Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

‘When did you last see her? How long ago?’ she pressed.

  Erca considered for a moment. ‘It was at the feast of Lughnasa.’

  The pre-Christian feast had continued, being accepted by the New Faith as the occasion to mark the harvest festival, the ripening of the grain and the weaning of calves and lambs. All four of the calendar feasts of pagan tradition had, in fact, been incorporated into the New Faith.

  Fidelma was disappointed. ‘So you did not see her more recently and she never mentioned her intention to pronounce a curse on Cashel at the time of Samhain?’

  Erca’s eyes widened a fraction and then his gaze returned to his fire.

  ‘She did not, nor would I have thought Cashel stood in need of a curse. It is cursed already in my eyes, being the place where the ancient kingdom of Muman was betrayed by the Eóghanacht. The new religion will do your family little good. It is already written. There will come a time when the enemies of the Eóghanacht will take over and not just this kingdom of Muman; your enemies will assume power in all Five Kingdoms – but their years will be short. They, in their turn, will succumb when strangers come from across the water. Then Banba, Fodhla and Éire – the three goddesses who gave this island to the children of the Gael for as long as they kept faith – will truly be abandoned and many will forget their very names.’

  Fidelma had heard this type of prophecy many times before from soothsayers that she had met along the way. Most of the time, their utterances were delivered in such an exaggerated style that it made them almost comical. Yet there was something chilling in the way Erca delivered it. He had hardly raised his voice, seated staring at some hidden images in the dancing flames of his fire, speaking as if he were commenting on the weather or some other mundane subject. The very fact of his monotone delivery made it almost mesmerising.

  ‘Her curse was not exactly the same as your one,’ Eadulf interrupted the spell in his down-to-earth way. ‘She merely believed that Cashel was a portal to the Otherworld, and because of King Óengus’ conversion to Christianity the ancient gods would emerge through this portal to wreak vengeance at the Samhain festival.’

  ‘And was she murdered because of that?’ Erca’s voice was bitter.

  ‘That is what we are trying to discover,’ Fidelma told him.

  Erca raised his arms and let them fall to his sides again. ‘Maybe someone feared her and her curse.’

  ‘Cashel still stands and the Eóghanacht remain,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘But she was killed by someone trying to implicate one of the Old Faith.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Did you know the shepherd named Spelán?’

  Erca looked up in astonishment. ‘Where did you get that name from?’

  ‘So you knew him?’

  Erca’s brows were drawn together. It seemed for a moment that he would not answer and then he sighed. ‘When my daughter was here in the summer she told me that she had met a man at or near Cashel and would marry him. She said that his name was Spelán.’

  It was then Eadulf placed the name of the mountains: Comeraigh. It was Nessan who had told them that Spelán had been planning to move there; he must have been planning to live there with his new woman, Brancheó.

  ‘How long had she known this man? Are you sure that his name was Spelán?’

  ‘She had recently met him on a journey to Ara’s Well, because some sought her healing knowledge there. She said Spelán – that was the name he gave – paid her to curse a nearby abbey that had wronged him. He claimed to remain faithful to the old ways. Are you saying that he was the murderer of my daughter, that he killed her?’ The old man looked anguished.

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘The night before Brancheó uttered her curse on Cashel, Spelán’s body was discovered in the unlit Samhain bonfire. He, too, had been despatched with the threefold death.’

  ‘I knew little of the man, except she wanted to marry him,’ Erca reflected sadly. ‘She told me that he would garner considerable wealth and then they would set up home in the southern mountains where she had her cabin.’

  ‘Wealth?’ queried Eadulf. ‘He was an itinerant who had already lost claim to his dead wife’s flock of sheep.’

  ‘My daughter said something about him working in the mines.’

  Fidelma shrugged. ‘There are no mines near the Hill of the Bullock.’

  ‘I can only repeat what she told me. I am not a dálaigh as you are, daughter of the Eóghanacht, but I would begin to turn my mind to those extremists of the New Faith who would contrive to lay blame on those of the old beliefs rather than pursue those who maintain loyalty with our ancestors. Someone killed the man my daughter wanted to marry – and perhaps that was the provocation for her curse on those she thought responsible.’

