Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

They remounted their horses and continued in silence. They had just passed the spot where the roadway branched southward to Ard Mór when a figure moving up a hill to the south of them caught Fidelma’s attention. It was scrambling up towards a mound near the top of the hill. It was a man. He had his back to them and so he didn’t notice them. Fidelma halted to stare up at him. When he reached the mound he disappeared behind it.

‘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 haddisappeared. 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 thegraveyard. 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 andtouched 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 …’ Shebegan reading aloud. ‘They speak only lies and deceit …’ She paused and licked her dry lips before she continued reading to herself.