Read The Subtle Serpent Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
The Subtle Serpent (2 page)
Sister Síomha genuflected slowly.
‘God between us and all evil!’ she whispered. Then she made a move towards it. ‘Quickly, Sister Brónach, help me cut down this poor unfortunate.’
Sister Síomha moved to the well-head and peered down, hands reaching forward to swing the body out of the well. Then, with a sharp cry which she could not stifle, she turned away, her face becoming a mask of shocked surprise.
Curious, Sister Brónach moved forward and peered into the well-head. In the semi-gloom of the well she saw that where the head of the body should have been was nothing. The body had been decapitated. What remained of the neck and shoulders were stained dark with blood.
She turned away suddenly and retched, trying to subdue her compulsion to nausea.
After a moment or so, Sister Brónach realised that Síomha was apparently too stunned to make any further decisions. Steeling herself, Brónach reached forward, quelling her revulsion, and attempted to pull the body towards the edge of
the well. But the task was too great for her to manage on her own.
the well. But the task was too great for her to manage on her own.
She glanced swiftly to Sister Síomha.
‘You will have to help me, sister. If you grip the body, I will cut the rope that holds the unfortunate,’ she instructed gently.
Swallowing hard, Sister Síomha sought to regain her composure, nodded briefly and unwillingly grasped the cold, wet flesh around the waist. She could not help the expression of repugnance as the chill, lifeless flesh touched her own.
Using her small knife, such as all the sisters carried, Sister Brónach cut the bonds which fastened the ankle of the corpse to the well rope. Then she helped Sister Síomha haul the headless body over the side of the well’s small surrounding wall and onto the ground. The two religieuses stood for several moments staring down at the corpse, unsure of what next to do.
‘A prayer for the dead, sister,’ muttered Brónach uneasily. Together they intoned a prayer, the words meaningless as they vocalised the ritual. At the end of it there was a silence for some minutes.
‘Who could do such a thing?’ whispered Sister Síomha, after a moment or two.
‘There is much evil about in the world,’ replied Sister Brónach, more philosophically. ‘But a more pertinent question would be — who is this poor unfortunate? The body is that of a young woman; why, she can be no more than a girl.’
Sister Brónach succeeded in dragging her eyes away from the bloodied, mangled flesh around where the head should have been. The sight of the gory mess fascinated yet appalled and sickened her. The body was plainly that of a young and previously healthy woman, perhaps scarcely out of puberty. The only other disfigurement, apart from the missing head, was a wound in the chest. There was a bluish bruise on the flesh above the heart and, looking closer, the cutting wound
marked where a sharp blade point, or some such implement, had entered the heart. But the wound had long since ceased to bleed.
marked where a sharp blade point, or some such implement, had entered the heart. But the wound had long since ceased to bleed.
Sister Brónach forced herself to bend down and reached for one of the arms of the corpse to place them across the body before the stiffening of the flesh made such a task impossible. She suddenly dropped the arm and let out a loud gasp of breath almost as if she had received a blow in the solar plexus.
Startled, Sister Síomha followed the direction of Brónach’s outstretched hand, now pointing to the left arm of the corpse. Something was tied around the arm which had been hidden from them by the position of the corpse. It was a length of wood, no more than a stick with notches carved on it. Sister Brónach knew Ogham, the ancient form of Irish writing, when she saw it, though she did not understand the meaning of the characters. Ogham was no longer in general use throughout the five kingdoms for the Latin alphabet was now being adopted as the form of characters in which Irish was written.
In bending forward to examine the wooden stick, however, her eyes caught sight of something clutched in the other hand of the corpse. A small, worn leather thong was wound around the right wrist and travelled into the clenched fist. Sister Brónach had steeled herself again to her task, kneeling beside the body and taking up the small white hands. She could not prise apart the fingers; the stiffening of death had already locked the hand permanently into a fist. Nevertheless, the fingers were splayed just wide enough for her to see that the leather thong was attached to a small metal crucifix and this was what the lifeless right hand was clutching so tightly.
