‘I am sure that there is a movement in this somewhere,’ she announced eventually. ‘I think Feradach is right. I believe the altar is meant to be pushed to one side.’
She bent again and, using her fingers, carefully explored each figure once again.
Suddenly there was a hoarse cry from the chapel door. Abbot Saran was framed in the doorway, a look of shock on his face.
‘This is sacrilege!’ he croaked.
Fidelma rose to her feet and brushed the knees of her garment. ‘Not sacrilege, no,’ she replied calmly. ‘I am performing the duty of a dálaigh.’
A moment later the figure of the steward, Brother Failge, appeared behind the portly Abbot.
‘What is happening?’ he boomed, looking from Fidelma to Feradach and back again.
‘Ultan and Ultana were looking for something here. It was not the wealth you have laid up in your treasure chamber. They knew well where that treasure was kept – and ignored it. No, they were after something else.’
‘And so?’ The Abbot coughed. ‘Does that give you the right to profane the altar of Christ?’
‘You found Ultan in this chapel, trying to move this altar. Then you were attacked …’
‘After which they fled,’ Brother Failge said bitterly. ‘Had there been anything worth finding, with the Abbot lying unconscious, they would have had time to carry out their task.’
‘Perhaps they were in too much of a panic to stay,’ Fidelma commented.
‘This is outrageous!’ Brother Failge exclaimed. ‘Sister of King Colgú or not, you have no right …’
Feradach silenced him with a discreet cough.
‘I have to point out, Brother Failge, that a dálaigh has many rights. One of them is the right to ask questions and expect answers.’
The Abbot turned to him with a surly expression. ‘Your duty is to Osraige, Feradach, and the welfare of this abbey.’
‘Feradach is right,’ Brother Failge said. ‘I do not like to admit it, but the law is not restricted by borders. The Law of the Fénechus is for all the people of the Five Kingdoms.’
Abbot Saran swallowed painfully. For a moment it looked as though he would argue with them, but Brother Failge reached forward, laid a thin hand on the Abbot’s arm and said gently, ‘Let the dálaigh ask her questions and let us resolve this matter.’
Fidelma smiled briefly at the steward. ‘Thank you for your wisdom in this matter. I am told that this chapel stands as it was originally built after Cainnech destroyed the Druid sanctuary that was previously here?’
‘The workmen whom the Blessed Cainnech ordered to build it did their job well,’ conceded the Abbot in his grating voice. ‘It is of good limestone, as you see, and they made excellent use of black marble.’
‘Later you authorised the abbey to be built around it?’
Abbot Saran shrugged. ‘I knew enough to let good work alone. We did not disturb the chapel.’
‘You are aware of the stories that were told about this hill on which we now stand?’
‘Stories!’ snorted the steward. ‘Tales for children to tell at bedtime.’
‘You may be right, although it is said that there is many a truth in a fairy story,’ replied Fidelma.
‘I am aware of all the stories,’ conceded the Abbot in a weary tone. ‘Indeed, most of our abbeys and churches are built on the remains of the places where our people worshipped the old gods and goddesses. Seventy years ago, Gregory – the first of his name to be Bishop of Rome – wrote that the temples of the idols should not be destroyed. He ordered that holy water should be sprinkled over them. New altars dedicated to the Christ should be erected and the places converted to the worship of the True God. He was wise, for people who had attended such places of worship for thousands of years would continue to go to them. What better way to convert people to the New Faith?’
‘Then you might have heard of the Golden Stone?’
They had been expecting a question about treasure but not the specific subject, and Fidelma’s words brought strange expressions to the faces of the Abbot and his steward. Expressions that passed so fleetingly that Fidelma could easily have missed them.
‘Golden Stone?’ Abbot Saran grimaced. ‘That is a story from some ancient myth. What has it to do with this abbey?’
Fidelma waited a moment, looking from one man to the other. Brother Failge remained silent.
‘Perhaps we should see?’ she mused. ‘Ultan and Ultana were trying to push this altar stone aside when you entered the chapel. Is that not correct, Abbot Saran?’
