Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘The resolution to all this will be found in Ráth Cuáin,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘I feel it.’

  Colgú stared at her blankly. ‘I’ve never heard you resolve anything by merely feeling the answer,’ he commented.

  ‘Nor do I mean to now, but …’

  There came a respectful knock on the chamber door. Gormán entered and after saluting the King, he inclined his head towards Fidelma and Eadulf.

  ‘I was told that you would be here, lady,’ he said. ‘I need to report that we have searched everywhere for the missing scholar. The stables to the chapel, the food storage, the guards’ barracks and—’

  ‘There is no sign of him?’ cut in Colgú.

  ‘None, lord,’ Gormán confirmed.

  ‘You are sure that absolutely everywhere has been searched?’ Fidelma pressed.

  ‘Everywhere, lady, except the personal guest chambers of the King. I have asked your housekeeper, Dar Luga, to accompany two of my warriors and go through the chambers. There is only one in occupation at the moment and that is occupied by Febal, the poet of the Uí Briúin Seóla.’

  ‘But everywhere else has been thoroughly checked?’ The King was not satisfied.

  ‘Every place my warriors could conceive of and more. I trust my men with my life and can assure you that all places have been examined.’

  ‘The mystery deepens.’ Eadulf gave a sigh. ‘Brother Sionnach must, indeed, be possessed of your famous feidh fiadh, your cloak of invisibility … or else …’

  ‘Or else?’ demanded Colgú.

  ‘Well, I do not believe in the powers of sorcerers, so I would leave it with the “or else” reason.’ Eadulf was serious.

  Gormán regarded him with narrowed eyes. ‘And what is your reason?’

  ‘That the man left the fortress during the night and somehow managed to elude your guards in the darkness. No magic but simply they failed to see him leave.’

  Gormán’s jaw tightened. They could almost hear the crunch of his teeth. Colgú was nodding his head.

  ‘It is a logical conclusion – but if a man can elude your guards, Gormán, then there must be consequences.’

  ‘I’ll take responsibility for my men. I cannot believe it was possible that this Brother Sionnach could have left the chapel in the middle of the night and walked out of this fortress without someone seeing him.’

  ‘Whether it is possible or not, it appears to be the only explanation,’ Colgú said.

  ‘Luan was guard commander last night,’ Gormán said. ‘You all know Luan and he is not one to shirk his duties.’

  ‘No one is blaming Luan,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘But Luan cannot be everywhere. Anyway, is it not an axiom that however strong a man may build a prison to keep people in, they will always find a way to escape. Cashel is not even a prison, nor was Brother Sionnach a prisoner. So blame does not come into it.’

  There was a sudden commotion outside the door; the voice of Luan was raised, together with that of a woman. Then the door was thrown open without the usual formality of a knock. Colgú sprang to his feet as Gormán swung round, already removing his sword from its scabbard in defence.

  The plump figure of Dar Luga, the ainbertach, the housekeeper of the palace, pushed herself forward. Her hair was awry and her features were working in shocked distress. She halted for a moment, staring wild eyed at them. Behind her Luan stood uncertainly. Dar Luga seemed to have trouble trying to speak.

  ‘It’s … it’s …’

  Fidelma rose and moved forward, laying a hand on the woman’s arm.

  ‘Calm yourself, Dar Luga. Calm … yourself. Take a deep breath … and then tell us slowly what has happened.’

  The housekeeper did as she was advised, then spoke on a sob. ‘Oh, lady. It is the young man Febal. He has been found in the guest chamber … dead.’

  ‘What?’ cried Colgú in the silence that followed. ‘How can that be?’

  Dar Luga took a few more moments to gather herself. Then she turned to Gormán and said: ‘I went with your warriors to search the guests’ rooms. The only chamber in current occupation was the one where Febal was placed.’

  ‘There was supposed to be a warrior permanently on duty outside his door,’ said Colgú. ‘Although a guest, he was a guest under duress.’

