Fidelma ignored the flattering remark but regarded the young man with interest. ‘So you have been to Rome?’
‘I have recently returned from the Holy City, as have several brethren in the abbey.’
‘You also only recently joined the abbey, I believe. Were you in Rome with Abbot Síoda, who I understand was recently on a pilgrimage there?’
‘I joined the abbey after my return from Rome. I did not know Abbot Síoda or Brother Tadhg before.’
‘Why did you go to Rome?’
‘Surely it is the wish of most members who enter into the service of the Faith to set out on a pilgrimage to Rome. Either to go to Rome or, as did the Blessed Helene, the mother of Constantine, to make the journey to Jerusalem itself. Alas, I have never been to Jerusalem but the abbey has a copy of the Itinerarum Burdigalense which was written two centuries ago, recounting the stages of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem.’
Fidelma smiled at what she saw as the young man’s sudden enthusiasm. She decided to move the conversation on, to a subject closer to her interest. ‘I presume that you work in the library chamber? I saw Abbot Síoda there.’
‘Abbot Síoda likes to receive visitors there so that they might be impressed with our library, for it contains many ancient books. Usually I work there alone.’
‘I would have thought that students would be constantly encouraged to come to the abbey library to make use of such an important collection of books.’
Brother Gébennach smiled briefly. ‘Only students who are not enemies of the abbey’s theology, lady. Visitors who come to study the truth of its beliefs are always welcome.’
‘So that truth is found among the books that you hold in the library?’
‘Exactly so, lady.’
‘Well, it is fortuitous that we have met up because I have some questions for you, keeper of books.’
The young librarian frowned. ‘I thought I was already answering your questions, lady.’
‘For which I am grateful,’ she replied. ‘But I have a few more questions, that is all.’
‘Which are?’
‘You doubtless know Sister Fioniúr at Ráth Cuáin?’
For a moment Brother Gébennach seemed taken aback; it was obvious that he was not expecting the question. ‘That is so. A woman of youth and attraction. She is a herbalist and something of an apothecary, for she has overall charge of the health of our community as well as running the herb gardens. Her one fault is that she is very fastidious, both in her own appearance and in her expectation of others’.’
‘I presume that she often leaves the abbey to go searching for her herbs?’
To her surprise Brother Gébennach shook his head.
‘Then how can she be the herbalist without gathering the herbs?’
‘Others search for the herbs and flowers she wants. Some of the local people bring such items to her. She plants and grows them in the garden.’
‘I was interested because she seems to have a fondness for distilling the flowers of lavender and making a powerful oil for the incense burners in the techscreptra. I noticed it when I met with Abbot Síoda.’
The keeper of books told her, ‘I am responsible for that. You see, I work with the pungent smell of inks, leather, vellum and parchments in stuffy rooms, and often long for the fresh, open smell of the fields, flowers and woodland. I noticed lavender was favoured by Sister Fioniúr and so I asked if she could make a distillation for the techscreptra.’
‘Who brings her the lavender that she distils so excellently for you? Does she trade for it or grow it herself?’
‘She does not grow it, lady. It is not native to this climate. I hear it is imported from the east. She has a contact at the Abbey of Ros Ailithir. As you may know, they trade with Gaul. They send the plants to her.’
‘The abbot assured me that the lavender distillation is not exchanged with anyone outside the abbey.’
‘That is correct. The distillation is made solely by her,’ the librarian declared with pride. ‘Its supply is limited and the perfume is used only in the techscreptra.’
‘It is a very particular distillation.’ Fidelma sighed. ‘I would find it most memorable.’
Eadulf suddenly leaned forward, having realised why Fidelma was asking the questions about lavender. ‘You say that you visited Spelán in his cabin. You would not have taken a container of this lavender oil with you and somehow left it behind?’
The bewilderment on the face of Brother Gébennach was genuine. ‘What a curious question. Was such a container found there? I don’t understand.’
