‘Go on,’ urged Fidelma. She knew the clan of the Arada Cliach held a territory to the west of Cashel, standing between the ancient capital and the lands of the Ui Fidgenti. They were a people renowned for their horsemanship as, in ancient times, they had been famed throughout the five kingdoms as charioteers.
Mail continued, obviously liking the role of newsbringer.
‘Eoganán found that he could not wait for the help that he was expecting from Gulban and had to muster his clansmen to defend himself. The two armies met at the foot of the Hill of Aine.’
Fidelma had been to the Hill of Aine in her travels. It was a low, isolated hill where an ancient fortress stood, dominating the surrounding plains. It was said to be the throne of the goddess whose name it bore.
‘The casualties were light …’
‘Deo gratias!’ interposed Beccan.
‘The victory went to the Arada and to Cashel. The Ui Fidgenti fled the field leaving, among many other dead rebels, Eoganán, their prince and self-proclaimed king. Cashel is safe. Your brother is well.’
Fidelma was silent for a long time, standing with head bowed.
‘And what news of Gulban and his Frankish mercenaries?’ asked Eadulf.
This time it was the young monk, Cillín, who supplied the answer.
‘One of our warships had already been alerted by Ross here a few days ago and sailed directly to Gulban’s copper mines just in time to find Gulban in personal command of moving his accursed alien machines of destruction. What were they called? Tormenta? The Loigde warriors attacked before Gulban could organise a defence and all his engines of destruction were burnt and destroyed. The Franks, those who were not killed, that is, were captured. There were some Gaulish and other prisoners there, and these have now been released.’
‘And when did that event happen?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Four days since,’ replied Mail frowning. ‘Why is it so important to know the exact dates? Are you engaged in writing a chronicle, sister?’
‘A chronicle?’ Fidelma chuckled loudly in her amusement, causing the others to stare at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Ah, my friend, you are so very close to the truth. Four days?’ Fidelma was satisfied. ‘Then I think, Beccan,’ she turned to the elderly judge, ‘we need to delay no further. I shall be able to argue a case as to the identity of the person responsible for the terrible deaths in this abbey as soon as you wish.’
‘What?’ It was the Abbess Draigen who spoke up. ‘Surely that matter is already cleared up? It was the son of Eoganánwho was responsible; Torcán of the Ui Fidgenti. It is a matter of Beccan here simply concurring …’
‘Is Torcan, the son of Eoganán here?’ interrupted Mail, his face eager, as he turned to the abbess. ‘I have orders to take him to Cashel. He is to be held for his involvement in the conspiracy with his father.’
‘No, he is dead,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Adnár, the local chieftain, slew Torcán when he tried to kill me. Olcan the son of Gulban is also here, being held prisoner by Adnár as being a party to the insurrection.’
‘I see.’ Mail clearly meant that the events were beyond his comprehension.
‘You will see,’ smiled Fidelma with slight emphasis. ‘At least, I hope so, when I present the case before Beccan. I am now ready to do that.’
‘Very well,’ the elderly judge conceded. ‘We will assemble a court in the abbey buildings this afternoon. Draw up a list of all those you wish to be present, sister, and we will ensure their attendance.’
Chapter Nineteen
The duirthech, the wooden chapel of the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells, was chosen by Beccan as the place to hold the hearing. The abbess’s ornately carved oak chair had been placed before the altar, immediately in front of the tall gold cross. Beccan sat here. His personal scribe was seated on a stool to his right-hand side to take down the evidence which Fidelma would present. Fidelma herself sat on one of the front benches to the right of the chapel’s aisle with Eadulf alongside her. Ross sat as a spectator behind them together with Brother Cullin of Mullach. Behind them were seated Adnár and Brother Febal. Next to them sat the old farmer, Barr, whom Fidelma had summoned to the abbey. Then behind them, seated between two warriors of the Loigde, sat the dejected young Olcán.