  ‘You may well be right,’ Fidelma sighed after a short pause. ‘Then one more question: have you ever heard of Abbot Síoda of Ráth Cuáin which is on the Hill of the Bullock?’

  To her surprise the old man nodded. ‘I have heard stories of Ráth Cuáin but not of Abbot Síoda of whom you speak. Ráth Cuáin is a cursed place. It will be consumed in the fires of vengeance.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because the abbey on that Ráth was built on blood. It was erected centuries ago, on a limestone hill that is riddled with caves. Time was, in the days of Tigernmas, son of Follach, the Lord of Death, that he rejected the old gods and set up a great idol of gold on Magh Slécht, the Plain of Adoration, and this idol was called Cromm Cróich, known as the Crescent One of Blood. People were sacrificed to it at the feast of Samhain. It is said that in those days, before Tigernmas met his own death in the frenzied blood worship of Cromm, many were slaughtered in those limestone caves.’

  ‘May the martyrs rest in peace,’ Eadulf added reverentially.

  ‘Not even in your Faith will there be peace, Saxon!’ exclaimed Erca bitterly. ‘It became the fortress of a great seer and scribe called Brogán. When Brogán refused to convert to the New Faith, Abbot Nathí sent warriors to seize the Ráth and in the mêlée Brogan was slaughtered. His progeny declared a blood feud and vowed that it would not end until the seventh generation had been wiped out.’

  Eadulf heard him out then said pragmatically, ‘Well, Spelán was no relation of Nathí or any other local man. So his death has yet to be accounted for, as indeed does the death of your daughter.’

  Erca did not appear to take notice. ‘Blood will be its fall,’ he repeated as he gazed into the fire. ‘Blood will be the fall of Ráth Cuáin.’

  ‘In the meantime, Erca, your daughter’s body must be buried tonight as is custom,’ Fidelma reminded him gently. ‘You have the right to be there and to have a say, and to claim her personal property. Spelán’s body is also to be buried tonight as no burial could be made on Samhain.’

  Erca shrugged. ‘The only thing I ask is that there will be no mumblings of the New Faith over her body. It would be an insult to her and the gods of our fathers, and such insult would only rebound on the living of this world. Her soul is already on the way to the House of Donn to be reborn in the Land of the Ever Young.’

  ‘The Land of the Ever Young?’ Eadulf asked disbelievingly.

  ‘Tír na Óg, the Plain of Happiness, Hy-Breasal, the Otherworld, call it what you will. Her soul will be reborn there. For us, death is merely a changing of place, and life goes on with all its forms and goods in the Otherworld. When a soul dies in this world, it is reborn in the Otherworld, so that there is a constant exchange of souls always taking place between the two worlds. So death has no dominion for us. Brancheó is in the Otherworld now.’

  ‘But we are still in this world, Erca,’ Fidelma declared. ‘My task is to find out who murdered her and Spelán and bring that person to justice.’

  ‘It matters not. For soon the vengeful shadows of the Otherworld will find the killer one way or another. They will soon be despatched, the murderous soul, to the Perilous Plain of wild devouring beasts. Now you have intruded enough. Leave me to my meditations
.’

  So saying, he rose and walked into the cave mouth without another word.

  Eadulf glanced at Fidelma who was rising from her seat and so he followed her example.

  ‘More confusing information,’ he muttered as they set off from the hermit’s abode. ‘I do not think that we have made much progress in finding a resolution to this matter.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think it has helped a lot,’ she contradicted him.

  He was about to query her statement when they heard Erca’s voice rising in thin, reed-like tones from deep within the cave, then changing into a wailing, solemn chant. Fidelma paused with a slight shudder.

  ‘What’s that about?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘A curse,’ she replied shortly. ‘Perhaps I should say it is more an exhortation for the gods and goddesses to intervene to discover the person who killed his daughter and exact their vengeance.’

  ‘So much for his statement that he would leave it to the Otherworld to punish in their own time,’ said Eadulf. ‘Much good will cursing do him if he feels his gods need a little prompting.’

  Fidelma was still listening. ‘This is a powerful cry to the deities of the Old Faith, Eadulf.’ Her voice was solemn. ‘There are certain names that the Old Faith prohibited using, names for the sun and moon for example. He calls on the Fair Mare to gallop forth and shine her brightness on the killer so that he or she cannot escape her radiance.’

