Peter Tremayne - The Subtle Serpent

‘Do you know anything more about that story?’

The young religieuse shook her head.

‘Only that it was symbolic, I believe. I mean, the story about the pagan priest being able to kill Cormac by three salmon bones.’

‘Three salmon bones?’ asked Fidelma quickly. ‘What symbolism do you read into that?’

‘I think it was probably meant as an indication of the identity of the pagan priest. Cormac may have been murdered but there was no means of deliberately causing three salmon bones to stick in a person’s gullet unless you accept such a thing as evil magic.’ Berrach smiled ruefully. ‘And I think you helped to persuade the community here that such things as witchcraft and magic did not exist.’

‘What else is known of this cult of the gold calf?’

‘Little enough. The entry in the annals of Clonmacnoise is,so far as I know, the only reference to the creation and worship of this idol, this great golden calf. I have read several other annals but no one else mentions the cult of the golden calf. Why,’ she added, ‘if such a fabulous idol existed, it must have been worth a great fortune.’

There was a soft scuffle on the stair. It was faint but Fidelma caught it and turned sharply, motioning Sister Berrach to silence. She was about to move across to the stairway when the head and shoulders of Sister Brónach appeared. In spite of the semi-gloom, Fidelma could see that she wore a sheepish expression.

‘I am sorry to disturb you. I was on my way to the clepsydra.’

Fidelma felt that it was an excuse hurriedly invented but Sister Berrach did not seem to notice anything out of place. She smiled happily at Sister Brónach who continued her way on to the next floor. Fidelma turned back to Berrach and resumed her conversation.

‘If I remember correctly, King Cormac died nearly four hundred years ago, is that right?’

‘That is right.’

‘Can you remember anything else about Cormac and this golden calf?’

Sister Berrach shook her head.

‘No, but I know that Sister Comnat recently bought a copy of Cormac’s instructions from a beggar. The book called the Teagasg Ri , Instructions of the King. An old man who lived up in the mountains here came to the abbey one day and told Comnat that his family had kept the copy for a long while but wanted to exchange it for food. I was passing by and heard the conversation. If you are interested in Cormac then it is worthwhile reading. It is in the library.’

Fidelma did not reply that she already knew that Cormac’s book of instructions was in the library and, indeed, she had glanced through the copy which, as she recalled, had been soiled with red mud.

‘When did that transaction take place?’

‘Not long ago. About a week before Sister Comnat and Sister Almu left on their journey to Ard Fhearta.’

Fidelma stood up, took a candle and lit it.

‘Thank you, Sister Berrach. I’ll go to look for that book now. You’ve been a great help.’

The Instructions of Cormac, Teagasg Rí, was hanging in its book satchel from a peg. She took it out and looked round for a seat. Placing the candle on a ledge nearby she opened it and began to turn the vellum pages. Once more she observed the strange brown red mud stains over the book. But the book was slightly different to the last time she had glanced through it. She wished she had paid more attention to it then. She realised that two vellum pages were now missing. It was clear that they had been cut recently with a sharp blade, presumably a knife, for the next page was scored where the line had been cut.

Why had these pages been removed?

She examined the text carefully.

The section was nothing to do with the main part of the book which was the actual philosophies of King Cormac. This was an addition to the book which was an essay about the life of the High King. She could decipher nothing by looking at the preceding and proceeding pages. She turned to the opening page, seeking some other information.

The book was an old one. The style was crude enough. It had not been written by a trained scribe, of that she was certain. The main work was clearly copied, which was not surprising, but the little biography of Cormac was something new to her and seemed provincial in attitude. She wished now that Sister Comnat had remained on the Gaulish ship with Brother Eadulf. She would have been able to consult with her about the missing pages.

Eadulf! She suddenly realised that she had not even thought about him since she had dragged her tired body into her bed early that morning. She felt a momentary pleasurethat he was alive, safe and well. Then, as her mind turned to her escapade of the previous night, she suddenly felt exhausted. She would have to give way to sleep for a short time.

She stood up and returned the book into the leather satchel and yawned, feeling a bone in her jaw crack in protest. She rubbed the tender spot for a moment. Then she took up the candle and was about to blow it out. Then she remembered the word ‘Dedal’ and found Longarad’s Glossary. She was not surprised when she saw what the definition of the word was.

Another thought struck her.

Stifling a second yawn, she took the candle, shielding it from the draught, and, leaving the library, made her way down the stairway in the corner. Pausing halfway down she saw that the blood was dried on the side of the passage. There was little doubt in her mind that it was Síomha’s blood. Had the sister been killed below in the subterraneus and carried up into the tower or killed in the tower and her head carried …?

She descended on into the depths. She paused again. There it was, the vaulted entrance and the scratch marks over it. She reached up a hand and allowed a finger to trace the outline of the primitive animal. Then she sighed.

‘Dedelchú!’ she whispered to herself. ‘The hound of Dedel.’

She passed through the entrance into the vaulted cave and examined it carefully in the flickering light of the lantern.

The place where the corpse had been laid no longer had the four candles around it. It was a flat, oblong rock which the sisters apparently used as some sort of table. Starting on the right side, Fidelma began to walk carefully around the walls of the cave examining everything as painstakingly as she was able in the flickering faint light. There was little to examine. The only contents of the cave were the large boxes piled on top of each other at one side of the cave and the row of amphorae and other containers with their odour of wines and spirits.

A close search of the cave revealed nothing more than that it was a large cave with only the two entrances: one by the stairs from the stone store house; the other by the stairs directly from the tower. She stood to one side and gazed into the gloom with frustration. She was about to turn to leave when a sudden sound caused her to start and the candle go jumping in her hand.

It was a hollow, booming sound. Like the sound of two wooden ships knocking together.

It seemed to echo from just behind her. But there was nothing behind her but solid grey stone — the stone of the cave walls. She turned, her mind working rapidly as she stared at the solid rocks seeking some clue. Then again, there came the hollow boom as if two vessels were banging together. She placed a hand against the cold, damp rock and waited. There was nothing but silence.

She was about to turn away when she noticed a dark patch on the rocky floor. She bent down and found it was earth. Still damp and cloying. It was red brown. She saw that it was in irregular patches as if someone had trodden in the muddy earth and then proceeded to walk through the cave. She followed the trail away from the direction of the entrance, as the only logical path to take, and came up against the wooden boxes stacked against a wall.