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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Chalice of Blood
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‘Did you see who that was?’ Fidelma asked her companions.
‘A religieux,’ offered Gormán.
‘It was Brother Gáeth,’ Eadulf announced. ‘He is beyond the borders of the cultivated fields of the abbey. Aren’t
daer-fudir
supposed not to leave the lands of their community?’
‘Perhaps he has permission to do so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Anyway, he is still on the lands of the Déisi so I am not going to report such a silly infraction of the law.’
She stared up at the mound behind which Brother Gáeth had
disappeared. There were many such ancient burial mounds scattered across the countryside.
The thought occurred to her in a sudden flash.
‘Gormán, what would you call that place?’ she asked.
The warrior looked up. ‘Don’t they call them the mounds of the dead?’
A broad smile spread across Fidelma’s face.
‘I think we may have found the solution.’ She swung off her horse.
‘Stay here with the horses and wait for me,’ she told an astounded Eadulf and Gormán. ‘We do not want to intimidate Brother Gáeth.’
‘Wait,’ protested Eadulf. ‘You cannot go up there alone.’
‘Of course I can,’ she retorted. ‘Stay here and do not follow.’
‘But you might be in danger,’ Gormán said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You will both stay there. I am in no danger from Brother Gáeth.’
‘But you never know, he is—’
‘He is not a simpleton,’ snapped Fidelma, guessing what was passing through Gormán’s mind. She began to climb the hill. As she approached the mound on its summit, she saw that, although it was mainly earth-covered, it was certainly man-made. It was formed of large stones placed as a circular cabin over which sods of earth had been placed. She walked slowly round the circular stone wall and, as she expected, came to a small entrance. There was a flickering light inside. She halted and bent down to peer in.
‘Stop!’ cried an echoing voice. ‘This is a place of the dead.’
She halted, bending in the entrance. ‘Yet it is where you come, Brother Gáeth. Why are you here?’
Brother Gáeth was sitting in the centre of the small stone hut. It smelled of that strange mustiness that she associated with the
graveyard. There was an oil lamp on a stone ledge to one side. She noticed that there was also a bright polished crucifix perched on another stone ledge behind him. It was ornate and reflected the light of the lamp. There were some small boxes and other objects piled along the walls, and among them she noticed two funerary urns of baked clay.
‘This is a place of my dead,’ replied Brother Gáeth softly. ‘They are here, here beyond harm.’
‘And I have no wish to harm them or you, Gáeth. May I be allowed to enter?’
Brother Gáeth stared at her for a moment or so, as if trying to make up his mind what to do. Then he shrugged. ‘You have been kind to me, Sister. You may enter.’
She crawled in and sat down near some boxes. The interior was no more than five or six metres in diameter. She coughed a little in the musty air. Then she glanced towards the ornate crucifix. It was of silver with several semi-precious stones in it. She had seen similar workmanship before.
‘Brother Donnchad brought that back from the Holy Land, didn’t he?’ she said softly, inclining her head towards it.
‘It was his gift to me,’ Brother Gáeth said defensively.
‘Indeed.’ Fidelma glanced at the funerary urns. Brother Gáeth saw her look.
‘My father and my mother. I … Donnchad and I rescued their ashes and brought them here. This was an ancient chief’s mound. They deserved to rest here and not in the grave of paupers. My father was Selbach of Dún Guairne, a chief of the Uí Liatháin.’
‘I know,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘Yet cremation is frowned on by the churches of Ireland. I thought the practice had ended.’
‘Because my parents were
daer-fudir
, Eochaid said it did not matter for there was no place to set up a memorial to them anyway. But they rest here now.’ Brother Gáeth reached out and
touched one of the urns. ‘Those I have loved rest here. Donnchad helped me bring them here when I was a boy, just after they died.’
‘Ah, Donnchad knew of this place.’
‘We often played here. It was,’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘it was our special camp. No one dared come near the mound of the dead. That’s what we called it. It was our secret.’
‘So Donnchad requested you to bring some things here before he died.’
Brother Gáeth’s brow creased. ‘How did you know that?’
‘He asked you to bring them here because he feared that he would die and they would be stolen. Isn’t that it?’
Brother Gáeth made a movement with his right hand that encompassed the interior of the mound. ‘Donnchad gave me things to bring here for safe keeping.’
