Peter Tremayne - The Subtle Serpent

‘It is not for horses that we have come, Barr,’ Fidelma said.

The man waited, a questioning look on his face.

‘Have you found your daughter yet?’

The man gave a bark of laughter.

‘I have no daughter. What …’

His eyes went wide and a flush of guilt spread across his cheeks. Clearly Barr was not a good liar.

‘Why did you tell the abbess that your daughter was missing?’

Barr stood confused.

‘You were told to go to the abbey, weren’t you?’

‘There was nothing wrong in it,’ protested the farmer. ‘The young man told me to go and ask to see a corpse, pretending that my daughter had gone missing and that I was anxious to identify whether it was her or not.’

‘Of course. He offered you money?’

‘Enough to buy three good horses.’ The farmer pulled a face. ‘You see, I bargained with him. He was most anxious for my services.’

‘And exactly what were you supposed to do?’

‘Just look at the corpse, very carefully, mind you, and report back to the young man with a description.’

‘A description?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘And that is all?’

‘Yes. It was easy money.’

‘Achieved by lying to the abbess and her community,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘Had you seen this young man before?’

‘No. Only when he stayed the night waiting for the woman.’

‘He stayed a night? Waiting for what woman?’

‘Some woman was supposed to meet him at my farm. She didn’t turn up. The next morning he went off but returned on the following morning and that is when we made our bargain.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Better still. He had servants with him, I heard one of his men call him by name. It was the lord Torcán.

It was two days later, just as the community of the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells were emerging from the refectory having had the first meal of the day, that another warship came sailing into the inlet and took its station between Ross’s barc , the Gaulish merchant ship and theLoigde warship. It, too, bore the banners of the Loigde and of Cashel streaming from its masts.

Fidelma and Eadulf followed on the heels of Abbess Draigen, Beccan and Ross down to the quay to watch a small boat being launched from the newcomer. They could see a muscular young sailor taking the oars while a becloaked religieux sat incongruously next to a lean-looking warrior in the stern. As the boat came alongside the wooden quay, the agile warrior jumped ashore first while the religieux had to be helped out by the sailor.

The warrior came up to Beccan, whom he clearly recognised, and saluted him.

‘This is Mail of the Loigde,’ introduced Beccan. But he stood uncertainly while the warrior’s companion, a cherub-faced young man clad as a brother of the faith, came up and saluted them with a general gesture. The young monk was pleasant looking. In spite of his ruddy cheeks, and soft baby-like features, there was something which gave him an aura of command.

‘I am Brother Cillín of Mullach,’ he announced.

Mail, the warrior, obviously decided that a further introduction was needed.

‘Brother Cillín has recently served at Ros Ailithir. He was sent by Abbot Brocc and Bran Finn to this place after they heard of the sad state of affairs.’

Brother Cillín regarded them solemnly.

‘I have effectively been given charge of all the religious on this peninsula.’

There was an audible gasp from Abbess Draigen. Cillín heard it and smiled as he let his eyes flicker in her direction.

‘I am given the task by Abbot Brocc to reorganise the religious and try to return them to the ways of the Faith and obedience to their lawful rulers. I will be here but a day or so before starting north for Gulban’s capital.’

Fidelma caught sight of the expression on the abbess’s features. Clearly she would not greet Cillín in friendship.

‘Brother Cillín,’ Fidelma stepped forward and greeted the monk, performing the introductions. ‘Do you bring any news from Ros Ailithir?’

‘I do, indeed, sister. I do indeed. Eoganán and his rebels have made their move. Have you not heard the news of this?’

Anxiety immediately tugged at Fidelma’s heart.

‘You mean Eoganán has actually risen against Cashel? What news of my brother, Colgú?’ She tried to keep anxiety out of her voice.

‘Have no fear,’ Mail, the warrior, replied quickly. ‘Colgú is safe in Cashel. The insurrection is over. Indeed, it was over almost before it had begun.’

‘Do you have details?’ asked Beccan. Fidelma was too relieved to speak.

‘It appears that Colgú ordered his warriors to strike against Eoganán and the Ui Fidgenti before they were prepared. The insurrection was planned for spring when the ground would have been harder and they could move their Frankish engines of destruction which Gulban had acquired. The Arada clan led the attack directly into the territory of the Ui Fidgenti.’

‘Go on,’ urged Fidelma. She knew the clan of the Arada Cliach held a territory to the west of Cashel, standing between the ancient capital and the lands of the Ui Fidgenti. They were a people renowned for their horsemanship as, in ancient times, they had been famed throughout the five kingdoms as charioteers.

Mail continued, obviously liking the role of newsbringer.

‘Eoganán found that he could not wait for the help that he was expecting from Gulban and had to muster his clansmen to defend himself. The two armies met at the foot of the Hill of Aine.’

Fidelma had been to the Hill of Aine in her travels. It was a low, isolated hill where an ancient fortress stood, dominating the surrounding plains. It was said to be the throne of the goddess whose name it bore.

‘The casualties were light …’

‘Deo gratias!’ interposed Beccan.

‘The victory went to the Arada and to Cashel. The Ui Fidgenti fled the field leaving, among many other dead rebels, Eoganán, their prince and self-proclaimed king. Cashel is safe. Your brother is well.’

Fidelma was silent for a long time, standing with head bowed.

‘And what news of Gulban and his Frankish mercenaries?’ asked Eadulf.

This time it was the young monk, Cillín, who supplied the answer.

‘One of our warships had already been alerted by Ross here a few days ago and sailed directly to Gulban’s copper mines just in time to find Gulban in personal command of moving his accursed alien machines of destruction. What were they called? Tormenta? The Loigde warriors attacked before Gulban could organise a defence and all his engines of destruction were burnt and destroyed. The Franks, those who were not killed, that is, were captured. There were some Gaulish and other prisoners there, and these have now been released.’

‘And when did that event happen?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Four days since,’ replied Mail frowning. ‘Why is it so important to know the exact dates? Are you engaged in writing a chronicle, sister?’

‘A chronicle?’ Fidelma chuckled loudly in her amusement, causing the others to stare at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Ah, my friend, you are so very close to the truth. Four days?’ Fidelma was satisfied. ‘Then I think, Beccan,’ she turned to the elderly judge, ‘we need to delay no further. I shall be able to argue a case as to the identity of the person responsible for the terrible deaths in this abbey as soon as you wish.’

‘What?’ It was the Abbess Draigen who spoke up. ‘Surely that matter is already cleared up? It was the son of Eoganánwho was responsible; Torcán of the Ui Fidgenti. It is a matter of Beccan here simply concurring …’

‘Is Torcan, the son of Eoganán here?’ interrupted Mail, his face eager, as he turned to the abbess. ‘I have orders to take him to Cashel. He is to be held for his involvement in the conspiracy with his father.’