Chalice of Blood

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I can offer you no motivation behind these events as yet,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But we will find out.’

  ‘I understand that this library is famous for keeping books that are not approved of by many members of the Faith,’ interposed Eadulf softly. ‘That might be the motivation.’

  ‘You mean they attacked the books because they posed difficult questions for the Faith?’ Cumscrad smiled cynically.

  ‘Well, people have destroyed books for less,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘It is certainly the unintelligent option to destroy that with which we don’t agree rather than present our arguments and then decide what is the better argument.’

  Gormán gave an embarrassed cough. He had been silent for so long they had almost forgotten he was there.

  ‘But why would the Uí Liatháin be so fanatical about the Faith? I know them. They are not known for their piety.’

  ‘Your warrior companion is right, lady,’ Cumscrad agreed. ‘But they are enemies of my people. That’s why.’

  ‘How much was this library of yours worth, Cumscrad?’ asked Eadulf. ‘What did it contain that made it as priceless as you claim?’

  ‘It has existed since the time of Mug Ruith, long before the new Faith reached these shores,’ replied the chieftain. ‘It was famous. It was unique.’

  ‘Famous?’ queried Eadulf. ‘I have heard of many libraries but not of Fhear Maighe’s.’

  ‘That does not reflect on the fame of our library but on your ignorance of it,’ the chieftain replied icily.

  ‘You may be right, Cumscrad.’ Fidelma smiled at his riposte, in spite of the mortified expression on Eadulf’s features. ‘But indulge our ignorance and tell us something about it.’

  The chieftain was mollified. He gave a sigh and began to recount the history of the library. ‘Four centuries or so ago, a scholar from the east called Aethicus of Istria wrote what he called a Cosmographia, a cosmography of the world. Aethicus sailed to our shores from Iberia because he had heard of the fame of our libraries. He speaks of the volumina of our libraries as noteworthy.’

  ‘You say that this was four centuries ago?’ Eadulf interrupted in surprise. ‘But that would mean—’

  ‘That would place the fame of our libraries two centuries before the new Faith came to this island,’ finished Cumscrad. ‘Furthermore, Aethicus writes of the ideomochos of our books, clearly indicating that the books contained a literature that he had not seen before and using a word that meant that it was particular to our people.’

  ‘They were written on what we call the flesc filidh, or rods of the poets,’ Fidelma said. ‘The flesc filidh were wands of beech and birch. So you are saying that Aethicus actually came here and viewed these ancient books?’

  ‘Indeed. But since the coming of Christianity, there has been a systematic attempt to destroy everything that went before.’ Cumscrad gestured in the direction of the smouldering ruins of the tech-screptra. ‘The destruction is almost succeeding. We are witnessing crimes against knowledge. Aethicus of Istria praised our libraries and we know that he came to this very spot to examine the ancient books. His Cosmographia tells us so.’

  ‘I have never heard of this Aethicus and his Cosmographia,’ said Eadulf.

  ‘Have you not read Orosius Paulus’s History Against the Pagans? Even he quotes passages from Aethicus about his voyage to this country. But Orosius was a Christian and wished to denigrate the pagans. He described us as cannibals.’

  ‘You’ll forgive us, Cumscrad,’ intervened Fidelma, seeing the chieftain’s anger just below the surface. ‘It is in the nature of lawyers to be sceptical while gathering evidence.’

  ‘Truth is great and will prevail. You are fond of quoting that saying of your mentor, the Brehon Moran, Fidelma of Cashel. But truth does not always prevail. I presume you know of our ancestor, Mug Ruith?’

  ‘I was told that, in pagan times, he was regarded as a sun god who rode the skies in a chariot of burning light.’

  Cumscrad grimaced sourly. ‘The stories became embellished in the retelling. He did take his name from the solar deity but Mug Ruith was a man of flesh and blood and a great Druid of my people. My clan look to him as our ultimate ancestor.’

  ‘So tell me who he was,’ Eadulf asked, ‘and forgive me my ignorance.’

