The Subtle Serpent

gather was that the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was governed by a woman of powerful personality and whose attitudes were, at least, questionable.

The matins had given way to the singing of the lauds, the psalms which marked the first of the daylight hours of the Church. The voices of the sisters were raised in a curious vehemence:

‘Let the high praises of God be in their mouth, and a two-edged sword in their hand.

‘To execute vengeance upon the heaven, and punishments upon the people;

‘To bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron;

‘To execute upon them the judgment written: this honour have all his saints. Praise ye the Lord.’

Fidelma shivered slightly.

Did these words take on some new meaning which she was not privy to?’

Yet the lauds always consisted of Psalms 148 to 150, always sung together as one long psalm each morning at the first hour of daylight.

The words did not change. Why did she see in them some vague threat?

She knew that there was someone who was taking her for a fool. But she was unsure of what she was being made a fool over.

Chapter Eleven

Sister Fidelma was about to continue crossing the courtyard in the wake of Sister Berrach when a hollow cough halted her.

‘I am told that you requested my presence here this morning, sister.’

She turned to find herself gazing into the blue, humorous eyes of Brother Febal. He still wore the traditional black eyelid colouring which highlighted them. He was wrapped from head to foot in a thick woollen, fur-edged cloak which also provided a cowled hood, and he carried a stout cambutta or walking stick in his hand.

She stared at him blankly for a moment. So much had happened since she had talked with Adnár yesterday afternoon. She tried to recollect her thoughts.

‘I did so,’ she acknowledged hastily. She glanced round and then indicated the path down to the inlet and the abbey’s landing stage. She realised that Brother Febal would not be welcome at the abbey if he were seen by Abbess Draigen or any of her acolytes. ‘Come, walk with me a while and let us talk.’

Brother Febal examined her curiously with his large blue eyes and then he nodded and fell in step beside her. The sun was now climbing into the sky but it was still fairly chill.

‘What do you wish to talk about?’ he began, almost in a bantering tone.

‘There are some questions I wish to ask you, Febal,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Adsum! he answered pretentiously in Latin. ‘Then I am here!’

‘Have you heard that there has been another death here at the abbey?’ Fidelma asked.

‘News travels fast in this land, Sister Fidelma. It has been spoken of at Dun Boí.’

‘By whom?’

‘I think the news was brought by a servant,’ he replied vaguely and then seemed to change the subject. ‘I have been asked to pass on a message to you, sister. It is from Adnár and the lord Olcán. They ask you to attend this evening’s feasting at Dun Boí. My lord Torcán adds his voice especially to this request. He wishes to compensate you for the fright that you received in the forest yesterday. Adnár has offered to send his personal boatman to bring you from the abbey and return you safely again.’

He grinned and reached into the small leather bag which was strung at his belt.

‘Oh yes, and see here!’ He brought out a small purse. ‘On Torcán’s behalf I am also the bearer of the fine which you imposed on him. I understand that it is to be given for the good works of the abbey.’

Fidelma took the purse of coins and, without bothering to check it, absently placed it in her own crumena.

‘I will see that this is delivered.’ She was considering the invitation. It did so happen that she wanted to know more about the attitudes in Dún Boí to the situation in the abbey and she finally accepted the proposal. ‘You may tell Adnár that I shall await his boatman.’

They walked on for a short time before Fidelma asked: ‘Did you know Sister Síomha?’

‘Who did not?’ The answer was blandly given.

‘You will have to explain that.’

‘As rechtaire of this abbey, Sister Síomha was second only to the abbess. She often came to my lord’s fortress.’

‘For what purpose?’ asked Fidelma, somewhat surprised.

‘You must know that Adnár was not on the best terms with Abbess Draigen. It was better, therefore, that Sister Síomha conducted any business between the abbey and my lord.’

‘And was there much business to be conducted?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘As chieftain along this coast, Adnár controlled much of the trading and the abbey required goods and trade which had to be reported to Adnár. Therefore, as rechtaire of the abbey, Sister Síomha visited Adnár very often.’

‘And was Sister Síomha on friendly terms with Adnár?’

‘Very friendly.’

Fidelma glanced quickly at Brother Febal but his face was inexpressive. She was not sure whether she had heard a slight inflection in his voice.

‘How well did you know Sister Síomha?’ she was prompted to ask.

‘I knew her but not well.’ The reply came back firmly.

They had reached the abbey quay and Fidelma led the way down some steps along the shoreline of the inlet. She walked towards a section of rocks by the water which seemed to provide a good, sheltered place to sit away from the northerly wind. The sun was now high in the blue, cloudless sky, and its rays were mild but warming, provided one kept out of the shadows. Only the plaintive cry of the swooping gulls together with the soft whispering of the water along the pebbled shore cut through the still air.

Fidelma seated herself on a comfortable rock on which the sun was casting its warmth and waited while Brother Febal also seated himself.

‘When you were talking about Abbess Draigen yesterday, you failed to mention that you were married to her.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘I think it does. In view of what you had to say about her, I think it matters a great deal. I understand from Adnár that it was you who suggested that she might have been responsiblefor the death of the corpse in the well. Whether true or not, it indicates that there is no love lost between you.’

Febal flushed and glanced down at his sandals as if suddenly feeling the necessity to examine them in detail.

‘It is obvious that you do not like your former wife,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Perhaps it would help if you could tell me how you first came to know her?’

Febal kept his eyes on his feet for a few moments, frowning, as if trying to make up his mind.

‘Very well. I was seventeen when I entered this very abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. Oh, it was a mixed house at that time, a conhospitae. The abbess at this time was Abbess Marga. She was an enlightened lady and it was she who first encouraged scribes to come to copy the books in the library in order to sell or exchange them with other libraries.’

‘Why did you join the abbey? Were you interested in books?’

Febal shook his head.

‘I am no scribe. My father was a fisherman. He died drowning. I did not want to end my life like that and so I entered the religious life as soon as I reached the age of choice.’