Peter Tremayne - The Devil's seal

She stood up and lifted the straw-filled mattress. A leather bag was concealed underneath. Fidelma lifted it up.

‘Heavy,’ she muttered.

With the mattress back in place, she reseated herself, put the bag beside her and untied the leather thongs that held it together. Then she widened the neck of the bag to look at the contents.

Eadulf, who had come to peer over her shoulder, exhaled through his teeth, a curious whistling sound to denote his astonishment.

‘What is it?’ demanded Abbess Líoch, rising from her bed and moving towards them.

‘Did you know Sister Dianaimh was carrying these coins?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Coins? What coins?’ Abbess Líoch saw — and gasped.

The bag was filled with gold and silver coins — a mixture of Roman, Gaulish and coins of the early Britons among them.

‘Why, there must be. .’ Eadulf was trying to calculate the value.

‘Enough to pay the honour price of any one of the Kings of the Five Kingdoms,’ Fidelma concluded.

‘Enough to buy a herd of nearly fifty milch cows,’ breathed Abbess Líoch, having seated herself again. She was in a state of shock.

Fidelma retied the bag, saying to the abbess, ‘I presume that you had no idea your steward carried such a sum?’

The abbess shook her head slowly. ‘None at all. But why?’

‘We must take this into safekeeping until the matter can be resolved,’ Fidelma declared. ‘Meanwhile, you must not breathe a word to anyone about this.’

Abbess Líoch, beyond speech, could only give an assenting gesture.

‘Do you think we have found the motive for her murder?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Perhaps the murderer knew she would be carrying the sum and killed her for it?’

‘I would have thought even someone with impaired vision would see that she was not carrying the coins on her. If they knew she was the bearer of such wealth, they would be aware that she would never carry it on her person but would place it somewhere for safety — somewhere like this hiding-place we have found. So if she was killed for this, why did they not enter here and search for it?’

Abbess Líoch glanced nervously at her. ‘But I was asleep here all night, and only this morning did I find Sister Dianaimh missing.’

Fidelma made no reply but stood and picked up the bag, handing it to Eadulf. It was quite heavy.

‘Where to now?’ he asked.

‘Now we shall place the money in the safekeeping of my brother,’ Fidelma said. ‘I have an idea.’

‘I am getting more confused as time goes by,’ Eadulf sighed as they went towards Colgú’s apartments. ‘We start with the murder of a Saxon cleric. Then there is an attack on my brother and his companion on the river. We think they are attacked by robbers from the Déisi. The robbers are captured and killed, except for their leader. He is brought here because he says he has something which he will use as a bargain to save himself from punishment. He is then murdered. We are told a deputation from Canterbury is coming here. Then someone tries to kill us. Then we are told my brother’s companion is no religious but a thief. And now Abbess Líoch’s bann-mhaor , her young steward, is murdered. She has been carrying a fortune with her. What can we make of all this?’

‘A tangled skein can be untangled if one has patience,’ observed Fidelma.

‘But if it is true that this Venerable Victricius was a thief, what was he doing on his way here? Is that why he did not tell my brother what his purpose was?’

‘After we have deposited these coins with Colgú, we will search out Brother Bosa and see if he can add anything more to this matter.’

Brother Bosa was on the walkway of the fortress walls when they found him, leaning against the parapet and gazing towards the distant mountains in the north-west.

‘Not my sort of country,’ he greeted them as they approached. ‘There are mountains in every direction. Give me the low hills or flatlands, the sky and the sea.’

‘I have been once in the Kingdom of Kent,’ Fidelma offered. ‘We were in Canterbury for a short time before going to Aldred’s Abbey. I do remember the low hills and rivers and no sign of any mountains. I suppose each to their own. We have a saying here, there is no hearth like your own hearth.’

Brother Bosa sighed and seemed almost vulnerable compared to the arrogance he usually displayed.

‘We wanted to ask a few questions,’ Eadulf volunteered.

In a moment the man’s affable expression became guarded. ‘About what?’

‘You will have heard that Sister Dianaimh has been murdered?’

‘I am told that she was found in a tavern. It’s hardly a place for a moral religieuse.’

‘Being murdered, she might not have been able to protest about where her body was placed after her death,’ Eadulf replied sharply.

‘You will understand my position as a dálaigh ,’ Fidelma went on smoothly, giving Eadulf a reproving glance. ‘I need to ask some questions.’

‘Why of me?’ asked the scribe.

‘You were talking to her during the meal last night. I just wondered if she said anything that might have indicated whether she was afraid of anyone?’

Brother Bosa shrugged carelessly. ‘I did not speak to her for long.’

‘What did you talk about?’

The scribe said reluctantly, ‘You know by now that our mission here is to gather information about claims for a primacy in this island.’

‘And that is what you were asking her about?’

‘My understanding was that she had been trained at an abbey called Sléibhte which was already in existence when Patricius came to administer to the faithful here. While we were in Laighin, we heard a rumour that they might contend for the primacy against Ard Macha. King Fianamail of Laighin supported another abbey called Cill Dara, which would certainly not be considered by the Holy Father because its abbot was subservient to an abbess.’

‘So you were asking Sister Dianaimh if the Abbot of Sléibhte, Abbot Aéd, was pressing his own case to be regarded as a primacy?’ clarified Fidelma.

‘The Venerable Verax wanted an assurance, so I thought that I would ask her.’

‘And did you get the information you wished?’

‘Not really.’

‘So why did you think that Sister Dianaimh, who was bann-mhaor to Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile, would have any particular information about Sléibhte?’ Fidelma asked.

‘As I said, I was told she had links with the Abbey of Sléibhte,’ muttered Brother Bosa.

‘Could it have been that she had recently been observed at Sléibhte by Brother Cerdic? And would that have been the reason why she was invited especially to Cashel to meet with your deputation?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘We have been trying to understand why Abbess Líoch and her steward Sister Dianaimh had been invited by Brother Cerdic to attend here. It was pointed out to the abbess that it was in her interest to do so. If the purpose of your deputation was merely to gather such information — as could have been obtained by other simple means — why invite the abbess of a new and small community that would not rank in such research?’

‘We did not know Brother Cerdic had extended such an invitation,’ protested the scribe.

‘But he did. Apparently he went to Sléibhte and saw Sister Dianaimh there. It occurs to me that he, or your deputation, needed Sister Dianaimh at this meeting in Cashel. He could not openly invite her as an individual, but if he invited Abbess Líoch, then she would naturally bring her steward.’

Brother Bosa was looking blank. ‘You have lost me, lady,’ he said.

‘The mystery is,’ Fidelma was reflective, ‘why go to all that trouble, simply to get such information? Had your deputation gone to the High King’s palace at Tara and sat with Cenn Faelad and his Brehon Sedna, you would have learned all this, without the necessity of a journey to each kingdom. It makes me wonder if there is some other, hidden purpose to your deputation.’