Night of the Lightbringer

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘The thefts began this summer,’ Prince Gilcach pointed out angrily. ‘No one would take the risk of storing the goods in your cellars if you were not somehow connected with it. If the thieves were from elsewhere, why store the booty there? They would have simply sold the silver for ready cash and then have vanished.’

  ‘Brother Tadhg and I were in Rome during the summer, so if the thefts started then, we were not here!’ raged the abbot.

  Fidelma had raised a hand to signal for quiet and smiled gently at the consternation that had been caused.

  ‘The silver thefts were conducted by Febal and his mercenaries. The boxes were stored in the abbey, waiting for someone to arrive from the coast, collect them and transport them down the river to the ship of a merchant from Gaul,’ she said. ‘And, of course, the person in charge of this transaction was Brother Giolla Rua from the Abbey of Corcach Mór, which is next to one of the busiest ports of this kingdom.’

  Brother Giolla Rua did not answer but merely sat looking at the floor.

  ‘But Brother Giolla Rua is a respected scholar,’ protested the steward of Imleach. ‘That’s why he was invited to join our council. Why would he be involved?’

  ‘Even scholars can get greedy,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Of all the group of scholars, Giolla Rua could not hide his profound cynicism with regard to the Faith. One of the aspects of scholarship is that increasing knowledge of how things come about, the interaction of people and the arbitrary way certain men and women make rules for others to follow, does make one disillusioned. And from that can come self interest. Self interest leads to focusing on one’s own earthly security in life – and that usually means the accumulation of wealth.’

  ‘An interesting explanation,’ sneered Abbot Síoda.

  ‘One that I think you will find sits easily with the philosophies of your abbey,’ replied Fidelma, unabashed.

  ‘What you are asserting is that this abbey was involved in the stealing of Prince Gilcach’s silver shipments, supported by Brother Giolla Rua.’ The Chief Brehon seemed puzzled. ‘How could this be?’

  ‘The thieves and their leader in the abbey were waiting for Brother Giolla Rua to come with the news of the arrival of the Gaulish merchant to take the silver. When Giolla Rua received the invitation to come to Cashel to attend the council, it suited his plans exactly. His main purpose for coming was to arranging the shipment of silver to the coast. But events were happening too quickly.’

  ‘Events?’ questioned Fríthel. ‘Yes; I suppose we are finally coming to Spelán’s death?’

  ‘Just so. As it happened, Spelán was a former miner who had absconded from Prince Gilcach’s silver mines to seek an easier way of life. He came here, married and herded his wife’s sheep. The trouble was, she died after a few months. Under law, he now had nothing to sustain him because, being without kin, the chieftain of her tribe confiscated what wealth she had. Spelán, having observed the shipments of silver passing so easily along the river without let or hindrance, and without warriors to guard it, realised it was there for the taking. He went to the abbey where he knew there were some mercenaries who might be persuaded to join him. But he needed a go-between. So he spoke to someone at the abbey who took over his idea and employed the mercenaries to carry out the raids. For Febal and his men it was far more lucrative than collecting tribute for the abbot.’

  ‘I was not involved in the thefts,’ Abbot Síoda protested yet again.

  Brehon Fíthel regarded him severely. ‘Some of them have paid for that work with their lives, including Spelán.’

  ‘Spelán resented the fact that he had not been given his due share of the loot. After all, it had been his idea. He was certainly given enough to make his life easier. But he wanted more. So he tried the age-old game of the greedy and ignorant. He thought he could blackmail the leader of the thieves into increasing his cut. His reward for that was death. He was murdered to keep him silent – but not before he had been tortured by the carving of the Tau-Rho on his living flesh. That was to make him reveal whether he had told anyone else. While he told of the investigation of Sionnach and the code “lightbringer”, he thereby also implicated Brancheó.’

  There was a tension now through the hall.

  ‘What exactly was Brancheó’s rôle?’ demanded Brehon Fríthel.

  ‘She was Spelán’s lover. He promised her riches. They planned to marry and disappear into the southern mountains. But his death altered that. Now Brancheó was of the Old Faith. She believed in curses, as we all know. In fact, that was how she first met Spelán. He had paid her to curse the abbey – for Spelán too believed in the old curses. When it became known that he had confided his criminal activities to her, her reward was the same as that meted out to Spelán.’

  ‘Febal, the leader of the thieves, also killed her to keep her silent?’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘Then Febal is both murderer as well as thief?’

  ‘Febal was certainly the person who struck the blows that killed Sionnach and also Brancheó. He doubtless killed Spelán, but he was not the person who ordered his death, nor was he alone when Spelán was killed. Another person carried out the torture by carving the symbol of the Tau-Rho. There was only one person in this abbey who was responsible for organising the thefts and ordering the deaths.’