‘Push it aside? I thought they were trying to destroy it!’ rasped the Abbot.
‘I have been examining the base and there are signs of it having been moved a fraction.’
‘What of it?’ Brother Failge said fussily. ‘The man and woman had succeeded in moving it a little when they were surprised by the Abbot. That is what caused the damage.’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘They didn’t know about the mechanism which would have allowed it to swing back the whole way to reveal what lay underneath.’
‘There was nothing there and that is why they ran off,’ protested the Abbot.
‘I think we know better than that. I had just discovered something when you entered,’ Fidelma went on, her voice still pleasant in tone. ‘Feradach, will you assist me? Aidan, Enda, have a care of the Abbot and his steward. We would not like them to injure themselves.’
The Abbot and his steward stood almost frozen as Fidelma bent to the base of the altar stone and felt amongst the carvings which depicted figures dancing around the base. They were odd figures to put on a Christian altar. They watched as she moved her hands along, the figures … then she was turning one. There was a scraping sound and the altar stone gave a slight judder.
Fidelma stood up and glanced almost in triumph at the Abbot before turning to Feradach and saying, ‘Will you help me push it aside?’
Together, observed by the others, they put their shoulders against the stone altar. After a few moments of resistance, it began to move, swinging on a hidden pivot. Fidelma stared down.
‘A trapdoor!’ she exclaimed. She reached down and grasped a small iron hoop and pulled. The hoop had been inlaid into the wooden trapdoor in such a way that it lay flat. It was not easy, but after a few hard tugs the wooden trapdoor lifted. Fidelma laid it carefully back. They all crowded round to peer down. A flight of narrow stone steps had been carved into the rock, leading down into darkness.
‘I need a candle or a lamp,’ Fidelma said.
‘You do not mean to go down there, lady?’ Aidan protested.
‘That is precisely what I mean to do,’ she asserted.
‘Then I shall go first,’ he told her.
Enda had seized two candles from an alcove at the side of the chapel and using his tinderbox had them alight in no time.
‘I protest!’ cried Abbot Saran. ‘Those candles were to be used for the holy altar.’
‘They are now to be used to see what is under the holy altar,’ quipped Enda, handing one candle to Aidan and the other to Fidelma.
It was clear that Abbot Saran was inwardly raging at what he saw as desecration; however, Brother Failge stood in silence, his hands folded before him. There was no expression on his face.
Aidan started to descend the narrow steps.
‘Watch your step, lady,’ he called up as she prepared to follow him. ‘There is much moisture down here seeping through the walls. There is moss on the steps, and it is very slippery.’
At the base of the stone steps was an underground chamber, its roof no higher than the height of a very tall man. It was a rectangular chamber, stone-lined, and many of the stones had faces carved on them. Fidelma had seen the like before. Horses’ and birds’ heads, and stylised faces with torcs at their necks. There were even solar symbols. There was no doubt in her mind that this had once been dedicated to the Old Religion.
‘It seems empty,’ whispered Aidan, drawing her attention back to their main p
urpose.
‘Empty?’ Fidelma turned, holding her candle high, and peered around. It was not a large chamber but there was an alcove at the far end opposite the steps. It was clear that it had been designed to hold something – possibly a small statue. A stone plinth had several markings on it which showed that it had been used as the base for a statuette, which had since been removed.
‘Perhaps the man and girl did have time after all to remove what they had come for?’ suggested Aidan.
‘I doubt it,’ Fidelma replied. ‘You saw how difficult it was for me and Feradach to move the altar stone. Well, we are talking about a young man and a pregnant young girl firstly doing that, then trying to remove and transport a statue or heavy stone.’
Aidan sighed. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’
‘Come on,’ Fidelma said. ‘There’s nothing further we can do here.’
She climbed back up the steps into the chapel. The others crowded forward expectantly as Enda helped her out. Aidan followed close behind.
‘Well?’ demanded the Abbot. ‘What was in there?’
Fidelma examined his anxious features carefully. ‘You have no idea? You did not know about the hidden chamber?’
