Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eadulf barely had time to catch his breath before they were racing down the track towards the inferno. Fhear Maighe was a large collection of buildings that clustered on both banks of The Great River. On the south bank, on an elevated section of land that was not really high enough to be called a hill, stood the fortress of Cumscrad. It was in no way as imposing nor as threatening as An Dún, the fortress of Lady Eithne. Not far away from this, the blaze was devouring a large building that rose almost on the edge of the settlement. It was a construction of both stone and timber with a curious tower at one end. It was rectangular, like a monastic hall. The tower seemed to be the centre of the fire. Great flames leaped around it and inside it, as if its very structure made it a natural chimney. But the flames were also racing eagerly along the exterior walls of the main building.

As they hurtled down the hill towards it, Eadulf was briefly aware that they passed a riderless horse in a field and, nearby, a prone body with an arrow in its back. There was no time to investigate. They swept on into the township. It seemed that the entire population, men and women and even children, had gathered in a vain attempt to combat the flames. Several young men were rushing back and forth through a door in the main building,emerging with armfuls of scrolls, manuscripts, books and tiaga lebar, the book satchels. Here and there someone would stagger out with a metal box called a lebor-chomet, or book holder, in which very valuable books were stored.

The people were so intent on rescuing the contents of the building from the hungry flames that items were simply dropped on the ground. Several of the precious books were trodden into the earth as people passed buckets of water from hand to hand in a line from the river. Alongside the human chain, Eadulf noticed a curious construction of wooden troughs, along which water from the river was being pumped by a strange mechanical contraption.

Fidelma and Eadulf could see that the people were fighting a losing battle against the flames. Cumscrad and his warriors had dismounted and were assisting but it seemed there was little they could do. Suddenly, there was a great roaring noise and sparks and flames shot into the late afternoon sky as the main roof collapsed, followed, moments later by the tower section imploding. The fire, having satiated itself, was beginning to die rapidly away to a collection of blackened, smouldering timbers. The implosion seemed to have stopped its spread more than the water that had been poured into the building. Only some of the walls and a large grey stone arch, blackened with smoke, remained standing.

Fidelma pointed to where Cumscard and a group of people were standing looking down at what appeared to be a body that had been dragged clear of the building.

‘Can I help?’ offered Eadulf. ‘I have some training in the healing arts.’

‘It’s too late, Brother Eadulf,’ replied Cumscard with bitterness in his voice. ‘Dubhagan is dead.’

‘Dubhagan?’ Fidelma asked quickly. ‘This was your leabhar coimedech, your librarian?’

A young man with a blackened smoke-stained face came forward.

‘We were too late to save him,’ he announced flatly, staring down. He seemed dazed and uncertain.

Cumscrad gazed at the young man for a moment and then asked sympathetically, ‘How was he caught in the fire, Cunán?’

The young man shook his head. ‘He was dead of a sword thrust before the fire started.’

Anger began to harden Cumscrad’s features. Fidelma laid a hand on his arm.

‘Let me ask this young man some questions.’

Cumscrad hesitated before saying, ‘This is my youngest son, Cunán. He was training as an assistant to Dubhagan the librarian.’

‘Cunán.’ Fidelma spoke gently, for she could see that the young man was in a state of shock. ‘Tell me what you know of this.’

Cunán ran a hand over his forehead as if to gather his thoughts. ‘It was a short time ago. We were working in the copying section of the library. I suddenly smelt smoke and heard the crackle of flames. I raised the alarm and ran to find Dubhagan-’

‘Where was he?’

‘In his chamber in the tower.’

‘And where is the copying section?’

‘The twelve copyists work in the main hall, at the opposite end of the main library building to the tower. The tower is where Dubhagan kept his place of study and special books that are considered valuable.’

‘Very well, you say you smelt smoke and raised the alarm. Then you hurried to find Dubhagan. Is that correct?’

‘I rushed into his chamber, for it was no time to stand on protocol. The books and manuscripts in that room were already burning, the smoke was choking, but I saw our leabhar coimedech lying face down on the floor. He was already dead. There were two wounds, one in his chest and one in his neck.I knew it to be useless, but I seized him by the wrists and dragged him out of the building.’

