by Mike Ashley
“This is Brother Rogallach,” the Abbot motioned with his hand. “Rogallach, I wish you to show Sister Fidelma the passage to the chapel.” Then, turning to her, he raised his eyebrows in query. “Unless there is anything else . . .?”
“Nothing else, Colmán,” Sister Fidelma replied quietly. “For the time being.”
Brother Rogallach took a candle and lit it. He and Sister Fidelma were standing in one of the corridors of the abbey building. Rogallach moved towards a tapestry and drew it aside to reveal an entrance from which stone steps led downwards.
“This is the only entrance to the passage which leads to the chapel?” asked Sister Fidelma, trying to steel her features against his bad breath.
Brother Rogallach nodded. He stood slightly in awe of the young woman for it was already common gossip around the abbey as to her status and role.
“Who knows about it?” she pressed.
“Why, everyone in the abbey. When the weather is intemperate we use this method to attend worship in the chapel.” The monk opened his mouth in an ingenuous smile, displaying broken and blackened teeth.
“Would anyone outside the abbey know about it?”
The monk grimaced eloquently.
“It is no secret, Sister. Anyone who has lived at Tara would know of it.”
“So Ailill would know of its existence?”
Brother Rogallach gestured as if the answer were obvious.
“Lead on then, Brother Rogallach,” Sister Fidelma instructed, thankful to push the monk ahead of her so that she was not bathed by the foul stench of his breathing.
The moon-faced monk turned and preceded her down the steps and through a musty but dry passage whose floor was laid with stone flags. It was a winding passage along which several small alcoves stood, most of them containing items of furniture. Sister Fidelma stopped at the first of them and asked Rogallach to light the alcove with his candle. She repeated this performance at each of the alcoves.
“They are deep enough for a person to hide in let alone to conceal a sword,” she mused aloud. “Were they searched for the missing sword?”
The monk nodded eagerly drawing close so that Sister Fidelma took an involuntary step backward. “Of course. I was one of those called to assist in the search. Once the chapel was searched, it was obvious that the next place as a likely hiding place would be this passageway.”
Nevertheless, Sister Fidelma caused Rogallach to halt at each alcove until she had examined it thoroughly by the light of his candle. At one alcove she frowned and reached for a piece of frayed cloth caught on a projecting section of wood. It was brightly coloured cloth, certainly not from the cheerless brown robes of a religieux, but more like the fragment of a richly woven cloak. It was the sort of cloth that a person in the position of wealth and power would have.
It took a little time to traverse the passage and to come up some steps behind a tapestry into the sacristy. From there Sister Fidelma moved into the chapel and across to the chapel door.
Something had been irritating her for some time about the affair. Now that she realized the existence of the passage, she knew what had been puzzling her.
“The chapel door is always bolted from the inside?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Rogallach.
“So if you wanted to enter the chapel, how would you do it?”
Rogallach smiled, emitting another unseen cloud of bitter scent to engulf her.
“Why, I would merely use the passage.”
“Indeed, if you knew it was there,” affirmed Sister Fidelma, thoughtfully.
“Well, only a stranger to Tara, such as yourself, would not know that.”
“So if someone attempted to break into the chapel from the outside, they would obviously not know of the existence of the passage?”
Rogallach moved his head in an affirmative gesture.
Sister Fidelma stood at the door of the chapel and gazed down at the bolt, especially to where it had splintered from the wood and her eyes narrowed as she examined the scuff marks on the metal where it had obviously been hit with a piece of stone. Abruptly, she smiled broadly as she realized the significance of its breaking. She turned to Rogallach.
“Send the guard Erc to me.”
Sechnasach, the High King, stared at Sister Fidelma with suspicion.
“I am told that you have summoned the Abbot Colmán, Aillil Flann Esa, my sister Ornait and Cernach Mac Diarmuid to appear here. Why is this?”
Sister Fidelma stood, hands demurely folded before her, as she confronted Sechnasach.
“I did so because I have that right as a dálaighe of the Brehon courts and with the authority that I can now solve the mystery of the theft of your sword of state.”