‘Of course. You were his friend.’
‘I was. Whatever they say.’
‘You need take no notice of them,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You were his friend but he gave you something particular for safe keeping just before he died, didn’t he?’
‘You know about that too?’ Brother Gáeth looked worried.
‘I know,’ confirmed Fidelma.
‘They do not know, do they? Those who harmed him?’
‘They do not. But now we must use what he gave you so that they will be punished for what they did to him. I give you my word on this.’
Brother Gáeth shook his head. ‘He asked me to come to his cell one night and told me to take it and keep it safe. I was never to give it to anyone.’
‘And you have kept it safe all this time?’
‘It remains here safely.’
‘But now he is dead. Do you know what a Brehon is?’
‘Of course.’
‘You know I am here to find out who killed Donnchad. The King, who has great authority over this land, sent me. He wants those who killed your friend Donnchad to be discovered and punished.’
Brother Gáeth was thoughtful for a moment.
‘The King has greater authority than Brother Lugna?’
‘He has.’
‘And greater than the abbot?’
‘He has. Do you understand that this thing Donnchad gave you will help uncover the person who killed him?’
‘But I was never to give it to anyone,’ repeated Brother Gáeth in a dull tone.
‘You do not want his killer to escape without answering for that evil deed, do you?’
Brother Gáeth looked uncertain.
‘I was never to give it to anyone,’ he said again but now there was confusion in his voice.
‘Never until it was needed to help poor Donnchad find rest and make those who killed him answer for their crime.’
‘You think that Donnchad would wish me to show you?’ He was wavering. He needed guidance.
‘I do.’
Brother Gáeth sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then moved to a corner where there was a pile of stones. Methodically, he began moving them to reveal a small hole in the ground. There was a box inside which he lifted out. Then he opened the box. Inside lay a scroll of papyrus.
Fidelma took the papyrus carefully from the box and unrolled it. It was written in a firm hand and in the language of her people. The title was
Do Bhualadh in Brégoiri
–
The Hammering of the Deceivers
. She swallowed nervously and held the lamp higher. ‘
Ni rádat som acht bréic togáis
…’ She
began reading aloud. ‘They speak only lies and deceit …’ She paused and licked her dry lips before she continued reading to herself.
A short time later she stopped reading and sat back. It was not a long manuscript but it was one whose contents chilled her to the marrow. She rolled up the papyrus, replaced it in the box and handed it back to Brother Gáeth. He was looking at her with troubled eyes.
‘What did it say, Sister?’ he asked. ‘I do not have the ability to read it. It is too complicated for my poor learning.’
‘It tells how distressed Brother Donnchad was.’ She smiled quickly. ‘He was confused and concerned.’
‘But will it help track down who killed him?’
‘It does. Continue to hide it safely, Brother Gáeth,’ she said. She crawled towards the entrance and paused. ‘A time will come in the next few days when I shall ask you to bring that box and papyrus to me. Then I shall reveal who killed your friend.’
‘You won’t tell anyone of this place, Sister?’ Brother Gáeth asked anxiously.
‘Have no fear. Your monument to your dead will not be violated again.’
She left him and walked slowly back down the hill where she found Eadulf and Gormán waiting with the horses, their impatience and anxiety plain to see.
‘Well?’ Eadulf demanded anxiously. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’
‘Why would I not be?’ she answered evenly.
‘Then what did you discover?’
‘The final piece of the jigsaw.’
‘You know who killed Brother Donnchad?’ asked Gormán.
‘I wish I did not,’ she replied grimly. ‘I was certain before but unable to understand the motive that could drive a person to such a crime. Even so, it must stand the test of argument
and that might prove the most difficult part of the entire puzzle. Gormán, I must ask you to ride directly for Cashel with some instructions for my brother—’
‘
Instructions?
For the King?’ asked the warrior, astounded.
‘It will be up to you to impress on Colgú that he must obey these instructions to the letter, otherwise danger may ensue, a danger that might result in a threat to the security of the kingdom.’
‘A threat?’ stammered Gormán.
Fidelma was irritable. ‘Gormán, I thought more of you than to see you impersonate a newly landed salmon, opening and closing your mouth like that,’ she snapped. ‘When you ride for Cashel you must ensure that you go by a route that is shrouded from the main paths so that no one will know that you have gone or in which direction.’
