The Subtle Serpent

by Peter Tremayne

  He hesitated awkwardly.

  ‘Sister Brónach said that you wanted to see me,’ Fidelma now pressed her advantage. ‘I presume that it was something other than to see if I had slept well and to inform me that Ross’s ship had gone?’

  Olcán looked confused for a moment at the slight sarcasm in her voice.

  ‘Oh, it was just that Torcán and I are going hunting. We wondered whether you might join us for you said, when first we met, you would like to see some of the ancient sites of this peninsula and we will be passing some fascinating spots.’

  Fidelma kept her features solemn. It was obvious that this excuse had only just occurred to Olcán.

  ‘I thank you for the idea. Today I have to continue my inquiries here.’

  ‘Then, if you will forgive me, sister, I will rejoin Torcán and set off. Adnár’s master huntsman has spotted a small herd of deer on the mountain to the west.’

  Fidelma watched the young man pulling his cloak around him as he strode out of the chapel. She followed him to the door and studied his retreating figure as he walked across the courtyard and through the buildings. A moment later, she saw him mounted on a horse, riding swiftly off through the woods in the direction of Adnár’s fortress.

  It was clear to her what Olcán’s purpose had been.

  She hurried back to the guests’ hostel and found Sister Brónach.

  ‘I am sorry that I overslept, sister,’ she greeted. ‘I feasted with Adnár last night. Is there a possibility that there is something with which I might break my fast for I have missed the call to the refectory.’

  Sister Brónach regarded her with curiosity for a moment.

  ‘A long feast it must have been,’ she observed slyly, turning into the common room of the guests’ hostel. ‘I have already laid a platter for you, sister, realising that you had missed the first meal of the day.’

  Fidelma slid gratefully into a chair. Dishes with some hardboiled goose eggs, some leaven bread and honey were placed before her with a small jug of mead. Fidelma was helping herself when she suddenly realised the meaning of Sister Brónach’s remark and she glanced at the mournful-faced sister questioningly.

  Sister Brónach almost smiled as she answered the unasked question.

  ‘I have been too long in charge of this guests’ hostel not to know the comings and goings of the guests.’

  ‘I see,’ Fidelma was reflective.

  ‘However,’ continued the doorkeeper of the abbey, ‘it is not my position to question the hours our guests keep so long as they do not interfere with the running of this community.’

  ‘Sister Brónach, you know why I am here. It is essential that my absence from the abbey is not generally known. Do I have your word on this?’

  The middle-aged doirseór of the abbey grimaced almost disdainfully.

  ‘I have said as much.’

  After breakfast, Fidelma made her way towards the library. On the way she met the Abbess Draigen who greeted her with disapproval.

  ‘You seem no nearer to solving this mystery than when you first arrived,’ the abbess opened in a sneering tone.

  Fidelma did not rise to the bait.

  ‘On the contrary, mother abbess,’ she replied, brightly, ‘I think much progress has been made.’

  ‘Progress? Another murder has been committed, that of Sister Siomha, while you were investigating. Is that progress? It seems to be remarkably akin to incompetence so far as I judge.’

  ‘Do you know much of the history of this abbey?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring the thrust.

  Abbess Draigen looked a little disconcerted.

  ‘What has the history of the abbey to do with your investigation?’

  ‘Do you know of the history?’ insisted Fidelma, ignoring her counter question.

  ‘Sister Comnat would have been able to tell you, if she were here,’ replied the abbess. ‘The abbey was formed a century ago by the Blessed Necht the Pure.’

  ‘That much I have heard. How did she come to choose this spot?’

  Abbess Draigen raised a hand to encompass the abbey buildings.

  ‘Is it not as beautiful a spot as any to set up a foundation to the new Faith?’

  ‘Indeed it is. But I have heard that the wells here were used by the pagan priests.’

  ‘Necht blessed and purified them.’

  ‘So this was a spot actually dedicated to the old faith before it became Christian?’

  ‘Yes. The story is that Necht came here and debated the doctrine of Christ with Dedelchú, chieftain of the pagans who lived here in the caves.’