He shook his head quickly, then winced, his fleshy cheeks wobbling in indignation. ‘Of course I did not!’
‘Whatever was in there has been taken,’ Aidan muttered.
‘By that thieving pair?’ raged the Abbot.
‘I doubt it. They did not have the time or the capability to even open the way into the chamber. I believe they were looking for a sacred relic of the Old Religion which had been left here when the chapel was built. Many people would give much for that, even two centuries after the New Faith has spread through the Five Kingdoms.’
Abbot Saran looked startled. ‘What sort of sacred relic? You mentioned a Golden Stone.’
‘I don’t know much about the old ways,’ Fidelma confessed, ‘but I do know that there were sacred stones which were connected with the old beliefs. There is the Lia Fáil at Tara. I have seen it. It is our tradition that the High King must take his oath at it. There are various other stones on which all our kings must take their oath – by placing one foot on the stone. The belief was that at the touch of a just and true king, the stone would shout in joy, while at the touch of an illegitimate ruler, one who was evil and corrupt, the stone would raise its voice in protest!’
The Abbot shivered. ‘This is the House of the True Faith. We should not be speaking of such matters here,’ he said in horror.
‘Nevertheless, your chapel stands over a chamber which was devoted to the Old Religion and in which, one such sacred stone reposed.’
Abbot Saran looked at them with his fleshy features moulded in a grim expression. ‘Then we must reconsecrate this place, although it was done seventy years ago. We must cleanse the pagan chamber with fire and then drown it with holy water.’
‘We still have to find out what happened to the man and the girl after they left here, and who poisoned them,’ Fidelma reminded her companions.
‘If there was some pagan object – a golden stone, you say – well, if there was such an item, then they must have taken it,’ pointed out Feradach. ‘For if they did not, who did?’
‘And for what purpose did they seek it?’ added the Abbot.
‘After a few moments when no one spoke, Aidan asked, ‘So what now, lady?’
‘Now?’ she responded brightly. ‘It is nearing midday and I think the middle meal will be most welcome after all our exertions.’
This time they were not invited to eat with the Abbot, who had retired to his own private chamber. Instead they were shown by the now surly steward to the praintech, or refectory, of the abbey and seated at the end of one of the long wooden tables. Brother Failge issued instructions to the servers and then stomped away.
Feradach, who had joined Fidelma, Aidan and Enda, pulled a wry expression. ‘He is not happy, especially at my support of you.’
‘He has reason to be unhappy and so has the Abbot,’ Aidan replied. ‘Imagine finding a pagan shrine under the altar of your chapel.’
‘An abandoned one,’ pointed out Enda.
Fidelma paused as bowls of vegetable soup and fresh bread were placed before them by the silent servers. ‘Abandoned – but how long ago? The scratch-marks on the plinth where we believe the object stood were fresh.’
‘So the man and woman, whoever they were, did take it after all?’ Feradach said, confused.
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am sure they did not, and for the reasons I have given. Someone else had got there first.’
Just then, the door of the praintech swung open and one of the members of the community entered. He paused, searched the room and saw them.
‘Your pardon, lady. I am told you are Fidelma of Cashel.’
Fidelma looked at the religieux and said: ‘I am.’
‘There are a man and woman at the door demanding to see you. A madman, I am thinking.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fidelma was puzzled.
‘He wears poor clothes like a farmer, but has a Roman tonsure and he speaks with a foreign accent.’
Hope suddenly sprang at her heart. ‘Bring him forward then,’ she said.
The religieux hurried back to the doors. A little while later, they swung open again and a familiar figure entered the room with a young woman trailing behind him. She too seemed familiar to Fidelma.
‘Well, Eadulf,’ Fidelma smiled broadly, ‘where have you been all this time?’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the excitement had died away, when the embraces, back-slapping and handshakes had ceased, Eadulf drew forth his companion, an embarrassed-looking Ríonach. She was still clutching the anxious terrier, Rían, in her arms.
