The Subtle Serpent

cold response seemed to impede her power of speech. She simply stared at Fidelma, with hostility showing in her expression.

Fidelma felt a pang of regret for her behaviour. She knew that she was behaving disrespectfully, although within her rights as a dálaigh, but there was much on her mind and she felt she had little time for meticulous observance of the conventions. She decided to unbend a little and leant forward with a look that she meant as friendly.

‘Abbess Draigen, I must be blunt for time precludes any other course. I was abrupt with Sister Síomha because I had to cut through her vanity to find answers to my questions. She is very young to hold the position of a house steward. Perhaps, too young?’

Abbess Draigen remained silent for a moment and then she retorted icily: ‘Do you question my choice of a house steward?’

‘You are best suited to make your own decisions, mother abbess,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I observe merely that Sister Síomha is very young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Her inexperience leads to her arrogance. Surely, you have other members of your community who are equally capable to take on the position of rechtaire of the community? Sister Brónach for example?’

Abbess Draigen’s eyes narrowed.

‘Sister Brónach She is introverted and lacks ability. My choice was made carefully. You may be a dálaigh of the courts but I am abbess here and I make the decisions.’

Fidelma spread her hands.

‘I would not dream of interfering. But I speak as I find. It was my response to Sister Síomha’s conceit and her insolence towards me that made me act as I did.’

Abbess Draigen sniffed.

‘You seemed to imply that Sister Síomha was somehow connected with the corpse. I hardly think that was merely a reaction to someone’s personality.’

Fidelma smiled quickly. Sister Síomha was not unintelligent and had doubtless given Draigen a full report.

‘There were some answers that I was not happy with, abbess,’ she confided. ‘And since we are speaking of this matter, I would like to ask some questions of you.’

Abbess Draigen’s mouth tightened.

‘I have not finished with the matter of the complaints of Sister Síomha.’

‘We will return to that matter in a moment,’ Fidelma assured her with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘How long have you been abbess here?’

It was such an abrupt change of questioning that the abbess jerked her head back in surprise and studied Fidelma’s face carefully. Seeing her calm resolution, the abbess sat back on her chair.

‘I have been abbess of this community for six years. Previously to that I, too, was rechtaire here.’

‘For how long?’

‘Four years.’

‘And before that?’

‘I was of the community here for over ten years.’

‘So you have been here twenty years in all? Are you from this part of the country?’

‘I do not see what this has to do with the matter you are investigating?’

‘It is just to give me some background,’ cajoled Fidelma. ‘Are you from this area?’

‘I am. My father was an óc-aire; a free clansman of this area who owned his own land but which was not adequate enough to render him self-sufficient.’

‘So you joined this community?’

Abbess Draigen’s eyes flashed.

‘I did not have to, if that is what you imply! I was free to do what I wanted in life.’

‘I made no such comment.’

‘My father was a proud man. They called him Adnár Mhór — Adnár the Great.’

Abbess Draigen’s mouth snapped shut as if she realised that she had said too much.

‘Adnár?’ Fidelma moved forward in her seat and gazed closely at Draigen. Now she realised what she saw in the face of the abbess and her neighbour the bó-aire.

‘Is Adnár of Dún Boí your brother?’

Abbess Draigen did not deny it.

‘You do not get on with your brother.’

It was an observation but Abbess Draigen did not hide her look of distaste.

‘My brother is nothing that his name implies,’ she said tightly.

Fidelma smiled softly. The meaning of the name Adnár was one who was very modest.

‘Since you observe the meaning of names, I presume that you were the staff of your family?’

Draigen’s mouth quirked into a smile. Her name meant ‘blackthorn’ and she conceded Fidelma was a worthy opponent with word games.

‘My brother Adnár left my father just when my father needed help to work his land. My mother had died and the strength had gone out of my father … the very will to pit his wits against the soil and sustain a living. Adnár went off to serve the chieftain of Beara — Gulban the Hawk-Eyed — who was raiding against the northern clans. When Adnár returned with cattle, as his reward for his services, my father was already dead. I had joined this community and my father’s land had been sold and donated to the abbey. That is why my brother became a bó-aire — a cattle chief, a chieftain without land but with wealth which he increases by his service to Gulban.’

The vehemence with which she spoke was such to give Fidelma an indication that the story had never been told before and that Draigen was using Fidelma to release her anger against her brother.

‘I see no reason in this story why you and Adnár should hate each other so violently, unless there was an argument over the disposal of your father’s land?’

Draigen did not deny her ill-feelings for her brother.

‘Hate? Hate is, perhaps, too strong a word. I despise Adnár. My father and mother should have lived out an old age on their land, watching their son rewarding them for his good health and secure upbringing by continuing to farm what they had wrenched from nature. They died too early. My father died doing work he was no longer fit to do. But enmity did start when Adnár demanded our father’s land on his return.’

‘So you blame your brother for your father’s death? But he blames you for the loss of, what he considers, his land?’

‘His claim was ruled on by a Brehon. It was judged that Adnár could not support his claim.’

‘But you blame him for the death of your father. Is that logical?’

‘Logic? That dreary prison cell for human feeling?’

Fidelma shook her head.

‘Logic is the mechanics of making the truth prevail. Without it we would live in an irrational world.’

‘I can live comfortably with my feelings towards my brother,’ advised Draigen.

‘Ah... facilis descensus Averno,’ sighed Fidelma.

‘I do not need to have Virgil’s Aeneid quoted at me, sister. I do not need to be cautioned that the descent to hell is easy. Preach your Latin to my brother.’

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘The words simply sprang into my mind. I am sorry for you, Draigen. Hate is such a waste of emotional strength. But tell me, you have given your reasons for hating … despising,’ she corrected herself as shesaw Draigen’s expression, ‘despising your brother, but why should he hate you so much?’

She wondered whether to tell Draigen of Adnár’s claim that his sister had relationships with the younger members of her community; that he went so far as to claim that Draigen might well have been responsible for the murder of a former lover to hide the affair. She wondered how a brother could hold his sister in such bitter hostility as to make such an accusation. Surely not simply over a land dispute?

‘I do not care about his hate. He and his so-called soul-friend may slowly rot of disease. I pray for the sorrow of my brother’s house!’