Peter Tremayne - The Subtle Serpent

Ten minutes later she found Olcán seated in the duirthech, the oak chapel of the abbey. The fire was alight in the brazier at the back of the chapel and this seemed the only place of warmth outside of the forbidden confines of the domains of the community where visitors could shelter from the elements.

‘A good morning to you, sister,’ Olcán rose. He seemed bright and smiling. ‘I understand that you overslept?’

Fidelma wished Sister Brónach would have been more circumspect with her information.

‘The feast that Adnár prepared last evening was a pleasant one,’ she countered. ‘The excellent wine and good food is not everyday fare for me. I fear I indulged too freely of its richness.’

‘Yet you left early,’ Olcán remarked.

Fidelma kept her face straight, trying to deduce whether there was any innuendo in the young man’s tone.

‘Early for you but not for one of the Faith,’ she replied. ‘It was midnight as I came to the abbey.’

‘And now it is well after the eighth hour,’ Olcán said, rising and stretching himself before the brazier. He strode to one ofthe windows of the chapel which gave a view across the inlet. ‘I see Ross’s barc has sailed again. It must have gone on the early morning tide.’

Was Olcán playing some subtle game with her? She could not see where his remarks were leading.

She crossed to join him and looked out across the bay. Only the Gaulish merchant ship, with its tall masts, was riding at anchor on the calm blue waters. Silently, she breathed a sigh of relief that Ross had departed unnoticed.

‘So it has,’ she said, as if it were news to her.

Olcan glanced searchingly at her.

‘You did not know that he was leaving?’ The question was sudden and spoken sharply.

‘Ross does not confide his business in me. I know he trades along this coast regularly. I presume he will return eventually. He has not only left some of his crew here to look after the ship he claims as salvage,’ she indicated the merchant ship, ‘but he is to transport me back to Ros Ailithir when I have concluded my investigation.’

‘And is this investigation concluded?’

‘As I said, last night, there is still much to learn and much to consider.’

‘Ah? I thought that there might have been some developments.’

Fidelma managed to look at him with a bewildered expression.

‘Some developments? Since I left the feast last night? No one has awakened me to inform me of any developments.’

‘I meant …’ Olcán hesitated and then shrugged. ‘I meant nothing. It was just an idea.’

He hesitated awkwardly.

‘Sister Brónach said that you wanted to see me,’ Fidelma now pressed her advantage. ‘I presume that it was something other than to see if I had slept well and to inform me that Ross’s ship had gone?’

Olcán looked confused for a moment at the slight sarcasm in her voice.

‘Oh, it was just that Torcán and I are going hunting. We wondered whether you might join us for you said, when first we met, you would like to see some of the ancient sites of this peninsula and we will be passing some fascinating spots.’

Fidelma kept her features solemn. It was obvious that this excuse had only just occurred to Olcán.

‘I thank you for the idea. Today I have to continue my inquiries here.’

‘Then, if you will forgive me, sister, I will rejoin Torcán and set off. Adnár’s master huntsman has spotted a small herd of deer on the mountain to the west.’

Fidelma watched the young man pulling his cloak around him as he strode out of the chapel. She followed him to the door and studied his retreating figure as he walked across the courtyard and through the buildings. A moment later, she saw him mounted on a horse, riding swiftly off through the woods in the direction of Adnár’s fortress.

It was clear to her what Olcán’s purpose had been.

She hurried back to the guests’ hostel and found Sister Brónach.

‘I am sorry that I overslept, sister,’ she greeted. ‘I feasted with Adnár last night. Is there a possibility that there is something with which I might break my fast for I have missed the call to the refectory.’

Sister Brónach regarded her with curiosity for a moment.

‘A long feast it must have been,’ she observed slyly, turning into the common room of the guests’ hostel. ‘I have already laid a platter for you, sister, realising that you had missed the first meal of the day.’

Fidelma slid gratefully into a chair. Dishes with some hardboiled goose eggs, some leaven bread and honey were placed before her with a small jug of mead. Fidelma washelping herself when she suddenly realised the meaning of Sister Brónach’s remark and she glanced at the mournful-faced sister questioningly.

Sister Brónach almost smiled as she answered the unasked question.

‘I have been too long in charge of this guests’ hostel not to know the comings and goings of the guests.’

‘I see,’ Fidelma was reflective.

‘However,’ continued the doorkeeper of the abbey, ‘it is not my position to question the hours our guests keep so long as they do not interfere with the running of this community.’

‘Sister Brónach, you know why I am here. It is essential that my absence from the abbey is not generally known. Do I have your word on this?’

The middle-aged doirseór of the abbey grimaced almost disdainfully.

‘I have said as much.’

After breakfast, Fidelma made her way towards the library. On the way she met the Abbess Draigen who greeted her with disapproval.

‘You seem no nearer to solving this mystery than when you first arrived,’ the abbess opened in a sneering tone.

Fidelma did not rise to the bait.

‘On the contrary, mother abbess,’ she replied, brightly, ‘I think much progress has been made.’

‘Progress? Another murder has been committed, that of Sister Siomha, while you were investigating. Is that progress? It seems to be remarkably akin to incompetence so far as I judge.’

‘Do you know much of the history of this abbey?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring the thrust.

Abbess Draigen looked a little disconcerted.

‘What has the history of the abbey to do with your investigation?’

‘Do you know of the history?’ insisted Fidelma, ignoring her counter question.

‘Sister Comnat would have been able to tell you, if she were here,’ replied the abbess. ‘The abbey was formed a century ago by the Blessed Necht the Pure.’

‘That much I have heard. How did she come to choose this spot?’

Abbess Draigen raised a hand to encompass the abbey buildings.

‘Is it not as beautiful a spot as any to set up a foundation to the new Faith?’

‘Indeed it is. But I have heard that the wells here were used by the pagan priests.’

‘Necht blessed and purified them.’

‘So this was a spot actually dedicated to the old faith before it became Christian?’

‘Yes. The story is that Necht came here and debated the doctrine of Christ with Dedelchú, chieftain of the pagans who lived here in the caves.’

‘Dedelchú?’

‘So the story is handed down to us.’

‘Do you know why Necht called this abbey that of The Salmon of the Three Wells?’

‘You should know that “The Salmon of the Three Wells” is a euphemism for the Christ.’

‘But there are also three wells here.’

‘That is so. A pleasing coincidence.’

‘In pagan times some of the ancient wells were claimed to have a salmon of knowledge dwelling at the bottom.’

Abbess Draigen merely shrugged.

‘I cannot see why you are so interested in ancient beliefs. But it is well known that the “Salmon of Knowledge” was a powerful image in ancient belief. It could well be why we hail the Christ as The Salmon of the Three Wells, expressing him as part of the trinity but fountain of knowledge. Surely that is not a matter to get us any further along the road to finding the person who is culpable of the murders committed here?’