Sister Brónach let out a low groan and glanced across her shoulder to where Sister Síomha was bending, with a fixed expression, to see what had been discovered.
‘What can it mean, sister?’ Sister Síomha’s voice was taut, almost harsh.
Sister Brónach’s face was grave. She was now fully in control of her features again.
She breathed deeply before replying in a measured tone as she stared down at the poorly wrought crucifix of burnished copper. Obviously no person of rank and wealth would have such a cheap object as this.
‘It means that we should now summon Abbess Draigen, good sister. Whoever this poor headless girl was, I believe that she was one of our own. She was a sister of the Faith.’
Far off, in the tiny tower overlooking their community, they could hear the striking of the gong to mark the passing of another time period. The clouds were suddenly thickening and spreading across the sky. Cold flakes of snow were drifting across the mountains again.
The
Foracha,
the coastal
barc
of Ross of Ross Ailithir, was making a swift passage parallel to the southern coast of the Irish kingdom of Muman. Her sails were full with an icy, cold, easterly wind almost laying the vessel over and whistling among the taut ropes of the rigging, playing on the tightly stretched cordage like harp strings. The day appeared fine, apart from the blustery sea winds swooping down from the distant coastline. A host of sea birds were circling the little ship, beating their wings against the squalls to remain in position, the gulls crying with their curious plaintive wail. Here and there, some hardy cormorants speared into the waves, emerging with their prey, oblivious to the jealous cries of the gulls and storm petrels. And among the sea birds were the species after which the
Foracha
received her name — the guillemots, with their dark brown upper parts and pure white underparts, moving in tight formations to inspect the vessel before wheeling back to their densely-packed colonies on the precipitous cliff ledges.
Foracha,
the coastal
barc
of Ross of Ross Ailithir, was making a swift passage parallel to the southern coast of the Irish kingdom of Muman. Her sails were full with an icy, cold, easterly wind almost laying the vessel over and whistling among the taut ropes of the rigging, playing on the tightly stretched cordage like harp strings. The day appeared fine, apart from the blustery sea winds swooping down from the distant coastline. A host of sea birds were circling the little ship, beating their wings against the squalls to remain in position, the gulls crying with their curious plaintive wail. Here and there, some hardy cormorants speared into the waves, emerging with their prey, oblivious to the jealous cries of the gulls and storm petrels. And among the sea birds were the species after which the
Foracha
received her name — the guillemots, with their dark brown upper parts and pure white underparts, moving in tight formations to inspect the vessel before wheeling back to their densely-packed colonies on the precipitous cliff ledges.
Ross, the captain of the vessel, stood by the steersman at the tiller with feet spaced apart, balancing to the roll as the wind thrust the waves to rush against the ship, heeling her to starboard so that the little
barc
would roll slowly, slowly until it seemed that she was heading for disaster. But then her bow would rise over the wave and plunge downwards, setting her back to the port side. In spite of the rolling motion of the ship, Ross stood without the necessity to clutch any support,
forty years of sea-going was enough for him to anticipate every pitch and roll with an automatic adjustment of his weight without moving from the spot. On land, Ross was moody and irritable, but at sea he was in his element and fully alive to all its moods. He became a flesh and blood extension to his swift sailing
barc
and his deep green eyes, reflecting the changing humours of the sea, watched his half-a-dozen crewmen with a cautious approval as they went about their tasks.
barc
would roll slowly, slowly until it seemed that she was heading for disaster. But then her bow would rise over the wave and plunge downwards, setting her back to the port side. In spite of the rolling motion of the ship, Ross stood without the necessity to clutch any support,
forty years of sea-going was enough for him to anticipate every pitch and roll with an automatic adjustment of his weight without moving from the spot. On land, Ross was moody and irritable, but at sea he was in his element and fully alive to all its moods. He became a flesh and blood extension to his swift sailing
barc
and his deep green eyes, reflecting the changing humours of the sea, watched his half-a-dozen crewmen with a cautious approval as they went about their tasks.