  ‘There was usually someone there,’ Dar Luga agreed. ‘Anyway, I went with the two warriors and we searched the empty rooms first before going to the one in which Febal was installed. I knocked. There was no answer. I thought it strange for I have not seen him all day, not since the feast last night. But then, there are many who have been … have been resting today,’ she glanced automatically at Colgú, ‘after the extent of the feasting last night.’

  Colgú grimaced impatiently. ‘So, you received no answer.’

  ‘I tried the door. It was unlocked. So I called his name. There was no answer. We entered and found him on the floor, face downwards. There was blood. So much blood.’

  She ended with a sob. It was left to Fidelma to comfort her.

  ‘Where are my men now?’ demanded Gormán.

  ‘They are with the body in the room. They sent me to inform you.’

  ‘I will go up to them,’ Gormán said with a swift glance at them, as if seeking permission, before leaving them in the King’s chamber.

  Colgú had slumped back in his chair, holding his head. ‘I knew something like this would happen,’ he muttered.

  ‘You knew the poet of the Uí Briúin Seóla would be killed?’ Fidelma asked her brother.

  ‘Of course I did not mean that,’ Colgú snapped. ‘Did I not say that I feared the new King of Connacht might use Febal’s presence here as some pretext to stir up animosity between the kingdoms? With the death of this young man, there is the perfect excuse.’

  ‘Dar Luga,’ Fidelma told the tearful housekeeper, ‘you had best go to the kitchens and get something for your shock.’

  When she had gone, Fidelma turned with a serious look to her brother.

  ‘I think it probably wise that you send a messenger to find the Chief Brehon,’ she said quietly. ‘Where did you say Fíthel was?’

  ‘He is still at the fortress of Prince Gilcach making inquiries about the thefts from his boats along the great river.’ Colgú was troubled. ‘You think things will develop badly?’

  She did not reply directly but said, ‘Perhaps Finguine, as heir apparent, should also be here as well? Did I hear he was completing the new treaty with Donennach of the Uí Fidgente? Well, if the clans of Connacht are going to use this as an excuse to start raiding into our territory, the territories that they will be crossing into will be those of the Déisi Tuaiscirt and the Uí Fidgente. We need to make sure that they are on our side.’

  Colgú ran a hand through his red hair distractedly.

  ‘Connacht warriors could easily cross north of Loch Oirsean and into the Muscraige Tír, which would leave Éile without protection.’

  ‘True enough, but there will be time for war councils after Finguine and Fíthel return,’ said Fidelma. ‘We must keep matters quiet until I can discover what is behind Febal’s death and Sionnach’s disappearance. And indeed, whether they are connected with the other murders.’

  ‘So you do believe they are connected?’ Colgú was glum.

  ‘There is such a thing as synchronicity but it so rarely happens. So yes, I am sure there is some connection, even though at the moment there seems no obvious link.’

  Just then, they heard the agitated voice of a warrior calling for Gormán.

  ‘Now what is it?’ groaned Colgú.

  Gormán hurried up the stairway and was gone but a few moments before he was calling for Fidelma.

  ‘Lady,’ came Gormán’s voice, ‘you’d best come immediately.’

  Fidelma exchanged a puzzled look with her brother and then made for the door, Eadulf at her heels.

  ‘I am coming, Gormán. What is amiss?’ she called as they ran up the stairs to the chambers that were reserved for special guests.


  Gormán was standing at the top of the stairs. Surprisingly, he did not answer her but merely beckoned her and Eadulf forward. Two of his warriors, with fixed expressions, stood outside a door and Gormán led the way inside.

  There was nothing exceptional about the chamber into which he showed them. It was well furnished and appointed as each of the King’s guest chambers were. There were few personal belongings in it except those which courtesy offered to guests if they had arrived without baggage as Febal had. The only unusual item in the room, which they saw immediately, was the corpse itself. It lay on its back on the floor by the bed with a pool of blood around its head.

  Fidelma frowned. ‘Have you moved the body?’ she asked. Dar Luga had told them that the body had been found face down.

  ‘I did so in order to identify it, lady. You will see there is some discrepancy about what Dar Luga told us.’

