Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

Spelán blinked.

“Not fools, Sister, not fools,” he corrected softly. “Many of our blessed saints believed in the efficacy of mortification. They held genuine belief that they must emulate the pain of Christ if they, too, would seek eternal paradise. There are many who will still wear crowns of thorns, who flagellate themselves, drive nails into their hands or pierce their sides so that they might share the suffering of Christ. No, you are too harsh, sister. They are not fools; visionaries-yes; and, perhaps, misguided in their path.”

“Very well. We will not argue the matter at this stage, Spelán.

What is this to do with what has happened here?”

“Do not mistake my meaning, Sister,” replied Selbach contritely. “I am not an advocate for the gortaigid, those who seek the infliction of such pain. I, too, condemn them as you do. But I accept that their desire to experience pain is a genuine desire to share the pain of the Messiah through which he sought man’s redemption. I would not call them fools. However, let me continue. For a while we were a happy community. It did not cross my mind that one among us felt that pain was his path to salvation.”

“There was a gortaigid among you?”

The dominus nodded.

“I will spare the events that led to it but will simply reveal that it was none other than the venerable Abbot Selbach himself. But Selbach was not of those who simply inflicted pain and punishment upon himself. He persuaded the youthful brothers we had gathered here to submit to scourgings and whippings in order to satiate his desire to inflict pain and injury so that, he argued, they might approach a sharing of Christ’s great suffering. He practiced these abominations in secret and swore others to keep that secret on pain of their immortal souls.”

“When was this discovered?” demanded Fidelma, slightly horrified.

Spelán bit his Up a moment.

“For certain? Only this morning. I knew nothing. I swear it. It was early this morning that the body of our youngest neophyte, Sacán, was found. He was fourteen years old. The Brothers found him and it was known that Selbach had taken him to a special place at the far end of the island last night to ritually scourge the boy. So fierce did he lash the youth that he died of shock and pain.”

The dominus genuflected.

Fidelma’s mouth tightened.

“Go on. How were you, the dominus of this community, unaware of the abbot’s actions before this morning?”

“He was cunning,” replied Spelán immediately. “He made the young brothers take oath each time not to reveal the ritual scourg-ings to anyone else. He took one young brother at a time to the far end of the island. A shroud of silence enveloped the community. I dwelt in blissful ignorance.”

“Go on.”

“Selbach had tried to hide his guilt by throwing the poor boy’s body over the cliffs last night but the tide washed the body along the rocky barrier that is our shore. It washed ashore early this morning at a point where two of our brethren were fishing for our daily meal.”

He paused and sought another sip of water.

Behind her Lorcán said quietly: “Indeed, the tide from the head-land would wash the body along to the pebble beach.”

“I was asleep when I heard the noise. When I left my cell the Brothers’ anger had erupted and they had seized Selbach and lashed him to the quadrangle tree. One of the Brothers was flogging him with his own whip, tearing at his flesh…”

The dominus paused again before continuing.

“And did you attempt to stop them?” inquired Fidelma.

“Of course I tried to stop them,” Spelán replied indignantly. “I tried to remonstrate, as did another young Brother, Snagaide, who told them they could not take the law into their own hands nor punish Selbach. They must take their complaint to Dún na Séad and place it before the Brehon of the Ó hEidersceoil. But the young Brothers were so enraged that they would not listen. Instead, they seized Snagaide and myself and held us, ignoring our pleas, while they flogged Selbach. Their rage was great. And then, before I knew it, someone had thrust his knife into the back of Selbach. I did not see who it was.

“I cried to them that not only a crime had been done but now great sacrilege. I demanded that they surrender themselves to me and to Brother Snagaide. I promised that I would take them to Dún na Séad where they must answer for their deed but I would speak on their behalf.”

Spelán paused and touched the wound on the side of his head once more with a grimace of pain.

“They argued among themselves then but, God forgive them, they found a determined spokesman in a Brother named Fogach who said that they should not be punished for doing what was right and just in the eyes of God. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, they argued. It was right for Selbach to have met his death in compensation for the death of young Brother Sacán. He demanded that I should swear an oath not to betray the events on the island, recording the deaths as accidents. If I protested then they would take the currach and seek a place where they could live in peace and freedom, leaving me and Snagaide on the island until visited by Lorcán or some other boatman from the mainland.”

“Then what happened?” urged Fidelma after the dominus paused.

“Then? As you might expect, I could not make such an oath. Their anger spilt over while I remonstrated with them. More for the fear of the consequences than anger, I would say. One of their number knocked me on the head. I knew nothing else until I came to with the young Sister and the boatman bending over me.”

Fidelma was quiet for a while.

“Tell me, Spelán, what happened to your companion, Brother Snagaide?”

Spelán frowned, looking around as if he expected to find the Brother in a coiner of the cell.

“Snagaide? I do not know, Sister. There was a great deal of shouting and arguing. Then everything went black for me.”

“Was Brother Snagaide young?”

“Most of the brethren, apart from myself and Selbach, were but youths.”

“Did he have fair hair?”

Spelán shook his head to her surprise. Then it was not Snagaide who lay dead on the strand.

“No,” Spelán repeated. “He had black hair.”

“One thing that still puzzles me, Spelán. This is a small island, with a small community. For two years you have lived here in close confines. Yet you say that you did not know about the sadistic tendencies of Abbot Selbach; that each night he took young members of the community to some remote part of the island and inflicted pain on them, yet you did not know? I find this strange.”

Spelán grimaced dourly.

“Strange though it is, Sister, it is the truth. The rest of the community were young. Selbach dominated them. They thought that pain brought them nearer salvation. Being sworn by the Holy Cross never to speak of the whipping given them by the abbot, they remained in silence. Probably they thought that I approved of the whippings. Ah, those poor boys, they suffered in silence until the death of gentle, little Sacán… poor boy, poor boy.”

Tears welled in the dominus’s eyes.

Sister Sárnat reached forward and handed him the cup of water.

Fidelma rose silently and left the cell.

Lorcán followed after her as she went to the quadrangle and stood for a moment in silent reflection.

“A terrible tale, and no mistake,” he commented, his eyes raised absently to the sky. “The Brother is better now, however, and we can leave as soon as you like.”

Fidelma ignored him. Her hands were clasped before her and she was gazing at the ground without focusing on it.

“Sister?” prompted Lorcán.