  ‘The Fair Mare?’

  ‘An Láir Bán,’ Fidelma confirmed, ‘one of the euphemisms we use for the moon, for her real name must never be spoken of. And Erca is calling on the gods by their forbidden names.’ She shuddered. ‘The day is growing colder. Let’s get back down to where we left Aidan and the horses.’

  Eadulf glanced up at the sky. It was true that it was darkening, for the days were getting shorter. ‘It seems there is a mist developing on the upper slopes.’

  He was surprised at the speed with which Fidelma led the way down the hill towards the place where they had left their horses under the care of Aidán. The young warrior was relieved to see them.

  ‘I was getting worried,’ he said, jerking a thumb towards the summit of the hill, which could no longer be seen. ‘It seems as though a droidechta is developing.’

  ‘A what?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘What we call an enchanted mist – a Druid’s mist,’ Aidan replied. ‘It’s a dark, heavy type of fog coming down across the hillside.’

  ‘It’s just an ordinary mist,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘But come, let’s get back to Cashel as soon as possible.’

  Eadulf glanced at her. For a moment or two he wondered if she was taking the business of Druids’ curses and the Old Faith as seriously as her brother had. Then he realised that it was a projection of his own fears, for he had been brought up fearing the great pagan deities of his own people and their powers of vengeance before he had encountered and converted to the New Faith. They were still a strong force in his imagination.

  They rode back to Cashel in silence, arriving as dusk was beginning to settle with its rolling mists as the rising chill of the night met the unusual warmth of the day.

  Gormán was waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived. He appeared unsettled.

  ‘Well, did you identify your strange religieux?’ Fidelma greeted him as she swung off her horse. ‘The lightbringer?’

  ‘By default only, lady,’ Gormán replied obtusely.

  She frowned. ‘Explain.’

  ‘I saw the scholars with Brother Mac Raith. Two of them were not the one I recognised that night.’

  ‘So what about the third one?’

  ‘The third one, Brother Sionnach, is missing so I could not make a positive identification.’

  ‘So we must find this Brother Sionnach!’

  Gormán shook his head. ‘I am afraid that is just the problem, lady.’

  Fidelma looked at him closely. ‘What is the problem?’ she asked impatiently.

  ‘Brother Sionnach has been missing from the palace since last night. No one has seen him nor knows where he is.’

  FOURTEEN

  Brother Mac Raith greeted them with a glum expression as Fidelma and Eadulf entered the chapel where he and his colleagues, Brother Duibhinn and Brother Giolla Rua, had gathered on her instructions. Gormán accompanied them.

  ‘I am told that there is some connection with these Samhain killings and the disappearance of Brother Sionnach, lady,’ began the steward of the Abbey of Imleach before she could speak. ‘What is it? Everyone is talking about it.’

  Fidelma regarded him with disapproval. ‘Doesn’t Virgil say in the Aeneid fama volat – rumour travels fast? So already people are speculating. I myself prefer to wait and set more store by facts rather than rumour.’

  ‘Are you saying that it is not so?’ Brother Giolla Rua demanded belligerently. ‘Everyone seems to think there is little question about the connection and these happenings.’

  ‘I am not saying anything at the moment because I would want to obtain information before I did so,’ Fidelma replied curtly. ‘Now, let us be seated.’ She waved to some chairs where the members of the small scholastic council had been holding their meetings. They obediently sat in a circle and waited for Fidelma to begin.

  ‘Let us start with the facts that are known,’ she began. ‘The fact is that Brother Sionnach disappeared last night. Is that correct?’

  ‘Just after the King’s feast,’ Brother Giolla Rua confirmed. ‘On the night of spiritual danger from the forces of darkness.’

  ‘That is just pagan tradition,’ Brother Mac Raith rebuked his colleague. ‘We, of the Faith, merely accept that it is just the start of our New Year.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it was a feast of the dead,’ asserted Brother Giolla Rua. ‘Doesn’t everyone have their own feast of the dead? Fifty years ago Pope Boniface reclaimed the ancient Pantheon in Rome as a church dedicated to the New Faith and to the faithful dead. He ordered that every first day of May, in the Roman calendar, would be a feast day for the dead.’

