The Subtle Serpent sf-4

by Peter Tremayne

  She decided to focus on the approaching coastal scenery. They had now entered the mouth of the great bay and moved close to the southern shore of the mountainous peninsula. The cold winds and choppy seas began to ease as they entered into these more sheltered waters. And when Ross’s course placed the southern tip of the bulbous island to their eastern flank, the weather became much calmer as the land protected them from the main brunt of the winds. There were few clouds in the sky which was a soft blue with the pale yelloworb of the sun hanging high above casting no warmth at all. The scenery seemed painted in limpid pastel shades.

  ‘A short way ahead lies a large inlet,’ Ross announced. ‘That is where the abbey of the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells is. I’ll anchor in there, in the quiet waters.’

  Fidelma, in spite of her preoccupied thoughts, was not entirely oblivious to the serene beauty of the inlet which was circled by an oak forest which rose in ridges all around and was fringed with varied evergreens. Even while her mind was agitated by the worry of what had happened to Brother Eadulf, the tranquil aura of the area registered with her. It would be spectacular in summer with the multi-coloured flowers and all the trees bursting in varied shades of green. Behind the inlet, the mountains rose, their bald peaks dusted with snow and their slopes studded with granite boulders. A rushing stream emptied into the inlet at one point where, on a headland, a small circular fortress stood. Even looking at its sparkling crystal waters, Fidelma shuddered at how cold those waters must be.

  ‘That is the fortress of Adnár, the bó-aire of this district,’ Ross jerked his thumb towards the fortress.

  A bó-aire was, literally, a cow-chief, a chieftain without land whose wealth was judged by the number of cows he owned. In poor areas, the cow-chief acted as a local magistrate and owed his allegiance to greater chieftains. To this greater chieftain, the bó-aire paid tribute for his position and rank.

  Fidelma tried to force her mind back to the task which she had originally come to perform.

  ‘The fortress of Adnár?’ she repeated, phrasing it as a question to ensure that she had the name correct.

  ‘Yes. It is called Dún Boí — the fortress of the cow goddess.’

  ‘Where is the religious community?’ asked Fidelma. ‘The abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’

  Ross indicated another small headland on the other side of the rivulet, directly opposite Adnár’s fortress.

  ‘It stands among those trees on that ridge. You can just see the tower of the abbey buildings there. You can also see a small quay leading to a rocky platform on which you might be able to make out the abbey’s main well.’

  Fidelma followed his directions. She saw movement on the quay.

  ‘Captain!’ the helmsman called softly to Ross. ‘Captain, there are boats coming out — one from the fortress and one from the abbey.’

  Ross turned to confirm the fact for himself and called on his crew to start furling the sails of the Foracha before dropping the anchor. He turned to signal Odar, on the Gaulish vessel, to release his anchor also so that the ships would not collide. There was a cracking of the great sheets as they were hauled down, the splash as the anchors hit the still waters and the startled cry of seabirds surprised by the unexpected sharpness of the sound. Then — silence.

  For a moment or so Fidelma stood still, aware of that sudden silence in the sheltered inlet. Aware of the beauty of the place with the blues, greens, browns and greys of the mountains rising behind, and the sky creating a light blue on the waters around her, reflecting and shimmering in the early afternoon light, giving the impression of a mirror, so still and clear was its surface. Around the end of the inlet was a grey green belt of seaweed abandoned by the tides, the white and grey of rocks and the trees lining the banks, their varying greens and browns coloured by occasional bursts of groundsel and the white flowers of shepherd’s purse. Here and there were strawberry trees. The silence magnified the slightest sound … such as the lazy flap of a grey heron’s wings as it circled the boats with its long sinuous neck seemingly arched in curiosity before turning indolently and unconcerned in the sky and heading further along the coast for a quieter fishing ground. And now she could hear the rhythmic slap of oars of the approaching boats on the still waters.

  She sighed deeply. Such peace was a cloak, a disguise to reality. There was work to do.

  ‘I’ll go back aboard the merchant ship and make a more detailed examination, Ross,’ she announced.

  Ross gazed at her with anxious eyes.