Cunán paused and licked his parched lips. He nodded at the body of the librarian.

‘By the time I turned back, the flames were already in control. They were leaping from the tower across to the main library room. One of the copyists was ringing the alarm bell and people were coming to our aid. But the flames were too strong. They seized and swallowed the books — they were just fuel to the fire. We formed a chain, trying to bring out the books, while others formed chains to bring water to douse the fire, but there was little we could save. All the priceless works consumed … irreplaceable!’ He broke off with an uncontrollable sob.

‘Are you saying that the place where the fire started was in Dubhagan’s chamber? That he had been killed and then the place set on fire?’ pressed Fidelma.

Cumscrad scowled and before his son could speak retorted, ‘I clearly understood that is what he said. And we saw the culprits themselves riding away — the Uí Liatháin!’

Fidelma ignored him and kept her eyes on those of the young man. It was clear that she was expecting an answer from him and so Cunán nodded. ‘That is so.’

‘And there was no sign of an assailant or assailants when you found him?’

‘None.’

‘I saw them,’ called a voice from the crowd. A slight man came forward. ‘Our chief is right. I recognised them by the banner carried by one of their number. It was the grey fox’s head, the symbol of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘How were they allowed to do this?’ shouted Cumscrad. ‘Is there no man among you to take sword and shield to defend my people while I am absent? Who allowed these raiders to ride in without any attempt to stop them?’

A burly man pushed forward from the crowd. He was red in the face and spoke defensively.

‘They rode in openly, Cumscrad. We thought that they came in peace, for their swords were sheathed and they made no display of war. Their leader called out that they had only come to consult with Dubhagan.’

‘What happened then?’ asked Fidelma when she saw that Cumscrad was framing some angry retort.

‘They did just that. Two of them dismounted from their horses and entered the library tower. The rest remained outside. We did not realise anything was amiss until there was shouting, a smell of burning and we saw the flames appearing. By then, the two who had gone inside re-emerged with swords in hand, leapt on their horses and they all galloped out towards the forest beyond before we knew what was happening.’

‘Not all of them.’ It was the slight man who spoke. They turned to him. ‘I was mending my bow when they rode out. I managed to loose an arrow at one of them. I thought I hit him.’

‘You did,’ Eadulf replied, remembering the riderless horse and body. ‘He lies in the field outside the town, his horse nearby.’

Soon volunteers went to retrieve the body and the horse and when they were brought back, they crowded round to see if they recognised the person. It was Gormán who turned with a serious expression to Fidelma. ‘I think you should look at him, lady,’ he said softly.

She looked down. The man was thin, with a head of hair that was as white as snow, and a pale skin to match. She glanced back to Gormán with a query in her eyes. He nodded. ‘It is the bánaí. One of the two who tried to ambush us on the road to Lios Mór. And look at that.’ He pointed to the man’s neck where there was a dark mark, almost an abrasion, such as they had seen on the dead attacker on the road to Lios Mór.

‘Does anyone recognise this man?’ Fidelma demanded of thosewho were staring at the body. There was a shaking of heads and muttered denials.

‘A warrior, that is clear,’ replied the archer who had claimed his life.

‘That he was part of a party of Uí Liatháin raiders is good enough for me,’ Cumscrad said angrily. ‘I regret no more of them paid a price for this crime.’

‘What could we do?’ It was the burly man again. ‘Fight the fire or make ready our horses and ride after them? We fought the fire.’

‘You made the better choice,’ Fidelma agreed before turning to Cumscrad’s son. ‘You mentioned that Dubhagan’s chamber was where special books were stored. What do you mean by special books?’

The young man gazed at her blankly. His face was black with smoke and his cheeks and forearms looked singed.

Cumscrad, now icy calm, answered for him. ‘They were the ancient works, some of which many might condemn as heretical to the new Faith.’ Then he added to his son, ‘When you feel better, come to the rath, for we must talk further.’ He turned to a woman who was helping to attend those who had exhausted themselves fighting the fire. ‘Take Cunán and see to his needs,’ he instructed. The young librarian allowed himself to be guided away by the woman.