His bright eyes never missed a thing, either on sea or in the sky above it. He had already perceived that some of the birds wheeling overhead were rarely to be seen in winter and had ascribed their presence to the mild autumnal weather that had only recently given way to the winter coldness.
Ross was a short, stocky man with greying, close-cropped hair, and his skin was tanned by the sea winds almost to the colour of nut. He was a man with a dour humour and always ready with a loud bellow when he was displeased.
A tall sailor, caressing the tiller in his gnarled hands, suddenly narrowed his eyes and glanced across to where Ross was standing.
‘Captain …’ he began.
‘I see her, Odar,’ returned Ross before he had even finished. ‘I’ve been watching her this last half hour.’
Odar, the steersman, swallowed as he regarded his captain with surprise. The object of their conversation was an oceangoing ship with tall masts which was now a mile or so distant. It had, as Ross had indicated, been visible for some time to the smaller
barc.
But it was only in these last few minutes that the steersman had become aware that something was not right about the ship. It was under full sail and was riding very high out of the water. Not much ballast in her, Odar, the steersman had thought. But the main curiosity was that its course was erratic. In fact, twice it had changed course in such an unconventional and capricious manner that the
steersman had believed that it was going to capsize. He had also noticed that the topsail of the ship seemed badly fixed and was swinging in all manner of directions. It was then that he had decided to bring the matter to the attention of his captain.
barc.
But it was only in these last few minutes that the steersman had become aware that something was not right about the ship. It was under full sail and was riding very high out of the water. Not much ballast in her, Odar, the steersman had thought. But the main curiosity was that its course was erratic. In fact, twice it had changed course in such an unconventional and capricious manner that the
steersman had believed that it was going to capsize. He had also noticed that the topsail of the ship seemed badly fixed and was swinging in all manner of directions. It was then that he had decided to bring the matter to the attention of his captain.
Ross, however, was making no idle boast when he said that he had been watching the ship for half-an-hour. Almost from the first time that he had noticed the other ship he was aware that it was either sailed by poor seamen or there was something wrong on board. The sails filled and deflated as each unpredictable wind caught them with no one on board seeming to correct the ship’s heading.
‘The way she is heading, captain,’ muttered Odar, ‘she’ll be piling up on the rocks soon.’
Ross did not reply for he had already made the same deduction. He knew that a mile or so ahead were some semi-submerged rocks, their black granite rising among streams of sea foam which poured down the sides as the seas broke over them with a noise of thunder. Moreover, Ross knew that around the granite bastions was a line of reefs under water over which a small draught vessel such as his
barc
could easily pass but that the sea-going ship to his port had no chance.
barc
could easily pass but that the sea-going ship to his port had no chance.
Ross gave a low sigh.
‘Stand by to turn towards her, Odar,’ he grunted to the steersman and then he yelled to his crew. ‘Ready to loose the main sail!’
With deft precision, the
Foracha
swung from its course to a new tack with the wind full at her back so that it fairly flew across the waves towards the large ship. It cut the distance with great rapidity until the
barc
was but a cable’s distance away and then Ross moved forward to the rail, cupping his hands to his mouth.
Foracha
swung from its course to a new tack with the wind full at her back so that it fairly flew across the waves towards the large ship. It cut the distance with great rapidity until the
barc
was but a cable’s distance away and then Ross moved forward to the rail, cupping his hands to his mouth.
‘Hóigh!’
he yelled.
‘Hóigh!’
he yelled.
‘Hóigh!’
There was no responding cry from the now towering, dark vessel.
Suddenly, without warning, the fickle wind changed
direction. The tall, dark bow of the sea-going ship was turned directly towards them, the sails filled and it was bearing down on them like an infuriated sea monster.
direction. The tall, dark bow of the sea-going ship was turned directly towards them, the sails filled and it was bearing down on them like an infuriated sea monster.
