.

  Eadulf was critical.

  ‘A hound? It looks more like a cow to me,’ he objected.

  ‘Dedelchu,’ Fidelma said, almost to herself. ‘The sign of the hound of Dedel. A pagan priest who …’

  Eadulf suddenly grunted, as if in pain.

  Fidelma had barely time to turn before the Saxon monk collapsed in a heap, falling against her and sending her staggering back into the wall. For a moment she thought she would loose her grip on the precious lantern but she managed to recover her balance. She did not know what had happened to Eadulf and her first thought was to bend down to see what had made him fall. For a moment, she was bewildered to see blood on his head. Then something made her look up.

  A few feet away, just inside the pale rays of the lantern, stood a figure. The light glinted wickedly on the burnished naked sword blade which he held threateningly in his hand.

  Fidelma felt a chill run through her body.

  ‘So it is you, Torcán!’ She controlled her voice, hoping that he would not recognise the tremulous fear in her tone.

  The young prince of the Ui Fidgenti had no expression on his face

  ‘I have come for …’ he began, his blade raised.

  Then everything became blurred.

  The blade was raised in the confined space on a level with her throat. Torcán, the son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti, appeared to have drawn it back as if to throw his weight behind it, and then … Then he seemed to halt and looked surprised. He staggered a pace or two. His mouth opened and something dark began to dribble from a corner of it. He stood swaying, a strange woebegone, almost comical expression, on his face. The sword dropped out of his hand, clanging on to the rocky floor of the cave.

  Torcán sank slowly, so slowly it seemed, first to his knees and then he fell abruptly forward on to his face.

  It was then that Fidelma saw the second shadow which had been behind him.

  The lantern was clasped in her hand so tightly that it would have been impossible to prise it away from her grip at that moment.

  The shadow moved forward, a sword was held in one hand. The light caught the dark stains on the blade which had been Torcán’s blood.

  There was a silence and then Fidelma heard Eadulf beginning to groan. The Saxon monk rose to his knees and shook his head.

  ‘Someone hit me,’ he moaned.

  ‘That much is obvious,’ muttered Fidelma with gentle irony, attempting a sparkle of her old self. Her eyes never left the newcomer.

  Adnár of Dún Boí took another pace forward into the circle of light.

  ‘Are you hurt badly?’ he asked, sheathing his sword.

  Eadulf, recovering his senses, scrambled to his feet in dismay. There was still blood on his head but he drew his strength from some hidden reserve. He stared down at the body of Torcán and his eyes widened as he saw the young man’s features. He began to open his mouth to say something but Fidelma jerked at his arm to silence him.

  ‘I am not hurt but my companion is in need of attention,’ Fidelma replied. She had bent down to examine the body of Torcán but it did not really need a second glance to see that the sword thrust that Adnár had made was fatal. Fidelma raised her eyes to the chieftain of Dún Boí.

  ‘You appear to have saved my life, Adnár.’

  Adnár looked concerned as he stared down at the son of the prince of the Ui Fidgenti.

  ‘I did not mean to take a life in doing so,’ he confessed. ‘I was hoping that I might gather some further information from Torcán.’

  ‘Information?’

  ‘I have just learned some grave news, Fidelma.’ Adnár paused and glanced quickly at the tall Saxon. ‘Doubtless this is Brother Eadulf? You are wounded, brother. Perhaps it would be best if we removed ourselves from this unhealthy place and got your wound attended to.’

  Fidelma examined Eadulf’s head by the lantern light.

  ‘A superficial wound,’ was her verdict. ‘Nevertheless, he should have it dressed. I think Torcán must have hit you with a well-aimed rock rather than his sword. Come, we must bathe it immediately. Lead the way back into the other cave, Adnar.’

  The chieftain squeezed back through the twisted aperture with Eadulf following and then Fidelma.