  ‘In my language we call a saint halig,’ Eadulf added. ‘So in our calendar we call it All Hallows’ Day.’

  ‘But who keeps it?’ Brother Brother Duibhinn of Ard Mór asked.

  Fidelma examined him carefully as he had barely made any impression on her so far. He was a tall man with straggly ginger hair and a wispy beard which disguised the fact that he was still quite young. His eyes were glistening blue, and unusually prominent, giving the impression of someone who was permanently surprised and innocent.

  ‘Spring is a time of light and optimism that has nothing to do with the dead,’ he said. ‘Our New Year begins with a time of rest and darkness. Throughout our land, and elsewhere where the Old Faith used to prevail, that was and still remains the right time for the dead to be commemorated by bonfires and feasting. No one takes notice of the new Roman feast days.’

  Fidelma held up her hand in exasperation. ‘I did not come here to join another scholastic debate on aspects of the New Faith,’ she declared irritably. ‘I have come here to ask questions about the disappearance of one of your number.’

  Brother Mac Ráith cast a look of annoyance at Brother Giolla Rua.

  ‘You are right to rebuke us, lady. Ask your questions.’

  Fidelma settled herself back in the chair. ‘Can we agree on when Brother Sionnach was last seen?’

  ‘He was at the King’s feast,’ offered Brother Giolla Rua.

  ‘But after that he attended the mass here in the chapel at midnight,’ said Brother Duibhinn. ‘That was held shortly after your brother’s feast. We all attended, as you are aware.’

  ‘And after the service?’

  ‘We each of us went to our respective beds in the guest chambers attached to this chapel,’ Brother Mac Raith said.

  ‘Do you share a single chamber?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘So Brother Sionnach retired to bed after the midnight service?’

  ‘He did not,’ Brother Giolla
Rua replied this time.

  ‘Are you saying that you all went to bed after the service but Brother Sionnach did not?’ Fidelma turned to him.

  ‘We went to the chamber and then, at the chamber door, Brother Sionnach turned aside. He said: “I will go for a walk around the fortress walls to clear my head. I will try not to disturb you when I return.” My colleagues will confirm as much.’

  Brother Mac Raith made a gesture of agreement. ‘That’s the truth as I recall.’

  ‘And did he disturb anyone on his return?’

  ‘That’s just it, lady, we all slept soundly until first light when the bell went for morning prayers. His bed had not been slept in. I am sure that he did not return during the night.’

  ‘When I awoke I noticed that his bed was undisturbed,’ stated Brother Duibhinn. ‘I drew this to the attention of Brother Mac Raith.’

  Eadulf frowned. ‘Could he not have risen earlier, made his bed and left?’

  ‘Brother Sionnach was fastidious but I think we could have noticed if he had slept in his bed that night,’ Brother Mac Raith said.

  ‘Perhaps we can progress to some more specific facts,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘It seems that Brother Sionnach left his colleagues at the door of the bedchamber and went for a walk around the walls of the fortress. He did not return. Is that correct?’

  She looked towards Gormán who immediately pre-empted her next question.

  ‘I have already asked those of my warriors who were on guard duty last night if they recall seeing him. However, if he had walked around the walls then he must have worn the Druid’s mantle of invisibility.’

  The three religieux looked at him with slightly shocked expressions.

  ‘I think the commander of the King’s bodyguard is being sardonic,’ Eadulf explained in a dry tone.

  ‘Given that the warriors patrol the walls of the royal fortress night and day,’ went on Gormán, in that same, slightly mocking tone, ‘I think you may rest assured that Brother Sionnach did not go for his walk around the walls.’

  ‘Which means,’ intervened Eadulf, ‘that if he left here for the purpose of going to one of the flights of steps to the walls, he was distracted from climbing it and ascending to the walkway. As the nearest stair to the walls is only a short distance from the back of this chapel, across the small courtyard before Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary, then we can accept that he did not make it. On that wall there are three guard points, manned by guards whose views of the entire walkway are uninterrupted. He would have been noticed if he had reached the top of the steps to the walkway.’