‘Very well, lady.’
‘Good. I will now tell you what you must say to my brother.’ She spoke rapidly and clearly. Gormán nodded that he had understood the instructions. When he remounted his horse, she stood back and smiled at him. ‘I will expect you back at the abbey in three days’ time.’
Gormán raised his hand in salute and sped northwards.
Fidelma watched him go with an expression of satisfaction.
‘I presume that you are going to tell me what these curious instructions meant?’ Eadulf asked, almost petulantly.
‘Indeed I shall. And then we shall have a few days to occupy ourselves until my brother arrives, so we will be able to prepare our case. The presentation will fall entirely on me, Eadulf, as only a qualified
dálaigh
will be able to do this. But you must stand ready to find references to back me. This will be a difficult case to present and I fear there will be few precedents.’
Eadulf knew that any judge needed to see precedents in law before making a judgement.
‘I will do my best,’ he said.
Fidelma looked suddenly tired. ‘We have to be well prepared, Eadulf. I swear that I would never have believed that virtue was the cause of so much evil.’
 
 
T
hree days after Gormán had left for Cashel, he returned late in the evening to report that everything had been accomplished as Fidelma had instructed. Fidelma immediately made arrangements with Abbot Iarnla and Brother Lugna that at midday, the next day, she would present her report in the
refectorium
. Word was then sent to Lady Eithne, to Uallachán and to Cumscrad so that they could attend at the same time.
Fidelma and Eadulf rose at first light on the day and made their way across the quadrangle. It was a peaceful morning, the dawn sunlight giving the promise of another warm day ahead. The early morning birdsong, however, was eclipsed by the sounds from the chapel. They could hear the raised voices of the brethren singing Colmcille’s famous hymn
Altus Prosator
.
Regis regum rectissimi
Prope est dies Domini:
Dies irae et uindicatae
Tenebrarum et nebulae …
 
King of Kings, of Lords most high
The day of judgement comes nigh:
Day of wrath and vengeance stark
Day of shadows, cloudy dark
…
Eadulf smiled as he glanced at Fidelma. ‘That seems appropriate in the circumstances.’
Fidelma paused, head to one side, listening. Beyond the gates of the abbey the sound of horses came to their ears. It was the movement of several mounted riders. She smiled with satisfaction. ‘Indeed, the strands are finally coming together to complete the tapestry.’
Gormán appeared from the direction of the stables and a moment later Brother Echen hurried to open the gates. The leading horseman, a warrior, carrying the rampant stag banner of the Eóghanacht, came trotting into the quadrangle. Behind the standard bearer they saw Caol, the commander of the Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the King of Muman, and behind him rode Fidelma’s brother, Colgú, with Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach and Chief Bishop of Muman. His steward, Brother Madagan, rode behind, with an elderly man, while two more warriors of the bodyguard brought up the rear.
Fidelma and Eadulf hurried across to greet them. Brother Echen seemed to be wringing his hands, at a loss how to cope with so many distinguished visitors. Caol dismounted with a brief acknowledgement to Fidelma before beckoning Brother Echen and giving instructions about the care of their horses. Colgú slid from his horse with a broad smile at his sister and a friendly nod to Eadulf.
‘Did you carry out my instructions?’ were Fidelma’s first words to her brother.
He chuckled at his sister’s single-minded approach.
‘A sharp greeting for your brother,’ he rebuked. Then he nodded seriously. ‘The instructions have been carried out to the letter, sister. I told our main body to rest last night at Brother
Corbach’s place at Cill Domnoc in the mountains. As you suggested, our party left them there and crossed the mountains to the woods on the north side of the river and encamped there for the night. We forded the river as dawn was breaking. I doubt anyone has seen us.’
‘Who is in charge of the main body?’
‘Dego and Enda,’ replied her brother, naming two leading members of the Nasc Niadh. ‘The orders were given to them, just as you decreed.’
Fidelma heaved a sigh of relief. ‘As a
dálaigh
I have encountered much evil, Colgú, but never to the extent that I have in this place. I am glad you are here.’
Only then did she greet her brother with a hug. She and Eadulf greeted Abbot Ségdae and Brother Madagan in turn and then Colgú introduced the elderly stranger.