Ross yelled to the steersman: ‘Hard to starboard!’
It was all he could do as he helplessly watched the larger vessel bearing remorselessly down.
With agonising slowness the bows of the
Foracha
dragged unwillingly over and the great ship went scraping along the portside of the vessel, banging against the little ship so that she heeled and wallowed and was left bobbing in the wake of the passing vessel.
Foracha
dragged unwillingly over and the great ship went scraping along the portside of the vessel, banging against the little ship so that she heeled and wallowed and was left bobbing in the wake of the passing vessel.
Ross stood shaking angrily as he gazed at the stem of the vessel. The wind had suddenly died away and the larger ship’s sails had deflated as it slid slowly to a halt.
‘May the captain of that vessel never see the cuckoo nor the corncrake again! May the sea-cat get him! May he die roaring! May he fester in his grave!’
The curses poured out of Ross as he stood enraged, shaking a fist at the ship.
‘A death without a priest to him in a town without clergy …’
‘Captain!’ The voice that interrupted him in full flow was feminine, quiet but authoritative. ‘I think God has heard enough curses for the moment and knows you to be upset. What is the cause of this profanity?’
Ross wheeled round. He had forgotten all about his passenger who had, until this moment, been resting below in the
Foracha’s
main cabin.
Foracha’s
main cabin.
A tall religieuse now stood on the stern deck by Odar, the steersman, regarding him with a slight frown of disapproval. She was a young woman, tall but with a well-proportioned figure, a fact not concealed even by the sombreness of her dress nor even the beaver-fur edged woollen cloak that almost enshrouded her. Rebellious strands of red hair streaked from beneath her headdress, whipping in the sea-breeze. Her pale-skinned features were attractive and her
eyes were bright but it was difficult to discern whether they were blue or green, so changeable with emotion were they.
eyes were bright but it was difficult to discern whether they were blue or green, so changeable with emotion were they.
Ross gestured defensively towards the other ship.
‘I regret that I have offended you, Sister Fidelma,’ he muttered. ‘But that ship nearly sank us.’
Ross knew that his passenger was not simply a religieuse but was sister to Colgú, king of Muman. She was, as he knew from past experience, a
dálaigh,
an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann, whose degree was that of
anruth
only one grade below the highest qualification which the universities and ecclesiastical colleges could bestow.
dálaigh,
an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Éireann, whose degree was that of
anruth
only one grade below the highest qualification which the universities and ecclesiastical colleges could bestow.
‘You have not offended me, Ross,’ replied Fidelma with a grim little smile. ‘Though your cursing might have offended God. I find cursing is often a waste of energy when something more positive might be done.’
Ross nodded reluctantly. He always felt uncomfortable with women. That was why he had chosen a life at sea. He had tried marriage once but that had ended with his wife deserting him and the necessity of having to care for a daughter. Even his daughter, who was now about Sister Fidelma’s own age, had not made him feel any easier dealing with the opposite sex. Moreover, he felt particularly uncomfortable with this young woman whose quiet, authoritative demeanour made him feel sometimes like a child whose behaviour was constantly under judgment. The worst thing, he realised, was that the religieuse was right. Cursing the unknown captain was of no help to anyone.
‘What is the cause of this?’ pressed Fidelma.
Ross swiftly explained, gesturing to where the great sea-going vessel was now becalmed in this brief period of contrary winds.
Fidelma examined the ship with curiosity.
‘There does not seem to be any sign of movement aboard her, Ross,’ she pointed out. ‘Did I hear you hail her?’
‘I did so,’ replied Ross, ‘but received no answer.’
In fact, Ross himself had only just come to the conclusion that anyone on board the ship could not have failed to see his
barc
or return his hail. He turned to Odar. ‘See if you can take us alongside,’ he grunted.
barc
or return his hail. He turned to Odar. ‘See if you can take us alongside,’ he grunted.