On the benches on the opposite side of the aisle sat the self-assured Abbess Draigen with Sister Lerben and next to her Sister Comnat. Behind them was Sister Brónach and diffident Sister Berrach. The back benches of the chapel were crowded with as many of the community as had been able to squeeze into the building. At the door stood Mail and two more warriors.
Lanterns had been lit in the duirtlzech, their flickering light reflecting on the gold of the altar cross and the many icons and artifacts along the walls. They not only gave out a light but also a heat so that there had been no need to light the brazier in spite of the chill weather outside.
Beccan opened the proceedings by announcing that he satin judgment to hear the evidence gathered by Fidelma, as a dálaigh of the courts, into the causes of the death of two sisters of the community. He could, on the basis of the evidence she presented, consider whether there was a case to be answered by any she alleged to be the culprit or culprits. If so, they would be taken for trial to Cashel at a later date.
Having finished the formalities, Beccan indicated that Fidelma should begin.
She rose to her feet and uttered the ritual, ‘Pace tua’ meaning ‘with your permission’ but then was silent several moments, hands clasped together before her, head slightly forward as if contemplating something on the floor, while she gathered her thoughts.
‘I have rarely encountered such sadness housed in one place as it is in this abbey.’ Fidelma’s opening words echoed sharply in the confines of the building and caused a stir among the community at the back of the chapel. ‘There is much hatred in this place and that is not compatible with a house dedicated to the Faith. I found among this community living proof of the words of the psalm — that their mouths were as smooth as butter but their hearts were war, their words were smoother than oil, yet they were drawn swords.’
Abbess Draigen made to speak but the Brehon Beccan silenced her with a swift gesture.
‘This is now a court of law, not a chapel, and in this place I will say who shall speak,’ he admonished. ‘The dálaigh is making her opening remarks. Her words can be challenged at the proper time, as I shall indicate to you.’
Fidelma went on as if no interruption had been made.
‘Abbess Draigen called upon her superior in the Faith, Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir, and requested the presence of a dálaigh. A headless corpse had been discovered in the abbey’s main drinking well. There were certain things about this headless corpse that had a special significance. In the right hand was a crucifix and fastened on the left was an aspenwand carved in Ogham, in other words a fé, a measuring stick for the grave. The Ogham referred to the pagan goddess of death and battles, the Morrigu. The symbolism of this was, as I was informed by Sister Brónach, such as betokens someone who is a murderer or a suicide.
‘Some days later, the steward of the abbey, Sister Siomha, was likewise found decapitated, with the same symbolism. From the start, I was informed that the only person that had a motive was Abbess Draigen. I was told that she had a reputation for an attraction to young novices …’
This time Draigen rose to her feet and began to protest loudly but Beccan’s firm tone quelled her.
‘I have said that you will have a chance to answer later. Do not interrupt again otherwise it is in my power to exact a fine for such disregard of the rules of this court.’
As Abbess Draigen sat down abruptly, Fidelma continued with a cutting motion of her hand: ‘But there were many stories, mostly born out of malice or, as I have found, for other sinister purposes. Had Draigen been guilty of such misconduct she would have hardly asked Abbot Brocc to send a dálaigh to investigate matters. Yet the abbess has shown that she prefers the rule of Penitentials to ou
r secular law. This was a mystery which intrigued me until I realised that the resolution was simple and one which she admits. The abbess sent to Brocc for a dálaigh simply because she did not want her brother, Adnár, who was local magistrate, to have any power in this abbey.’
The abbess glowered at her but made no response. Fidelma continued.
‘My first task was to identify the first headless corpse. It was that of a young girl whose thumb, index and little finger were stained with blue. That is typical of someone engaged in penmanship. When I found out that two sisters of the community, Sister Comnat the librarian, and Sister Almu, her young assistant, were missing from the abbey, I suspected that it might be the body of the latter. They had set offthree weeks before to the monastery of Ard Fhearta and not returned. To make a long story shorter, my suspicion eventually proved correct. This was the body of Almu.
