Peter Tremayne - The Subtle Serpent

‘Ha!’ Olcán was smirking, ‘I believe, Torcán, that you have allowed yourself to become a suspect in the good sister’s eyes? Isn’t that so, Sister Fidelma?’

She ignored his mocking tone.

‘Not so,’ replied Torcán, his eyes serious. ‘I think that Sister Fidelma would know that if I had devised such an atrocious way of leaving murdered corpses about the countryside, I would not have started to prattle about its symbolism and so draw attention to myself.’

Fidelma inclined her head towards him.

‘On the other hand,’ she smiled grimly, ‘it may well be that you would do that very thing to argue this point in order to throw me off the scent.’

Olcán was chuckling now and clapped his friend, Torcán on the shoulder.

‘There you are! You will now have to find a dálaigh to defend you.’

‘Nonsense!’ For a moment Torcán looked worried. ‘I wasn’t even here when the first murder, of which you were speaking, was committed …’

He caught himself and grinned sheepishly as he realised that he was the butt of his friend’s humour.

‘Olcán has an odd sense of humour,’ Adnár apologised. ‘I am sure Fidelma is not serious in saying that you might be a culprit.’

‘I do not think I even mentioned such an idea in the first place,’ she said evasively. ‘I was merely responding to Torcán’s hypothetical argument. The last person that I would tell if he or she was a suspect is the suspect themselves … unless I had a purpose for it.’

‘Well said,’ Adnár said, ignoring the final point. ‘Let us cease this morbid talk of bodies and murder.’

‘I apologise,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But bodies and murder are, unfortunately, part of my world. I am, nevertheless, indebtedto Torcán for his knowledge. Your information on old customs is most helpful.’

Torcán was deprecating.

‘I am interested in the old warrior codes and modes of battle, but that is all.’

‘Ah? I thought you had a fascination with our history and ancient annals?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Me? No. It is Olcán here and Adnár that like to delve into ancient books. Not me. Do not be misled by my talk of ancient warrior codes. One is taught this as part of a warrior’s education.’

For a moment Fidelma wondered whether to follow this up by asking Torcán why he had requested the abbey library to send him the copy of the annals of Clonmacnoise. However, before she could continue, Brother Febal said: ‘I see that Ross and his ship have returned.’

Everyone had noticed Ross’s ship sail into the inlet that afternoon. There was no need for comment.

Olcán was helping himself to more wine. His thin face was flushed and he seemed to be imbibing with a healthy thirst.

‘I am told that his ship was seen at the island of Dóirse, further down the coast,’ continued Brother Febal.

This time she could not ignore the obvious invitation to respond. She hid her annoyance at the excellence of communication among Gulban’s people.

‘I believe that Ross trades regularly along the coast,’ she replied.

‘I would have thought there was little trade to be had on Dóirse. It is a bleak, windswept island,’ Adnár observed.

‘I am not acquainted with the trading conditions along this coast,’ Fidelma responded.

There was a movement and some servants entered to clear away the dishes and presented a variety of new dishes for dessert with apples, honey, and nuts of many varieties.

‘We do a good trade in copper from our mines near here,’ offered Olcán as he helped himself to more wine.

Fidelma was pretending to examine the dish of nuts but she had the impression that Torcán was gazing at her as if trying to examine her reactions.

‘I have heard that there are many copper mines in this district.’ It was better to stick to truth as far as it was possible. ‘Do you do much foreign trade?’

‘Gaulish ships sometimes come and trade wine for copper,’ Adnár answered.

Fidelma raised her goblet as if in toast.

‘It seems a good exchange,’ she smiled. ‘Especially if this wine is anything to go by.’

Adnár deflected any further questions by offering her more wine.

‘How is your brother, our king?’ Torcán asked the question abruptly.

At once Fidelma felt a new tension around the table. She was suddenly on her guard wondering if the stories that Ross had picked up were true. She had been wondering how to raise this topic without alerting suspicion. She must be careful.

‘My brother Colgú? I have not seen him since the judgment at Ros Ailithir.’

‘Ah yes; my father was there,’ replied Olcán helping himself to an apple.

‘As was mine,’ Torcán added coldly. ‘I hear that Colgú claims many grand new plans for Muman.’

Fidelma was dismissive.

‘I have seen my brother only the one time since he became king at Cashel,’ she said. ‘My community is at Kildare, at the house of the Blessed Brigit. I have not interested myself in the affairs of Muman very much.’

‘Ah,’ the syllable was a soft breath from Torcán.

Olcán turned a now somewhat bleary eye towards her.

‘But you were at Ros Ailithir when the Loígde assembly rejected my father’s claims for chieftainship and hailed Bran Finn Mael Ochtraighe as chieftain?’

Fidelma admitted as much.

‘That upset my father greatly. You know all about Bran Finn, of course?’

She detected that the others had become uneasy.

‘Who has not?’ she replied. ‘He has a reputation as a poet and a warrior.’

‘My father, Gulban, thinks he is an usurper.’

‘Olcán!’ Torcán turned with a warning look on the young man who was clearly the worse for his wine.

‘I hope he will prove a better chieftain than Salbach,’ Fidelma rejoined.

She saw Adnár cast what appeared to be a warning glance at Torcán, nodding in the direction of Olcán, before turning with a bland smile to Fidelma.

‘I am sure he will,’ the chieftain of Dún Boí assured her. ‘He has the good wishes of the people behind him, as does your brother Colgú. Isn’t that so, Torcán?’

‘Not so, according to my father, Gulban,’ muttered Olcán.

‘Ignore him, Sister Fidelma,’ Torcán said. ‘The wine is in, the wit is out.’

‘Of course,’ Fidelma said gravely but the words of the old Roman proverb had come to mind; in vino veritas, in wine there is truth.

Torcán raised his head.

‘Indeed, we hope to be in Cashel soon to give our allegiance to Colgú personally.’

Olcán suddenly spluttered into his goblet, spilling some of the contents over him. He began coughing fiercely.

‘Something … something went down the wrong way,’ he gasped, looking sheepishly around him.

Torcán, with a frown, handed him some water to drink.

‘It is evident that you have drunk enough wine this evening,’ he reproved sharply.

But Fidelma was rising, realising the lateness of the hour.

‘It is near midnight. I must return to the abbey.’

Must you go?’ Torcán was pleasantry personified. ‘Adnárhere prides himself on his musicians and we have yet to listen to their accomplishments.’

‘Thank you, but I must return.’

Adnár waved to a servant to come forward and issued whispered instructions.

‘I have ordered the boat to take you back. Perhaps you will come and listen to my musicians some other time?’

‘That I will,’ replied Fidelma as an attendant brought her shoes and helped her fasten her cloak around her shoulders.

As the boat pulled away from the jetty of Dún Boí into the darkness of the night, Fidelma felt a relief to be out of the dark, brooding walls of the fortress. She had a feeling that she had passed along a knife edge between safety and extreme peril.