  Fidelma had already noticed that the corpse was clad in religieux robes. That was curious. She moved forward to make a closer examination. Drying blood was everywhere. She was silent for a few moments while Eadulf was equally astonished.

  ‘Why,’ she said, after a moment or two, ‘that is not Febal.’

  Eadulf was staring down at the dead face. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘That is not Febal, but his features do seem familiar.’

  ‘This is the body of the man who had the verbal exchange with the woman Brancheó last night,’ Gormán announced heavily.

  ‘That is the body of the missing Brother Sionnach,’ Fidelma said quietly.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘So now that we have found the missing Brother Sionnach we have yet another mystery to contend with.’ Eadulf broke the silence that had followed the identification of the corpse. He went down on one knee beside the body and made a cursory examination.

  ‘The good news,’ he announced after a few moments, ‘if there is good news, is that Brother Sionnach was not the victim of the threefold death.’

  ‘Black humour does not become this situation, Eadulf,’ Fidelma rebuked him. ‘How did Brother Sionnach die?’

  ‘A knife into the heart – one upwards stab. Inflicted with either luck or knowledge, as it appears to be a single blow. There is no sign of struggle, no sign that the man made any attempt to defend himself. He was obviously standing very close to his killer and I would say that he must have known him and could not have been anticipating any such attack.’

  ‘Isn’t that going too far, to suggest that Brother Sionnach knew Febal?’ Gormán asked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But the way Brother Sionnach was killed showed that he did not perceive Febal as an enemy to be wary of. He was not dragged to his chamber but appears to have come here of his own volition.’

  ‘Eadulf is right,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Brother Sionnach must have known Febal, otherwise why did he come here in the middle of the night? But what was he doing in the guest quarters – and why did no one see him enter? Did he have some business with Febal? And should we assume that Febal killed him simply because it is he who is missing? Where is Febal?’

  Gormán was looking troubled. ‘It seems that we have been searching for the wrong missing person.’

  ‘Having searched the palace for Brother Sionnach, I don’t think your warriors would have neglected to mention it if they had found Febal,’ Eadulf reassured him. ‘After all, he was a guest here but under constraint while Fidelma was conducting her investigation. The logical presumption is that Brother Sionnach came to see Febal for some purpose, they quarrelled, Febal killed the religieux and fled.’

  ‘Again the question: he fled, but how and where to?’ Gormán asked, baffled. ‘It is as difficult to flee from these guest chambers as it would have been from the chapel. If Brother Sionnach had a purpose in meeting with Febal, what was it? What was the link?’

  ‘The link is Ráth Cuáin,’ Eadulf said immediately.

  Fidelma was smiling at Eadulf’s change of mind about the abbey’s connection.

  ‘Explain your reason,’ she invited.

  ‘Brother Sionnach is one of the scholars come here to debate whether Ráth Cuáin stands in heresy. Febal arrives here when the religious scholars are meeting. He says he is on his way to Ráth Cuáin in search of a Brother Fursaintid and, in justification, tells us a rather romantic and intricate tale, worthy, no doubt, of the poet he claimed to be. He told us that this man, Fursaintid, had seduced and then betrayed his sister and that he was heading to Ráth Cuáin in pursuit of blood vengeance.’

  Fidelma was nodding slowly in approval as he spoke. ‘It is feasible,’ she said. Moreover, Ráth Cuáin would be the perfect place to hide, for although it lies only a relatively short distance from here, I had never been there and did not, in all honesty, even know of its existence.’

  ‘Yet exist it did and still does,’ Gormán pointed out. ‘It remains isolated because that area does not lie on the trade routes from Cashel. No major tracks or roads lead to it.’

  ‘Yet, from what Brother Mac Raith has told us,’ Eadulf added, ‘the abbey has been of growing concern to the Abbot of Imleach as Chief Bishop of Muman, for many years. Why was this not more widely known?’

  ‘Let us suppose that Ráth Cuáin is the connection with all these matters,’ Fidelma said. ‘But what would be the real connection? That Febal was going there to search for this Brother Fursaintid? That Brother Sionnach was here discussing what might be the future of the abbey? That Brancheó thought he was someone who might have been the mysterious Brother Lucidus? So many options. I think we should explore that connection more carefully.’