Fidelma turned to Cumscrad. The chief’s features were set and bitter and before she could speak he had turned to one of his warriors and issued rapid orders. Tasks needed to be done, assessing the damage, removing the bodies of Dubhagan and the albino raider, attending those who had been injured. One of the scribes had already volunteered to start listing what books had been saved and what had been destroyed. Other volunteers started removing the rescued books to a place of safety to store them. Cumscrad also gave orders to his warriors to arrange a specialwatch in the unlikely event of the raiders returning. Only when he was sure that all matters were being taken care of did he turn back to Fidelma and her companions. His expression was still bitter.

‘Let us go to my hall and discuss this matter,’ he suggested shortly. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode to where he had left his horse. They followed him and collected their mounts. The rath was only a short distance away and so the four of them walked in moody silence to the gates, where Cumscrad issued orders to his stable boys to take their horses and care for them. Then he led the way into his great hall where an attendant waited. He called for mead and refreshments and then invited them to sit in seats arranged before a glowing fire. When the drinks were brought, he gazed thoughtfully at Fidelma.

‘It was deliberate,’ he began. ‘The place was fired deliberately and my librarian killed.’ Cumscrad’s features were hard. ‘First they attack our barge and steal its precious cargo. Two books which our library had copied for Ard Mór. Then comes this attack on our library and its destruction. Yet I fail to see the motive. Why would they want these books? Why would they attempt to destroy the library? Why kill our librarian? It doesn’t add up.’

‘I can offer you no motivation behind these events as yet,’ replied Fidelma. ‘But we will find out.’

‘I understand that this library is famous for keeping books that are not approved of by many members of the Faith,’ interposed Eadulf softly. ‘That might be the motivation.’

‘You mean they attacked the books because they posed difficult questions for the Faith?’ Cumscrad smiled cynically.

‘Well, people have destroyed books for less,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘It is certainly the unintelligent option to destroy that with which we don’t agree rather than present our arguments and then decide what is the better argument.’

Gormán gave an embarrassed cough. He had been silent for so long they had almost forgotten he was there.

‘But why would the Uí Liatháin be so fanatical about the Faith? I know them. They are not known for their piety.’

‘Your warrior companion is right, lady,’ Cumscrad agreed. ‘But they are enemies of my people. That’s why.’

‘How much was this library of yours worth, Cumscrad?’ asked Eadulf. ‘What did it contain that made it as priceless as you claim?’

‘It has existed since the time of Mug Ruith, long before the new Faith reached these shores,’ replied the chieftain. ‘It was famous. It was unique.’

‘Famous?’ queried Eadulf. ‘I have heard of many libraries but not of Fhear Maighe’s.’

‘That does not reflect on the fame of our library but on your ignorance of it,’ the chieftain replied icily.

‘You may be right, Cumscrad.’ Fidelma smiled at his riposte, in spite of the mortified expression on Eadulf’s features. ‘But indulge our ignorance and tell us something about it.’

The chieftain was mollified. He gave a sigh and began to recount the history of the library. ‘Four centuries or so ago, a scholar from the east called Aethicus of Istria wrote what he called a Cosmographia, a cosmography of the world. Aethicus sailed to our shores from Iberia because he had heard of the fame of our libraries. He speaks of the volumina of our libraries as noteworthy.’

‘You say that this was four centuries ago?’ Eadulf interrupted in surprise. ‘But that would mean-’

‘That would place the fame of our libraries two centuries before the new Faith came to this island,’ finished Cumscrad. ‘Furthermore, Aethicus writes of the ideomochos of our books, clearly indicating that the books contained a literature that he had not seen before and using a word that meant that it was particular to our people.’

‘They were written on what we call the flesc filidh, or rods of the poets,’ Fidelma said. ‘The flesc filidh were wands of beech and birch. So you are saying that Aethicus actually came here and viewed these ancient books?’

‘Indeed. But since the coming of Christianity, there has been a systematic attempt to destroy everything that went before.’ Cumscrad gestured in the direction of the smouldering ruins of the tech-screptra. ‘The destruction is almost succeeding. We are witnessing crimes against knowledge. Aethicus of Istria praised our libraries and we know that he came to this very spot to examine the ancient books. His Cosmographia tells us so.’