  ‘Dedelchú?’

  ‘So the story is handed down to us.’

  ‘Do you know why Necht called this abbey that of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’

  ‘You should know that “The Salmon of the Three Wells” is a euphemism for the Christ.’

  ‘But there are also three wells here.’

  ‘That is so. A pleasing coincidence.’

  ‘In pagan times some of the ancient wells were claimed to have a salmon of knowledge dwelling at the bottom.’

  Abbess Draigen merely shrugged.

  ‘I cannot see why you are so interested in ancient beliefs. But it is well known that the “Salmon of Knowledge” was a powerful image in ancient belief. It could well be why we hail the Christ as The Salmon of the Three Wells, expressing him as part of the trinity but fountain of knowledge. Surely that is not a matter to get us any further along the road to finding the person who is culpable of the murders committed here?’

  Fidelma’s expression was bland.

  ‘Perhaps. Thank you, mother abbess.’

  She continued on her way to the tower library, leaving the abbess staring in bewilderment after her.

  ‘Sister Fidelma!’

  The tone of the voice was soft but urgent. For a moment Fidelma could not place it and turned to identify its owner. A slim figure was standing in the doorway of the stone-built store room next to the tower. It was Sister Lerben.

  Fidelma left the path and crossed towards her.

  ‘Good morning, sister.’

  Sister Lerben motioned Fidelma to come inside as if she did not want to be seen talking with her. Fidelma frowned but obeyed the urgent gesture. Inside the store room, Sister Lerben seemed to be sorting some herbs with the aid of a lantern. While the day outside was cloudy but bright, inside it was dark and gloomy.

  ‘What can I do for you, sister?’ Fidelma prompted.

  ‘Yesterday you asked me questions …’ began Sister Lerben. She paused but Fidelma did not make any attempt to coax her further. ‘Yesterday I said some things about … about Febal, my father.’

  Fidelma returned her gaze steadily.

  ‘You wish to retract them?’ she asked.

  ‘No!’

  There was a harsh vehemence in the word.

  ‘Very well. What then?’

  ‘Does it have to be reported anywhere? Abbess Draigen has … has now explained about the function of a dálaigh. She says that … well, I would not like it to come out that, well … what I said about the farmer and my father.’

  Clearly the girl was in some emotional turmoil over the matter. Fidelma relented.

  ‘If the matter is of no relevance to my investigation of the deaths of Almu and Síomha, then it does not have to come out.’

  ‘If it is of no relevance? How will you know?’

  ‘When I have completed my inquiries. Speaking of which, it was surprising to find you in the wood the other day taking a book to Torcán at Adnár’s fortress. Were you not afraid that you might meet your father, Febal?’

  ‘Him?’ The voice assumed its sharpness again. ‘No. I am not longer afraid of him. Not any more.’

  ‘How do you know Torcán?’

  ‘I have never met him.’

  Fidelma registered some surprise.

  ‘How, then, were you taking this book, what was it now … ?’

  Sister Lerben shrugged.

  ‘Some old chronicl
e, I think. I do not know. I told you, I am not proficient in reading or writing.’

  ‘Yes, you did mention that. So you were, in fact, given this book to take to Torcán?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who gave you the book? I thought only the librarian would be able to give permission to remove a book from the abbey library.’

  Sister Lerben shook her head.

  ‘No, the rechtaire has authority.’

  ‘The rechtaire?’

  ‘Yes, it was Sister Síomha who handed me the book and asked me to take it to the fortress of Adnár and hand it to Torcán.’

  ‘Sister Síomha! And that was during the afternoon before her death?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Did she explain why Torcán was being allowed to borrow this book instead of coming to the abbey to look at it?’

  ‘She did not. She simply told me to take it to him and return. That is all.’

  Fidelma had a feeling of tremendous frustration. Every time she thought she was about to clear up a point, then several more questions rose to confuse her mind. She thanked Sister Lerben and left the store house, entering the tower.

  It was dark inside the main library room and Fidelma peered in vain for a lamp in the gloom.