  She paused. ‘And as for this Brother Fursaintid …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you know that the name Fursaintid means “one who illuminates”? In other words – a lightgiver.’

  Eadulf was silent as he took this in. Then Fidelma turned to Gormán. ‘Gormán, ask your warriors if anyone can remember seeing Febal after the feasting last night or during the course of this day. Perhaps they might come up with some idea of how he could have left the palace, though I doubt it.’

  Gormán agreed somewhat morosely. ‘If they couldn’t do so with regard to Brother Sionnach, I doubt if they will with this man Febal.’ Seeing her eyes glinting, he held up his hand to stay her displeasure. ‘But it is better to explore all the angles, I know. I am going. I shall ask, have no fear.’

  ‘And what task falls to us?’ Eadulf asked when Gormán had departed.

  ‘The first task is to make a search of this chamber to ensure that Febal has left nothing of interest behind, and after that, to search the corpse.’

  In both cases there was nothing. Brother Sionnach’s corpse revealed no hidden clues or treasures.

  ‘Now we must have a word with Dar Luga and the household members. Someone might have seen something.’

  ‘Didn’t Brother Conchobhar say that he had heard of Febal as a poet?’ Eadulf reminded her. ‘We should also have a word with him.’

  Fidelma acknowledged the point with a quick motion of her head. Eadulf had never seen her looking so frustrated. He remained convinced that the answer to the problem lay in the Abbey at Ráth Cuáin, but had no clear idea of how or why.

  Certainly Dar Luga and those working in the King’s private chambers were no help in uncovering any connection between Febal and Brother Sionnach. Febal had been courteous to those attending him during the brief time he was in the guest chambers but had offered little information about himself. No one ever saw Brother Sionnach visiting the guest chamber, least of all during the previous night. How Brother Sionnach had been able to enter the King’s quarters and how Febal had left them was a complete mystery to everyone. Gormán had returned to mournfully report that on re-questioning his guards, none had been able to shed a light on this.

  It was when Fidelma and Eadulf were crossing the courtyard on their way to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary that Fidelma suddenly came to a halt and declared that she had thought of a possible explanation.

  ‘D
o you recall that back at the time of the feast of Brigit, my brother was having some work done on rebuilding the south-west corner wall?’

  ‘I do,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘We spent some time finding out how someone had left the palace and we made our way down through the scaffolding erected by the workmen. But the repair work ended during the summer and there is no scaffolding there now.’

  ‘That is true. It went out of my mind as no cleric such as Brother Sionnach would have the ability to scale down the wall … but a warrior? Now that is different.’

  ‘A warrior?’

  ‘Have you forgotten? Febal admitted that he was once a member of the Gamanride, the élite warriors of the Kings of Connacht. A single, trained warrior could easily scale down the wall to the ground at that corner. Come on, let us see what Brother Conchobhar can add to our knowledge about this strange young poet.’

  The information that Brother Conchobhar was able to give them was of little help, even though he had been seated next to Febal during the Samhain festival feast the night before and had conversed at length with him.

  ‘I had vaguely heard of Febal of the Uí Briúin Seóla as I mentioned before,’ the elderly apothecary reflected. ‘Visiting poets spoke of him as a growing talent, not only in our language but in Latin also.’

  ‘In Latin? Of course, I heard you conversing with him in Latin during the feast last night.’

  ‘I was told,’ Brother Conchobhar was almost reverential, ‘that he had a talent for writing in the new Latin metre.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked a puzzled Eadulf.

  ‘Quatrains of seven-syllable lines with rhyme and alliteration.’

  ‘A former warrior of the Gamanride of Connacht writing poems in Latin? How did he become adept at that?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Did he tell you when you were in conversation at the feast last night.’

  Brother Conchobhar rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘I think he said that he had studied for a time in Rome,’ he offered. ‘I must admit that I have never read any of his poems, so do not know the quality of the verse. However, I can say that he had a great fluency in speaking, which surprised me.’