The Subtle Serpent

Berrach to the chapel as she may be wary of going abroad since violence was offered to her person — violence,’ she added softly, ‘in a sanctuary of the Faith.’

Then she left the abbess’s chamber.

Outside she paused a moment and breathed deeply. She was beginning to feel a sympathy with Adnár; his sister was a curious woman. She would have no course but to refer this matter to Abbot Brocc for, if Draigen was innocent of all other things, she was guilty of an incitement to kin-slayingand using another’s youth and lack of knowledge and experience to attempt to perpetrate that crime. That could not be absolved. There was, indeed, something perverse in Draigen’s character.

The bell was tolling and the figures of the religieuses were hurrying towards the duirthech — the chapel of the community. In Sister Berrach’s cell, Fidelma found the handicapped young sister being comforted by Sister Brónach and told them briefly what had transpired between her and the abbess.

When Fidelma arrived with Sister Berrach, struggling along with the aid of her staff and supported by the solicitous Sister Brónach, the community were gathered together. The abbess was standing behind the altar, almost directly behind the large ornate gold altar cross, while a chanter was leading the congregation in a Latin canticle.

Munther Beara beata

fide fundatacerta,

spe salutis ornata,

caritate perfecta.

Fidelma wondered whether the Abbess Draigen had purposefully chosen the chant. The words were simple. ‘The blessed community of Beara, founded on certain Faith, adorned with Hope of salvation, perfected by Charity.’ The sisters sang with an unquestioned conviction in their message.

As Fidelma led Berrach forward the voices lost their unison and raggedly died away. Heads raised and there was a nervous tension which swept along the rows of the congregation.

Fidelma squeezed gentle encouragement on Berrach’s arm.

The chant died away and Abbess Draigen moved majestically from her position and came to stand before the altar.

‘My children, I come before you to ask your forgiveness, for I have been guilty of a grievous fault. And allowing someone young and inexperienced to act wrongly on my advice.’

The opening words caused a sudden silence to descend; so silent that even the rasping winter breath of some of the congregation could be heard.

‘Moreover, I am guilty of a terrible injury to one of this community.’

The congregation began to understand now and were casting ashamed glances towards Berrach and at Fidelma. Berrach stood leaning on her staff, eyes downcast. Sister Brónach stood with head held high as if she was the one accepting the apology. Fidelma, on the other side of Berrach, also kept her head erect, her eyes fastened to those of the abbess.

‘Things have happened in this abbey which are the cause of alarm among our community; alarm and fear. This morning, as you will know, our rechtaire, Sister Síomha, was cruelly slain. Acting in partial knowledge, I accused one of this community. In impetuous enthusiasm to punish the person I deemed to be the culprit, I forgot the teachings of Our Lord, for is it not said in the book of John — “he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her”? I was with sin and I cast a stone. For my unjust actions, I crave forgiveness and will do a daily penance for a year from this day. That penance may be prescribed by you, my sisters, meeting in this congregation.’

She turned to look at Sister Lerben. The young novice stood with head held high and defiant. Fidelma glanced at her and was troubled by the depth of suppressed rage on her features. There would be problems with Sister Lerben before long, she thought.

‘Furthermore, I advised our young Sister Lerben erroneously and, having appointed her as my new rechtaire, asked her to go forth and act on my advice. For this I accept fullresponsibility. Lerben had not sufficient experience to know that I was in error. I apologise on her behalf.’

Before the astonished eyes of the gathered sisters, Sister Lerben suddenly made her way noisily from the chapel, like a petulant child.

Abbess Draigen stared somewhat sadly after her. There was a silence before she turned her attention to Sister Berrach.

‘Sister Berrach, before God and this congregation, I ask your forgiveness. It was fear and abomination of the dreadful death suffered by Sister Síomha and by the unnamed soul found in our well which caused me to lapse and cry “witch” at you and incite this congregation to do harm to you. Mine is the guilt and to you I turn asking for absolution.’

All eyes now turned on to Sister Berrach.

She shuffled forward a pace. There was a tense silence as she stood, as if hesitating in giving a decision. Fidelma saw that the abbess’s facial muscles were twitching as if she were trying to control her emotions. Fidelma wondered whether Berrach was going to reject Abbess Draigen’s apology. Then the girl spoke.

‘Mother abbess, you have quoted the words of the Gospel of John. John said that we deceive ourselves if we claim that we are all innocent of sin. The acceptance of our sins and confession is the first step to salvation. I forgive you your sin … yet I cannot absolve you from it. Only the Ever Living God can do that.’

Abbess Draigen looked as if she had been slapped in the face. It was clearly not the form of words that she had been expecting. And a murmur of surprise went up among the congregation. They had suddenly realised that Sister Berrach was no longer stuttering but speaking in a cold, clear and well-articulated tone.

The girl, using her staff as a fulcrum, pulled herself round and slowly lurched and swayed down the aisle to let herself out of the door.

There was a silence until the doors thudded shut behind her.

‘It is truly said, only God can absolve our transgressions. We can only forgive.’

Heads were turned as Sister Brónach took a pace forward, her tone was without rancour.

‘Amen!’ added Fidelma loudly when she saw the community stood hesitant as to their response.

There was a slow murmur of approval and Abbess Draigen bowed her head in acceptance of the verdict of the congregation and returned to her place.

The chanter rose and began to intone:

Maria de tribu luda,

summi mater Domini,

opportunam dedit curam

aegrotanti homini …

‘Mary of the tribe of Judah, mother of the mighty Lord, has provided a timely cure for sick humanity.’

Fidelma swiftly genuflected to the altar, turned and made her way rapidly out of the chapel after Sister Berrach.

A timely cure for sick humanity? Fidelma pursed her lips cynically. There seemed no cure for the sickness which was permeating this abbey. She was not even certain what that sickness was except that hatred was at the heart of it. There was something here which she could not understand. This was no simple problem; no simple riddle of who killed who and why.

Two women had been found, each stabbed through the heart, each decapitated and each placed with crucifixes in the right hand and aspen wands written in Ogham in the left. How were these two women connected? Perhaps if she knew that she would be able to discover a motive. So far, the sum total of her investigation had revealed hardly anything of value in pointing a path towards a motive let alone a culprit.All she had been able to