‘Having discovered the identity of the corpse, the next question had to be the motive for the murder? Why and how had Sister Almu returned to this abbey? Why had she been decapitated after being slain? And what was the meaning of the pagan symbolism? From her corpse, there were only three other clues. She had been shackled before her death and there were some signs of ill-treatment. And there was brown red mud on her feet and under her fingernails. I was told by Sister Brónach that such mud was indicative of the copper rich land in this vicinity. Is this not true, Sister Brónach?’
The glum-faced sister started to rise in her seat. Then she inclined her head in silent agreement and sat back.
‘The death of Sister Síomha was even more intriguing and perplexing. Her body was found in the tower here, also decapitated and with the same symbols in her hands. This time the body had not been stripped of clothing. The murderer knew that we would know who she was or perhaps the murderer wanted us to know. Why the symbolism? Why the decapitation? But what intrigued me more than anything was the fact that the same brown red mud was under her fingernails. It had not been there the last time I had seen Sister Síomha just a few hours earlier.
‘There was blood smeared on the stairway from the tower into the subterraneus. It was Síomha’s blood. Her killer had severed the head in the tower and taken it down into the cave below. Why?
‘Was there some insane person at work here? Was the motivation some hatred of the sisters, hatred of the abbey, hatred of the abbess? Brother Febal certainly felt hatred in all those respects, particularly of Abbess Draigen, who had once been his wife. He, it was, who to tried to convince me thatDraigen had unnatural liaisons with the young novices. Brother Febal had more than enough hate to motivate such murders.’
She glance over her shoulder. Brother Febal was sitting staring at her with a malignant expression on his handsome features.
‘Febal’s accusations against Draigen were untrue.’
For the first time Abbess Draigen looked vaguely satisfied.
‘But,’ Fidelma continued after a pause, ‘was there some more subtle plot than the one suggested by Febal?’
Beccan cleared his throat.
‘Have you come to any conclusion?’
Fidelma raised her head and answered: ‘Yes. I trust you will bear with me while I tell you a story, which it is necessary to appreciate, in order to get to the truth of this matter. All that I claim, I can now prove.’
‘Then proceed, sister.’
‘Four hundred years ago the annals record that a fabulous gold calf was made and worshipped. But the High King Cormac Mac Art refused to indulge in this practice and condemned it. The story is that the priest of the gold calf was so angered that he killed Cormac by arranging for three salmon bones to stick in Cormac’s throat and choke him to death. Now this is symbolism again. Three salmon bones. It was merely a means of identification.
‘Not long before Sister Comnat and Sister Almu set out to Ard Fhearta a man came to the abbey with a copy of Cormac’s Teagasg Rí, Instructions of the King. This man had fallen on hard times and wanted to exchange the book for food. The man probably did not know the contents of that book. He brought it to the abbess for trade and she sent for the librarian Sister Comnat. The librarian agreed that it was a worthwhile exchange especially because she had noticed that there was a short biography of Cormac at the end of the book. In turn, she asked Sister Almu, her assistant, to look at the book and catalogue it.
‘Sister Almu did so. Imagine her excitement when she found an addition to the story of the gold calf. The fabulous beast, fashioned of gold, did exist, according to this text. Moreover, the priest of the cult of the gold calf was from this very area. Indeed, isn’t the symbol of the goddess known as the Old Woman of Beara, a cow? Isn’t Adnar’s fortress called Dún Boí, the fortress of the cow goddess. A calf is the offspring of the cow.’
‘We have heard this old folk story!’ cried Abbess Draigen, interrupting impatiently. ‘But when are we getting to the bottom of this tale?’
Beccan was exasperated by her continual interjections.
‘I have warned you once, mother abbess. It is not your place to interrupt. A fine of one sét for interruption. However, I am inclined to believe that this story grows tedious in the telling, Sister Fidelma. What has this to do with current events?’