  In the subterraneus of the abbey, where either Torcán or Adnár had left a second lantern, Fidelma bade Eadulf sit on one of the wooden boxes while she took a strip of cloth and indicated that Adnár should hand her one of the jugs stacked along one side of the cave whose odours announced them to contain cuirm. She dampened the cloth in it and began to apply the alcohol to Eadulf’s wound.

  ‘What is this grave news that have you learned, Adnár?’ she demanded as she worked, ignoring Eadulf’s soft moan of protest as the fiery spirit reacted on his grazed skin.

  ‘You must send a message to your brother, Colgú. He is in danger. Torcán’s father, Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti, is organising an insurrection against your brother at Cashel. Torcan was in on the plot for I heard him speaking of it. I believe that Olcán is also involved as his father, Gulban the Hawk-Eyed, was also a conspirator. His reward would be that Eoganan would make him chieftain of the Loigde. I have placed Olcán under guard. I followed Torcan here thinking that he was coming to meet fellow conspirators. Then I saw him about to strike at you and so I struck first. I meant only to wound him so that he would be able to tell us more about this plot.’

  Fidelma’s surprise was not feigned. She had been certain that Adnár had been part of the Ui Fidgenti conspiracy. Adnár’s statement dramatically overturned her suspicion.

  ‘Gulban is your chieftain, Adnár,’ she pointed out. ‘Surely your first loyalty is to him?’

  ‘Not when he plots against the Loigde and my rightful king. Why,’ he frowned abruptly, ‘do you disapprove of my loyalty to the Loigde and to Cashel?’

  Fidelma shook her head.

  Adnár continued: ‘I cannot understand what Torcan could achieve in killing you. It would have been better for him, and his fellow conspirators, if he had taken you hostage in case some negotiations were needed if their attack on Cashel failed.’

  ‘There is more to this matter than that,’ Fidelma made the comment softly. ‘In that cave yonder are the heads of Sister Almu, who escaped from the copper mines of Gulban, and who, I believe, was trying to warn the abbey of the uprising. There is another head, that of Sister Siomha.’

  Adnár looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘I did not understand. Do you suggest that Torcan killed them as well? But why? Perhaps to prevent them revealing this conspiracy?’

  Fidelma had finished cleaning Eadulf’s wound. It was merely an abrasion and confirmed her judgment that it had been caused by a stone. Torcan must have either thrown it or used it to crash against the side of the Saxon monk’s head.

  ‘If what you say is true, as magistrate here, I must be witness to this find.’

  When she did not object, Adnár disappeared back through the opening into the next cave.

  ‘You’d better tell me what is going on,’ groaned Eadulf, one hand holding the side of his head.

  ‘What is going on,’ whispered Fidelma, ‘is that the mist of confusion is beginning to clear.’

  ‘Not for me,’ Eadulf sighed in perplexity. ‘But the boy who was killed just now was our captor at the copper mines.’

  ‘Ah, I thought you were about to reveal as much,’ Fidelma said. ‘Stay silent awhile.’


  ‘Who is this man, then?’

  Fidelma relented a little and explained. By that time Adnár had returned. His face was grim.

  ‘I have seen them, sister. This is a bad thing. As dálaigh, you have higher jurisdiction than I do. What do you mean to do about this matter?’

  Fidelma did not reply directly. Instead she helped Eadulf get to his feet.

  ‘Firstly, you may assist me in taking Brother Eadulf to the guests’ hostel,’ she instructed. ‘He has had a bad blow. I think he needs to have some herbal dressings and some rest. Then, Adnár, we shall talk.’

  Later that morning Fidelma and Eadulf headed a small group returning to the cave. Abbess Draigen, who ignored her brother with studied coldness, came with Sister Brónach. Each, in turn, identified the terrible remains of Sister Almu and of Sister Síomha. Two sisters then placed the remains in a sack and carried them away under the direction of Sister Brónach, ready to be interred with the rest of their corpses.

  Draigen was gazing down disdainfully at the body of Torcán, still lying as he had fallen.

  ‘Perhaps your companion,’ the abbess motioned towards Eadulf, who was now much recovered, ‘will help Adnár to remove this body. It has no place in the grounds of this abbey.’