  ‘With respect, I would wait awhile, sister,’ he suggested.

  A frown of annoyance crossed her features.

  ‘I do not understand …’

  Ross cut her short by gesturing with his head towards the approaching two craft.

  ‘I doubt that they are coming to visit me, sister.’

  Fidelma wavered, still not understanding.

  ‘One boat carries the bó-aire from his fortress while the other carries the Abbess Draigen.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows in quiet surprise and gave the occupants of the approaching boats a more careful attention. One of the boats was being rowed by two religieuses with a third sitting upright in the stern. She appeared a tall, handsome-faced woman, even taller than Fidelma herself, muffled in a robe of fox fur. The other boat, racing towards them from the fortress, was rowed by two sturdy warriors and in the stern of that boat sat a tall, black-haired man, wrapped in a badger fur cloak and his silver chain of office proclaimed him to be someone of position. He kept glancing anxiously towards the other boat and, with barks of command, which could be discerned even from this distance, was urging his men to greater efforts as if wishing to reach the barc of Ross first.

  ‘They look as though they are engaged in some race,’ observed Fidelma dryly.

  Ross’s voice was humourless.

  ‘I think their race, as you put it, is to reach you first. Whatever the purpose, I do not think there is a spirit of friendship between them,’ he replied.

  It was the boat from the abbey which reached the side of the barc first and the handsome religieuse scrambled up withsurprising agility, reaching the deck just as the second boat came alongside and the tall man, with his shock of black hair, came springing onto the deck after her.

  The woman, whom Ross had identified as the abbess of the community, was straight-backed as well as tall. Her cloak was flung back to reveal her homespun robes. The red-gold craftsmanship of her crucifix showed that she had not quite decided to relinquish riches for a vow of poverty and obedience, as it was of ornate workmanship and studded with semi-precious gems. Her face was autocratic with red lips and high cheekbones. She was in her mid-thirties and her face spoke of a beauty strangely intermixed with a coarseness of expression. Her eyes were dark and flashed with a hidden fire which was clearly anger as she glanced over her shoulder towards the black-bearded man, hurrying behind her.

  She spied Ross at once. It was evident that she had met him before. Fidelma knew that Ross was a frequent trader along the coast of Muman and would obviously have done business with the religious community here.

  ‘Ah, Ross. I recognised your ship the moment it entered the inlet,’ her voice did not carry any warmth of greeting. ‘I trust that you have come directly from Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir? I anticipate that you have brought me the Brehon in answer to my request?’

  Before Ross could respond, the tall, black-haired chieftain joined her, puffing slightly in his exertion. He was into his forties, a handsome-faced man with pleasing features whose eyes bore a striking resemblance to the flashing dark eyes of the abbess. Fidelma noticed that he wore a pleasant, though anxious smile as he came up to Ross.

  ‘Where is the Brehon? Where is he, Ross? I must see him first.’

  The abbess turned swiftly on her apparently unwelcome companion with a look of unbridled animosity.

  ‘You have no authority here, Adnár,’ she snapped,confirming Ross’s identification of the man as the loca
l chieftain.

  Adnár coloured furiously.

  ‘I have every authority to be here. Am I not bó-aire of this district? My word …’

  ‘Your word is dictated by Gulban, chieftain of the Beara,’ sneered the woman. ‘If he says nothing then you say nothing. I have asked Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir to send a Brehon who is answerable only to the king of Cashel to whom your chieftain, Gulban, has to give account.’ She turned back to Ross. ‘Where is he, Ross? Where is the Brehon sent by the Abbot Brocc?’

  Ross glanced towards Fidelma and gave a curious apologetic shrug as if he were trying to absolve himself from any responsibility for the visitors.

  The gesture drew the attention of the newcomers to Fidelma. For the first time the austere-faced abbess seemed to catch sight of her and frowned.

  ‘And who are you, sister?’ she snapped imperiously. ‘Have you come to join our community here?’

  Fidelma managed a faint smile.

  ‘I believe that I am the person you seek, mother abbess,’ she replied evenly. ‘I have been sent by the Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir in answer to your request.’

