by Mike Ashley
“And have you forgiven Sechnasach for his success before the Great Assembly?” Sister Fidelma asked sharply.
Ailill grimaced in suppressed annoyance.
“Do you think me a mean person, Sister? I abide by the law. But, in honesty, I will tell you that I think the Great Assembly has made a wrong choice. Sechnasach is a traditionalist at a time when our country needs reforms. We need reforms in our secular law and in our Church.”
Sister Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.
“You would support the reforms being urged upon us by the Roman Church? To change our dating of Easter, our ritual and manner of land-holding?”
“I would. I have never disguised it. And there are many who would support me. My cousin Cernach, the son of Diarmuid, for example. He is a more vehement advocate of Rome than I am.”
“But you would admit that you have a strong motive in attempting to stop Sechnasach’s inauguration?”
“Yes. I admit that my policies would be different to those of Sechnasach. But above all things I believe that once the Great Assembly chooses a High King, then all must abide by their decision. Unless the High King fails to abide by the law and fulfil its obligations, he is still High King. No one can challenge the choice of the Great Assembly.”
Sister Fidelma gazed directly into Aillil’s smouldering brown eyes.
“And did you steal the sword?”
Ailill sought to control the rage which the question apparently aroused.
“By the powers, I did not! I have told you all I know.”
The warrior named Erc scuffed at the ground with his heel, and stirred uneasily.
“I am sure I cannot help you, Sister. I am a simple guardsman and there is little to add beyond the fact that I, with my companion Congal, found Ailill Flann Esa in the chapel standing before the chest from which the sacred sword had been stolen. There is nothing further I can add.”
Sister Fidelma compressed her lips. She gazed around at the curious faces of the other warriors who shared the dormitory of the High King’s bodyguard. The murky chamber, shared by a hundred warriors when they were resting from their guard duties, stank of spirits and body sweat which mixed into a bitter scent.
“Let me be the judge of that.” She turned towards the door. “Come, walk with me for a while in the fresh air, Erc. I would have you answer some questions.”
Reluctantly the burly warrior laid aside his shield and javelin and followed the religieuse from the dormitory, accompanied by a chorus of whispered comments and a few lewd jests from his comrades.
“I am told that you were guarding the chapel on the night the theft occurred,” Sister Fidelma said as soon as they were outside, walking in the crystal early morning sunlight. “Is that correct?”
“Congal and I were the guards that night, but our duties were merely to patrol the buildings of which the chapel is part. Usually from midnight until dawn the doors of the chapel of the Blessed Patrick are shut. The chapel contains many treasures and the Abbot has ordered that the door be bolted at night.”
“And what time did you arrive at your posts?”
“At midnight exactly, Sister. Our duties took us from the door of the royal stables, fifty yards from the chapel, to the door of the great refectory, a route which passes the chapel door.”
“Tell me what happened that night.”
“Congal and I took up our positions, as usual. We walked by the chapel door. It seemed shut as usual. We turned at the door of the great refectory from which point we followed a path which circumvents the buildings, so that our patrol follows a circular path.”
“How long does it take to circumnavigate the buildings?”
“No more than half-an-hour.”
“And how long would you be out of sight of the door of the chapel?”
“Perhaps twenty minutes.”
“Go on.”
“It was on our second patrol, as I say, a half-hour later, that we passed the door of the chapel. It was Congal who spotted that the door was opened. We moved forward and then I saw that the door had been forced. The wood was splintered around the bolt on the inside of the door. We entered and saw Ailill Flann Esa standing before the altar. The altar had been pushed back from the position where it covered the Stone of Destiny and the chest in which the sacred sword was kept had been opened.”
“What was Ailill doing? Did he look flustered or short of breath?”
“No. He was calm enough. Just staring down at the open chest.”
“Wasn’t it dark in the chapel? How did you see so clearly?”
“Some candles were lit within the chapel and provided light enough.”
“And then?”
“He saw our shadows and started, turning to us. At that point the Abbot came up behind us. He saw the sacrilege at once and pointed to the fact that the sword was gone.”
“Did he question Ailill?”
“Oh, surely he did. He said the sword had gone and asked what Ailill had to say.”
“And what did Ailill say?”
“He said that he had just arrived there.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said that was impossible because we were patrolling outside and had the chapel door in sight for at least ten minutes from the royal stable doorway. Ailill must have been inside for that ten minutes at least.”
“But it was night time. It must have been dark outside. How could you be sure that Ailill had not just entered the chapel before you, covered by the darkness?”
“Because the torches are lit in the grounds of the royal palace every night. It is the law of Tara. Where there is light, there is no treachery. Ailill must have been in the chapel, as I have said, for at least ten minutes. That is a long time.”
“Yet even ten minutes does not seem time enough to open the chest, hide the sword, and repose oneself before you entered.”
“Time enough, I’d say. For what else could be done with the sword but hide it?”
“And where is your companion, Congal? I would question him.”
Erc looked troubled and genuflected with a degree of haste.
“God between me and evil, Sister. He has fallen sick with the Yellow Plague. He lies close to death now and maybe I will be next to succumb to the scourge.”
