‘In this abbey, some of the ideas once adopted at the birth of the New Faith still remain and are stoutly defended against the new decisions from Rome.’
Brehon Fíthel raised a hand; his expression was thoughtful. ‘The same can be said for most of the abbeys of the Five Kingdoms. We have consistently rejected the new theories and philosophies from Rome – even to the dating of the Pascal festival, the rules of behaviour, and even to the cutting of the male tonsure to mark their status in the Faith. We have always argued against Rome’s attempts to impose their rules at councils like Streonshalh and Autun in which you, Fidelma, went as an adviser to our delegations concerning our laws, especially how they clashed with those known as the Penitentials.’
‘This is so,’ she agreed. ‘But let us look at the Faith as accepted by this abbey, for it is of especial concern in this matter. I admit, I stand here as a dálaigh not as a theologian. I do not interpret but only recite the facts. The Faith that is taught here at Ráth Cuáin is called Psilanthropism. It is a Greek word. What it means is that the Christ whose name we take from the Greek form of the Hebrew word mashiack or messiah, meaning “the anointed one”, was merely a human being; never divine, but born of man and woman. This idea became popular for a time in the teachings of the sect called the Nazarenes and was later expounded by Theodotus of Byzantium.
‘In the second century of the Faith, Victor, the Bishop of Rome, declared it to be wrong. But the Bishop of Antioch, Paul of Samosata, continued to teach it during the third century of the New Faith. It was condemned at the first council of Nicaea in the fourth century, which was called by the Roman Emperor Constantine. He was the first Roman emperor to convert to the New Faith and declared that all citizens of the Roman Empire should accept the rules laid down at Nicaea; he imposed those rules by use of the Roman army and government.
‘However, this basic idea of Psilanthropism has continued here and there and in many derivations – Apollinism and Arianism, for example. But for Rome, the basic teaching of the Faith was that Jesus is divine; a god and son of the eastern God called Jehovah.’
Brother Mac Raith had risen in his seat and signalled that he wanted to speak.
Brehon Fíthel frowned for a moment as if debating with himself whether he should allow this. Then he said: ‘Recognising that the learned dálaigh,’ he nodded at Fidelma, ‘by her own admission, does not speak as a theologian of the Faith, I am prepared to allow words of explanation from the steward of the Chief Bishop of this kingdom.’
‘I have nothing to correct in terms of how the lady Fidelma has described this heresy,’ Brother Mac Raith said, inclining his head towards Fidelma. ‘Psilanthropism, as she says, is a Greek term for being merely human – indicating that Christ was an ordinary man. But the majority of Christendom recognise it as a heresy and this includes the Chief Bishop of this kingdom. We too maintain that it is so. We have been worried that for many years this abbey maintains this heresy. That is why, some days ago, Abbot Cuán of Imleach invited leading theologians from Corcach Mór, Ard Mór and Ros Ailithír to meet with me, representing the Chief Bishop, to discuss the merits or otherwise of this heresy before deciding how we should organise a council with Abbot Síoda in attendance so that we might bring this abbey into line with the fundamental teachings of the Faith. As you know, one of our council was murdered in Cashel. Now we find,’ he eyed Brother Giolla Rua, ‘another of our number stands charged with criminal involvement with this abbey. We trust these matters will be resolved by the dálaigh.’
Fidelma looked confidently at Brother Mac Raith. ‘They shall be so resolved – in due course,’ she replied.
Abbot Síoda was now on his feet, wearing an angry expression.
‘I protest at where this is leading. Is my abbey or am I myself being accused of the murder of this Brother Sionnach of Corcach Mór? As for Brother Giolla Rua, as far as I am aware, he has had no dealings with me. I demand to speak in defence of the theology of my Faith which is far older than the new rules and theology from Rome that comes to this kingdom via Imleach. It is they who are the heretics, not this abbey!’
Brehon Fíthel was stern. ‘It is only because you have some justification for your outburst, Abbot Síoda, that you are not going to be fined for interrupting. I am well aware that any criminal accusation against you or your abbey may be defended with equal force. Do you make such criminal accusation against Abbot Síoda, Fidelma of Cashel?’
