Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

Sechnasach, lord of Midhe, and High King of Ireland, was a thin man, aged in his mid-thirties, with scowling features and dark hair. He sat slightly hunched forward on his chair, the epitome of gloom.

“Abbot Colmán reports that you have not yet discovered where Ailill has hidden the sword of state, Sister,” he greeted brusquely as he gestured for Sister Fidelma to be seated. “May I remind you that the inauguration ceremony commences at noon tomorrow?”

The High King had agreed to meet her, at her own request, in one of the small audience chambers of the palace of Tara. It was a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling and hung with colorful tapestries. There was a crackling log fire in the great hearth at one end before which the High King sat in his ornate carved oak chair. Pieces of exquisite furniture, brought as gifts to the court from many parts of the world, were placed around the chamber with decorative ornaments in gold and silver and semi-precious jewels.

“That presupposes Ailill stole the sword,” observed Sister Fi-delma calmly as she sat before him. She observed strict protocol. Had she been trained to the degree of Ollamh she could have sat in the High King’s presence without waiting for permission. Indeed, the chief Ollamh of Ireland, at the court of the High King, was so influential that even the High King was not allowed to speak at the Great Assembly before the chief Ollamh. Sister Fi-delma had never been in the presence of a High King before and her mind raced hastily over the correct rituals to be observed.

Sechnasach drew his brows together at her observation.

“You doubt it? But the facts given by Abbot Colmán are surely plain enough? If Ailill did not steal it, who then?”

Sister Fidelma raised a shoulder and let it fall.

“Before I comment further I would ask you some questions, Sechnasach of Tara.”

The High King made a motion of his hand as though to invite her questions.

“Who would gain if you were prevented from assuming the High Kingship?”

Sechnasach grimaced with bitter amusement.

“Ailill, of course. For he stands as Tanist by choice of the Great Assembly.”

Whenever the Great Assembly elected a High King, they also elected a Tanist or “second”; an heir presumptive who would assume office should the High King become indisposed. Should the High King be killed or die suddenly then the Great Assembly would meet to confirm the Tanist as High King but at no time were the five kingdoms left without a supreme potentate. Under the ancient Brehon Law of Ireland, only the most worthy were elected to kingship and there was no such concept of hereditary right by primogeniture such as practiced in the lands of the Saxons or Franks.

“And no one else? There are no other claimants?”

“There are many claimants. My uncle Diarmuid’s son, Cernach, for example, and Ailill’s own brothers, Conall and Colcu. You must know of the conflict between the southern and northern Uí Néill? I am of the southern Uí Néill. Many of the northern Uí Néill would be glad to see me deposed.”

“But none but Ailill stand as the obvious choice to gain by your fall?” pressed Sister Fidelma.

“None.”

Compressing her lips, Sister Fidelma rose.

“That is all at this time, Sechnasach,” she said.

The High King glanced at her in surprise at the abruptness of her questioning.

“You would give me no hope of finding the sacred sword before tomorrow?”

Sister Fidelma detected a pleading tone to his voice.

“There is always hope, Sechnasach. But if I have not solved this mystery by noon tomorrow, at the time of your inauguration, then we will see the resolution in the development of events. Events will solve the puzzle.”

“Little hope of averting strife, then?”

“I do not know,” Sister Fidelma admitted candidly.

She left the audience chamber and was moving down the corridor when a low soprano voice called to her by name from a darkened doorway. Sister Fidelma paused, turned and gazed at the dark figure of a girl.

“Come inside for a moment, Sister.”

Sister Fidelma followed the figure through heavy drapes into a brightly lit chamber.

A young, dark-haired girl in an exquisitely sewn gown of blue, bedecked in jewels, ushered her inside and pulled the drape across the door.

“I am Ornait, sister of Sechnasach,” the girl said breathlessly.

Sister Fidelma bowed her head to the High King’s sister.

“I am at your service, Ornait.”

“I was listening behind the tapestries, just now,” the girl said, blushing a little. “I heard what you were saying to my brother. You don’t believe Ailill stole the sacred sword, do you?”

Sister Fidelma gazed into the girl’s eager, pleading eyes, and smiled softly.

“And you do not want to believe it?” she asked with gentle emphasis.

The girl lowered her gaze, the redness of her cheeks, if anything, increasing.

“I know he could not have done this deed. He would not.” She seized Sister Fidelma’s hand. “I know that if anyone can prove him innocent of this sacrilege it will be you.”

“Then you know then that I am an advocate in the Brehon Court?” asked Sister Fidelma, slightly embarrassed at the girl’s emphatic belief in her ability.

“I have heard of your reputation from a Sister of your order at Kildare.”

“And the night Ailill was arrested in the chapel, he was on his way to see you? It was foolish of him not to tell me.”

Ornait raised her small chin defiantly.

“We love each other!”

“But keep it a secret, even from your brother?”

“Until after my brother’s inauguration as High King, it will remain a secret. When he feels more kindly disposed toward Ailill for standing against him before the Great Assembly, then we shall tell him.”

“You do not think Ailill feels any resentment toward your brother, a resentment which might have motivated him to hide the sacred sword to discredit Sechnasach?”

“Ailill may not agree with my brother on many things but he agrees that the decision of the Great Assembly, under the Brehon Law, is sacred and binding,” replied Ornait, firmly. “And he is not alone in that. My cousin, Cernach Mac Diarmuid, believes that he has a greater right to the High Kingship than Sechnasach. He dislikes my brother’s attitude against any reform suggested by Rome. But Cernach does not come to the age of choice for a while yet when he can legally challenge my brother to the High Kingship. Being too young to challenge for office, Cernach supported Ailill in his claim. It is no crime to be unsuccessful in the challenge for the High Kingship. Once the Great Assembly makes the decision, there is an end to it. No, a thousand times-no! Ailill would not do this thing.”

“Well, Sister?” The Abbot stared at Sister Fidelma with narrowed eyes.

“I have nothing to report at the moment, just another question to ask.”

She had gone to see Abbot Colmán in his study in the abbey building behind the palace of Tara. The Abbot was seated behind a wooden table where he had been examining a colorful illuminated manuscript. He saw her eyes fall on the book and smiled complacently.

“This is the Gospel of John produced by our brothers at Clon-macnoise. A beautiful work which will be sent to our brothers at the Holy Island of Colmcille.”

Sister Fidelma glanced briefly at the magnificently wrought handiwork. It was, indeed, beautiful but her thoughts were occupied elsewhere. She paused a moment before asking:

“If there were civil strife in the kingdom, and from it Ailill was made High King, would he depart from the traditional policies propounded by Sechnasach?”

The Abbot was taken off-guard, his jaw dropping and his eyes rounding in surprise. Then he frowned and appeared to ponder the question for a moment.