Hemlock at Vespers

“I am a dálaigh of the court qualified to the level of Anruth.”

Spelán’s eyes widened a fraction for he realized that the qualification of Anruth allowed the young religieuse to sit in judgment with kings and even with the High King himself.

“Tell me what took place here,” Fidelma prompted.

Spelán’s dark eyes found Sister Sárnat and motioned for her to hand him the cup of water from which he took several swallows.

“There was evil here, Sister. An evil which grew unnoticed by me until it burst forth and enveloped us all in its maw.”

Fidelma waited without saying anything.

Spelán seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment or two.

“I will start from the beginning.”

“Always a good place for starting a tale,” Fidelma affirmed solemnly.

“Two years ago I met Selbach who persuaded me to join him here in order to build a community which would be dedicated to isolation and meditative contemplation of the works of the Creator. I was the apothecary at an abbey on the mainland which was a sinful place-pride, gluttony and other vices were freely practiced there. In Selbach I believed that I had found a kindred spirit who shared my own views. We searched together for a while and eventually came across eleven young souls who wanted to devote themselves to our purpose.”

“Why so young?” demanded Fidelma.

Spelán blinked.

“We needed youth to help our community flourish for in youth lies strength against the hardships of this place.”

“Go on,” pressed Fidelma when the man paused.

“With the blessing of Ultan of Armagh and the permission of the local chieftain, The Ó hEidersceoil, we came to this isolated place.”

He paused to take another sip of water.

“And what of this evil that grew in your midst?” encouraged Fidelma.

“I am coining to that. There is a philosophy among some of the ascetics of the faith that physical pain, even as the Son of the Living God had to endure, pain such as the tortures of the flesh, is the way to man’s redemption, a way to salvation. Mortification and suffering are seen as the paths to spiritual salvation.”

Fidelma sniffed in disapproval.

“I have heard that there are such misguided fools among us.”

Spelán blinked.

“Not fools, Sister, not fools,” he corrected softly. “Many of our blessed saints believed in the efficacy of mortification. They held genuine belief that they must emulate the pain of Christ if they, too, would seek eternal paradise. There are many who will still wear crowns of thorns, who flagellate themselves, drive nails into their hands or pierce their sides so that they might share the suffering of Christ. No, you are too harsh, sister. They are not fools; visionaries-yes; and, perhaps, misguided in their path.”

“Very well. We will not argue the matter at this stage, Spelán.

What is this to do with what has happened here?”

“Do not mistake my meaning, Sister,” replied Selbach contritely. “I am not an advocate for the gortaigid, those who seek the infliction of such pain. I, too, condemn them as you do. But I accept that their desire to experience pain is a genuine desire to share the pain of the Messiah through which he sought man’s redemption. I would not call them fools. However, let me continue. For a while we were a happy community. It did not cross my mind that one among us felt that pain was his path to salvation.”

“There was a gortaigid among you?”

The dominus nodded.

“I will spare the events that led to it but will simply reveal that it was none other than the venerable Abbot Selbach himself. But Selbach was not of those who simply inflicted pain and punishment upon himself. He persuaded the youthful brothers we had gathered here to submit to scourgings and whippings in order to satiate his desire to inflict pain and injury so that, he argued, they might approach a sharing of Christ’s great suffering. He practiced these abominations in secret and swore others to keep that secret on pain of their immortal souls.”

“When was this discovered?” demanded Fidelma, slightly horrified.

Spelán bit his Up a moment.

“For certain? Only this morning. I knew nothing. I swear it. It was early this morning that the body of our youngest neophyte, Sacán, was found. He was fourteen years old. The Brothers found him and it was known that Selbach had taken him to a special place at the far end of the island last night to ritually scourge the boy. So fierce did he lash the youth that he died of shock and pain.”

The dominus genuflected.

Fidelma’s mouth tightened.

“Go on. How were you, the dominus of this community, unaware of the abbot’s actions before this morning?”

“He was cunning,” replied Spelán immediately. “He made the young brothers take oath each time not to reveal the ritual scourg-ings to anyone else. He took one young brother at a time to the far end of the island. A shroud of silence enveloped the community. I dwelt in blissful ignorance.”

“Go on.”

“Selbach had tried to hide his guilt by throwing the poor boy’s body over the cliffs last night but the tide washed the body along the rocky barrier that is our shore. It washed ashore early this morning at a point where two of our brethren were fishing for our daily meal.”

He paused and sought another sip of water.

Behind her Lorcán said quietly: “Indeed, the tide from the head-land would wash the body along to the pebble beach.”

“I was asleep when I heard the noise. When I left my cell the Brothers’ anger had erupted and they had seized Selbach and lashed him to the quadrangle tree. One of the Brothers was flogging him with his own whip, tearing at his flesh…”

The dominus paused again before continuing.

“And did you attempt to stop them?” inquired Fidelma.

“Of course I tried to stop them,” Spelán replied indignantly. “I tried to remonstrate, as did another young Brother, Snagaide, who told them they could not take the law into their own hands nor punish Selbach. They must take their complaint to Dún na Séad and place it before the Brehon of the Ó hEidersceoil. But the young Brothers were so enraged that they would not listen. Instead, they seized Snagaide and myself and held us, ignoring our pleas, while they flogged Selbach. Their rage was great. And then, before I knew it, someone had thrust his knife into the back of Selbach. I did not see who it was.

“I cried to them that not only a crime had been done but now great sacrilege. I demanded that they surrender themselves to me and to Brother Snagaide. I promised that I would take them to Dún na Séad where they must answer for their deed but I would speak on their behalf.”

Spelán paused and touched the wound on the side of his head once more with a grimace of pain.

“They argued among themselves then but, God forgive them, they found a determined spokesman in a Brother named Fogach who said that they should not be punished for doing what was right and just in the eyes of God. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, they argued. It was right for Selbach to have met his death in compensation for the death of young Brother Sacán. He demanded that I should swear an oath not to betray the events on the island, recording the deaths as accidents. If I protested then they would take the currach and seek a place where they could live in peace and freedom, leaving me and Snagaide on the island until visited by Lorcán or some other boatman from the mainland.”

“Then what happened?” urged Fidelma after the dominus paused.

“Then? As you might expect, I could not make such an oath. Their anger spilt over while I remonstrated with them. More for the fear of the consequences than anger, I would say. One of their number knocked me on the