Sechnasach leaned forward in his chair excitedly. “You have found where Ailill has hidden it?”
“My eyes were blind for I should have seen the answer long ago,” Sister Fidelma replied.
“Tell me where the sword is,” demanded Sechnasach.
“In good time,” Sister Fidelma answered calmly. “I need a further answer from you before I can reveal the answer to this puzzle. I have summoned Cernach, the son of your uncle Diarmuid, who was, with your father, joint High King.”
“What has Cernach to do with this matter?”
“It is said that Cernach is a most vehement supporter of the reforms of the Church of Rome.”
Sechnasach frowned, slightly puzzled.
“He has often argued with me that I should change my attitudes and support those abbots and bishops of Ireland who would alter our ways and adopt the rituals of Rome. But he is still a youth. Why, he does not achieve the ‘age of choice’ for a month or so and cannot even sit in council. He has no authority though he has some influence on the young members of our court.”
Sister Fidelma nodded reflectively.
“This agrees with what I have heard. But I needed some confirmation. Now let the guards bring in Ailill and the others and I will tell you what has happened.”
She stood silently before the High King while Ailill Flann Esa was brought in under guard, followed by the Abbot Colmán. Behind came a worried-looking Ornait, glancing with ill-concealed anxiety at her lover. After her came a puzzled-looking, dark-haired young man who was obviously Cernach Mac Diarmuid.
They stood in a semi-circle before the High King’s chair. Sechnasach glanced towards Sister Fidelma, inclining his head to her as indication that she should start.
“We will firstly agree on one thing,” began Sister Fidelma. “The sacred sword of the Uí Néill kings of Tara was stolen from the chapel of the Blessed Patrick. We will now also agree on the apparent motive. It was stolen to prevent the inauguration of Sechnasach as High King tomorrow . . . or to discredit him in the eyes of the people, to ferment civil disorder in the five kingdoms which might lead to Sechnasach being overthrown and someone else taking the throne.”
She smiled briefly at Sechnasach.
“Are we agreed on that?”
“That much is obvious.” It was Abbot Colmán who interrupted in annoyance. “In these dark times, it would only need such an omen as the loss of the sacred sword to create chaos and alarm within the kingdoms of Ireland. I have already said as much.”
“And what purpose would this chaos and alarm, with the overthrow of Sechnasach, be put to?” queried Sister Fidelma. Before anyone could reply she went on. “It seems easy to see. Sechnasach is sworn to uphold the traditions of the kingdoms and of our Church. Rome claims authority over all the Churches but this claim has been disputed by the Churches of Ireland, Britain and Armorica as well as the Churches of the East. Rome wishes to change our rituals, our liturgy and the computations whereby we celebrate the Cáisc in remembrance of our Lord’s death in Jerusalem. And there are some among us, even abbots and bishops, who support Rome and seek the abandoning of our traditions and a union with the Roman Church. So even among us we do not all speak with one voice. Is that not so, Ailill Flann Esa?”
Ailill scow
led.
“As I have told you, I have never denied my views.”
“Then let us agree entirely on the apparent inner motive for the theft of the sword. Destabilization of the High King and his replacement by someone who would reject the traditionalist ways and throw his support behind the reforms in line with Rome.”
There was a silence. She had their full attention.
“Very well,” went on Sister Fidelma. “This seems an obvious motive. But let us examine the facts of the theft. Two guards passed the door of the chapel in which the sword was kept shortly after midnight. The door was secured. But when they passed the chapel door twenty minutes later, they saw the door ajar with the bolt having been forced. Entering, they saw Ailill standing at the altar staring at the empty chest where the sword had been kept. Then the Abbot entered. He came into the chapel from the sacristy to which he had gained entrance from the passage which leads there from the abbey. He accused Ailill of stealing the sword and hiding it. The sword was not found in the chapel. If Ailill had stolen the sword, how had he time to hide it so well and cleverly? Even the ten minutes allowed him by the guards was not time enough. This is the first problem that struck my thoughts.”
She paused and glanced towards Ornait, the sister of the High King.