‘I make no accusation at this stage,’ Fidelma said calmly. This caused some surprise among those in the hall. She went on: ‘Nor do I expect to make any accusation about the heresy of the theology here. I am not qualified on that – and only the Chief Bishop of the kingdom and his advisers can do so. I trust, however, that Abbot Síoda agrees with my description of the Faith as it is accepted in his abbey and which Brother Mac Raith from Imleach also accepts.’
Abbot Síoda made a dismissive motion of his hand which, when pressed by the Chief Brehon, he explained meant that he had no argument with Fidelma’s description of his abbey’s interpretations of the Faith.
‘Good,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Then we may now proceed. Rome claims to be the centre of the New Faith and the Bishop of Rome is styled the Holy Father of the Universal Church. Of course, not everyone agrees even on that. Many churches exist which hold to many different interpretations of the Faith. But Rome has, from the early days of the Faith, maintained a vast number of manuscripts and documents that are stored in the Lateran Palace, the palace of the Bishop of Rome. It is called the Secret Archive. Some months ago, early in the summer, an ancient book was stolen from that Secret Archive.’
A curious tension had suddenly became manifest in Abbot Síoda and Brother Tadhg, the abbey gatekeeper.
‘As some of you will recall, seven years ago Eadulf and I were in Rome. At that time, I became acquainted with the Nomenclator of the Lateran Palace, the Venerable Gelasius, whose task was generally to run the affairs of the Bishop of Rome’s household. A few days ago, as Brother Mac Raith will confirm, I received a message from him. It said that a certain book was missing; perhaps I should say “stolen”. The Venerable Gelasius said that in the wrong hands it could be a great danger to the very existence of Christendom. He further indicated that the suspects involved in the theft were from the Five Kingdoms. He had sent a Brother Lucidus to attempt to retrieve it. If Brother Lucidus needed help then he would contact me and the Nomenclator urged me to assist him.’
Brehon Fíthel was shaking his head. ‘I am getting confused. What has this to do with the murders?’
‘I confess, nothing directly,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I have explained about two mysteries coalescing. So let me continue. When I came to see Abbot Síoda about Spelán’s murder he had a book on his desk. Before he had time to cover it up – which is what he tried to do – I was able to read the Latin titles and caveat. It was marked with the seal of the Bishop of Rome and the Secret Archives, along with the words Non videbunt – none shall see.’
‘Are you saying that this is a book worth killing for?’
‘In this case some people might think so. But only Brother Sionnach was a victim. He met his death at the hands of Febal in the mistaken belief that he was investigating the theft of the silver. He was not. He was helping Brother Lucidus in trying to retrieve the stolen book.’
‘Now I am really confused,’ complained Brehon Fíthel.
‘It was acknowledged that both Abbot Síoda and Brother Tadhg had been on a pilgrimage to Rome during the summer.’
‘So you are accusing them of the theft?’ the Brehon asked sharply.
‘I am now making that accusation.’
There were gasps around the great hall.
‘And did this Brother Lucidus contact you?’
‘He was actually not in need of my help for he had traced the book to this abbey with the help of his colleague Brother Sionnach. He had even managed to join the abbey and place himself in a position of trust so that, given the right moment, he could r
emove the book and return to Rome with it.’
‘That is ridiculous!’ Abbot Síoda called. ‘We have no Brother Lucidus here and not in such a position. Anyway, a Roman among our company would stand out like an ass among a team of horses.’
‘Thankfully, Brother Lucidus was not an ass nor was he a Roman.’
‘But the name …?’
‘Names can be changed. Anyway, he was no Roman. He was a son of the Gael who used the name Lucidus when in Rome. But here he would use his own name.’ She turned to the cheerful young librarian. ‘Is that not true, Brother Lucidus?’
The keeper of books simply smiled. ‘My name is Brother Gébennach,’ he asserted.
‘And tell us, what does that name mean?’ she prompted him.
