The Subtle Serpent

for the scribes and copyists of the community. It was empty now but there were writing tables ready with piles of quills of geese, swans, and crows ready to be sharpened. Writing boards with vellum, the stretched skins of sheep, goat and calves, stood ready. Pots of ink made from carbon, black and durable.

Fidelma glanced around and presumed that the scriptors who occupied the copying room were at their midday meal following the noon Angelus. The pale sun infiltrated into the room from the southern and western windows, illuminating it in a sharp beam of translucent light, making it seem warm and comfortable in spite of the chill air. It was a spacious and secure place to work in, she reflected. From here the view was breathtaking. To the south and west, through the windows, she could see the shimmering sea and encompassing headlands around the inlet. The Gaulish ship still rode at anchor. The sails were furled but she could see no sign of Odar and his men on board. She presumed they were resting or at their noonday meal. The water sparkled around the vessel reflecting the pastel colour of the clear sky. Looking due west she could see the fortress of Adnár and turning to the north and east, she could see the forests and the rising snow-capped peaks of the mountains behind the abbey,peaks which ran along the peninsula like the ridged back of a lizard.

She moved across to the northern window and peered out. Below her the buildings of the abbey stretched around the large clearing on the low-lying headland. The place seemed deserted now, confirming her belief that the sisters were eating their midday meal in the refectory. The abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells was certainly situated in a most beautiful spot. The high cross stood tall and white in the sun. Immediately below was the courtyard, with its central sundial. There were numerous unconnected buildings forming the sides of the courtyard with the large wooden church, the duirthech, which ran along the southern side of the paved yard. Behind the main buildings fronting the courtyard were several other structures of wood, and a few of stone, in which the community lived and worked.

Fidelma was about to turn back into the room when she caught a slight movement on a track about half a mile distant from the abbey. It was a track that seemed to wend its way down from the mountains and disappear behind the tree line, heading, presumably, in the direction of Adnár’s fortress. A dozen riders were cautiously guiding their horses along this road. Fidelma screwed her eyes to sharpen the vision. Behind the horsemen, more men were trotting on foot. She felt sorry for them as she saw they were hard pressed to keep up with the riders on the sloping, rocky ground.

She could make out nothing, except that the foremost riders were richly accoutred. The sun splashed on the vivid colours of their dress and sparkled and blazed on the burnished shields of several of the mounted men. At the head of the column, one of the riders carried a banner on a long pole. A stream of silk, with some emblem which she could not discern, snapped and twisted in the breeze. She frowned at some strange shape on one of the riders’ shoulders. From this distance, her first glance made it initially seem as if hehad two heads. No! She could now and then see a movement from the shape and realised that perched on this rider’s shoulder was a large hawk. The line of riders, with those following on foot, eventually passed down below the tree line and out of her vision.

Fidelma stood a few moments wondering if she would catch sight of them again but the thick surrounding oak forest hid them from view now that they were down off the high ground. She wondered who they were and then gave a mental shrug. It was no use wasting time wondering when she did not have the ability to resolve the answer.

She turned away from the window and made her way to the steps that led to the fourth and highest room of the tower.

She entered through the trap door into this upper room without pausing to knock or otherwise announce her presence.

Sister Síomha was bending over a large bronze basin which stood on a stone fireplace and was steaming gently. The rechtaire of the community glanced up with an angry frown and then let her expression change a little when she recognised Fidelma.

‘I was wondering when you would come,’ the steward of the community greeted her in an irritable tone.

For once, Fidelma found herself without words. Her eyes involuntarily widened.

Sister Síomha paused to adjust a small copper bowl which was floating on top of the steaming bronze basin before straightening up and turning to face Fidelma.

Once more Fidelma found the angelic heart-shaped face difficult to equate with the attitude and office of rechtaire. Fidelma examined her carefully, registering that the eyes were large and of an amber colour. The lips were full and here and there a strand of brown hair poked from under her head dress. A disarming splash of freckles daubed her face. The young sister gave an impression of wide-eyed innocence. Yet something sparkled deep within those amber eyes, anexpression that Fidelma had difficulty in interpreting. It was a restless, angry fire.

Fidelma drew her brows together and tried to recover her feeling of annoyance.

‘We agreed to meet at the guests’ hostel at noon,’ she began but to her surprise the young sister shook her head firmly.

‘We did not agree,’ she replied in an abrupt tone. ‘You told me to be there at noon and then walked away before I could answer.’

Fidelma was taken aback. It was certainly one interpretation of the exchange. However, one had to bear in mind the young girl’s initial haughty presumption that had made Fidelma react in order to curb her insolence and disrespect for Fidelma’s office. Obviously, no lesson had been learned and now Fidelma had been placed on a wrong footing.

‘You realise, Sister Síomha, that I am an attorney of the court and have certain rights? I summoned you before me as a witness and failure to obey my summons results in your liability to a fine.’

Sister Síomha sneered arrogantly.

‘I have no concern for your law. I am steward of this community and my responsibilities here require my attention. My first duty is to my abbess and to the Rule of this community.’

Fidelma swallowed sharply.

She was unsure whether the younger sister was innocently obstructive or merely wilful.

‘Then you have much to learn,’ Fidelma finally replied with bite. ‘You will pay me such fine as I judge worthy and, to ensure your compliance, this will be done before the Abbess Draigen. In the meantime, you will tell me how you came to be with Sister Brónach when the corpse was drawn from the well.’

Sister Síomha opened her mouth as if to dispute with Fidelma but she changed her mind. Instead, she moved to a chair and slumped in it. There was no indication in themovement of her body that her carriage was that of a religieuse. There was no calm poise, no modest folding of her hands, no contemplative submission. Her body spoke of aggression and arrogance.

It was the only seat in the room and there was nothing for Fidelma to do but to stand before the seated girl. Fidelma quickly cast a glance around. The room, like the others before, had four open windows but these were larger than those on the lower floors. There was a stack of small logs and twigs on one side of this room. On the other side was the stone fireplace whose smoke escaped through the western aperture, though, with the changing breeze, sometimes the smoke blew back into the room causing a pungent odour of woodsmoke. A small table, with writing tablets and a few graib, or metal writing stylus, on it, was the only other furniture in the room. However, before the north window, there stood a large copper gong and a stick.

A ladder in another corner gave access to the flat roof of the tower on which, she knew, stood the structure from which hung a large bronze bell. At the appropriate time of service and prayer, a sister would climb up to ring it.

All this, Fidelma took in during her brief glance. Then she turned her gaze back to the discourteously seated Sister Síomha.

‘You have not replied to my question,’ Fidelma said quietly.

‘Sister Brónach undoubtedly told you what happened,’ she answered stubbornly.

Fidelma’s expression held a dangerous fire.

‘And now you will tell me.’

The steward repressed a sigh. She made her voice wooden, like a child repeating a well-known lesson.

‘It was Sister Brónach’s task to draw water from the well. When the Abbess Draigen returned from