‘The symbolism of the three salmon!’ replied Fidelma. ‘We know that the site of this abbey was formerly a pagan centre. And we know that it is now called the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. That is not only a euphemism for the Christ but it links to the pagan past. The fabulous gold calf was hidden in the caves under this abbey. Most will have seen the crude carving of the calf on the wall of the cave used as a store room. There is a similar carving in the cave next to it.’
There was a murmuring of excitement from the community.
‘Sister Almu, reading the text, was the first to realise this. The story said that the priests of the gold calf took the name Dedelchú, hound of the calf, and dwelt here in isolation. Then Necht the Pure came to convert the land to the new Faith. She was able to drive out the pagan priests. According to the text, under the abbey, for over one hundred years, ever since Necht the Pure drove out the pagans and founded this community, the gold calf had been hidden and probably forgotten about apart from this one reference in a local book.Imagine how excited Almu must have been and, more particularly, imagine the fortune such a fabulous statue would command. It was literally worth its weight in gold for it was, according to the story, solid gold.’
‘Can you prove this?’ Beccan demanded.
Fidelma turned to Eadulf who handed her the two soiled pages of vellum.
‘These two pages were recently cut from the book and contain this story. They were found on the body of Torcán.’
‘Proceed,’ Beccan grunted, glancing at the vellum sheets.
‘I discovered that Sister Almu was a close friend of Sister Siomha. A very close friend. So, naturally, the first person that she went to tell of her find was Síomha. And out of that conversation came the desire to find and possess that gold calf. The one motive that has remained constant in all the sorry events of this story has been greed. Didn’t the poet Lucan say that greed is a cursed vice and if enough gold is offered a person would, even if they were starving to death, part with their small hoard of food to possess it? In this story Sister Síomha was particularly starving but hers was a starvation of a moral and spiritual nature.
‘Sister Síomha was so overcome with greed that she even betrayed her friend Almu. She persuaded Sister Almu to say nothing about the story, perhaps saying they would discuss the matter on her return from Ard Fhearta. As soon as Sister Almu was gone, Síomha immediately drew a third person into this story. To that third person, Síomha told all. Using the pages of the book as a guide, Síomha and her companion found the place where they thought the fabulous beast was hidden but the entrance, in the abbey’s subterraneus, had been blocked in by rocks and earth.
‘In order to gain the time and space for her companion to excavate the entrance into what they thought was a treasure cave, Síomh
a volunteered to take as many of the night watches as she could in the tower. There was only one person who heard the knocking as the passage was excavated andthat was Sister Berrach. Sister Berrach, an intelligent young woman who through prejudice had to put on an act that she was almost half-witted, was in the habit of going to the library each morning well before dawn to read — she did not want her fellow sisters to know how intelligent she was. But even Sister Berrach thought the banging was merely an extension of the sounds often heard coming from the hidden cave under the chapel. That knocking, by the way, was due to two old wooden casks floating on an underground pool incited by the sea water from the inlet which flooded every now and again. In that presumption, the Abbess Draigen was correct.’
Fidelma paused as she saw Beccan’s scribe having difficulty to keep up with her.
‘Síomha’s companion had only just broken through to the second cave when a complication arose. Sister Almu returned unexpectedly to the abbey. There had been a terrible twist of fate, Sister Comnat and Sister Almu had been taken prisoner because they had discovered the conspiracy by Gulban, the chieftain of the Beara to aid the Ui Fidgenti in an insurrection against Cashel. This was an entirely unrelated set of events.
‘Sister Almu sought to escape. Now there was a young Fidgenti prince at the place where the sisters were confined. Almu, having made one escape attempt and been scourged for it, knew there was little chance of her escaping from the confines of the copper mines, where she was being kept a prisoner, unless she had some help. She proceeded to ingratiate herself to this young man. Almu, although I did not know her, I judged to be an astute judge of personality. She knew that greed was a prime factor in the young man’s thinking. She told him the story of the gold calf and promised to share the secret of the gold calf, not realising that her friend had already betrayed her trust.’
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