Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

Fidelma ignored him and kept her eyes on those of the young man. It was clear that she was expecting an answer from him and so Cunán nodded. ‘That is so.’

‘And there was no sign of an assailant or assailants when you found him?’

‘None.’

‘I saw them,’ called a voice from the crowd. A slight man came forward. ‘Our chief is right. I recognised them by the banner carried by one of their number. It was the grey fox’s head, the symbol of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘How were they allowed to do this?’ shouted Cumscrad. ‘Is there no man among you to take sword and shield to defend my people while I am absent? Who allowed these raiders to ride in without any attempt to stop them?’

A burly man pushed forward from the crowd. He was red in the face and spoke defensively.

‘They rode in openly, Cumscrad. We thought that they came in peace, for their swords were sheathed and they made no display of war. Their leader called out that they had only come to consult with Dubhagan.’

‘What happened then?’ asked Fidelma when she saw that Cumscrad was framing some angry retort.

‘They did just that. Two of them dismounted from their horses and entered the library tower. The rest remained outside. We did not realise anything was amiss until there was shouting, a smell of burning and we saw the flames appearing. By then, the two who had gone inside re-emerged with swords in hand, leapt on their horses and they all galloped out towards the forest beyond before we knew what was happening.’

‘Not all of them.’ It was the slight man who spoke. They turned to him. ‘I was mending my bow when they rode out. I managed to loose an arrow at one of them. I thought I hit him.’

‘You did,’ Eadulf replied, remembering the riderless horse and body. ‘He lies in the field outside the town, his horse nearby.’

Soon volunteers went to retrieve the body and the horse and when they were brought back, they crowded round to see if they recognised the person. It was Gormán who turned with a serious expression to Fidelma. ‘I think you should look at him, lady,’ he said softly.

She looked down. The man was thin, with a head of hair that was as white as snow, and a pale skin to match. She glanced back to Gormán with a query in her eyes. He nodded. ‘It is the bánaí . One of the two who tried to ambush us on the road to Lios Mór. And look at that.’ He pointed to the man’s neck where there was a dark mark, almost an abrasion, such as they had seen on the dead attacker on the road to Lios Mór.

‘Does anyone recognise this man?’ Fidelma demanded of thosewho were staring at the body. There was a shaking of heads and muttered denials.

‘A warrior, that is clear,’ replied the archer who had claimed his life.

‘That he was part of a party of Uí Liatháin raiders is good enough for me,’ Cumscrad said angrily. ‘I regret no more of them paid a price for this crime.’

‘What could we do?’ It was the burly man again. ‘Fight the fire or make ready our horses and ride after them? We fought the fire.’

‘You made the better choice,’ Fidelma agreed before turning to Cumscrad’s son. ‘You mentioned that Dubhagan’s chamber was where special books were stored. What do you mean by special books?’

The young man gazed at her blankly. His face was black with smoke and his cheeks and forearms looked singed.

Cumscrad, now icy calm, answered for him. ‘They were the ancient works, some of which many might condemn as heretical to the new Faith.’ Then he added to his son, ‘When you feel better, come to the rath, for we must talk further.’ He turned to a woman who was helping to attend those who had exhausted themselves fighting the fire. ‘Take Cunán and see to his needs,’ he instructed. The young librarian allowed himself to be guided away by the woman.

Fidelma turned to Cumscrad. The chief’s features were set and bitter and before she could speak he had turned to one of his warriors and issued rapid orders. Tasks needed to be done, assessing the damage, removing the bodies of Dubhagan and the albino raider, attending those who had been injured. One of the scribes had already volunteered to start listing what books had been saved and what had been destroyed. Other volunteers started removing the rescued books to a place of safety to store them. Cumscrad also gave orders to his warriors to arrange a specialwatch in the unlikely event of the raiders returning. Only when he was sure that all matters were being taken care of did he turn back to Fidelma and her companions. His expression was still bitter.

‘Let us go to my hall and discuss this matter,’ he suggested shortly. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode to where he had left his horse. They followed him and collected their mounts. The rath was only a short distance away and so the four of them walked in moody silence to the gates, where Cumscrad issued orders to his stable boys to take their horses and care for them. Then he led the way into his great hall where an attendant waited. He called for mead and refreshments and then invited them to sit in seats arranged before a glowing fire. When the drinks were brought, he gazed thoughtfully at Fidelma.

‘It was deliberate,’ he began. ‘The place was fired deliberately and my librarian killed.’ Cumscrad’s features were hard. ‘First they attack our barge and steal its precious cargo. Two books which our library had copied for Ard Mór. Then comes this attack on our library and its destruction. Yet I fail to see the motive. Why would they want these books? Why would they attempt to destroy the library? Why kill our librarian? It doesn’t add up.’

‘I can offer you no motivation behind these events as yet,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But we will find out.’

‘I understand that this library is famous for keeping books that are not approved of by many members of the Faith,’ interposed Eadulf softly. ‘That might be the motivation.’

‘You mean they attacked the books because they posed difficult questions for the Faith?’ Cumscrad smiled cynically.

‘Well, people have destroyed books for less,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘It is certainly the unintelligent option to destroy that with which we don’t agree rather than present our arguments and then decide what is the better argument.’

Gormán gave an embarrassed cough. He had been silent for so long they had almost forgotten he was there.

‘But why would the Uí Liatháin be so fanatical about the Faith? I know them. They are not known for their piety.’

‘Your warrior companion is right, lady,’ Cumscrad agreed. ‘But they are enemies of my people. That’s why.’

‘How much was this library of yours worth, Cumscrad?’ asked Eadulf. ‘What did it contain that made it as priceless as you claim?’

‘It has existed since the time of Mug Ruith, long before the new Faith reached these shores,’ replied the chieftain. ‘It was famous. It was unique.’

‘Famous?’ queried Eadulf. ‘I have heard of many libraries but not of Fhear Maighe’s.’

‘That does not reflect on the fame of our library but on your ignorance of it,’ the chieftain replied icily.

‘You may be right, Cumscrad.’ Fidelma smiled at his riposte, in spite of the mortified expression on Eadulf’s features. ‘But indulge our ignorance and tell us something about it.’

The chieftain was mollified. He gave a sigh and began to recount the history of the library. ‘Four centuries or so ago, a scholar from the east called Aethicus of Istria wrote what he called a Cosmographia , a cosmography of the world. Aethicus sailed to our shores from Iberia because he had heard of the fame of our libraries. He speaks of the volumina of our libraries as noteworthy.’