Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“So if gold had been discovered, it would have been of benefit to the Uí Failgi?”

“And to his people. It would bring prestige and prosperity to our trade with other kingdoms.”

“Sillán came from the territory of the Uí Máil, might he not have spoken of this enterprise to his own chieftain?”

“He was paid well enough,” frowned the Tanist of the Uí Failgi, his features showing that the thought had already occurred to him.

“But if the Uí Máil, or even the Uí Faeláin to the northeast, knew that there was gold in Kildare, surely this might lead to territorial dispute and warfare for possession of the gold? As you correctly state, there is a war between the Uí Fidgente and Eóganacht of Glendamnách over the mines of Cuillin.”

The Tanist sighed impatiently.

“Kildare is in the territory of the Uí Failgi. If the neighboring chieftains invaded Kildare then the wrong would be theirs and our duty to prevent them.”

“But that is not what I asked. Might this discovery not lead to enmity and warfare?”

“That was why the mission was so secret; why none but Sillán was to know the reason for his being in Kildare.”

“Now Sillán is dead,” mused Sister Fidelma. “Did you know he was leaving here to return to Ráith Imgain tomorrow?”

The Tanist’s face showed his surprise. Then a new look replaced the expression, one of scarcely concealed excitement.

“Which means that he must have found the gold mine!”

Sister Fidelma smiled a little as she sought to follow his reasoning.

“How do you arrive at that conclusion, Tírechán?”

“Because he had only been here eight days and no other reason would cause Sillán to return to the Uí Failgi other than to report his success.”

“That is a broad assumption. Perhaps he was returning because he realized that this search for a legendary gold mine in Kildare was a hopeless task.”

The Tanist ignored her observation.

“Are you sure that he was leaving Kildare tomorrow?”

“He told our timthirig, Follaman, that he would be leaving,” Fidelma assured him.

The Tanist snapped his fingers, his face agitated.

“No, no. The mine must have been found. Sillán would not have given up the search so soon. But where, where did he find it? Where is the mine?”

Sister Fidelma shook her head slowly.

“The more important question to be resolved is how Sillán came by his death.”

“By the grace of God, Sister Fidelma, that is not my task,” the young man replied in a thankful tone. “But my chieftain, the Uí Failgi, will need to know the location of the gold mine which Sillán must have discovered.”

She rose, inviting the Tanist to do so.

“You and your men are doubtless staying the night at our tech-óired. I suggest, Tírechán, that you now go and cleanse the dust of travel from yourself. I will keep you informed of anything that you should know.”

Reluctantly, the Tanist rose and motioned to his bodyguard to open the door of the tech-screpta. On the threshold he turned hesitantly as if he would press her further.

“ Benedictus benedicat,” Sister Fidelma dismissed him firmly. He sighed, grimaced and withdrew.

When he had gone, she resumed her seat and spread her hands, palms downward, on the table. For a moment or so she was completely wrapped in her thoughts, forgetting the presence of Sister Ethne. Finally, the bean-tigh’s rasping cough, as the steward tried to attract her attention, stirred her from her contemplations.

“Is that all now, Sister?” asked the bean-tigh hopefully.

Sister Fidelma rose again with a shake of her head.

“Far from it, Sister Ethne. I should now like to see Sillán’s chamber in the tech-óired. Bring one of the lamps.”

The chamber in the tech-óired, or guest’s hostel, was not dissimilar to the cells occupied by the members of the community. It was a small, dark, grey stone room with a tiny slit of a window over which hung a heavy woven cloth to keep out the chill night air. A small cot of pine wood, with a straw palliasse and blankets, stood in one corner. A stool and a table were the only other furnishings. On the table stood a single candle. The hostel was provided with only poor lights. The candle was simply a single rush peeled and soaked in animal grease. It gave scant light and burned down very quickly which was why Fidelma had the foresight to bring one of the oil lamps with her.

Sister Fidelma paused on the threshold of the room and examined it very carefully as Sister Ethne set down the lamp on the table.

Sillán had apparently already packed for his journey, for a heavy satchel was dumped on the foot of the bed. It was placed next to a smaller work-bag of leather.

Sister Fidelma crossed to the bed and picked up the leather work-bag. It was heavy. She peered inside and saw a collection of tools which, she supposed, were the tools of Sillán’s profession. She laid the bag aside and peered into the satchel. These were Sillán’s personal effects.

Finally, she turned to Sister Ethne.

“I will not be long here. Would you go to the Mother Abbess and tell her that I would like to see her in her chamber within the hour? And I would like to see her alone.”

Sister Ethne sniffed, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, bobbed her head and left the room.

Fidelma turned back to the satchel of personal belongings and took them out one by one, examining them minutely. When she had done so, she explored the interior of the satchel with her fingertips, raising the lamp in one hand and examining the dust on the tips of her fingers with a frown.

She then repeated her careful examination with the tools and implements in Sillán’s work-bag. Once again she ran her hand over the dust in the bottom of the bag and examined it carefully in the light.

Only after a careful examination did she replace everything as she had found it.

Then she lowered herself to her knees and began a microscopic examination of the floor, slowly, inch by inch.

It was when she was peering under the wooden cot that what seemed a small lump of rock came in contact with her hand. Her fingers closed around it and she scrambled backward into the room and held it up to the light of the lamp.

At first sight it seemed, indeed, just a piece of rough-hewn rock. Then she rubbed it on the stone flagged floor and held it once again to the light.

Part of it, where she had abraded it, gleamed a bright yellow.

A satisfied smile spread over her features.

Abbess Ita sat upright in her chair, her calm, composed features just a little too set to be an entirely natural expression. It was as if she had not stirred from the chair since last Fidelma had seen her. Abbess Ita regarded Sister Fidelma with her amber eyes wary as a pine-marten might watch a circling hawk.

“You may be seated, Sister,” the Abbess said. It was an unusual invitation, one showing deference to Sister Fidelma’s legal status rather than her religious one.

“Thank you, Mother Abbess,” Fidelma replied, as she lowered herself into a chair facing Abbess Ita.

“The hour grows late. How does your inquiry progress?”

Sister Fidelma smiled gently.

“It draws towards its conclusion,” she answered. “But I am in need of further information.”

Abbess Ita gestured with one hand, a motion from the wrist only, as if in invitation.

“When Sillán came to see you this afternoon, what was said which caused him anger?”

Abbess Ita blinked; the only reaction which expressed her surprise at the directness of the question.

“Did he come to see me?” she asked slowly, parrying as if playing for time.

Sister Fidelma nodded firmly.