  ‘Of course, mother abbess,’ Eadulf agreed readily, not picking up the antagonism in the abbess’s voice. But Fidelma held Eadulf back a moment. She was frowning as she bent once more over the body and ran her hand to where her discerning eye had marked a bulge under the dead man’s jerkin. ‘Curious,’ she muttered, as she reached forward and drew out some sheets of vellum. The lantern revealed that they were stained with red brown mud.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Abbess Draigen expectantly.

  Fidelma silently folded the pages and put them into her crumena. Then she smiled at the abbess.

  ‘Now the body can be removed. But perhaps it would be better if Adnár sent some of Torcan’s retainers to dispose of the body? Such a task would be ill befitting for a bó-aire and a brother of the Faith.’

  The abbess snorted in annoyance and turned away with an: ‘As you wish, so long as it is removed.’ Then she was gone without another word. Adnár waited until she had gone and then he shrugged.

  ‘I will do as you say, Sister Fidelma, and send Torcan’s retainers to retrieve his body.’

  When Fidelma made no reply he, too, followed his sister from the subterraneus.

  It was later in her cell in the guests’ hostel that Fidelma, seated in front of Eadulf, flattened out the sheets of vellum she had recovered from Torcán’s body.

  ‘What are they?’ demanded the Saxon monk straining forward. ‘The abbess did not like it that you failed to enlighten her about them.’

  Fidelma had identified them immediately she had removed them from Torcan’s body.

  They were the missing pages from the book Teagasg Ri, the Instruction of the King. The missing pages of the biographical appendix to Cormac Mac Art’s philosophical instructions. She glanced through quickly. Yes; as she had suspected, there was the story of Cormac and the gold calf. The tale went on to speak of the revenge of the priest of the gold calf and how he was supposed to have murdered Cormac by causing three salmon bones to stick in the king’s throat.

  ‘After this infamy,’ Fidelma read aloud, ‘the ungodly priest retired, taking with him the fabulous idol which was worth the honour price of all the kings of the five kingdoms of Eireann combined together with that of the High King himself. The priest returned to his own country in the farthest point of the kingdom, to the place of the Three Salmons, and hid the gold calf in the primal caverns to await the time when the new Faith could be overthrown. And for generations after that each priest of the golden calf, awaiting the day of atonement, took the name Dedelchú.’

  Eadulf frowned.

  ‘The hound of Dedel? You mentioned that before.’

  Fidelma smiled.

  ‘The hound of the calf. I checked with Longarad’s Glossary, Dedel is an ancient word, barely used now, meaning specifically a calf of a cow.’

  ‘Ah, didn’t I say that cave drawing was more like a calf than a hound?’ Eadulf observed brightly.

  Fidelma suppressed a weary sigh.

  It was on the next day that the sound of a trumpet from Adnar’s fortress caused Fidelma to come out of the guests’ hostel and look across the inlet. Two ships were entering the sheltered harbour. She had no difficulty recognising the barc of Ross. The sleek-looking vessel that accompanied it, trailing in its wake, was undoubtedly a warship, its streamers showing the colours of the kings of Cashel. Fidelma heaved a long sigh of relief. The waiting was over and, for the first time since Ross had departed, she felt no longer threatened.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They had gone down to the quay to meet the new arrivals. Fidelma and Eadulf, Abbess Draigen and Sister Lerben, whom Draigen had, in spite of Fidelma’s advice, confirmed as rechtaire of the abbey. They stood watching as the small boat from Ross’s barc tied up to the jetty.

  Ross came forward accompanied by a tall, silver-haired man of imposing appearance. This elderly man was still handsome and energetic-looking in spite of his apparent years. He wore a golden chain of office over his cloak. Had not his physical appearance distinguished him, his chain proclaimed him as a man of rank.

  Ross was beaming with relief as he saw Fidelma among the welcome party. He greeted her first, quite forgetting protocol by ignoring Abbess Draigen.