‘If I ever wanted to see Sister Fioniúr, is there any way I could do so?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring the exchange. ‘I mean, without the abbot or the gatekeeper knowing? I would like to purchase some of that fragrance.’
Brother Gébennach grinned. ‘It would be difficult to get by Brother Tadhg. He has eyes like a hawk.’
‘Then how does Sister Fioniúr barter with those who come to trade herbs and flowers with her? Does the gatekeeper have to give his approval each time?’
‘At the back of the abbey, almost where it balances on those small rocky cliff areas, is the herb garden. While it is part of the abbey it is outside the abbey walls and surrounded by a low wooden wall and hedges. The main kitchen and refectory leads out into it. That is where the herbs and fresh fruit and vegetables are grown for the consumption of the community. There is a gate where Sister Fioniúr conducts business with merchants at her own discretion. Local folk know this and often come to barter goods with her.’
‘So I might be able to converse with her there?’
‘It would be forbidden unless you have legitimate business. Why would you do so? Just because you like this distillation of lavender? I tell you that she doesn’t manage to get enough for our own purposes, let alone a surplus to pass on to other people. She won’t part with any to you, I can assure you.’
‘I admit, I would like to know more about that distillation of lavender.’ Fidelma sighed as if disappointed.
Brother Gébennach raised a shoulder slightly and let it fall, expressing the fact that the situation was beyond his power to resolve.
Fidelma decided it was time to call a halt to her inquiries in case the young librarian began to suspect what she was really seeking. Also, she was aware that during this long exchange in the copse, both Aidan and Eadulf were growing restless.
‘It might be coming on to rain again,’ Aidan warned. He had been watching the dark clouds gathering again.
‘Then let us continue on to the cabin,’ Fidelma decided. ‘It is not that far away and we need to complete our business there. Brother Gébennach, I am sorry if you have been held up unduly.’
The young librarian said politely, ‘As we are travelling in the same direction and doubtless for the same purpose – that is, to examine the cabin – it is of no matter, lady.’
‘In that case, ride alongside me and tell me more about your interpretation of the Faith. I presume your belief is why you joined the Abbey of Ráth Cuáin. I would like to understand more about it, although the abbot tried to explain it to me. Why is it so much at odds with the rest of Christendom that it is called a heresy? For example, the meaning of the symbol around your neck …?’
They all remounted and the young librarian moved his ass alongside Fidelma’s pony. As they began to proceed on down the hill, he revealed himself to be an enthusiastic and committed scholar. Fidelma hardly had time to insert a question or two here and there. Brother Gébennach touched the silver symbol he wore on a chain around his neck. She had recognised it at once.
‘This is the Tau-Rho. It is the symbol of our Faith – which we call Psiloanthropism.’
‘I am told that it denies that Jesus was Divine?’
‘That is true. There are many Christians who agree with us,’ replied the young man. ‘We believe that the tales of divinity were just allegories to impress people. The basis of our belief is that a Hebrew named Yeshua, the man whose name through Gree
k and Latin becomes Jesus, preached a new interpretation of the Hebrew Faith. It was Paul of Tarsus who, rejected by the Jewish followers of the movement, like Simon Bar-Jonah, decided to open up the movement to the Gentiles, those outside the original Hebrew faith. So the Gentiles needed to be persuaded to join the New Faith. Look at the gods and heroes in all the various cultures that we have encountered – there is always some miraculous happening at their birth so that people can identify the founders of the belief as being above the ordinary. Many Romans worshipped Mithras, who was similarly born of a virgin. So Jesus was also made into a man-god.’
‘But it is essential to the Faith to accept the divinity of Jesus. To say otherwise …’ began Fidelma.