The steersman nodded and slowly brought the little
barc’s
bows around, praying that the winds would continue to moderate until he was in position. Odar was a taciturn man whose skill was a by-word along the coasts of Muman. It was a short while before they bumped hulls against the taller vessel and Ross’s men grabbed for the ropes that were hanging down her sides.
barc’s
bows around, praying that the winds would continue to moderate until he was in position. Odar was a taciturn man whose skill was a by-word along the coasts of Muman. It was a short while before they bumped hulls against the taller vessel and Ross’s men grabbed for the ropes that were hanging down her sides.
Sister Fidelma leant against the far rail of the
Foracha,
out of the way, gazing up at the taller ship with dispassionate interest.
Foracha,
out of the way, gazing up at the taller ship with dispassionate interest.
‘A Gaulish merchant ship, by the cut of her,’ she called to Ross. ‘Isn’t the tops’l set dangerously?’
Ross cast her a glance of reluctant approval. He had ceased to be surprised by the knowledge that the young advocate displayed. This was the second time that he had acted as her transport and he was now used to the fact that she possessed knowledge beyond her years.
‘She’s from Gaul, right enough,’ he agreed. ‘The heavy timbers and rigging are peculiar to the ports of Morbihan. And you are right; that tops’l isn’t properly secured at all.’
He glanced up anxiously at the sky.
‘Forgive me, sister. We must get aboard and see what is amiss before the wind comes up again.’
Fidelma made a gesture of acquiescence with her hand.
Ross told Odar to leave the helm to another crewman and accompany him with a couple of his men. They swung easily over the side and scaled the ropes, disappearing up on deck. Fidelma stayed on the deck of the
barc
waiting. She could hear their voices calling up on the deck of the bigger vessel. Then she saw Ross’s crewmen speeding aloft to lower the sails of the ship obviously in case the wind sprung up again. It was not long before Ross appeared at the side of the ship and
swung himself over, dropping cat-like to the deck of the
Foracha.
Fidelma saw that there was a bewildered expression on his face.
barc
waiting. She could hear their voices calling up on the deck of the bigger vessel. Then she saw Ross’s crewmen speeding aloft to lower the sails of the ship obviously in case the wind sprung up again. It was not long before Ross appeared at the side of the ship and
swung himself over, dropping cat-like to the deck of the
Foracha.
Fidelma saw that there was a bewildered expression on his face.
‘What is it, Ross?’ she demanded. ‘Is there some sickness aboard?’
Ross took a step towards her. As well as his expression of perplexity, did she detect a lurking fear in his eyes?
‘Sister, would you mind coming up on the Gaulish ship? I need you to examine it.’
Fidelma frowned slightly.
‘I am no seaman, Ross. Why would I need to examine it? Is there illness on board?’ she repeated.
‘No, sister,’ Ross hesitated a moment. He seemed very uneasy. ‘In fact … there is no one on board.’
Fidelma blinked, the only expression of her surprise. Silently, she followed Ross to the side of the ship.
‘Let me go up first, sister, and then I will be able to haul you up on this line.’
He indicated a rope in which he tied a loop, as he was speaking.
‘Just put your foot in the loop and hold on when I say.’
He turned and scrambled up the line to the deck of the merchant ship. Fidelma was hauled up the short distance without mishap. Indeed, there was no one on the deck of the ship apart from Ross and his crewmen who had now secured the sails. One of Ross’s men was stationed at the tiller to keep the ship under control. Fidelma looked about curiously at the deserted but orderly and well scrubbed decks.
‘Are you sure there is no one on board?’ she asked with faint incredulity in her voice.
Ross shook his head.
‘My men have looked everywhere, sister. What is the explanation of this mystery?’
‘I do not have sufficient information to make even a guess, my friend,’ replied Fidelma, continuing to survey the clean, tidy appearance of the ship. Even the ropes seemed neatly
coiled. ‘Is there nothing out of place? No sign of an enforced abandonment of the ship?’
coiled. ‘Is there nothing out of place? No sign of an enforced abandonment of the ship?’
Again Ross shook his head.
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