‘I am sure you know,’ the young man countered.
‘One who illuminates,’ went on Fidelma. ‘What better translation of Lucidus, than the bringer of light … one who illuminates? You corrected me on the meaning of your name, remember? You also mentioned that you had recently been in Rome. I was not completely sure if you were the emissary of the Venerable Gelasius until Eadulf and Aidan told me how you were willing to show them the secret passage into the cave systems under this abbey. You were only willing to help once you were told Eadulf was investigating a separate issue that did not endanger your search.’
‘I wondered why you had disappeared as soon as you had shown us the way in,’ declared Eadulf, unable to refrain from comment. ‘I thought that you had done so to betray us to Brother Golla Rua. So where did you go off to?’
‘He had just returned from meeting the librarian of the Abbey of Mungairit who had shown him some notes on the book in question which would have helped him identify it. He knew the book was in the abbey library and his priority was to go there and retrieve it. When he had done so, he could hide it until he was able to return it to Rome.’
‘I am still confused, Fidelma,’ Brehon Fíthel declared helplessly.
‘The great library of Mungairit has many books, including the original textual reference to the one that was stolen. Brother Lucidus had found that out from Brother Sionnach. At one period Mungairit’s scholars flirted with the philosophy of Psilanthropism. That is why Brother Mac Raith told us that no representative of that abbey was included on the council debating this matter. Moreover, that knowledge was also given to him by Brother Sionnach.’
‘But if Lucidus was supporting us, why did Brother Sionnach say he was not to be trusted, or might not be trusted!’ exclaimed Eadulf.
‘We misread the sense of his note,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Sionnach, having been accused of being the “Lightbringer”, made a note that the password between Lucidus and himself – the word “lightbringer” – could no longer be trusted as it was known.’
‘How did Brother Giolla Rua come upon us then?’ Aidan asked. ‘Like friend Eadulf, I thought he had been alerted by Brother Gébennach.’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘This was where the other series of events that were taking place coincided.’
‘May I ask a question?’ It was Gormán standing behind the King’s chair who spoke. Brehon Fíthel turned in annoyance. He had almost given up ruling on interruptions.
‘It is unusual but put your question.’
‘It was in my company that the woman Brancheó appeared to claim that Brother Sionnach was Lucidus. At least, she referred to him as a “bringer of light”. If Febal believed this was the code of someone investigating the theft of the silver, was that why he killed him?’
‘It was. She made that mistake because Spelán had wrongly informed her that Brother Sionnach was heard using the term. “Lightbringer” was the code word which Brother Lucidus used with contacts during his search for the stolen book. Under the torture, Spelán had revealed this password to Febal. As Brother Lucidus will tell you, Sionnach was his friend and had been making inquiries for him; so this is where two mysteries joined.’
‘Do you confirm this, Brother Gébennach, or whatever your name is?’ demanded Brehon Fíthel.
The young librarian sighed. ‘Brother Sionnach was, indeed, a good friend of mine. I consulted him as soon as I came home to this island because he, if anyone, would know which abbeys would be interested in this heresy and therefore in the stolen book. Sionnach, as you have said, was from Corcach Mór, and first made inquiries in his own abbey. Sionnach did meet me by the great river and that must have been where Spelán heard the code word of “lightbringer” pass between us.’
There was a silence before Fidelma continued.
‘So we have, to an extent, cleared up the first mystery. Brother Lucidus, or rather Brother Gébennach, returned to this land in search of an ancient and important book. Through the inquiries of Brother Sionnach, he came to this abbey as librarian and was able to retrieve the book. He can now return it to Rome where it belongs. So far as his mission from the Venerable Gelasius was authorised, I would now submit that we do not hinder him further.’
From the far side of the room Brother Gébennach, with a slight smile on his lips, raised his hands and offered her silent applause.