  ‘The zealots of the Faith claim he was a magician. That’s how they dismiss the Druids these days, they call them wizards and magicians. Now the fanatics of the Faith also claim that Mug Ruith went to the Holy Land to learn his so-called magic from someone they call Simon Magus.’

  Eadulf stirred uncomfortably. ‘That was Simon of Gitto who is considered the source of all heresies.’

  ‘Exactly. Mug Ruith did not have to go to learn “sorcery” from anyone. He was a great Druid.’

  ‘And Simon of Gitto is certainly not well regarded among those of the Faith.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘So it is a story to denigrate him.’

  ‘Did your library hold a copy of the Apophasis Megale or The Great Declaration which Simon of Gitto is said to have written?’ Fidelma asked suddenly.

  ‘You would have to ask my son that question,’ replied Cumscrad.

  ‘There are many things we must ask Cunán,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘I hope he will join us soon.’

  ‘One thing I would like to ask now,’ Eadulf said quickly. ‘What was that curious contraption I saw which seemed to pump water from the river towards your tech-screptra?’

  Cumscrad smiled sadly. ‘It was something that Dubhagan was working on. He had not perfected it. It is a new form of water pump that relies on a plunger at the top of a cylinder creating a vacuum which draws water up through valves, pushing it along the troughs. Do not ask me the meaning of these terms for I heard them only from poor Dubhagan. I barely understand the purpose.’

  ‘Dubhagan invented this machine for pumping water upwards?’

  Cumscrad shook his head. ‘He did not invent it. He told me that he found a description of the machine in one of the Latin books that came to our tech-screptra. Let us hope that it has been saved, for it was written many centuries ago. It was called De architectura and was written by a Roman, Vitruvius. Dubhagan said Vitruvius had seen this machine in Egypt and had adopted it when he served in the army of Julius Caesar.’

  Fidelma was vaguely interested but more impatient to be about the work she had come for.

  ‘Let us hope it is a book that has been saved. But you remind me that the books you had here in your tech-screptra were not only the ancient ones from the Five Kingdoms.’

  ‘Our library made a practice of keeping religious books that were not written by the zealous, such as the book that was stolen – the one by Celsus. They were books it was felt might be destroyed because they were regarded as heretical.’

  ‘Do you know what they were?’

  ‘Only our librarians would know that.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you, then.’

  They looked up to find that Cunán had entered the hall. The young man was washed and looked more in control of himself. The scorch marks on his face were clearly visible now.

  ‘Are you all right, my son?’ asked the chief anxiously.

  ‘I am now. I must apologise if I seemed dazed before. To find poor Dubhagan murdered and then to see the destruction of all those priceless works … it is like seeing the destruction of all you hold dear.’

  He came and took a seat with them while an attendant appeared with a jug of mead and poured a measure for him. He sipped it slowly and thoughtfully.

  ‘I understand that the library contained books that were not entirely approved of by the Faith,’ said Fidelma.

  ‘It was the purpose of our library to save books from destruction which might otherwise be lost for ever,’ Cunán replied sadly. ‘Now many have been reduced to ashes. We shall not know the extent of our loss until our scribes have checked through everything. That will take many days.’

  ‘Your library made copies of two books that were sent to Ard Mór librar
y,’ Fidelma began.

  ‘At their request,’ the assistant librarian said. ‘It was some of our best copying work. And they were stolen.’

  ‘Your father told us that they were the poems of Dallán Forgaill and a work by Celsus.’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘It is the work by Celsus that interests me.’

  Cunán’s eyes registered surprise but he said nothing.

  ‘Were you here when Brother Donnchad of Lios Mór came to visit this library?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

  Cunán nodded.

  ‘Do you recall what sort of books he was looking for?’

  ‘He spent his time with Dubhagan in his chamber so I do not know what they talked about, nor what he was seeking.’

  ‘But you did say that the books in that chamber were those of special interest,’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘I did so and they were.’ He hesitated. ‘I did have to go to Dubhagan’s chamber while Brother Donnchad was there. I needed to seek Dubhagan’s advice and found Brother Donnchad poring over some books.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what they were. Was it the work of Celsus?’