  For a moment a look of utter astonishment sat on the abbess’s face.

  The sound of raucous laughter distracted everyone for a moment. Adnár was shaking with mirth.

  ‘You ask for a Brehon and Brocc sends this slip of a girl! Ha! Your precious abbot does not think so highly of you after all!’

  The abbess did her best to control the fury that blazed in her eyes and she stared, tight-mouthed, at Fidelma.

  ‘Is this some kind of amusement for Abbot Brocc?’ she asked coldly. ‘Am I to be insulted thus?’

  Fidelma shook her head tiredly.

  ‘I do not think my cousin,’ Fidelma paused for a fraction of a second, allowing the pause to emphasise the word, ‘I do not think my cousin, the abbot, is given to amusing himself in such a manner.’

  The abbess’s expression began to twist into a sneer but Ross, feeling it time to intervene as captain of the ship, stepped quickly forward.

  ‘Allow me, abbess, to introduce Sister Fidelma who is an advocate of the courts. She holds the qualification of anruth.’

  The abbess’s eyes widened imperceptibly while Adnár abruptly ceased to chuckle. The qualification of anruth was only one degree below the highest that the universities and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland could bestow.

  There was a pause before the abbess asked slowly: ‘What did you say your name is?’

  ‘I am Fidelma, currently of the community of Kildare.’

  The abbess’s flashing eyes narrowed again.

  ‘Of Kildare? Kildare is in the kingdom of Laigin. Yet you say that you are related to Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir. What does this mean?’

  Fidelma savoured the moment.

  ‘My brother is Colgú, king of Cashel.’ Fidelma could not help her eyes flickering in the direction of Adnár to gauge his reaction. She was rewarded by his open mouth and staring eyes. He looked, for a moment, like a fish as it is taken from the water. ‘I serve the Faith, which is not encompassed by the boundaries of earthly kingdoms.’

  The abbess gave a soft sigh before holding out her hand to Fidelma. Her imperiousness seemed to have evaporated a little. Her face was moulded into an expression of contrite apology. Whether it was genuine or not, Fidelma could not be sure.

  ‘Let me bid you welcome to our community, sister. I am Abbess Draigen, superior of the foundation of The Salmon of the Three Wells.’ She waved a hand towards the shore as if toindicate her community. ‘I am sorry for my churlish greeting. These are trying times. I had expected that Brocc would have sent someone with some practical expertise in, in …’

  Fidelma smiled gently as she hesitated.

  ‘In the solution of crimes of violence? In the solution of mysteries? Have no fear on that matter, mother abbess. There is a proverb — usus le plura doceit. Experience teaches many things. I have acquired some aptitude for the task you have in mind by my experiences as an advocate of the courts.’

  There was a grunt as Adnár came forward. He tried hard to resume his confident posture but his eyes fell momentarily before Fidelma’s twinkling green ones. His head hung a little in his obvious embarrassment.

  ‘Welcome, sister. I am Adnár.’

  Fidelma examined him closely. She was not sure that she liked what she saw. The man was handsome, true enough, but she was always uneasy when she was confronted by good-looking, confident men.

  ‘Yes. I have heard. You are the bó-aire of this territory,’ Fidelma’s voice was icy. In fact, she enjoyed the man’s apparent discomfiture, mentally rebuking herself for her enjoyment of another’s chagrin. It was against the teaching of the Faith but she was only human.

  ‘I did not mean, that is, I …’ began Adnár.

  ‘Yet you wanted to see me?’ Fidelma pressed innocently.

  Adnár glanced in annoyance at Abbess Draigen. He seemed to have the need to choose his words carefully when he addressed Fidelma.

  ‘Sister, I am bó-aire here. I am magistrate and judge of the courts under the jurisdiction of my chieftain, Gulban. There is no need for anyone in this territory to require outside assistance in the matter of law. However, this is not the time nor place to discuss such a matter. There you see my fortress,’ he waved his hand. ‘I would bid you welcome to feast with me this night.’

  Abbess Draigen smothered an exclamation of protest by coughing.