  She was feeling her way to the foot of the steps leading to the second floor when she heard a sound like someone dragging a sack across the floor above her head.

  She paused a moment and then moved cautiously upwards one step at a time, listening.

  The dragging sound came again.

  Fidelma’s head reached the level of the floor and peered upwards.

  Someone was seated by the light of the window peering at a book.

  Fidelma heaved a sigh of relief.

  It was Sister Berrach. The sound that she had heard had been the disabled sister moving across the floor.

  ‘Good morning, Sister Berrach!’ Fidelma climbed into the room.

  The young sister was startled and almost dropped the book she had been looking at.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Sister Fidelma.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Berrach’s chin came up a little defensively.

  ‘I told you that I enjoyed reading. With Sister Comnat and Sister Almu not returned to the abbey, and Sister Síomha not here to tell me what to do, I no longer have to sneak here at night to do my reading.’

  Fidelma seated herself beside Berrach.

  ‘I, too, have come to do some reading but I could not find a lamp below.’

  ‘There are some candles here,’ Berrach indicated a table. ‘Do you want a particular book?’

  ‘I was going to look for one of the annals that I am told are kept here. But what are you reading?’ Fidelma lent across and glanced at the text.

  ‘Eó na dTri dTobar … The Salmon of the Three Wells!’ Fidelma was somewhat taken aback by the coincidence. ‘What text is that?’

  ‘A short account of the life of the Necht the Pure who founded this abbey,’ replied Sister Berrach.

  ‘And does it mention her discourse with Dedelchú, the pagan priest?’

  Sister Berrach started in surprise.

  ‘You know a lot about this place. I have lived here all my life and am only just reading this book.’

  ‘One picks up things here and there, Berrach. Does the book explain much about Dedelchú? It is an odd name. The last element is simple to recognise meaning “hound of” — the hound of Dedel. I wonder who or what the original Dedel was? I am fascinated by the meaning of these old names, aren’t you?’

  Sister Berrach shook her head.

  ‘Not particularly. I am more interested in history, in the lives of people. But we do have a copy of the Glossary of Longarad in the library.’

  ‘Is that so? So you have read some of the annals?’

  Berrach conceded that she had.

  ‘I have read through all the annals that have been placed in this library.’

  ‘Do you known the annals of Clonmacnoise?’

  ‘Know it? yes. Sister Comnat herself made that copy. She spent six months away at the abbey of the Blessed Ciarán and copied the book with the full permission of the abbot. You will find it on the shelves here.’

  ‘It is no longer at the abbey. It was loaned, according to Sister Lerben, to Torcán, who is a guest of Adnár.’

  ‘Torcán, son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti?’ Sister Berrach looked bewildered. ‘What would he want with it?’

  ‘I was hoping I might find out. I think he was particularly interested in the story of Cormac Mac Art. There was a page which had been much consulted. It was an entry to do with the death of Cormac Mac Art. I do not suppose you would know what was written there?’

  Berrach frowned reflectively.

  ‘I have a gift for memory. My retentive mind is quite clear.’ She paused and thought carefully. ‘The entry spoke of how Cormac slew his enemy Fergus and became a wise and virtuous High King. It spoke of his writing his book of instructions and …’ She paused a moment. ‘Ah yes; it went on to speak of how a gold calf had been set up in Tara and a cult had developed about it, turning it into a god to be worshipped. The priests of this cult called upon Cormac to come and worship the gold image but he refused saying he would sooner worship the goldsmith who had made so beautiful an image. The entry said that the chief priest of this cult then contrived to make salmon bones stick fast in the High King’s throat during a meal so that Cormac was induced to die.’

  Fidelma was fascinated at the effortless ease with which Sister Berrach recalled the passage.

  ‘Do you know anything more about that story?’

  The young religieuse shook her head.

  ‘Only that it was symbolic, I believe. I mean, the story about the pagan priest being able to kill Cormac by three salmon bones.’

  ‘Three salmon bones?’ asked Fidelma quickly. ‘What symbolism do you read into that?’