  Cunán shook his head. ‘Celsus? I don’t think so. I know he was looking at one of the books from our section of works in Hebrew when I entered.’

  ‘Hebrew?’ Fidelma was disappointed.

  ‘Indeed, we have copies of several works in Hebrew.’

  ‘What sort of works?’

  ‘Our prize possession is …’ he caught himself and a look of bitterness moulded his features. ‘Our prize possession was a parchment scroll of the Sefer Torah – all five books: the Bereshit, Shemot, Vayikra, Bemidbar and Devarim.’ Seeing Fidelma’s puzzled features, he explained. ‘The Faith calls them the five books of Moses.’

  ‘And these are all now destroyed?’ gasped Eadulf.

  ‘I imagine so. They were all in the tower room where most of the destruction was wrought.’

  ‘Were these the books he was interested in?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. The book satchels were all in their correct place except one. Brother Donnchad was sitting by the Hebrew section. I knew that he was looking at a Hebrew book because I registered the space in my mind where that book should have been – in the small section we place those Hebrew titles in.’ He shrugged. ‘Librarians seem to develop an unconscious eye for such things.’

  ‘And do you know what the book was?’

  ‘I cannot be sure,’ frowned the young man.

  ‘Then let us hear your uncertainty,’ pressed Fidelma. ‘What book do you think it was?’

  ‘I think the empty space usually contained the Tosefta.’

  Fidelma looked blankly at the young man.

  ‘It is a book of Jewish oral law which was compiled three or four centuries ago. We were told it was written in some rabbinical academy in Judea.’

  ‘Jewish law? Why would Brother Donnchad be interested in such a text?’ mused Eadulf.

  Fidelma was looking a little uncertain for she was convinced that the reason for Donnchad’s visit to Fhear Maighe had something to do with the Celsus text. She had been hoping for some easy connection.

  ‘But didn’t Donnchad also ask to see a work by Celsus, the same one that was copied and stolen?’

  Cunán did not reply immediately. He looked slightly guilty.

  ‘You hesitate. Why?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘I am right, am I not?’

  ‘It is just that Dubhagan asked me particularly not to mention it. But I suppose it is all right, for now both Brother Donnchad and Dubhagan are dead.’

  ‘Why did Dubhagan ask you not to mention it?’

  ‘He came into the main library when Brother Donnchad was in the tower room and asked if he could borrow the text for a while. I was just finishing copying it for Ard Mór. He told me not to mention that he was showing it to Brother Donnchad as a special favour. Brother Donnchad did not want it to be known that he had examined it.’

  ‘I suppose that is natural enough,’ Fidelma said after consideration.

  ‘We welcome books of every description. Many brethren, returning from journeys to Rome and to other places, come back with books; even critiques of the Christians by the Emperor Flavius Julianus, those of Porphyry of Pergamum – we had a copy of his Adversus Christianos, Against Christianity – and, of course, we had the work of Celsus, Alethos Logos – The True Word. Books in several languages are brought to us.’ ‘How many of these have survived the fire?’ asked Eadulf. ‘I don’t suppose you know as yet.’

  ‘Of the critiques of the Faith?’ Cunán shrugged. ‘I suspect that most have been destroyed. They were all in the tower room where poor Dubhagan was. Julianus’s work, Contra Galilaeos, Against the Gallileans, was very rare, although I think we still have Clement of Alexandra’s response.’

  ‘As I have said, it is Celsus that I am interested in. Do you know what his criticisms of the Faith were?’

  The librarian looked uncertain for a moment and then glanced around almost in a conspiratorial manner.

  ‘I do. To be honest,’ Cunán confessed, ‘I found Celsus’s arguments fascinating and do much to support the beliefs taught by our forefathers.’

  ‘I have read neither Celsus nor Origenes’ answer to him. Can you tell me what Celsus argued against the Faith?’

