Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  Gormán nodded in appreciation. ‘You have a good eye, friend Eadulf. That is exactly the way it is. None of my guards saw him.’

  ‘Not even in darkness?’ Brother Giolla Rua sounded sceptical.

  ‘Not even then, for the steps are lit by brand torches,’ Gormán replied firmly.

  ‘This means one of two things,’ Fidelma concluded. ‘Either Brother Sionnach did not go in that direction or he was waylaid by something or someone before ascending the steps.’

  There was a silence before Eadulf turned to Gormán. ‘I presume that we have checked with the guards at the main gates?’

  ‘Of course.’ Gormán was visibly aggrieved at the suggestion that he had overlooked so simple a matter.

  ‘I had to check,’ Eadulf apologised. ‘Have you also instituted a thorough search of everywhere in the palace?’

  The commander of the bodyguard shuffled his feet for a second, glancing at Fidelma. ‘Everywhere? I have to have special authority to do that.’

  ‘Then you have the authority from a dálaigh and sister to the King,’ she told him. ‘Use as many men as you can. It should not be beyond the ability of the guards that such a search could be accomplished in a short time.’

  ‘It shall be done at once, lady,’ acknowledged Gormán contritely.

  Once he had left the chamber Fidelma sat back again and looked at the three religieux. ‘Having gathered what facts we can, let us see what we know of Brother Sionnach’s background. Often such details point somewhere from which we can make progress. Brother Mac Raith, I understand that Abbot Cuán of Imleach called this gathering to discuss the beliefs of the small Abbey of Ráth Cuáin. What was the reason Brother Sionnach was chosen to be a member of this council?’

  Brother Mac Raith looked uncertain. ‘The reason?’

  ‘What qualifications did Brother Sionnach possess for this task? You were all here to discuss the deviation in interpretation that Ráth Cuáin held as opposed to what we regard as the teachings of the Faith. How was the choice of Sionnach made?’

  ‘It was the Abbot of Imleach who made the choice,’ replied Brother Mac Raith. ‘As the steward of Imleach, I was appointed to be interlocutor of the council and speak on behalf of Abbot Cuán.’

  Brother Duibhinn added: ‘As you see, lady, we represent four of the largest teaching abbeys in the kingdom. Imleach, Ard Mór, Ros Ailithir and—’

  ‘I know the abbeys,’ Fidelma intervened patiently. ‘But what of your qualifications for this task?’

  ‘Brothers Giolla Rua, Sionnach and Duibhinn are considered the kingdom’s leading experts on the Holy Scriptures,’ the steward of Imleach replied. ‘They are scholars who have long contemplated the works that comprise the great texts of the New Faith.’

  ‘Especially for our knowledge of the Holy Scriptures as written in Latin by the Blessed Eusebius Sophronius Hieronymus,’ added Brother Duibhinn quickly. ‘That task was commissioned by the Holy Father himself. Eusebius revised the Vetus Latina translation into a new form, comparing it with the original Greek and Hebrew texts. These were then approved by various councils of the faithful and are the cornerstone of the Faith.’

  Brother Giolla Rua sniffed. ‘Except that Eusebius’ translation, in spite of the subsequent approval, was heavily criticised, even by the Blessed Augustus of Hippo, as I have pointed out several times.’

  ‘But it is now accepted and approved?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘That is not so …’ began Brother Giolla Rua.

  Fidelma heaved another exasperated sigh. ‘I want simple answers to my questions and not some pedantic debate on scholastic difference. I take it that the answer to my question was that you were all chosen because of your scholarship on the texts of the New Faith?’

  ‘That is so,’ agreed Brother Mac Raith.

  ‘We can now accept that Brother Sionnach was here because he was such a scholar?’

  ‘That much is obvious,’ Brother Mac Raith agreed with a quick look of annoyance at Brother Giolla Rua.

  ‘What brought him to the Abbot of Imleach’s attention?’