Sister Fidelma bit her lip, then she shook her head and smiled reassuringly at Erc.
“Not necessarily so, Erc. Go to the apothecary. Ask that you be given an infusion of the leaves and flowers of the centaurium vulgare. It has a reputation for keeping the Yellow Plague at bay.”
“What is that?” demanded the warrior, frowning at the unfamiliar Latin words.
“Dréimire buí,” she translated to the Irish name of the herb. “The apothecary will know it. To drink of the mixture is supposedly a good preventative tonic. By drinking each day, you may avoid the scourge. Now go in peace, Erc. I have done with you for the meanwhile.”
Sechnasach, lord of Midhe, and High King of Ireland, was a thin man, aged in his mid-thirties, with scowling features and dark hair. He sat slightly hunched forward on his chair, the epitome of gloom.
“Abbot Colmán reports that you have not yet discovered where Ailill has hidden the sword of state, Sister,” he greeted brusquely as he gestured for Sister Fidelma to be seated. “May I remind you that the inauguration ceremony commences at noon tomorrow?”
The High King had agreed to meet her, at her own request, in one of the small audience chambers of the palace of Tara. It was a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling and hung with colourful tapestries. There was a crackling log fire in the great hearth at one end before which the High King sat in his ornate carved oak chair. Pieces of exquisite furniture, brought as gifts to the court from many parts of the world, were placed around the chamber with decorative ornaments in gold and silver and semi-precious jewels.
“That presupposes Ailill stole the sword,” observed Sister Fidelma calmly as she sat before him. She observed strict protocol. Had she been trained to the degree of olla
mh she could have sat in the High King’s presence without waiting for permission. Indeed, the chief ollamh of Ireland, at the court of the High King, was so influential that even the High King was not allowed to speak at the Great Assembly before the chief ollamh. Sister Fidelma had never been in the presence of a High King before and her mind raced hastily over the correct rituals to be observed.
Sechnasach drew his brows together at her observation.
“You doubt it? But the facts given by Abbot Colmán are surely plain enough? If Ailill did not steal it, who then?”
Sister Fidelma raised a shoulder and let it fall.
“Before I comment further I would ask you some questions, Sechnasach of Tara.”
The High King made a motion of his hand as though to invite her questions.
“Who would gain if you were prevented from assuming the High Kingship?”
Sechnasach grimaced with bitter amusement.
“Ailill, of course. For he stands as tánaiste by choice of the Great Assembly.”
Whenever the Great Assembly elected a High King, they also elected a tánaiste or ‘second’; an heir presumptive who would assume office should the High King become indisposed. Should the High King be killed or die suddenly then the Great Assembly would meet to confirm the tánaiste as High King but at no time were the five kingdoms left without a supreme potentate. Under the ancient Brehon Law of Ireland, only the most worthy were elected to kingship and there was no such concept of hereditary right by primogeniture such as practised in the lands of the Saxons or Franks.
“And no one else? There are no other claimants?”
“There are many claimants. My uncle Diarmuid’s son, Cernach, for example, and Ailill’s own brothers, Conall and Colcu. You must know of the conflict between the southern and northern Uí Néill? I am of the southern Uí Néill. Many of the northern Uí Neill would be glad to see me deposed.”
“But none but Ailill stand as the obvious choice to gain by your fall?” pressed Sister Fidelma.
“None.”
Compressing her lips, Sister Fidelma rose.
“That is all at this time, Sechnasach,” she said.
The High King glanced at her in surprise at the abruptness of her questioning.
“You would give me no hope of finding the sacred sword before tomorrow?”
Sister Fidelma detected a pleading tone to his voice.
“There is always hope, Sechnasach. But if I have not solved this mystery by noon tomorrow, at the time of your inauguration, then we will see the resolution in the development of events. Events will solve the puzzle.”
“Little hope of averting strife, then?”
“I do not know,” Sister Fidelma admitted candidly.
She left the audience chamber and was moving down the corridor when a low soprano voice called to her by name from a darkened doorway. Sister Fidelma paused, turned and gazed at the dark figure of a girl.
“Come inside for a moment, Sister.”
Sister Fidelma followed the figure through heavy drapes into a brightly lit chamber.
A young, dark haired girl in an exquisitely sewn gown of blue, bedecked in jewels, ushered her inside and pulled the drape across the door.
“I am Ornait, sister of Sechnasach,” the girl said breathlessly.
Sister Fidelma bowed her head to the High King’s sister.
“I am at your service, Ornait.”
“I was listening behind the tapestries, just now,” the girl said, blushing a little. “I heard what you were saying to my brother. You don’t believe Ailill stole the sacred sword, do you?”
Sister Fidelma gazed into the girl’s eager, pleading eyes, and smiled softly.
“And you do not want to believe it?” she asked with gentle emphasis.
The girl lowered her gaze, the redness of her cheeks, if anything, increasing.
“I know he could not have done this deed. He would not.” She seized Sister Fidelma’s hand. “I know that if anyone can prove him innocent of this sacrilege it will be you.”
“Then you know then that I am an advocate in the Brehon Court?” asked Sister Fidelma, slightly embarrassed at the girl’s emphatic belief in her ability.
