Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #_NB_Fixed, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

The Subtle Serpent (4 page)

BOOK: The Subtle Serpent

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Fidelma was unaware of Ross now pausing impatiently at the foot of the companionway.

She unhooked the satchel and reached in. Inside there was a small vellum volume.

Suddenly her heart was racing, her mouth dry, and she stood rooted to the spot. The blood pounded in her ears. For a moment or two she thought she was going to pass out. The volume was a small, innocuous looking manuscript book, its vellum leaves bound in heavy calf-leather and embossed with beautiful patterned whirls and circles. Fidelma had recognised that it would be a Missal even before she turned to the title page. She knew also what would be inscribed on that page.

It was now over twelve months since Sister Fidelma had last held this book in her hands. Over twelve months ago, on a warm Roman summer evening, in the herb-scented garden of the Lateran Palace, she had stood holding this little book. It had been the evening before she had left Rome to return home to Ireland. She had handed the book to her friend and companion in adventure, Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, from the Saxon land of the South Folk. Brother Eadulf, who had helped her solve the mystery of Abbess Etain’s murder at Whitby and later of the murder of Wighard, the archbishop-elect of Canterbury in Rome.

The book which she now held in her hands, in this mysterious abandoned ship, had been her farewell gift to her closest friend and companion. A gift that had meant so much to them in that emotional parting.

Fidelma felt the cabin beginning to rock and turn around her. She tried to still her racing thoughts, to rationalise the awesome dread which she felt choking her lungs. She staggered dizzily backwards and collapsed abruptly onto the bunk.

Chapter Three

‘Sister Fidelma! Are you all right?’

Ross’s anxious face was peering close to Fidelma’s as she opened her eyes. She blinked. She had not really passed out only … she blinked again and silently rebuked herself for showing weakness. However, the shock was real enough. What was this book, her parting gift to Brother Eadulf in Rome, now doing in the cabin of a deserted Gaulish merchant ship off the coast of Muman? She knew that Eadulf would not part with it so lightly. And if not, then he had been in this cabin. He had been a passenger on this merchant ship.

‘Sister Fidelma!’

Ross’s voice rose in agitation.

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma replied slowly and cautiously stood up. Ross leaned forward to help her.

‘Did you feel giddy?’ queried the sailor.

She shook her head. She again rebuked herself sternly for such a display of emotion. Yet to deny the feeling would surely be a greater betrayal of herself? She had been fighting back her emotions ever since she had left Eadulf on the quay in Rome. He had been forced to stay in Rome as tutor to the Theodore of Tarsus, the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, while she had to return to her own land.

However, the year that had passed had been filled with memories of Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham and feelings of loneliness and longing, as if of a home sickness. She was home. She was in her own land among her own people again.
Yet she missed Eadulf. She missed their arguments, the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise good-naturedly to the bait. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them.

Eadulf had been trained in Ireland, at both Durrow and at Tuaim Brecain, before accepting the rulings of Rome on matters of the Faith and rejecting the Rule of Colmcille.

Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself without hiding behind her rank and role in life, without being forced to adopt a persona much like an actor playing a part.

Now she began to realise that her feeling for Eadulf was stronger than mere friendship.

To discover the gift that she had given him abandoned on a deserted vessel off the coast of Ireland sent a riot of panic-stricken thoughts through her mind.

‘Ross, there is a mystery to this ship.’

Ross grimaced wryly.

‘I thought that we had already agreed on that matter.’

Fidelma thrust out the Missal which she still held in her hand.

‘This belonged to a friend of mine whom I left in Rome over a year ago. A close friend.’

Ross looked at it and scratched his head.

‘A coincidence?’ he offered hazily.

‘A coincidence, indeed,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly. ‘What could have happened to the people on this ship? I must find out. I must find out what happened to my friend.’

Ross look awkward.

‘We must get back aboard the
barc
, sister. The wind is coming up again.’

‘You intend to tow this ship to shore?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I will make a closer search of her when we are in sheltered waters. What point are you making for?’

Ross rubbed his chin.

‘Why, the nearest harbour is the very place I was taking you to, sister. To the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells.’