  Brother Mac Raith made an encompassing motion with his hand. ‘His commentaries on the Septuagint, the early Greek translation of the Old Testament, are considered essential. It is said that Ptolemy the Second Philadelphus ordered the translation to be made so that he could understand the Hebrew faith. Brother Sionnach has a vast knowledge of Kione Greek, the ancient form as it is called. His commentaries point out that it was this version, the Septuagint, which Paul of Tarsus quoted in his epistles to the early members of the Faith.’

  ‘You have lost me,’ Fidelma confessed. ‘I am no scholar of the New Faith but have been merely tutored in matters of the text as they are taught to us, being the Latin translation of the Bible by Eusebius. I will readily accept that Brother Sionnach is a scholar in this field.’

  Brother Mac Raith inclined his head. ‘Yes. The scholarship of my colleagues is why they were chosen to attend here. Abbot Síoda of Ráth Cuáin and his followers have long argued their differences of interpreting the sacred texts. Successive Abbots of Imleach from the time of the Blessed Ailbe, who brought the New Faith to this kingdom, have claimed them to be heretical. Our meetings were to present a case that either Abbot Síoda must abide by our interpretations or that he and his acolytes shall be expelled from the Faith for this heresy.’

  Fidelma looked carefully at the others.

  ‘Do you all speak with one voice on this?’ she asked cautiously. ‘From what I heard of your previous argument with Brother Sionnach, and with your recent comments just now, I gather there are several points that you are not completely agreed upon.’

  Brother Giolla Rua smiled broadly. ‘You are perceptive, lady. In any argument there are areas of disagreement and interpretation to be explored.’

  ‘But none of you agree with the faction called Psilanthropism?’ Eadulf asked unexpectedly.

  The question caused some sharp intakes of breath while Brother Giolla Rua looked at Eadulf with narrowed eyes.

  ‘I understand why you ask the question, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, but you base your logic on little knowledge of the subject. That is dangerous. I am, in fact, of the sect called Manichaeists, taught by Manichaeus the Persian. He was criticised for his belief by the Bishop of Rome, Theodosius, two centuries ago. Why? Because we teach that good and evil are equally powerful, and that evil must be confronted. All material things are evil. Why does Rome condemn us? Because we say that once the Emperor Constantine became a Christian, the Church of Rome has pursued material power in this world; its bishops have become replacements for temporal princes and lords, and have set up their fiefdoms and exert material power over the faithful.’

  ‘This is not the belief of all of us,’ Brother Duibhinn declared hotly.

  ‘Nor of the Abbey of Imleach,’ Brother Mac Raith added.

  ‘It was certainly not the belief of Brother Sionnach.’ Brother Giolla Rua’s smile was malicious.

  ‘I am not interested in the claims of your various sects,’ declared Fidelma. ‘My head is spinning with all your vaunted scholarship. I am merely here to discover why Brother Sionnach has vanished from your midst. I have already seen evidence of the way you enforce your disagreements. Can this have been why he is no longer with you?’

  Brother Giolla Rua laughed outright. ‘I see where you may be heading, lady. In spite of differences and the resulting loss of a tooth, there is no disagreement which would cause me to wish Brother Sionnach to disappear.’

  ‘But there are some points where you would engage in a physical fight?’ Eadulf observed quickly.

  ‘I admit, tempers can be brought to boiling point. But that is just in the heat of argument. It is not the same as a slow coldness that leads to wishing extreme harm to your antagonist.’

  ‘I presume that you have all known and debated with Brother Sionnach for many years?’ Fidelma asked.

  She and Eadulf were amazed when Brother Mac Raith replied, ‘No. I met him for the
first time here. Neither Abbot Cuán nor I had met him before but only heard of his reputation as a scholar of the ancient texts of the New Faith.’

  She turned to the others and found Brother Duibhinn shaking his head in a negative gesture while Brother Giolla Rua shrugged.

  ‘We knew him by reputation only,’ he confirmed. ‘I too met him in person for the first time when he arrived here. To be frank, I hope I will not have to encounter that narrow-minded, egocentric fellow again.’

  ‘So Sionnach was really a stranger to you all?’ Eadulf sought their final confirmation with some astonishment.

  ‘Not completely a stranger,’ corrected Brother Mac Raith. ‘His work at the Abbey of Corcach Mór was well known to us.’