‘The lady Fidelma is correct in every way,’ he addressed the Chief Brehon. ‘The book, I am pleased to say, is already in my possession and once I hear your judgement I shall return with it to Rome. It will be up to the Chief Bishop to take any action thought necessary against Abbot Síoda and Brother Tadhg, who removed the book from its rightful place in the archives of the Lateran Palace. The one thing I hope that the lady Fidelma will now reveal is who is guilty of the murder of a great scholar and my good friend, Brother Sionnach of Corcach Mór.’
‘Is Abbot Síoda accused of ordering the murder of Brother Sionnach as well as stealing this book from Rome?’ Brehon Fíthel asked.
‘Once more I remind the Dál that there is a second criminal matter concurrent with this one,’ Fidelma said strongly. ‘Spelán had wrongly identified Brother Sionnach as Lucidus. He had told this fact to his lover, Brancheó, before he revealed it under torture to Febal. He had told the leader of the gang of thieves he was involved with that he knew a religious who was making inquiries about the abbey. Mistakenly, he believed these inquiries were to do with the thefts of silver, and not that of the book from Rome. Febal was ordered to come to Cashel for the purpose of identifying whoever this religious was among the scholars gathered there. By misfortune, Brancheó, going on Spelán’s erroneous information, identified Sionnach. Febal was a witness to that and duly killed him.
‘Sionnach, unsuspecting, had been trying to get information for his colleague, Brother Lucidus. So he innocently entered Febal’s room and was killed. Febal then easily escaped and returned here to the abbey. Febal, as the Brehon of the Uí Briúin Seóla, who sits here today, will confirm, was dismissed from the service of the Gamanride. He pursued a career of selling his sword to the highest bidder.’
‘What alerted you to this?’
‘As an excuse to stay in Cashel, Febal invented a story that he had come to find the man who had dishonoured his sister and to exact blood vengeance. It was a colourful story and parts did not ring true. You will hear that the part that was true was that Febal himself had dishonoured his own chieftain’s sister. Yet that was not what alerted me. When he was pressed to name this person he sought, he used the name Brother Fursaintid. It confirmed to me that Febal was a man of whom to be suspicious.’
‘But why? Fursaintid is an ordinary name.’
‘Not exactly. It also means “a lightbringer”.’
‘I presume that the learned Brehon of the Uí Briúin Seóla will confirm that Febal is who Fidelma claims he is?’ the Chief Brehon enquired dryly.
His fellow judge bowed his head. ‘We have been looking for Febal for a long time as he has been accused of various killings, thefts and crimes. However, we of Connacht have no objection to him receiving his punishments here in your kingdom.’
‘So now we must deal with the murders that started this tangled web,’ Brehon Fithel urged. ‘The s
laying of Spelán and the woman Brancheó. I suppose that you are now in a position to reveal who murdered them?’
‘Of course,’ replied Fidelma solemnly.
‘Then try not to make it as complicated as the previous matters.’
Fidelma smiled without humour. ‘Sometimes events in life are complicated. I should not have to remind the Chief Brehon of that fact.’
‘Just continue,’ Brehon Fíthel said grumpily.
‘It is now common knowledge that during this summer there was a series of thefts of silver shipments along the river. The silver came from the mines of Prince Gilcach in the Silver Mountain. The vessels carrying it sailed along the great river on their way to Port Lairge on the coast. Several boats were attacked, the silver taken. In the process some of the boatmen were injured and one was killed.
‘It is also common knowledge that the silver has been recovered. We also know that the thefts were physically carried out by Febal and his mercenaries, and the booty stored in the caves below this abbey. Brother Giolla Rua, who played a crucial role in this business, was caught removing the crates of silver by mule, heading for the coast near Corcach Mór.’
The Chief Brehon’s face grew dark. ‘Are we saying that this abbey is not only responsible for stealing an ancient book from the Bishop of Rome’s palace but were also engaged in stealing silver from Prince Gilcach?’
‘That is a lie!’ yelled Abbot Síoda, springing to his feet. One of Gormán’s warriors had to step forward and push the abbot back. ‘I admit that Brother Tadhg and I liberated the book from the Lateran archive, but we know nothing of this silver.’
Night of the Lightbringer Page 34