‘The story is a long one,’ Eadulf said immediately in answer to the shower of questions. ‘To save my life – indeed, to save her own as well – Ríonach had to kill Rechtabra. He was one of the men who held me captive and he would have killed me, had she not struck first.’
This prompted more questions from the group, each drowning out one another in their attempt to ask first. Eventually Fidelma managed to raise her voice sufficiently to restore order. Eadulf told the story as succinctly as he could, pausing to answer the occasional brief enquiry from Fidelma.
Then Ríonach added to the story from her viewpoint and was met with expressions of sympathy, especially from Enda who surprised Eadulf by his solicitude for the girl and sympathetic attitude.
‘So now we know there is some curious secret organisation at work here that is devoted to the Old Religion,’ Fidelma summed up. ‘What did you call it – the Fellowship of the Raven?’
Eadulf nodded. ‘Yes. And it looks as though the couple we found dead were part of it. The girl had their symbol on her wrist – as do the others, including Rechtabra and his friends.’
‘You could not identify the man whom they called the “lord” and who came to question you?’
‘They kept the light in my eyes while he spoke to me. However, I think I would recognise his voice if I heard it again.’
‘When he looked at you, he said that they had captured the wrong person. Obviously your abductors had been looking for this man Ultan as well as the girl Ultana. But if they had already poisoned the couple, it doesn’t make sense.’
‘You believe that they picked me up by mistake simply because I was dressed as a religieux.’
‘As soon as their leader saw you were not Ultan, you were blindfolded again and he left, is that correct?’
‘Yes, but not before he ordered Rechtabra and his companion to kill me. It was only the fact that Rechtabra’s companion, who apparently was in charge, was so superstitious that he thought the Eóganacht gods would curse him if he laid hands on me, which prevented my immediate death. His plan was just to leave me bound and gagged, to perish like that.’
‘Was it this leader who took your horse?’
‘Since I found my cob in the f
ield of this Brehon Ruán, he must be the person who gave them their orders. I am told he is Brehon to the Lord of the Marshes, Coileach. But we have heard rumours that Coileach is dead or that he has gone on a journey to Tara.’
‘You say that the hermit who dwells on the Mountain of the High Hills instructed you to go to this Brehon Ruán with your story, and that only by recognising your horse did you escape capture?’
Eadulf nodded. Then, suddenly remembering the note that Brother Finnsnechta had given him, he drew it out and handed it to Fidelma.
She glanced at it. ‘It is in Ogham.’
Eadulf grimaced. ‘I suspect that he presumed – and rightly so – that I would not know this ancient form of your language. Perhaps the message contains secret instructions. Do you know what it says?’
‘I know enough to translate it,’ she confirmed. ‘It merely says “I commend Eadulf and Ríonach to the mercy of your hospitality. Brother Finnsnechta”.’
Eadulf was disappointed. ‘Nothing more incriminating than that?’ he asked. ‘Although even that could have been a message – “the mercy of your hospitality” could secretly mean that this Ruán should take care of us and not in a nice way. He would know me, if he was this “lord” who questioned me. He would also know that Ríonach was wife to Rechtabra.’
‘It could be interpreted that way,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Yet there is one thing in your story that I don’t understand. This “lord” left you to be dealt with, but you were spared from immediate death because the man told to do it feared the retribution of the old gods of my ancestors. But when this same “lord” found that his instructions had not been obeyed, he or Rechtabra killed the man who had disobeyed him and then he came back to kill you. Why didn’t Rechtabra turn on his companion before, when he knew the man was not obeying the orders? It seems illogical.’
Eadulf glanced apologetically towards Ríonach before saying, ‘I don’t think Rechtabra was too bright. He was one of those people who obey orders and do not stop to work things out for themselves. The other man was in charge, so Rechtabra accepted the situation until this mysterious “lord” gave him specific orders to the contrary. I have encountered individuals like that. They have the minds of brutes and just follow orders. This poor girl will attest to that. As I said, Rionach saved my life. I am greatly in her debt.’
The Second Death (Sister Fidelma Mysteries) Page 27