‘This is Brehon Aillín, he will sit in judgement on this matter.’
Fidelma had heard of the elderly judge, who was Chief Brehon of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach, and she knew his reputation to be that of a thorough and a fair man.
‘Do you know who killed Brother Donnchad?’ he asked, as he came forward to greet her.
‘I have suspected for a while,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘The question was the main motive. Without the motive, this horrendous crime made no sense at all. When I discovered it, I sent word to Cashel.’
‘And who is the killer?’
‘
Tempus omnia revelat
.’ Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Time reveals all things. I have sent messengers to summon several people to come here. Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne, Uallachán of the Uí Liatháin, who are staying within two kilometres to the west and south of here, and, of course, Lady Eithne at An Dún to the east. I have told them that the court
will convene in the abbey
refectorium
at the
etarthráth
– noontide.’
‘Are our guards enough if there is trouble?’ Colgú asked her.
‘So long as Dego and Enda do not move before the hour stipulated.’
‘They won’t,’ her brother assured her.
‘Excellent.’ She glanced across the quadrangle. ‘Ah, the first service has ended and here come the dour-looking steward, Brother Lugna, and an anxious-looking Abbot Iarnla. They will be worried by your presence, particularly that of Abbot Ségdae.’
Colgú chuckled. ‘Then we better put them out of their anxiety.’
Eadulf noticed that Fidelma was now walking with a lighter step and he actually heard her singing a snatch of song beneath her breath.
Diesque mirabilium
Tonitruorum forium
Dies quoque angustiae
Maetoris ae trititae
 
Thunder shall rend the day apart
Wonder amazes each fearful heart
Anguish and pain, deep distress
Shall mark the day of bitterness
The
refectorium
was so crowded that many of the brethren were forced to stand. The table at which the abbot and his senior advisers usually had their meals was occupied by Colgú, with Brehon Aillín on his right and Abbot Ségdae on his left. Behind Abbot Ségdae, who was there in his role as Chief Bishop of the kingdom, sat his steward, Brother Madagan. Caol, as commander of the Nasc Niadh, stood directly behind Colgú,
with the King’s standard bearer. Facing them, but in the main body of the hall, were Abbot Iarnla and his steward, Brother Lugna. Lady Eithne, who had arrived with three of her bodyguards, sat to their left. Clustered behind the abbot were all the senior members of the abbey. The two rival chieftains, Cumscrad, with his son Cunám, and Uallachán, with Brother Temnen of Ard Mór, plus their two bodyguards apiece, had taken seats on opposite sides of the hall. Standing where they could were Saor and his group of builders, with the young boy, Gúasach. The rest of the hall was filled with as many members of the community who could squeeze in. Gormán and the two remaining warriors of the Nasc Niadh had positioned themselves at the door.
Fidelma had taken her position at a small table to the right of the raised platform. Eadulf sat with her, with notes and papers, to aid her if needed. But the arguments before Brehon Aillín had to be made by a qualified
dálaigh
and so Eadulf could be of no assistance to her in the direct presentation of the case.
Brehon Aillín glanced at Fidelma and then stood up. He raised his staff of office and banged it on the floor three times.
‘At this court we are here primarily to attempt to discover cause and responsibility for the death of Brother Donnchad. However, there are other matters that we must consider. The raids on the Fir Maige Féne and death of Dubhagan of the
tech-screptra
at Fhear Maighe. We shall also attempt to discover cause and responsibility for the death of the master builder Glassán.’
There was a ripple of subdued but surprised voices. Most knew only that Brother Donnchad’s death had been under investigation, while Glassán’s death had been thought an accident. As for raids and the death of Dubhagan, little gossip had infiltrated the abbey.
Brother Lugna immediately rose, protesting. ‘Are these not
separate matters? How are they to be heard all at once? Sister Fidelma’s only responsibility is to tell us who killed Brother Donnchad.’
Brehon Aillín regarded him with disapproval. ‘This is now a court of law and I have proclaimed the matters it will consider. Fidelma of Cashel, will you proceed?’ he added solemnly.
‘I shall.’ Fidelma bowed her head towards the Brehon, as protocol demanded, before turning to face the assembly.