“According to Ailill Flann Esa, he was walking by the chapel. He saw the door ajar and the bolt forced. He went inside out of curiosity and perceived the empty chest. That is his version of events.”
“We know this is what he claims,” snapped Sechnasach. “Have you something new to add?”
“Only to clarify,” replied Fidelma unperturbed by the High King’s agitation. “Ailill’s reason to be passing the chapel at that hour was because he was on his way to meet with Ornait.”
Ornait flushed. Sechnasach turned to stare at his sister, mouth slightly open.
“I regret that I cannot keep your secret, Ornait,” Sister Fidelma said with a grimace. “But the truth must be told for much is in the balance.”
Ornait raised her chin defiantly towards her brother.
“Well, Ornait? Why would Ailill meet with you in dead of night?” demanded the High King.
The girl pushed back her head defiantly.
“I love Ailill and he loves me. We wanted to tell you, but thought we would do so after your inauguration when you might look on us with more charity.”
Sister Fidelma held up her hand as Sechnasach opened his mouth to respond in anger.
“Time enough to sort that matter later. Let us continue. If Ailill speaks the truth, then we must consider this. Someone knew of Ailill’s appointment with Ornait. That person was waiting inside the chapel. Being a stranger to Tara, I had not realized that the chapel could be entered from within by means of a passageway. In this matter I was stupid. I should have known at once by the fact that the chapel doors bolted from within. The fact was staring me in the face. I should have realized that if the chapel was left bolted at night, then there must obviously be another means for the person who secured the bolt to make their exit.”
“But everyone at Tara knows about that passage,” pointed out Sechnasach.
“Indeed,” smiled Sister Fidelma. “And it would be obvious that at some stage I would come to share that knowledge.”
“The point is that the bolt on the door was forced,” Abbot Colmán pointed out in a testy tone.
“Indeed. But not from the outside,” replied Sister Fidelma. “Again my wits were not swift, otherwise I would have seen it immediately. When you force a bolted door, it is the metal on the door jamb, that which secures the bolt, that gets torn from its fixtures. But the bolt itself, on the chapel door, was the section which had been splintered away from its holdings.”
She stood looking at their puzzled expressions for a moment.
“What happened was simple enough. The culprit had entered the chapel from the passage within. The culprit had taken the key, pushed back the altar, opened the chest. The sword had been removed and taken to a place of safety. Then the culprit had returned to arrange the scene. Ensuring that the guards were well beyond the door, the perpetrator opened it, took up a stone and smashed at the bolt. Instead of smashing away the metal catch on the door jamb, the bolt on the door was smashed. It was so obvious a clue that I nearly overlooked it. All I saw, at first, was a smashed bolt.”
Ornait was smiling through her tears.
“I knew Ailill could not have done this deed. The real perpetrator did this deed for the purpose of making Ailill seem the guilty one. Your reputation as a solver of puzzles is well justified, Sister Fidelma.”
Sister Fidelma responded with a slightly wan smile.
“It needed no act of genius to deduce that the evidence could only point to the fact the Ailill Flann Esa could not have stolen the sword in the manner claimed.”
Ailill was frowning at Sister Fidelma.
“Then who is the guilty person?”
“Certain things seemed obvious. Who benefited from the deed?” Sister Fidelma continued, ignoring his question. “Abbot Colmán is a fierce adherent of Rome. He might benefit in this cause if Sechnasach was removed. And Abbot Colmán was in the right place at the right time. He had the opportunity to do this deed.”
“This is outrageous!” snarled the Abbot. “I am accused unjustly. I am your superior, Fidelma of Kildare. I am the abbot of Tara and . . .”
Sister Fidelma grimaced. “I need not be reminded of your position in the Church, Abbot Colmán,” she replied softly. “I also remind you that I speak here as an advocate of the Brehon Court and was invited here to act in this position by yourself.”
Colmán, flushed and angry, hesitated and then said slowly:
“I make no secret of my adherence to the Rome order but to suggest that I would be party to such a plot . . .”
Sister Fidelma held up a hand and motioned him to silence.