‘I have never heard of this Aethicus and his Cosmographia,’ said Eadulf.

‘Have you not read Orosius Paulus’s History Against the Pagans? Even he quotes passages from Aethicus about his voyage to this country. But Orosius was a Christian and wished to denigrate the pagans. He described us as cannibals.’

‘You’ll forgive us, Cumscrad,’ intervened Fidelma, seeing the chieftain’s anger just below the surface. ‘It is in the nature of lawyers to be sceptical while gathering evidence.’

‘Truth is great and will prevail. You are fond of quoting that saying of your mentor, the Brehon Moran, Fidelma of Cashel. But truth does not always prevail. I presume you know of our ancestor, Mug Ruith?’

‘I was told that, in pagan times, he was regarded as a sun god who rode the skies in a chariot of burning light.’

Cumscrad grimaced sourly. ‘The stories became embellished in the retelling. He did take his name from the solar deity but Mug Ruith was a man of flesh and blood and a great Druid of my people. My clan look to him as our ultimate ancestor.’

‘So tell me who he was,’ Eadulf asked, ‘and forgive me my ignorance.’

‘The zealots of the Faith claim he was a magician. That’s how they dismiss the Druids these days, they call them wizards and magicians. Now the fanatics of the Faith also claim that Mug Ruith went to the Holy Land to learn his so-called magic from someone they call Simon Magus.’

Eadulf stirred uncomfortably. ‘That was Simon of Gitto who is considered the source of all heresies.’

‘Exactly. Mug Ruith did not have to go to learn “sorcery” from anyone. He was a great Druid.’

‘And Simon of Gitto is certainly not well regarded among those of the Faith.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘So it is a story to denigrate him.’

‘Did your library hold a copy of the Apophasis Megale or The Great Declaration which Simon of Gitto is said to have written?’ Fidelma asked suddenly.

‘You would have to ask my son that question,’ replied Cumscrad.

‘There are many things we must ask Cunán,’ Fidelma said quietly. ‘I hope he will join us soon.’

‘One thing I would like to ask now,’ Eadulf said quickly. ‘What was that curious contraption I saw which seemed to pump water from the river towards your tech-screptra?’

Cumscrad smiled sadly. ‘It was something that Dubhagan was working on. He had not perfected it. It is a new form of water pump that relies on a plunger at the top of a cylinder creating a vacuum which draws water up through valves, pushing it along the troughs. Do not ask me the meaning of these terms for I heard them only from poor Dubhagan. I barely understand the purpose.’

‘Dubhagan invented this machine for pumping water upwards?’

Cumscrad shook his head. ‘He did not invent it. He told me that he found a description of the machine in one of the Latin books that came to our tech-screptra. Let us hope thatit has been saved, for it was written many centuries ago. It was called De architectura and was written by a Roman, Vitruvius. Dubhagan said Vitruvius had seen this machine in Egypt and had adopted it when he served in the army of Julius Caesar.’

Fidelma was vaguely interested but more impatient to be about the work she had come for.

‘Let us hope it is a book that has been saved. But you remind me that the books you had here in your tech-screptra were not only the ancient ones from the Five Kingdoms.’

‘Our library made a practice of keeping religious books that were not written by the zealous, such as the book that was stolen — the one by Celsus. They were books it was felt might be destroyed because they were regarded as heretical.’

‘Do you know what they were?’

‘Only our librarians would know that.’

‘Maybe I can help you, then.’

They looked up to find that Cunán had entered the hall. The young man was washed and looked more in control of himself. The scorch marks on his face were clearly visible now.

‘Are you all right, my son?’ asked the chief anxiously.

‘I am now. I must apologise if I seemed dazed before. To find poor Dubhagan murdered and then to see the destruction of all those priceless works … it is like seeing the destruction of all you hold dear.’

He came and took a seat with them while an attendant appeared with a jug of mead and poured a measure for him. He sipped it slowly and thoughtfully.

‘I understand that the library contained books that were not entirely approved of by the Faith,’ said Fidelma.