‘We shall deal first with the murder of Glassán. For that is a separate matter.’
When the astonished murmur died down, Fidelma raised her voice a little. ‘Yes, it was murder even though it was made to look like an accident. Glassán was bludgeoned from behind with a blackthorn stick, dragged to the wall and the scene made to look as if one of the stones from the wall had become loose and fallen on him. This murder had long been in the planning.’
She held the audience’s attention completely now.
‘Sometimes,’ she continued, ‘when one has been so long investigating murders, one becomes too used to looking for the complicated and the unexpected. With the killing of Glassán we were, in fact, dealing with the obvious but thought we were looking for something deeper, more complicated and not so obvious; something that we thought would link up with the murder of Brother Donnchad. We nearly missed what was staring us in the face.’
‘And that was?’ prompted Brother Lugna, unable to restrain himself.
Brehon Aillín rapped on the table and snapped, ‘There are to be no interruptions. I have already pointed out that this is now a court of law and protocol is to be followed.’
‘I shall respond to the steward, with your approval,’ Fidelma replied mildly. ‘This was an act of vengeance, part of a blood feud.’
Fidelma waited for the hall to grow silent again before continuing.
‘The most serious offence in any society is for one person to deprive another of their life. I have travelled in many lands and found that the laws governing what punishment should be given varies.’
Once again, Brother Lugna was on his feet.
‘In Rome it is considered that the execution of the offender is the only just punishment. Among many members of our Faith beyond the seas, this punishment is supported because this is the justice that Faith proclaims. Is it not written in the ancient texts that life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth shall be the punishment? Even if death is caused by negligence, death must be returned as retribution.’
Brehon Aillín had reached for his staff of office, anger on his brow, but Fidelma held up her hand.
‘I will respond, with your permission. Let us make allowance for the fact that Brother Lugna has been so long in Rome that he has forgotten how our courts of law are conducted. We do not believe that the teaching that you have cited is compatible with the Faith, for did not Christ tell us to ignore it? Perhaps, Brehon Aillín, you would allow Brother Eadulf, who has also studied in Rome, to remind us of Christ’s teaching?’
At a nod from the Brehon, Eadulf rose. ‘It is to be found in the Gospel according to Matthew:
audistis quia dictum est oculum pro oculo et dentem pro dente … ego autem dico vobis non resistere malo sed si te percusserit in dextera maxilla tua praebe illi et alteram
.’
‘You have heard that it has been said, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you …’ She stopped translating. ‘I am sure that Brother Lugna knows the passage, as do we all. I rejoice that we live under more enlightened laws,
though some would have us adopt the Penitentials of Rome where we must cut off the hand that steals, blind the eye that is covetous, kill the person who is responsible for the death of another directly or indirectly.’
Brother Lugna was looking outraged. He exchanged a glance with the grim-faced Lady Eithne.
‘The basis of our law,’ went on Fidelma, unperturbed, ‘is that we allow someone who has transgressed to atone for his crime, even if they have caused the death of another. Moreover, our law says that as well as being given the opportunity for rehabilitation in our society, compensation must be given to the victim or the relatives of the victim. What use is the dead body of the killer to a wife left without a husband, a child left without a mother or a father? Vengeance has but momentary satisfaction. Only in extreme circumstances, where a killer is shown to be incorrigible, unrepentant and unwilling to provide the compensation and pay the fines required by law, do we say they should be placed in the arms of fate, that they should be cast adrift in a boat without sail or oar and with food or water for one day. Their fate is left up to the winds and the waves.
‘Perhaps some of you have heard the story of Mac Cuill, the son of the hazel, who was a thief and killer in the Kingdom of Ulaidh. His crimes were so heinous and he was so unrepentant of them that he was cast adrift on the sea from the coast of Ulaidh in an open boat. After drifting for some time, he was washed close to the shore on the island that is named for the god of the oceans, Mannanán Mac Lir. There were only two members of the Faith on the island at that time but they took him from the sea. He realised that Fate had saved him for a more useful life. He travelled the island with them, preaching the Faith and founding an abbey now named after him, for he is known by the Latin from of his name – the Blessed Maccaldus.
He ended his life as abbot and bishop on that island. Is that not a better contribution to life than having his dead, rotting body forgotten?’

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