Hemlock at Vespers sf-9

by Peter Tremayne

  “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 toward Ailill for standing against him before the Great Assembly, then we shall tell him.”

  “You do not think Ailill feels any resentment toward 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 makes 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 colorful illuminated manuscript. He saw her eyes fall on the book and smiled complacently.

  “This is the Gospel of John produced by our brothers at Clon-macnoise. 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 dálaigh 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 the 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 odor which caused her to wrinkle her nose in distaste.

  “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. Ro-gallach moved toward a tapestry and drew it aside to reveal an entrance from which stone steps led downward.

  “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 Fldelma 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 colored 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 Fi-delma 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 dálaigh 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. Sech-nasach glanced toward 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 Sech-nasach 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 Cáise 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 scowled.

  “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.”