“This is true enough. After all, Ailill would be Colmán’s natural ally. If Colmán stole the sword, why would he attempt to put the blame onto Ailill and perhaps discredit those who advocated the cause of Rome? Surely, he would do his best to support Ailill so that when civil strife arose over the non-production of the sacred sword, Ailill, as tánaiste, the heir presumptive, would be in a position to immediately claim the throne of Sechnasach?”
“What are you saying?” asked Sechnasach trying to keep track of Sister Fidelma’s reasoning.
Sister Fidelma turned to him, her blue eyes level, her tone unhurried.
“There is another factor in this tale of political intrigue. Cernach Mac Diarmuid. His name was mentioned to me several times as a fierce adherent of Rome.”
The young man who had so far stood aloof and frowning, now started, his cheeks reddening. A hand dropped to his side as if seeking a weapon. But no one, save the High King’s bodyguard, was allowed to carry a weapon in Tara’s halls.
“What do you mean by this?”
“Cernach desired the throne of Tara. As son of one of the joint High Kings, he felt that it was his due. But moreover, he would benefit most if both Sechnasach and Ailill were discredited.”
“Why . . .!” Cernach started forward, anger on his face. One of the warriors gripped the young man’s arm so tightly that he winced. He turned and tried to shake off the grip but made no further aggressive move.
Sister Fidelma spoke to one of the guards.
“Is the warrior, Erc, outside?”
The guard moved to the door and called.
The burly warrior entered holding something wrapped in cloth. He glanced at Sister Fidelma and nodded briefly.
Sister Fidelma turned back to the High King.
“Sechnasach, I ordered this man, Erc, to search the chamber of Cernach.”
Cernach’s face was suddenly bloodless. His eyes were bright, staring at the object in Erc’s hand.
“What did you find there, Erc?” asked Sister Fidelma quietly.
The warrior moved forward to the High King’s seat, unwrapping the cloth as
he did so. He held out the uncovered object. In his hands there was revealed a sword of rich gold and silver mountings, encrusted with a colourful display of jewels.
“The ‘Caladchalo’!” gasped the High King. “The sword of state!”
“It’s a lie! A lie!” cried Cernach, his lips trembling. “It was planted there. She must have planted it there!”
He threw out an accusing finger towards Sister Fidelma. Sister Fidelma simply ignored him.
“Where did you find this, Erc?”
The burly warrior licked his lips. It was clear he felt awkward in the presence of the High King.
“It was lying wrapped in cloth under the bed of Cernach, the son of Diarmuid,” he replied, brusquely.
Everyone’s eyes had fallen on the trembling young man.
“Was it easy to find, Erc?” asked Sister Fidelma.
The burly warrior managed a smile.
“Almost too easy.”
“Almost too easy,” repeated Sister Fidelma with a soft emphasis.
“Why did you do this deed, Cernach Mac Diarmuid?” thundered Sechnasach. “How could you behave so treacherously?”
“But Cernach did not do it.”
Fidelma’s quiet voice caused everyone to turn back to stare at her in astonishment.
“Who then, if not Cernach?” demanded the High King in bewilderment.
“The art of deduction is a science as intricate as any of the mysteries of the ancients,” Sister Fidelma commented with a sigh. “In this matter I found myself dealing with a mind as complicated in thinking and as ruthless in its goal as any I have encountered. But then the stake was the High Kingship of Ireland.”
She paused and gazed around at the people in the chamber, letting her eyes finally rest on Sechnasach.
“There has been one thing which has been troubling me from the start. Why I was called to Tara to investigate this matter? My poor reputation in law is scarcely known out of the boundaries of Holy Brigid’s house at Kildare. In Tara, at the seat of the High Kings, there are many better qualified in law, many more able dálaighe of the Brehon Courts, many more renowned Brehons. The Abbot Colmán admitted that someone had told him about me for he did not know me. I have had a growing feeling that I was being somehow used. But why? For what purpose? By whom? It seemed so obvious that Ailill was demonstrably innocent of the crime. Why was it obvious?”