  ‘And you will tell us who that is, will you?’ Abbot Síoda mocked. ‘For if you claim it was I …’

  ‘Do I hear a threat in your words, Abbot Síoda?’ Brehon Fíthel broke in sharply. ‘May I remind you that the act of threatening a dálaigh when making their case during a hearing such as this constitutes the offence of díguin – a violation of the protection given to the dálaigh. The penalty for that is the payment of the honour price of the person protected. That is, in this case, the honour price of the lady Fidelma.’

  ‘I meant no threat.’ The abbot retreated reluctantly. ‘But I am not guilty of inciting Febal to commit the thefts and the murders.’

  ‘I think I have already come close to indicating who the organiser of these thefts was and thereafter responsible for the murders,’ Fidelma declared coldly. ‘Someone with a sadistic mind who was not above mocking the Tau-Rho symbol.’

  There was a baffled silence. She waited a moment or two but no one seemed to make the connection.

  ‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll reiterate. Spelán came from the northern part of the kingdom. He had worked in the silver mines of Arada Cliach, but he came to this territory, formed a relationship with Caoimhe and looked after her sheep. Perhaps he truly loved her, perhaps not. At any rate, he never made any friends in the vicinity and was regarded as no saint. When Caoimhe died of some fever last spring there came an end to his security.

  ‘He went to the abbey to plead his case. Not able to approach the abbot, who was in Rome, he went to someone with whom his wife used to do business. We were told she used to sell herbs to the abbey. As I said, Spelán told them all about the silver mines and the shipments down the river. For a while the arrangement worked well. It had been noticed in Cashel, in Rumann’s tavern, that Spelán seemed to have come into money. Someone saw that he had some silver. Indeed, we found a silver nugget hidden in his cabin wall. We later found another silver nugget concealed behind his cabin. Like all good thieves he was helping himself to the haul, unbeknownst to his fellows.

  ‘When it was discovered that Spelán was a liability, he had to be got rid of. What better way to avert suspicion than have him killed by a means that would implicate the old religion? It was the right time of year and the threefold death would make everyone think the worst. The plot to kill the blackmailer in their midst was devised to lay the blame on Brancheó as a practitioner of the old religion.

  ‘Spelán was therefore killed in his cabin and his body taken to be hidden in the bonfire. But not too well hidden – as that would have destroyed the purpose. The body was placed so that it could be seen.’

  Brehon Fíthel interrupted: ‘I can accept the threefold death, but w
ould the incision of the Tau-Rho on the body endorse the idea of mocking the New Faith?’

  ‘I have said it was part of a torture to make Spelán reveal what else he knew and who else he had told,’ replied Fidelma patiently.

  ‘Brancheó was not arrested and charged with the murder,’ pointed out Brehon Fíthel.

  ‘If she had been, she might still be alive. I am to blame for that. Because I did not arrest her, Febal felt he had to kill her also, especially when he realised she knew about the “lightbringer” and also thought it was a code for the investigators of the silver thefts. Stupidly, Febal thought that if he killed Brancheó in the same way as Spelán, it might add to the mystery and avert suspicion. For that he was rebuked by Giolla Rua. One mistake had followed another. I admit that I was misled until I discovered the reality of the threefold death from Brancheó’s own father, Erca.’

  ‘You have talked about the leader of the thieves as if it were someone else other than Giolla Rua or Febal,’ Brehon Fíthel said heavily.

  ‘The clues are all there. There was one other person in the abbey who came from Corcach Mór. Indeed, this person was related to Giolla Rua. The same person, I was told, had some knowledge of the ancient religion. Brother Mac Raith told me this. It was the same person that Caoimhe, Spelán’s wife, used to sell her herbs to. The same person that Spelán went to see at the abbey and to whom he spoke about the silver shipments. The same person who then organised the band of thieves through her lover, Febal. For that was how she manipulated Febal. The same person who ordered the killing of Spelán as punishment for his threats and devised the threefold death to put the blame on Brancheó. The same, sadistic person who took a knife and carved the Tau-Rho symbol on Spelán to make him speak.’

  During this recital, Fidelma had turned her gaze directly to Sister Fioniúr, who sat silently throughout but with a mask of hatred distorting her attractive features.

  ‘The same person whose fondness for the distillation of lavender was the main factor that led to her downfall. That strong aroma impregnated the body of Spelán; it was noticeable throughout the abbey but especially on Febal. The same aroma hung on the air in Spelán’s cabin where he had been tortured and killed. When I was in the abbey and hiding, I saw Febal meet his lover: I did not see her but the aroma of lavender was all-pervasive.

  ‘Sister Fioniúr was the mastermind of the thefts and the person who ordered the murders, even if she did not participate in all of them.’