  ‘I think it was probably meant as an indication of the identity of the pagan priest. Cormac may have been murdered but there was no means of deliberately causing three salmon bones to stick in a person’s gullet unless you accept such a thing as evil magic.’ Berrach smiled ruefully. ‘And I think you helped to persuade the community here that such things as witchcraft and magic did not exist.’

  ‘What else is known of this cult of the gold calf?’

  ‘Little enough. The entry in the annals of Clonmacnoise is, so far as I know, the only reference to the creation and worship of this idol, this great golden calf. I have read several other annals but no one else mentions the cult of the golden calf. Why,’ she added, ‘if such a fabulous idol existed, it must have been worth a great fortune.’

  There was a soft scuffle on the stair. It was faint but Fidelma caught it and turned sharply, motioning Sister Berrach to silence. She was about to move across to the stairway when the head and shoulders of Sister Brónach appeared. In spite of the semi-gloom, Fidelma could see that she wore a sheepish expression.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you. I was on my way to the clepsydra.’

  Fidelma felt that it was an excuse hurriedly invented but Sister Berrach did not seem to notice anything out of place. She smiled happily at Sister Brónach who continued her way on to the next floor. Fidelma turned back to Berrach and resumed her conversation.

  ‘If I remember correctly, King Cormac died nearly four hundred years ago, is that right?’

  ‘That is right.’

  ‘Can you remember anything else about Cormac and this golden calf?’

  Sister Berrach shook her head.

  ‘No, but I know that Sister Comnat recently bought a copy of Cormac’s instructions from a beggar. The book called the Teagasg Ri, Instructions of the King. An old man who lived up in the mountains here came to the abbey one day and told Comnat that his family had kept the copy for a long while but wanted to exchange it for food. I was passing by and heard the conversation. If you are interested in Cormac then it is worthwhile reading. It is in the library
.’

  Fidelma did not reply that she already knew that Cormac’s book of instructions was in the library and, indeed, she had glanced through the copy which, as she recalled, had been soiled with red mud.

  ‘When did that transaction take place?’

  ‘Not long ago. About a week before Sister Comnat and Sister Almu left on their journey to Ard Fhearta.’

  Fidelma stood up, took a candle and lit it.

  ‘Thank you, Sister Berrach. I’ll go to look for that book now. You’ve been a great help.’

  The Instructions of Cormac, Teagasg Rí, was hanging in its book satchel from a peg. She took it out and looked round for a seat. Placing the candle on a ledge nearby she opened it and began to turn the vellum pages. Once more she observed the strange brown red mud stains over the book. But the book was slightly different to the last time she had glanced through it. She wished she had paid more attention to it then. She realised that two vellum pages were now missing. It was clear that they had been cut recently with a sharp blade, presumably a knife, for the next page was scored where the line had been cut.

  Why had these pages been removed?

  She examined the text carefully.

  The section was nothing to do with the main part of the book which was the actual philosophies of King Cormac. This was an addition to the book which was an essay about the life of the High King. She could decipher nothing by looking at the preceding and proceeding pages. She turned to the opening page, seeking some other information.

  The book was an old one. The style was crude enough. It had not been written by a trained scribe, of that she was certain. The main work was clearly copied, which was not surprising, but the little biography of Cormac was something new to her and seemed provincial in attitude. She wished now that Sister Comnat had remained on the Gaulish ship with Brother Eadulf. She would have been able to consult with her about the missing pages.

  Eadulf! She suddenly realised that she had not even thought about him since she had dragged her tired body into her bed early that morning. She felt a momentary pleasure that he was alive, safe and well. Then, as her mind turned to her escapade of the previous night, she suddenly felt exhausted. She would have to give way to sleep for a short time.

  She stood up and returned the book into the leather satchel and yawned, feeling a bone in her jaw crack in protest. She rubbed the tender spot for a moment. Then she took up the candle and was about to blow it out. Then she remembered the word ‘Dedal’ and found Longarad’s Glossary. She was not surprised when she saw what the definition of the word was.