‘It was the purpose of our library to save books from destruction which might otherwise be lost for ever,’ Cunán replied sadly.‘Now many have been reduced to ashes. We shall not know the extent of our loss until our scribes have checked through everything. That will take many days.’

‘Your library made copies of two books that were sent to Ard Mór library,’ Fidelma began.

‘At their request,’ the assistant librarian said. ‘It was some of our best copying work. And they were stolen.’

‘Your father told us that they were the poems of Dallán Forgaill and a work by Celsus.’

‘That is true.’

‘It is the work by Celsus that interests me.’

Cunán’s eyes registered surprise but he said nothing.

‘Were you here when Brother Donnchad of Lios Mór came to visit this library?’ Fidelma asked quickly.

Cunán nodded.

‘Do you recall what sort of books he was looking for?’

‘He spent his time with Dubhagan in his chamber so I do not know what they talked about, nor what he was seeking.’

‘But you did say that the books in that chamber were those of special interest,’ pressed Fidelma.

‘I did so and they were.’ He hesitated. ‘I did have to go to Dubhagan’s chamber while Brother Donnchad was there. I needed to seek Dubhagan’s advice and found Brother Donnchad poring over some books.’

‘I don’t suppose you know what they were. Was it the work of Celsus?’

Cunán shook his head. ‘Celsus? I don’t think so. I know he was looking at one of the books from our section of works in Hebrew when I entered.’

‘Hebrew?’ Fidelma was disappointed.

‘Indeed, we have copies of several works in Hebrew.’

‘What sort of works?’

‘Our prize possession is …’ he caught himself and a lookof bitterness moulded his features. ‘Our prize possession was a parchment scroll of the Sefer Torah — all five books: the Bereshit, Shemot, Vayikra, Bemidbar and Devarim.’ Seeing Fidelma’s puzzled features, he explained. ‘The Faith calls them the five books of Moses.’

‘And these are all now destroyed?’ gasped Eadulf.

‘I imagine so. They were all in the tower room where most of the destruction was wrought.’

‘Were these the books he was interested in?’

‘I don’t believe so. The book satchels were all in their correct place except one. Brother Donnchad was sitting by the Hebrew section. I knew that he was looking at a Hebrew book because I registered the space in my mind where that book should have been — in the small section we place those Hebrew titles in.’ He shrugged. ‘Librarians seem to develop an unconscious eye for such things.’

‘And do you know what the book was?’

‘I cannot be sure,’ frowned the young man.

‘Then let us hear your uncertainty,’ pressed Fidelma. ‘What book do you think it was?’

‘I think the empty space usually contained the Tosefta.’

Fidelma looked blankly at the young man.

‘It is a book of Jewish oral law which was compiled three or four centuries ago. We were told it was written in some rabbinical academy in Judea.’

‘Jewish law? Why would Brother Donnchad be interested in such a text?’ mused Eadulf.

Fidelma was looking a little uncertain for she was convinced that the reason for Donnchad’s visit to Fhear Maighe had something to do with the Celsus text. She had been hoping for some easy connection.

‘But didn’t Donnchad also ask to see a work by Celsus, the same one that was copied and stolen?’

Cunán did not reply immediately. He looked slightly guilty.

‘You hesitate. Why?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘I am right, am I not?’

‘It is just that Dubhagan asked me particularly not to mention it. But I suppose it is all right, for now both Brother Donnchad and Dubhagan are dead.’

‘Why did Dubhagan ask you not to mention it?’

‘He came into the main library when Brother Donnchad was in the tower room and asked if he could borrow the text for a while. I was just finishing copying it for Ard Mór. He told me not to mention that he was showing it to Brother Donnchad as a special favour. Brother Donnchad did not want it to be known that he had examined it.’

‘I suppose that is natural enough,’ Fidelma said after consideration.

‘We welcome books of every description. Many brethren, returning from journeys to Rome and to other places, come back with books; even critiques of the Christians by the Emperor Flavius Julianus, those of Porphyry of Pergamum — we had a copy of his Adversus Christianos, Against Christianity — and, of course, we had the work of Celsus, Alethos Logos — The True Word. Books in several languages are brought to us.’ ‘How many of these have survived the fire?’ asked Eadulf. ‘I don’t suppose you know as yet.’