  There was a scream as Fidelma sat down. It took two warriors of the Golden Collar to overpower and confine the hideous, screeching harridan that the usually quiet, attractive herbalist had become.

  L’ENVOI

  ‘A complicated matter, Fidelma,’ Colgú said with a sigh as they relaxed in the King’s private chambers in Cashel some days later. ‘In fact, I am not sure that I have completely understood everything. However, I don’t doubt that you will quote Publilius Syrus at me or something.’

  Fidelma grinned in amusement. ‘And what sort of something would I quote?’

  ‘Something like si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit.’

  ‘All is well that finishes well? Your Latin is improving, brother.’

  ‘But my comprehension is still not as good as your own, for there is one question that still troubles me.’

  ‘Which is?’ prompted Fidelma.

  ‘I presume it was Sister Fioniúr who splashed Spelán’s body with her distillation of lavender. But why? As the herbalist who created it, it was surely as good as a confession of her guilt?’

  ‘Fastidiousness can be a weakness in people; so it was with her. The smells in Spelán’s cabin were quite revolting. Della mentioned that the man often smelled foul. Maybe, at some stage during the horrific scene in the cabin, when she and Febal tortured the man, she took out the bottle of perfume to distract her from the smell. She either splashed it or dropped it on the man.’

  Colgú shook his head for a moment and then said: ‘Well, I am told that Brother Lucidus and the stolen book are on their way back to Rome. The silver is returned to the safekeeping of Prince Gilcach. The surviving thieves and killers, Fioniúr, Febal, Giolla Rua and the others are all awaiting sentences from Brehon Fíthel. They will answer for the deaths. Of course, Abbot Cuáin is dealing with the former Abbot Síoda and his heretical supporters. I am told the abbey will be taken over by more orthodox hands.’

  ‘What will happen to them? I mean Abbot Síoda and his supporters?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Probably exile to some remote place, one of the islands off the coast where their ideas cannot prosper. Thankfully, it’s up to the Chief Bishop.’

  Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘I hope Brehon Fíthel will take into account my plea that the next Dál of the Brehons of the Five Kingdoms should consider amending the laws so that no chieftain nor prince nor even a king be allowed to have ecclesiastical rank at the same time as exercising secular power. The abuse of power by Síoda is a good example of why this should be.’

  ‘Perhaps. But it is the way of bishops to aspire to be princes and the way of chieftains to aspire to be bishops. I sometimes struggle with the office of King.’ Colgú looked suddenly awkward. ‘In that role, there is an apology I must make to you and to others.’

  ‘That is interesting, brother. For what do you wish to apologise?’

  ‘For my behaviour at the feast of Samhain. I let the stress of the events destroy my good sense.’

  ‘There is one, I think, that you should apologise to before all others,’ Fidelma murmured.

  Colgú nodded. ‘Tomorrow I shall be riding for Durus Éile,’ he said contritely.

  Fidelma smiled. ‘That is good to hear, brother. I hope the Princess Gelgéis finds herself able to see beyond the intoxicated state you presented. Also, some form of contrition should be made to the other guests that attended.’

  Her brother coloured a little but said, ‘It has been done.’

  ‘Well, at least your assault on Ráth Cuáin has restored your reputation among the warriors of the Golden Collar,’ she added. ‘Especially Gormán.’

  To her surprise Colgú suddenly chuckled.

  ‘I think, as King and commander-in-chief of the warriors of the Golden Collar, I should demand compensation from you, sister.’

  ‘Compensation?’

  ‘So that I might pay my warriors extra for their services whenever they are asked to work with you.’

  Fidelma noticed the amusement in his eyes despite the gravity of his voice and so responded with equal gravity: ‘Why should that be, Colgú?’

  ‘Have you realised that there is more chance of one of the warriors of the Golden Collar being killed or injured with you than in all the battles I have had to order them to take part in for the protection of the kingdom?’

  Fidelma frowned. ‘I am not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Aidan comes back with a broken leg, which I am assured will mend; Dego had his right arm amputated because of a wound; Gormán was nearly executed; Cass, a great warrior of the company was, in fact, killed during that affair of the children at Ros Ailithir; then there was Capa and then Caol, who were forced to lose their honour and position as commanders of the Golden Collar. I wonder just how long my warriors can survive while trying to protect you.’

  Fidelma joined in his black humour. ‘Do not look forward to the ending. It is the journey that counts. I’ll try not to lose too many of your warriors along the way.’

  For a moment her brother tried to look shocked but burst out laughing.

  ‘I can’t guarantee my warriors will approve of such an outlook.’

  ‘Sometimes, when facing death, humour is a means of escape,’ she replied solemnly. ‘They have survived many adventures. I have no doubt that they will encounter many more.’

  Colgú rolled his eyes. ‘Now of that, Fidelma, I am sure. But how many more of your adventures shall I survive?’

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