  ‘It does not matter when scholars meet,’ put in Brother Duibhinn. ‘They know each other by their works.’

  ‘So what is known personally about Brother Sionnach other than his scholarship?’

  ‘What do you mean? Where he was born?’ Brother Mac Raith replied. ‘His accent marked him as being of the Cenél nÁeda, who live so close by the Abbey of Finnbarr.’

  ‘He mentioned that he had recently been on a pilgrimage to Rome in order to view some of the early texts from which Eusebius worked,’ offered Brother Giolla Rua with a look of disdain. ‘That was no surprise, as he thought Rome to be the centre of all things and not just the New Faith.’

  ‘Did he ever use the name of Lucidus?’ Eadulf asked.

  They all regarded him with curiosity.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Brother Mac Raith frowned. ‘That’s a Latin name. His name was Sionnach.’

  Their bewilderment prompted Fidelma to make some explanation.

  ‘Several of the religious of the New Faith have taken Latin names, as they believe this associates them more closely with it. Benen the son of Sesenen took the name of Benignus after he was converted. There are other examples. Sechnail became known as Secundus, Cathal was Cataldus and so on.’

  ‘Brother Sionnach was besotted with Rome, judging by the things he said,’ admitted Brother Giolla Rua. ‘However, at least he was proud enough of his own name to keep it and maintain some reality.’

  ‘Indeed, since his name, Brother Sionnach, has always brought him the respect due to a reverered scholar, why would he change it? He is well respected at the Abbey of Corcach Mór. It is why he was chosen, because of his reputation as being loyal to the teachings of Rome.’ This was Brother Mac Raith talking.

  Fidelma frowned thoughtfully. ‘Loyal to the teachings of Rome?’ she mused. ‘Yet the scholars of our churches in the Five Kingdoms are always in conflict with Rome on many basic principles. I, myself, have attended several rather stormy councils between scholars who were loyal to the teachings of Rome and those who were loyal to the practices and laws of the Five Kingdoms.’

  Brother Mac Raith shifted his weight in his chair uncomfortably for he knew well the conflict of which Fidelma spoke, between the native laws and the Roman concepts which were called ‘Penitentials’.

  ‘It was essential that we had a diversity of scholastic opinion,’ he said. ‘The texts that Abbot Síoda and his followers quote are false and heretical. Those following these texts claim the originals are known to the Bishop of Rome but safely hidden away from prying eyes. They accuse Rome of being heretical while they claim to follow the truth of the original texts.’

  ‘Very well,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘This does not help us discover where Brother Sionnach has vanished to, nor why.’ She rose from her seat. ‘What is the intention of this council now?’

  Brother Mac Raith told her, ‘I suppose we must finish our deliberations and discuss the matter with Abbot Síoda at Ráth Cuáin before dispersing. I will take a full report to the Abbot at Imleach and it will be up to him to decide if there is to be any action taken against Síoda and Ráth Cuáin.’

  Leaving the chapel, Fidelma and Eadulf made their way across the courtyard to the King’s quarters. Luan, a warrior they knew well, was on guard outside the main building which housed the King’s feasting hall and chambers, and which led to the chambers reserved for the distinguished and personal guests of the King. Nobles and bishops often stayed there.

  Luan greeted them with a rueful smile. ‘I was in charge of the guard after midnight,’ he explained when Eadulf asked him why he looked so downcast. ‘Now we have that strange woman getting killed and then this scholar going missing. Gormán is acting as if I am at fault.’

  ‘I am sure he doesn’t believe that,’ Fidelma assured the young warrior. ‘You have nothing to fear so long as you have done what is expected of you.’

  They passed into the building and found Colgú in his private chambers. He was sprawled in a chair before the log fire, a flagon of corma on the table before him. Even in the soft light of the lamps, lit to illuminate the autumnal evening, they noticed that his face almost reflected the colour of his red hair. It was a worrying sign.

  ‘Didn’t you drink enough at the Samhain feast last night, brother?’ she said. ‘Yet now you are indulging yourself further while there are important matters to attend to.’