‘Is heresy?’ Brother Gébennach sighed. ‘I have read the work of Theodotus of Byzantium in our scriptorium. Most of the early followers of Jesus – who Paul’s Greeks called Christos, the anointed one – believed the title referred to merely an ordinary man. He was a wise and just man but he criticised the Sanhedrin, the temple of the Hebrew faith, for accepting the Roman occupation of their lands. By doing so he aroused the support of the Zealots, those Hebrews fighting against their Roman masters. For this he was executed in the traditional Roman manner, on a wooden cross, slowly suffocating to death.
‘During the early years, Yeshua’s brother Ya’akov became leader of his philosophy in Jerusalem. It was accepted that he too was a righteous man who taught the word of the one God. It was Ya’akov, who was called James in Greek, whose writings were destroyed, suppressed or distorted after he was also killed by the Romans. There arose many branches of the Faith, each with differing views which are now called heresies by those in Rome, who seem to have invented their own faith.’
Eadulf, who had been following the discourse, was shocked by the idea. ‘But the whole basis of the Faith is that Jesus is the Son of God, otherwise what renders Him superior to all the other divinities that are being rejected through the many nations of the world? It is surely that divinity which has caused the New Faith to spread to all the lands?’
The young keeper of books was cynical. ‘You think the empire of Rome and its culture had nothing to do with it? The first council of the church to declare the divinity as something all the Faith should follow was the council of Nicaea held under Hosius, Bishop of Carduba, with the patronage of the Roman Emperor Constantine who was the first emperor to convert to the New Faith and declare it the Faith of the Empire. It was the imperial order alone which changed those small persecuted groups who believed in Otherworld salvation to relieve their suffering and assured them of some salvation in this world. That was the incendiary that caused the New Faith to spread like fire across the empire.’
‘Your library must contain many interesting books and texts on this matter,’ Fidelma remarked innocently. ‘Has the library many items that come directly from Rome – texts that the Bishop of Rome would not like people to read; that he would want to be kept secret? For example, books that would support your view of Constantine and the earlier teachings of the Faith?’
The librarian looked at her suspiciously ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Out of interest. Did the Roman emperor convert only for reasons of political opportunism?’
‘Constantine undoubtedly converted to the Faith because he saw a political chance to keep the empire intact, especially against the growth of the cults in Byzantium,’ the young man answered immediately. ‘He used the Faith as a weapon to control the empire and he used the elevation of the man that the empire had executed to a god-man to replace the other divine beings. He renamed the great city of Byzantium after himself and established a new ruling class who favoured the New Faith. Constantine ordered the council of Nicaea to approve certain concepts of the New Faith that he supported.’
The young librarian was speaking with passion, his voice rising in volume and his right hand hitting the air in emphasis.
It was Aidan who interrupted his flow with a harsh voice.
‘Lady, Spelán’s cabin is on fire.’
ELEVEN
They had paused on the rise looking down the rocky hillside to the small copse where Spelán the shepherd had his cabin. Through these trees they could see the rising column of black swirling smoke and knew there was no other source for such a density of smoke than the cabin itself.
The track was too precipitous for a canter, let alone a gallop, but Fidelma nudged her pony, Aonbharr, into a trot. She was joined by Aidan, leaving Eadulf and Brother Gébennach to bring up the rear at a more sedate pace. It was not long before Fidelma and Aidan had halted their horses on the edge of the small clearing in which the cabin stood. They left their horses here, out of the path of the billowing smoke.
One end of the building was being quickly devoured in a crackle and snap of flames, which ate hungrily at the dry wood. Even the stones did not impede the ravenous tongues of fire as they demolished the mixture of dry mud, reinforced by horse hair, that bound the stone walls together. The thatch had long gone, and the heavy timber roof beams were now in such a dangerous condition that there was imminent danger of the roof collapsing. The heat was too intense to venture nearer.
‘I must have left the fire alight when we left here,’ Aidan groaned. ‘A spark or something must have caught …’
‘I don’t think so,’ cut in Fidelma. ‘Look at the way the fire is burning.’
Aidan was puzzled but it was Eadulf, who had just arrived, who saw the significance of her remark.