Fidelma let out a low breath. Her discovery had caused her to momentarily forget why she was in passage with Ross in the first place. Yesterday morning the abbot of Ros Ailithir, with whom she had been staying, had received a message from the abbess of The Salmon of the Three Wells, a small community of religieuses perched at the end of one of the far western peninsulas of Muman. An unidentified body had been discovered there and it was feared that it might be that of a female member of the Faith, though there was little means of recognition. The head of the body was missing. The abbess sought the assistance of a Brehon, an officer of the law courts of the five kingdoms, to help her solve the mystery of the identity of the corpse and discover who was responsible for its death.

The community came under the jurisdiction of the Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir and he had asked Fidelma if she were willing to undertake the investigation. The community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was but a day’s sailing along the rugged coastline and therefore Fidelma had sought passage in the
barc
of Ross.

The discovery of the deserted Gaulish merchant ship and the book satchel, containing her parting gift to Brother Eadulf, had caused all thoughts of the reason for her journey to be driven momentarily from her mind.

‘Sister,’ insisted Ross, in agitation, ‘we must return to the
barc
.’

Unwillingly, she agreed, replacing the Missal back into the leather satchel and swinging it over her shoulder.

Ross’s men had fastened lines from the bow of the Gaulish ship to the stern of their smaller vessel and two men were left
aboard her, the steersman, Odar, and another man, while Ross and Fidelma accompanied the others to the deck of the
Foracha
.

Fidelma’s mind was preoccupied as Ross issued instructions to ease his ship away from the bigger vessel and turn before the wind. Soon the tow lines grew taut and the smaller craft began to make way with the larger ship, clawing through the choppy seas, after her. The wind was up again and there was no doubt that had Ross not intervened then the Gaulish ship would have already foundered on the hidden rocks and reefs that lay nearby.

Ross kept an anxious eye on the straining ropes and the wallowing vessel behind them. Odar was an expert steersman and skilfully kept the bigger ship on course. Ross then turned to judge his course for the coast. He was heading for one of the great bays between two south-westerly thrusting granite peninsulas, towards a large peninsula along which tall mountains ran, dominated by one distant high round dome that overpowered all other peaks. Before this peninsula rose the squat, bulbous shape of a large island and Ross ordered his helmsman to guide the
barc
towards the inlet between this island and the coast of the peninsula.

Fidelma had perched herself, with folded arms, against the stern rail, her head bowed in thought, oblivious to the approaching coast and its spectacular scenery. She also seemed oblivious to the pitch and toss of the
barc
as it was propelled before the winds tugging its prize after it.

‘We’ll soon be in sheltered waters,’ Ross informed her, feeling sympathy for the young religieuse for the distress which her discovery had caused showed plainly on her features.

‘Could it have been slavers?’ she suddenly asked him without preamble.

Ross thought a moment. It was known that raiders, seeking slaves, often penetrated Irish waters, sometimes
attacking coastal villages or fishing boats and carrying off inhabitants to be sold in the slave markets of the Saxon kingdoms or even further afield in Iberia, Frankia and Germania.

‘Perhaps slavers might have attacked the merchant ship and carried everyone off?’ Fidelma pressed as he hesitated.

Ross made a negative gesture of his head.

‘Forgive me, sister, but I do not think so. If, as you say, a slaver had captured the merchant ship, then why not simply put a prize crew on board her and sail her back to their home port? Why remove the crew and, what is more curious, why remove the cargo leaving the ship behind? They would get as much, if not more money, for the ship as for its crew and cargo.’

Fidelma saw that Ross’s logic was right. Indeed, why leave the ship so neat and comparatively tidy? She sighed deeply as no immediate answers came to the innumerable questions which hammered in her mind.

She tried to stop wasting emotional energy asking questions which were impossible to answer. Her mentor, Brehon Morann of Tara, had taught her that it was no use worrying about answers to problems unless she knew the questions that should be asked. Yet even when she tried to clear her mind and seek refuge in the art of the
dercad
, the act of meditation, by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the calming of extraneous thought and mental irritations, she found the task impossible.