  ‘You are expected at the abbey this evening, Sister Fidelma, in order that I can explain more fully why you were sent for,’ she said hastily.

  Fidelma gazed from the abbess to the chieftain and then firmly shook her head.

  ‘It is true that my first duty does lie at the abbey, Adnár,’ she told the chieftain. ‘However, I will come tomorrow morning and break my fast with you.’

  Adnár flushed, glancing in annoyance towards the abbess whose features had formed into a smile of satisfaction. He nodded curtly to Fidelma.

  ‘I shall look forward to it, sister,’ he spoke reluctantly. He was about to move away but he hesitated and stared across to the Gaulish merchant ship as if becoming aware of it for the first time. ‘You keep odd company, Ross. What ails this ship that its captain asks you to tow him into this harbour?’

  Ross shifted his weight.

  ‘I am not sure that I understand your meaning by odd company?’

  ‘You keep company with a Gaulish ship. I saw your tow rope as you entered our harbour. What is wrong with the captain? Can he not sail himself? No matter, I will row across and have a word with him.’

  ‘You will not find him aboard,’ replied Ross.

  ‘Not on board?’

  ‘That is so,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘The ship was discovered abandoned off the coast here.’

  Once more an expression of astonishment crossed Adnár’s face.

  ‘Then we will have two matters to discuss when you come tomorrow.’ With a brief nod to the abbess and to Ross, he went quickly over the side to his boat. They heard his men slap their oars into the water and watched silently as the boat pulled away back to the shore.

  ‘An irritating man, that one,’ sighed the abbess. ‘Still, you have made the right decision, sister. Let me row you across to the abbey and I will explain everything.’

  Her handsome face showed surprise when Fidelma shook her head.

  ‘I will come to the abbey this evening for the evening meal, mother abbess. There are other matters that I must attend to before that.’

  ‘Other matters?’

  There was a dangerously querulous note to Abbess Draigen’s voice.

  ‘I will come ashore this evening,’ Fidelma repeated but did not enlighten her further.

  ‘Very well,’ Abbess Draigen sniffed sourly. ‘You will hear our bell ring for the evening Angelus. We sit down to eat following the prayers. A gong sounds twice for the meat to commence.’

  She left, without another word, climbed over the side of the barc and clambered down i
nto her boat.

  Ross grimaced, leaning on the rail and watching the sisters rowing their abbess back across the inlet.

  ‘Well, sister, I do not think that you have evoked much affection either in the heart of the abbess or that of the bó-aire.’

  ‘It is not my task to evoke affection, Ross,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Now let us return to the Gaulish merchant ship.’

  Fidelma, together with Ross, spent two hours searching the Gaulish ship once again from top to bottom without discovering any further indication of what had happened to her crew and her cargo. Apart from the dried blood stains, there was nothing to suggest why the crew and cargo of the vessel had simply vanished. Only Odar, the steersman, had come up with a further piece of information. He had approached Fidelma and Ross almost as soon as they had come aboard the Gaulish vessel.

  ‘Begging your pardon, captain, but there is something you might like to see …’ he began, hesitantly.

  ‘Well?’ Ross’s voice was not exactly an encouragement to continue but Odar did so.

  ‘I heard you and the sister here,’ he gestured to Fidelma, ‘remarking about how neat and tidy everything is aboard this ship. Well, there are two things out of place.’

  Fidelma was interested at once.

  ‘Explain, Odar,’ she invited.

  ‘The mooring ropes, sister. Both fore and aft. The mooring ropes have been cut.’

  Ross immediately led the way to the nearest oak bollard at the bow of the ship.

  ‘I left the ropes hanging in place so that you might see them for yourself,’ Odar explained. ‘I only noticed them myself when we were making fast a short while ago.’

  Ross bent to where the strong flax cordage was fastened to the bollard and began to haul up the loose end which dangled down the side of the ship. It finished after about twenty feet or so, its end frayed into numerous strands. Fidelma took it from Ross’s hands and examined it carefully. The end had certainly been cut; hacked at by an axe judging from the way the pieces of flaxen rope had frayed. The thickness of the ship’s rope would confirm that only an axe could have cut it.