‘The fire is at the opposite end of the cabin to where the hearth was,’ he pointed out.
Fidelma glanced at him appreciatively. ‘So you see, Aidan, no spark could have traversed the length of the cabin and set fire to the far end to create the conflagration as it burns now.’
The relief on Aidan’s features was palpable. Then he saw the significance of this.
‘Do you mean that the fire was set deliberately?’
The young librarian had now joined them and was staring in dismay at the sight before them. ‘Abbot Síoda is not going to like this. He had planned to place a new shepherd in this cabin.’
Eadulf was examining the fire. ‘It is too well alight to douse the flames with just ourselves trying to gather water from that stream,’ he concluded. Then he added in a low voice to Fidelma: ‘Do you think we missed anything in the cabin which has been the reason for this deliberate act of destruction?’
‘Let us hope we did not miss anything,’ she replied grimly.
Brother Gébennach had tethered his ass with their horses and was starting to walk around the perimeter of the burning cabin.
‘Have a care,’ Fidelma called. ‘Don’t get too near the flames. There are many sparks about.’
The librarian grimaced. ‘I don’t intend to, lady. I am just going to inspect the grave, as the abbot requested.’
Fidelma had nearly forgotten the second purpose of the librarian’s coming. She made sure the horses were tethered well away from the searing heat. While the concentration of the flames had been at the back end of the cabin, they were now licking hungrily towards the other end: the entire construction would soon be consumed. Shielding her face from the heat, she followed Brother Gébennach as he clambered across the rocky mounds at the back of the cabin, making for a small hillock behind it. She could see patches of earth that had been disturbed, as if people had been digging holes here and there.
The librarian had halted, looking bewildered.
‘Animals?’ Fidelma suggested half-heartedly. ‘I am afraid that anything buried can be sniffed out by wolves, foxes …’
‘So tell me what animal can remove large stones?’ the young man replied. ‘When Spelán showed me the grave, he had placed several large stones on it. Now they are scattered – and not by wolves or foxes.’ He pointed to a mound of earth by a deep hole. ‘That was the spot where Spelán said that he had buried the body of his wife.’
Fidelma followed in the direction of his outstretched hand towards the mound of freshly turne
d earth. She shivered. On it were perched three or four carrion crows pecking away at the disturbed earthworms and grubs. In disgust, she bent and picked up a few small stones and threw them at the glossy black-feathered creatures. With almost disdainful looks in her direction, they hopped across the earth and then, one after another, each took wing, soaring upwards.
The librarian moved across to the deserted heaps of earth. Fidelma followed and gazed down into a large, newly excavated hole.
‘So someone has been busy,’ she said, almost to herself.
Whether Brother Gébennach heard her or not was uncertain. Instead of responding he said hollowly: ‘Whatever was buried here has been removed.’
‘Not everything,’ Fidelma corrected, having spotted something white in the earth at the bottom of the grave. She jumped down over the loose earth bank to the bottom and picked at the object, coming up triumphantly with a bone. She held it up towards the librarian.
‘Then at least we have some part of Caoimhe to re-bury,’ he said unctuously. ‘It is important to follow ritual.’
To his astonishment Fidelma, after examining the bone, simply tossed it aside as she stared around the hole.
‘I am afraid that was the bone of a sheep and now I see several smaller bones belonging to the same species.’
She noticed a piece of torn sacking, picking it up and peering carefully at the edge of the tear. Then she looked at some of the smaller rocks, A couple seemed to intrigue her. She picked them up – small, heavy, metallic objects – and placed them in her marsupium together with the torn sacking.
‘What is it?’ Brother Gébennach demanded. ‘What have you found?’
Before she could reply, they heard Eadulf calling and a moment later he came hurrying from the end of the cabin towards them. There was some alarm on his face.
‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘Horsemen are approaching from the south. Three of them.’ He paused, looked at her standing in the hole and added: ‘What are you doing down there?’
Night of the Lightbringer Page 17
