The Subtle Serpent

dálaigh. She says that … well, I would not like it to come out that, well … what I said about the farmer and my father.’

Clearly the girl was in some emotional turmoil over the matter. Fidelma relented.

‘If the matter is of no relevance to my investigation of the deaths of Almu and Síomha, then it does not have to come out.’

‘If it is of no relevance? How will you know?’

‘When I have completed my inquiries. Speaking of which, it was surprising to find you in the wood the other day taking a book to Torcán at Adnár’s fortress. Were you not afraid that you might meet your father, Febal?’

‘Him?’ The voice assumed its sharpness again. ‘No. I am not longer afraid of him. Not any more.’

‘How do you know Torcán?’

‘I have never met him.’

Fidelma registered some surprise.

‘How, then, were you taking this book, what was it now …?’

Sister Lerben shrugged.

‘Some old chronicle, I think. I do not know. I told you, I am not proficient in reading or writing.’

‘Yes, you did mention that. So you were, in fact, given this book to take to Torcán?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who gave you the book? I thought only the librarian would be able to give permission to remove a book from the abbey library.’

Sister Lerben shook her head.

‘No, the rechtaire has authority.’

‘The rechtaire?’

‘Yes, it was Sister Síomha who handed me the book and asked me to take it to the fortress of Adnár and hand it to Torcán.’

‘Sister Síomha! And that was during the afternoon before her death?’

‘I think so.’

‘Did she explain why Torcán was being allowed to borrow this book instead of coming to the abbey to look at it?’

‘She did not. She simply told me to take it to him and return. That is all.’

Fidelma had a feeling of tremendous frustration. Every time she thought she was about to clear up a point, then several more questions rose to confuse her mind. Shethanked Sister Lerben and left the store house, entering the tower.

It was dark inside the main library room and Fidelma peered in vain for a lamp in the gloom.

She was feeling her way to the foot of the steps leading to the second floor when she heard a sound like someone dragging a sack across the floor above her head.

She paused a moment and then moved cautiously upwards one step at a time, listening.

The dragging sound came again.

Fidelma’s head reached the level of the floor and peered upwards.

Someone was seated by the light of the window peering at a book.

Fidelma heaved a sigh of relief.

It was Sister Berrach. The sound that she had heard had been the disabled sister moving across the floor.

‘Good morning, Sister Berrach!’ Fidelma climbed into the room.

The young sister was startled and almost dropped the book she had been looking at.

‘Oh, it’s you, Sister Fidelma.’

‘What are you doing here?’

Berrach’s chin came up a little defensively.

‘I told you that I enjoyed reading. With Sister Comnat and Sister Almu not returned to the abbey, and Sister Síomha not here to tell me what to do, I no longer have to sneak here at night to do my reading.’

Fidelma seated herself beside Berrach.

‘I, too, have come to do some reading but I could not find a lamp below.’

‘There are some candles here,’ Berrach indicated a table. ‘Do you want a particular book?’

‘I was going to look for one of the annals that I am told are kept here. But what are you reading?’ Fidelma lent across and glanced at the text.

‘Eó na dTri dTobar … The Salmon of the Three Wells!’ Fidelma was somewhat taken aback by the coincidence. ‘What text is that?’

‘A short account of the life of the Necht the Pure who founded this abbey,’ replied Sister Berrach.

‘And does it mention her discourse with Dedelchú, the pagan priest?’

Sister Berrach started in surprise.

‘You know a lot about this place. I have lived here all my life and am only just reading this book.’

‘One picks up things here and there, Berrach. Does the book explain much about Dedelchú? It is an odd name. The last element is simple to recognise meaning “hound of” — the hound of Dedel. I wonder who or what the original Dedel was? I am fascinated by the meaning of these old names, aren’t you?’

Sister Berrach shook her head.

‘Not particularly. I am more interested in history, in the lives of people. But we do have a copy of the Glossary of Longarad in the library.’

‘Is that so? So you have read some of the annals?’

Berrach conceded that she had.

‘I have read through all the annals that have been placed in this library.’

‘Do you known the annals of Clonmacnoise?’

‘Know it? yes. Sister Comnat herself made that copy. She spent six months away at the abbey of the Blessed Ciarán and copied the book with the full permission of the abbot. You will find it on the shelves here.’

‘It is no longer at the abbey. It was loaned, according to Sister Lerben, to Torcán, who is a guest of Adnár.’

‘Torcán, son of Eoganán of the Ui Fidgenti?’ Sister Berrach looked bewildered. ‘What would he want with it?’

‘I was hoping I might find out. I think he was particularly interested in the story of Cormac Mac Art. There was a pagewhich had been much consulted. It was an entry to do with the death of Cormac Mac Art. I do not suppose you would know what was written there?’

Berrach frowned reflectively.

‘I have a gift for memory. My retentive mind is quite clear.’ She paused and thought carefully. ‘The entry spoke of how Cormac slew his enemy Fergus and became a wise and virtuous High King. It spoke of his writing his book of instructions and …’ She paused a moment. ‘Ah yes; it went on to speak of how a gold calf had been set up in Tara and a cult had developed about it, turning it into a god to be worshipped. The priests of this cult called upon Cormac to come and worship the gold image but he refused saying he would sooner worship the goldsmith who had made so beautiful an image. The entry said that the chief priest of this cult then contrived to make salmon bones stick fast in the High King’s throat during a meal so that Cormac was induced to die.’

Fidelma was fascinated at the effortless ease with which Sister Berrach recalled the passage.

‘Do you know anything more about that story?’

The young religieuse shook her head.

‘Only that it was symbolic, I believe. I mean, the story about the pagan priest being able to kill Cormac by three salmon bones.’

‘Three salmon bones?’ asked Fidelma quickly. ‘What symbolism do you read into that?’

‘I think it was probably meant as an indication of the identity of the pagan priest. Cormac may have been murdered but there was no means of deliberately causing three salmon bones to stick in a person’s gullet unless you accept such a thing as evil magic.’ Berrach smiled ruefully. ‘And I think you helped to persuade the community here that such things as witchcraft and magic did not exist.’