  ‘Thanks be that you are safe and well, sister. I have spent several sleepless nights since I left you here.’ He smiled a brief greeting to Brother Eadulf.

  Fidelma returned his salutation.

  ‘We have kept well and safe, Ross,’ she replied.

  ‘Deo adjuvante!’ muttered the elderly official. ‘Deo adjuvante! Your brother would never have forgiven me had anything happened to you.’

  It was Ross who answered the question which came into Fidelma’s eyes.

  ‘This is Beccan, chief Brehon and judge of the clan Loigde.’

  The elderly Brehon held out both hands towards Fidelma with a grave expression but there was much humour in his eyes.

  ‘Sister Fidelma! I have heard much of you. I have been asked to stand here in place of Bran Finn, chieftain of the clan Loigde, to judge who is guilty and of what crimes connected with this treachery.’

  Fidelma acknowledged the Brehon. She had surmised that Bran Finn would send his chief legal official to sit in judgment on the matter. She now introduced Eadulf.

  Beccan was solemn.

  ‘If there was no other crime, brother, apart from your being held captive, then this matter would be grave indeed. The transgression of the laws of hospitality to strangers in our kingdom is one which is regarded as reflecting on all of us from the High King down to the lowest in the land. For this I ask your pardon and promise you will be compensated accordingly.’

  ‘The only compensation I require,’ Eadulf replied, with equal solemnity, ‘is to see that justice is done and truth prevails.’

  ‘Well said, Saxon,’ replied Beccan, his eyes widening a little at Eadulf’s fluency in the language. ‘Your tongue proclaims that you have studied in our colleges. You speak our language well.’

  ‘I have spent some years studying at Durrow and at Tuam Brecain,’ explained Eadulf.

  The Abbess Draigen intervened, vexed that she was being ignored. In normal circumstances, protocol demanded that she should have been the first to greet the Brehon.

  ‘I am glad that you have come, Beccan. There is much that needs to be sorted out here. Unfortunately, this young dalaigh sent by Brocc does not appear capable of resolving these mysteries.’

  Beccan raised his eyebrows in interrogation.

  ‘This is the abbess of the community,’ Fidelma introduced her, ‘and this is her rechtaire.’

  The Brehon greeted them gravely, ignoring the chagrin on Draigen’s face that she had to be announced to Beccan.

  ‘Come, abbess, walk with me. Brin
g your youthful steward and we will discuss what is to be done.’

  He inclined his head with a half smile towards Fidelma and ushered the abbess and her acolyte away.

  ‘He is an astute man,’ Ross observed. ‘He knows we need some time to speak without Draigen to overhear us.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘Truly, I was in fear for your life, Fidelma. I thought that you might have been caught up in the insurrection.’

  ‘What news of that? What has happened?’ Fidelma asked eagerly.

  ‘I left here to sail to Ros Ailithir with Sister Comnat. We were only half a day’s sail from here when, as luck would have it, we encountered a loyal warship of the Loigde. The captain, whom I knew, took it upon himself to sail directly to the copper mines of Gulban. We went on to Ros Ailithir and sought out Abbot Brocc and Bran Finn who immediately raised his clan and sent messengers to your brother at Cashel. Bran gave me a warship as escort and together with the Brehon, here, we sailed back as fast as we could. Sister Comnat has also insisted on returning.’

  ‘Has any attack taken place on Cashel?’ Eadulf intervened, knowing how anxious Fidelma was about her brother.

  ‘We do not know,’ Ross replied. ‘Beccan has been instructed to confine Adnár and any others who might support Gulban. He will protect the abbey until he hears further from Bran Finn. As soon as we hear news from Cashel then Beccan can sit in judgment on the matter of the abbey deaths.’

  Fidelma considered for a moment or two.

  ‘That is acceptable to me, Ross,’ she agreed. ‘In fact, the delay is a help for there are a few more points I wish to clear up before I present my case. But are we safe enough here from Gulban’s men?’