  ‘Remember he was writing several hundred years ago,’ the young librarian said. ‘He argued that the idea of an incarnation of God as man is absurd. He asked why the human race should think itself superior to bees, ants and elephants … I have heard of those strange animals,’ he added as an aside. ‘The Roman Emperor Claudius took elephants to Britain to help him overcome the Britons.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Celsus asked why should Christians put themselves in such a unique relation to their creator as to make him one of them? And why should God come to men in the form of one nationality and of one distinctive faith? Celsus believed that the idea that the Jews had a special providence was nonsense. He believed that all life in the entire world was special. He likened the early Christians to a council of frogs or worms on a dunghill, croaking and squeaking, crying, “We are the rulers of the world and it is for us that it was created.” He found that absurd.’

  Fidelma was frowning. ‘Does Celsus say what he did believe in?’

  ‘He wrote that it is more reasonable to accept that each nation, each part of the world, has its own gods, its own prophets and messengers. He charged the Christians with preaching intolerance; he charged them with not understanding other religions. He asked why Christians could not find common ground with the great philosophical and political authorities throughout the world. He argued that an effort to properly understand mankind’s belief in all the gods and demons was compatible with the purified monotheism that Christians preach. Unless they did this, he said, Christians had no hope of winning people to their Faith or hoping to attain anything like universal agreement on the divinity.’

  ‘He was a harsh critic, indeed,’ murmured Fidelma, feeling uncomfortable because she had often found it difficult to simply believe and not to question matters of dogma that seemed illogical to her.

  ‘There is much, much more,’ said Cunán. ‘Alas, it is difficult to find anyone who will admit to reading a copy of Celsus’s writings. I am told, however, that Tertullian and Minucius Felix knew his work and were influenced by it. I think the main thing Celsus was arguing for was that Christians should not remain aloof from other faiths and from politics. He apparently urged them not to claim another empire or any special position within the Roman empire but make peace with the emperors. He wrote, according to Origenes, that if all the other faiths followed the Christian example and abstained from the politics of the empire, the affairs of the empire would fall into the hands of wild and lawless barbarians.’

  ‘You appear to know a great deal about Celsus’s work,’ Eadulf commented with a frown.

  Cunán actually grinned. ‘I have sat every day this year copying the text of Celsus. If nothing else, I know this w
ork and its arguments. I was surprised that Brother Donnchad asked to see it. I have never met him, but we exchanged letters many years ago. I have a reputation as a copyist and I have also copied several of his own works. His reputation is well known.’

  A thought suddenly occurred to Eadulf.

  ‘I have heard that every scribe has what is called a special “hand”, not just a way of forming letters but little idiosyncrasies in forming sentences and words. Would you know something about this?’

  Cunán suppressed a smile of immodesty. ‘It is true and I believe that I know the hand of most of the leading scribes in this kingdom.’

  Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. She immediately realised what he had in mind. She took from her ciorbholg, comb bag, the piece of parchment that they had found under Brother Donnchad’s window. She handed it over to Cunán.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ she asked.

  ‘Si vis transfer calicem istrum a me … Deicide. Deicide. Deicide,’ he read carefully. ‘Take this chalice, or cup, from me. The last word written three times means god-killer, but you know that,’ he added quickly. ‘It is a claim that has often been levelled against the Jews by the Fathers of our Faith. It is as if Brother Donnchad was practising some phrase but it looks odd.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fidelma and Eadulf regarded Cunán in astonishment for a moment.

  ‘Are you saying that Brother Donnchad wrote this?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘As I have just explained,’ Cunán said patiently, ‘I was the chief copyist of this library. Who does not know the hand of Brother Donnchad, one of the foremost scholars of this kingdom?’

  ‘Can you prove that it is his hand?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘After all, it is only a few words.’

  ‘Any good scholar who knew his work will tell you so. This is a good enough sample to spot the individual writer. Look at the words calicem and deicide. Brother Donnchad formed his letter “c” and the “d” in a very distinctive fashion. See there?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Why, I can prove it further, if you like.’