“I have heard of your reputation from a sister of your order at Kildare.”
“And the night Ailill was arrested in the chapel, he was on his way to see you? It was foolish of him not to tell me.”
Ornait raised her small chin defiantly.
“We love each other!”
“But keep it a secret, even from your brother?”
“Until after my brother’s inauguration as High King, it will remain a secret. When he feels more kindly disposed towards Ailill for standing against him before the Great Assembly, then we shall tell him.”
“You do not think Ailill feels any resentment towards your brother, a resentment which might have motivated him to hide the sacred sword to discredit Sechnasach?”
“Ailill may not agree with my brother on many things but he agrees that the decision of the Great Assembly, under the Brehon Law, is sacred and binding,” replied Ornait, firmly. “And he is not alone in that. My cousin, Cernach Mac Diarmuid, believes that he has a greater right to the High Kingship than Sechnasach. He dislikes my brother’s attitude against any reform suggested by Rome. But Cernach does not come to the ‘age of choice’ for a while yet when he can legally challenge my brother to the High Kingship. Being too young to challenge for office, Cernach supported Ailill in his claim. It is no crime to be unsuccessful in the challenge for the High Kingship. Once the Great Assembly make the decision, there is an end to it. No, a thousand times – no! Ailill would not do this thing.”
“Well, Sister?” The Abbot stared at Sister Fidelma with narrowed eyes.
“I have nothing to report at the moment, just another question to ask.”
She had gone to see Abbot Colmán in his study in the abbey building behind the palace of Tara. The Abbot was seated behind a wooden table where he had been examining a colourful illuminated manuscript. He saw her eyes fall on the book and smiled complacently.
“This is the Gospel of John produced by our brothers at Clonmacnoise. A beautiful work which will be sent to our brothers at the Holy Island of Colmcille.”
Sister Fidelma glanced briefly at the magnificently wrought handiwork. It was, indeed, beautiful but her thoughts were occupied elsewhere. She paused a moment before asking:
“If there were civil strife in the kingdom, and from it Ailill was made High King, would he depart from the traditional policies propounded by Sechnasach?”
The Abbot was taken off guard, his jaw dropping and his eyes rounding in surprise. Then he frowned and appeared to ponder the question for a moment.
“I would think the answer is in the affirmative,” he answered at last.
“Particularly,” went on Sister Fidelma, “would Ailill press the abbots and bishops to reform the Church?”
The Abbot scratched an ear.
“It is no secret that Ailill favours a rapprochement with the Church of Rome, believing its reforms to be correct. There are many of the Uí Néill house who do. Cernach Mac Diarmuid, for instance. He is a leading advocate among the laymen for such reforms. A bit of a hothead but influential. A youth who stands near the throne of Tara but doesn’t reach the ‘age of choice’ for a month or so when he may take his place in the assemblies of the five kingdoms.”
“But Sechnasach does not believe in reforms and would adhere strongly to the traditional rites and liturgy of our Church?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And, as one of the pro-Roman faction, you would favour Ailill’s policies?”
The Abbot flushed with indignation.
“I would. But I make no secret of my position. And I hold my beliefs under the law. My allegiance is to the High King as designated by that law. And while you have a special privilege as an advocate of the Brehon Court, may I remind you that I am abbot of Tara, father and superior to your order?”
/> Sister Fidelma made a gesture with her hand as if in apology.
“I am merely seeking facts, Abbot Colmán. And it is as dálaighe of the Brehon Court that I ask these questions, not as a Sister of Kildare.”
“Then here is a fact. I denounced Ailill Flann Esa. If I had supported what he has done in order to overthrow Sechnasach simply because Ailill would bring the Church in Ireland in agreement with Rome, then I would not have been willing to point so quickly to Ailill’s guilt. I could have persuaded the guards that someone else had carried out the deed.”
“Indeed,” affirmed Sister Fidelma. “If Ailill Flann Esa were guilty of this sacrilege then you would not profit.”
“Exactly so,” snapped the Abbot. “And Ailill is guilty.”
“So it might seem.”
Sister Fidelma turned to the door, paused and glanced back.
“One tiny point, to clarify matters. How is it that you came to be in the chapel at that exact time?”
The Abbot drew his brows together.
“I had left my Psalter in the sacristy,” he replied irritably. “I went to retrieve it.”
“Surely it would have been safe until morning? Why go out into the cold of night to the chapel?”
“I needed to look up a reference; besides I did not have to go out into the night . . .”
“No? How then did you get into the chapel?”
The Abbot sighed, in annoyance.
“There is a passage which leads from the abbey here into the chapel sacristy.”
Sister Fidelma’s eyes widened. She suddenly realized that she had been a fool. The fact had been staring her in the face all the time.
“Please show me this passage.”
“I will get one of the brethren to show you. I am busy with the preparations for the inauguration.”
Abbot Colmán reached forward and rang a silver bell which stood upon the table.
A moon-faced man clad in the brown robes of the order of the abbey entered almost immediately, arms folded in the copious sleeves of his habit. Even from a distance of a few feet, Sister Fidelma could smell the wild garlic on his breath, a pungent odour which caused her to wrinkle her nose in distaste.