  Colgú looked up with a groan. ‘Don’t you start again. Since you like throwing Latin sayings at me, here is one for you, sister: similia similibus curantur!’

  Fidelma eyed him grimly. She knew the saying well that something is cured by the same thing that created it. Seeing the angry spark in her eye, her brother added as if to gain her sympathy: ‘The Princess Gelgéis and her entourage left for Durlus Éile at midday.’

  Fidelma was unsympathetic. ‘I don’t blame her. I expect that she was not best pleased at your excesses last night. Gelgéis was the perfect match for you, and now you seem to have spoiled that.’

  ‘I don’t need your match-making,’ her brother snapped. ‘I have enough problems to attend to.’

  She nodded to the flagon. ‘So I can see. And once you have attended to that, all your problems will be solved? I think not.’

  ‘What are you doing to solve the problems of two ritual murders below the walls of my own fortress?’ Colgú challenged her. ‘And now, in addition, Gormán tells me that we have the disappearance of one of the religious scholars to cope with! Will that turn into another murder? What am I to tell the Abbot of Corcach Mór – that his leading scholar has vanished while under my protection as a guest in my palace? Then there is the matter of keeping this so-called noble of the Uí Briúin Seóla under restraint here. What is being done about that? Do we want another war with Connacht? After Muirchertach Nár died a few years ago I thought we could rest easy along our northern border. But his cousin, the new King of Connacht, is as ambitious as Muirchertach and his own father Guaire Aidne was. Connacht would welcome an excuse to test our watchfulness along the border.’

  Fidelma spared a moment of compassion for her brother. It was true that the new King of Connacht, Dúnchadh Muirisci of the Uí Fiachrach, was making various bellicose noises. He had begun his kingship with a swift consolidation of his power by putting down his own rebellious chieftains along the entire stretch of the Muaide, the river rising in the high peaks of Sliabh Gamh with its rich lead and copper mines and running 110 kilometres to the great western ocean. Control over this area had made him very rich and powerful. She could understand why her brother did not want to provoke him.

  She sat down opposite Colgú but her severe expression did not soften. ‘Wine in the bottle does not quench thirst,’ she said, using another of the Latin proverbs of which she was so fond. ‘You would do better with a clear head to concentrate on these problems.’

  Colgú opened his mouth to retaliate and then his shoulders suddenly slumped.

  ‘Sometimes I wish I were a simple céile, a clansman who has nothing more strenuous to worry about than cultivating the land,’ he muttered.

  ‘If you think farming is a less strenuous task than your own, then you are in for a sad awakening if you ever attempt it, brother,’ Fidelma replied.

  Colgú glanced up at Eadulf, who was stil
l standing, and he waved a hand towards a chair.

  ‘I would offer you a drink, friend Eadulf, but I fear I would be reproached for doing so.’

  Eadulf smiled and took the seat. ‘It will soon be time for prainn,’ he said, referring to the principal meal of the day, for it had been dark for some time now. ‘No one will be reproached for taking a drink with their dinner.’

  Colgú smiled thinly. ‘Always the diplomat, Eadulf. And has your diplomacy managed to secure answers to the mysteries that assail us?’

  Eadulf made a negative gesture with his hand. ‘Personally, I found no answers – only further questions.’

  Colgú turned to his sister. ‘Did you see the old hermit Erca and was he able to give you information?’

  ‘He was,’ asserted Fidelma. ‘In fact, he said that Brancheó was his daughter.’

  The King’s eyes widened a little. ‘I suppose he was full of curses and cries for the destruction of Cashel then?’

  ‘He cursed those who murdered his daughter; that is so. Colgú, I am coming to the conclusion that this business of the old religion has been deliberately created as a smokescreen to distract us from some other reality.’

  Colgú waited impatiently for a further explanation and then had to prompt her.

  ‘What I mean,’ Fidelma was forced to explain, ‘is that I think that the way Spelán and Brancheó were killed has nothing to do with Samhain or curses or the ancient pagan religion. I sense that we must look more closely at this debate about the New Faith.’

  ‘Do you also mean that the disappearance of Brother Sionnach and the debate of this so-called heretical abbey are all connected?’ Eadulf asked.