Conall Cearnach vow never to sleep unless he could do so with the head of an enemy under his foot?’
‘Why would they do that?’ Olcán demanded. ‘Remove the heads of their enemies? It was as much as one could do to survive in battle without wasting time on such a fruitless exercise.’
It was Fidelma who supplied the answer.
‘In the old days, before the coming of the Faith, it was thought that the soul of a person was to be found inside the head. The head was the centre of intellect and all reason. What else could produce such thoughts other than a soul? When the body died, the soul remained until it journeyed to the Otherworld. Am I not right in this, Brother Febal?’
Brother Febal started at being addressed by her in an apparently friendly manner and then nodded reluctantly.
‘That was the belief, so I understand. Until recently, a sign of showing respect and affection among us was to lay one’s head on the bosom of the person to be greeted.’
‘But why did warriors remove the heads of their enemies?’ demanded Olcán.
‘It was like this,’ Torcán explained, ‘among the ancient warriors they felt that if the heads of their enemies were removed, they would capture the soul. If their enemy was a great warrior, a great champion, some of that greatness would pass down to them.’
‘A primitive idea,’ muttered Olcán.
‘Perhaps,’ Torcán conceded. ‘Instead of the tales of the saints and the new Faith, you should listen to the tales of our ancient heroes, like Cúchullain who rode into Dun Dealg with hundreds of heads adorning his chariot.’
Adnár admonished his guests.
‘This is hardly a conversation fitting for the presence of a woman.’
‘It was a practice that even our great women warriors took part in,’ pointed out Torcán, oblivious to the hint which Adnár was giving him.
‘You seem to know much about this,’ Fidelma observed.
‘Tell me, Torcán, would one even remove the head of someone who had, for example, been a murderer?’
Torcán was surprised at the question.
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Indulge my curiosity.’
‘In the old days it did not matter so long as the person was seen as a great warrior, champion or leader of their people.’
‘So, if someone, imbued with the old ways, encountered their enemy, and saw their enemy as a murderer, they could easily remove the head as a symbol?’
Olcán’s thin features broke into a smile.
‘I begin to see where the good sister’s questions are leading.’
Brother Febal had snorted indignantly and sunk his nose into his mug of mead.
Torcán was looking puzzled.
‘It is more than I do,’ he admitted. ‘But, in answer to your question, it is possible. Why do you ask?’
‘She asks because she suspects that the headless corpse and the decapitated Sister Síomha may well have been the victims of some ancient head-hunting ancestor of ours!’ sneered Brother Febal.
Fidelma was composed and did not rise to the bait of the religieux.
‘Not exactly, Febal. It is clear however that the killer, whoever they are, put some symbolism into the methods of killing.’
Adnár was leaning forward on the table with interest.
‘What symbolism?’
‘That is what I want to find out,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It is clear also that the killer wanted whoever found the corpses to know and appreciate that symbolism.’
‘You mean that the killer is actually giving you clues to his means and motive?’ asked young Olcán wonderingly.
‘His or her motive,’ corrected Fidelma gently. ‘Yes. I now believe that the way the corpses were left was meant as a message to those who found them.’
Brother Febal banged down his mug.
‘Nonsense! The killings are part of a sick mind. And I know who has the sickest mind on this peninsula.’
Adnár sighed unhappily.
‘I cannot argue against that assessment. Perhaps these symbols, of which you speak, Sister Fidelma, are but some trick to distract you in your investigation? Some ruse to make you follow a path which does not lead anywhere?’
Fidelma bowed her head in consideration of the point.
‘It may well be,’ she acceded after a moment. ‘But knowing the symbolism will, I believe, eventually lead to the perpetrator whether it is intentional or unintentional. Andfor this information on decapitation, Torcán, I am much indebted.’
‘Ha!’ Olcán was smirking, ‘I believe, Torcán, that you have allowed yourself to become a suspect in the good sister’s eyes? Isn’t that so, Sister Fidelma?’
She ignored his mocking tone.
‘Not so,’ replied Torcán, his eyes serious. ‘I think that Sister Fidelma would know that if I had devised such an atrocious way of leaving murdered corpses about the countryside, I would not have started to prattle about its symbolism and so draw attention to myself.’
Fidelma inclined her head towards him.
‘On the other hand,’ she smiled grimly, ‘it may well be that you would do that very thing to argue this point in order to throw me off the scent.’
Olcán was chuckling now and clapped his friend, Torcán on the shoulder.
‘There you are! You will now have to find a
‘Nonsense!’ For a moment Torcán looked worried. ‘I wasn’t even here when the first murder, of which you were speaking, was committed …’
He caught himself and grinned sheepishly as he realised that he was the butt of his friend’s humour.
‘Olcán has an odd sense of humour,’ Adnár apologised. ‘I am sure Fidelma is not serious in saying that you might be a culprit.’
‘I do not think I even mentioned such an idea in the first place,’ she said evasively. ‘I was merely responding to Torcán’s hypothetical argument. The last person that I would tell if he or she was a suspect is the suspect themselves … unless I had a purpose for it.’
‘Well said,’ Adnár said, ignoring the final point. ‘Let us cease this morbid talk of bodies and murder.’
‘I apologise,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But bodies and murder are, unfortunately, part of my world. I am, nevertheless, indebtedto Torcán for his knowledge. Your information on old customs is most helpful.’
Torcán was deprecating.
‘I am interested in the old warrior codes and modes of battle, but that is all.’
‘Ah? I thought you had a fascination with our history and ancient annals?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Me? No. It is Olcán here and Adnár that like to delve into ancient books. Not me. Do not be misled by my talk of ancient warrior codes. One is taught this as part of a warrior’s education.’
For a moment Fidelma wondered whether to follow this up by asking Torcán why he had requested the abbey library to send him the copy of the annals of Clonmacnoise. However, before she could continue, Brother Febal said: ‘I see that Ross and his ship have returned.’
Everyone had noticed Ross’s ship sail into the inlet that afternoon. There was no need for comment.
Olcán was helping himself to more wine. His thin face was flushed and he seemed to be imbibing with a healthy thirst.
‘I am told that his ship was seen at the island of Dóirse, further down the coast,’ continued Brother Febal.
This time she could not ignore the obvious invitation to respond. She hid her annoyance at the excellence of