‘Of the critiques of the Faith?’ Cunán shrugged. ‘I suspect that most have been destroyed. They were all in the tower room where poor Dubhagan was. Julianus’s work, Contra Galilaeos, Against the Gallileans, was very rare, although I think we still have Clement of Alexandra’s response.’

‘As I have said, it is Celsus that I am interested in. Do you know what his criticisms of the Faith were?’

The librarian looked uncertain for a moment and then glanced around almost in a conspiratorial manner.

‘I do. To be honest,’ Cunán confessed, ‘I found Celsus’sarguments fascinating and do much to support the beliefs taught by our forefathers.’

‘I have read neither Celsus nor Origenes’ answer to him. Can you tell me what Celsus argued against the Faith?’

‘Remember he was writing several hundred years ago,’ the young librarian said. ‘He argued that the idea of an incarnation of God as man is absurd. He asked why the human race should think itself superior to bees, ants and elephants … I have heard of those strange animals,’ he added as an aside. ‘The Roman Emperor Claudius took elephants to Britain to help him overcome the Britons.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Celsus asked why should Christians put themselves in such a unique relation to their creator as to make him one of them? And why should God come to men in the form of one nationality and of one distinctive faith? Celsus believed that the idea that the Jews had a special providence was nonsense. He believed that all life in the entire world was special. He likened the early Christians to a council of frogs or worms on a dunghill, croaking and squeaking, crying, “We are the rulers of the world and it is for us that it was created.” He found that absurd.’

Fidelma was frowning. ‘Does Celsus say what he did believe in?’

‘He wrote that it is more reasonable to accept that each nation, each part of the world, has its own gods, its own prophets and messengers. He charged the Christians with preaching intolerance; he charged them with not understanding other religions. He asked why Christians could not find common ground with the great philosophical and political authorities throughout the world. He argued that an effort to properly understand mankind’s belief in all the gods and demons was compatible with the purified monotheism that Christians preach. Unless they did this, he said, Christians had no hope of winning people to their Faith or hoping to attain anything like universal agreement on the divinity.’

‘He was a harsh critic, indeed,’ murmured Fidelma, feeling uncomfortable because she had often found it difficult to simply believe and not to question matters of dogma that seemed illogical to her.

‘There is much, much more,’ said Cunán. ‘Alas, it is difficult to find anyone who will admit to reading a copy of Celsus’s writings. I am told, however, that Tertullian and Minucius Felix knew his work and were influenced by it. I think the main thing Celsus was arguing for was that Christians should not remain aloof from other faiths and from politics. He apparently urged them not to claim another empire or any special position within the Roman empire but make peace with the emperors. He wrote, according to Origenes, that if all the other faiths followed the Christian example and abstained from the politics of the empire, the affairs of the empire would fall into the hands of wild and lawless barbarians.’

‘You appear to know a great deal about Celsus’s work,’ Eadulf commented with a frown.

Cunán actually grinned. ‘I have sat every day this year copying the text of Celsus. If nothing else, I know this work and its arguments. I was surprised that Brother Donnchad asked to see it. I have never met him, but we exchanged letters many years ago. I have a reputation as a copyist and I have also copied several of his own works. His reputation is well known.’

A thought suddenly occurred to Eadulf.

‘I have heard that every scribe has what is called a special “hand”, not just a way of forming letters but little idiosyncrasies in forming sentences and words. Would you know something about this?’

Cunán suppressed a smile of immodesty. ‘It is true and I believe that I know the hand of most of the leading scribes in this kingdom.’

Eadulf glanced at Fidelma. She immediately realised whathe had in mind. She took from her ciorbholg, comb bag, the piece of parchment that they had found under Brother Donnchad’s window. She handed it over to Cunán.

‘What do you make of that?’ she asked.

‘Si vis transfer calicem istrum a me … Deicide. Deicide. Deicide,’ he read carefully. ‘Take this chalice, or cup, from me. The last word written three times means god-killer, but you know that,’ he added quickly. ‘It is a claim that has often been levelled against the Jews by the Fathers of our Faith. It is as if Brother Donnchad was practising some phrase but it looks odd.’