She decided to focus on the approaching coastal scenery. They had now entered the mouth of the great bay and moved close to the southern shore of the mountainous peninsula. The cold winds and choppy seas began to ease as they entered into these more sheltered waters. And when Ross’s course placed the southern tip of the bulbous island to their eastern flank, the weather became much calmer as the land protected them from the main brunt of the winds. There were few clouds in the sky which was a soft blue with the pale yellow
orb of the sun hanging high above casting no warmth at all. The scenery seemed painted in limpid pastel shades.

‘A short way ahead lies a large inlet,’ Ross announced. ‘That is where the abbey of the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells is. I’ll anchor in there, in the quiet waters.’

Fidelma, in spite of her preoccupied thoughts, was not entirely oblivious to the serene beauty of the inlet which was circled by an oak forest which rose in ridges all around and was fringed with varied evergreens. Even while her mind was agitated by the worry of what had happened to Brother Eadulf, the tranquil aura of the area registered with her. It would be spectacular in summer with the multi-coloured flowers and all the trees bursting in varied shades of green. Behind the inlet, the mountains rose, their bald peaks dusted with snow and their slopes studded with granite boulders. A rushing stream emptied into the inlet at one point where, on a headland, a small circular fortress stood. Even looking at its sparkling crystal waters, Fidelma shuddered at how cold those waters must be.

‘That is the fortress of Adnár, the
bó-aire
of this district,’ Ross jerked his thumb towards the fortress.

A
bó-aire
was, literally, a cow-chief, a chieftain without land whose wealth was judged by the number of cows he owned. In poor areas, the cow-chief acted as a local magistrate and owed his allegiance to greater chieftains. To this greater chieftain, the
bó-aire
paid tribute for his position and rank.

Fidelma tried to force her mind back to the task which she had originally come to perform.

‘The fortress of Adnár?’ she repeated, phrasing it as a question to ensure that she had the name correct.

‘Yes. It is called
Dún Boí
— the fortress of the cow goddess.’

‘Where is the religious community?’ asked Fidelma. ‘The abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’

Ross indicated another small headland on the other side of the rivulet, directly opposite Adnár’s fortress.

‘It stands among those trees on that ridge. You can just see the tower of the abbey buildings there. You can also see a small quay leading to a rocky platform on which you might be able to make out the abbey’s main well.’

Fidelma followed his directions. She saw movement on the quay.

‘Captain!’ the helmsman called softly to Ross. ‘Captain, there are boats coming out — one from the fortress and one from the abbey.’

Ross turned to confirm the fact for himself and called on his crew to start furling the sails of the
Foracha
before dropping the anchor. He turned to signal Odar, on the Gaulish vessel, to release his anchor also so that the ships would not collide. There was a cracking of the great sheets as they were hauled down, the splash as the anchors hit the still waters and the startled cry of seabirds surprised by the unexpected sharpness of the sound. Then — silence.

For a moment or so Fidelma stood still, aware of that sudden silence in the sheltered inlet. Aware of the beauty of the place with the blues, greens, browns and greys of the mountains rising behind, and the sky creating a light blue on the waters around her, reflecting and shimmering in the early afternoon light, giving the impression of a mirror, so still and clear was its surface. Around the end of the inlet was a grey green belt of seaweed abandoned by the tides, the white and grey of rocks and the trees lining the banks, their varying greens and browns coloured by occasional bursts of groundsel and the white flowers of shepherd’s purse. Here and there were strawberry trees. The silence magnified the slightest sound … such as the lazy flap of a grey heron’s wings as it circled the boats with its long sinuous neck seemingly arched in curiosity before turning indolently and unconcerned in the sky and heading further along the coast for a quieter fishing ground. And now she could hear the rhythmic slap of oars of the approaching boats on the still waters.

She sighed deeply. Such peace was a cloak, a disguise to reality. There was work to do.

‘I’ll go back aboard the merchant ship and make a more detailed examination, Ross,’ she announced.

Ross gazed at her with anxious eyes.

‘With respect, I would wait awhile, sister,’ he suggested.

A frown of annoyance crossed her features.

‘I do not understand …’

BOOK: The Subtle Serpent

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