Hemlock at Vespers

THE HIGH KING’S SWORD

“God’s curse is upon this land,” sighed the Abbot Colmán, spiritual advisor to the Great Assembly of the chieftains of the five kingdoms of Ireland.

Walking at his side through the grounds of the resplendent palace of Tara, the seat of the High Kings of Ireland, was a tall woman, clad in the robes of a religieuse, her hands folded demurely before her. Even at a distance one could see that her costume did not seem to suit her for it scarcely hid the attractiveness of her youthful, well-proportioned figure. Rebellious strands of red hair crept from beneath her habit adding to the allure of her pale fresh face and piercing green eyes. Her cheeks dimpled and there was a scarcely concealed humor behind her enforced solemnity which hinted at a joy in living rather than being weighted down by the somber pensiveness of religious life.

“When man blames God for cursing him, it is often to disguise the fact that he is responsible for his own problems,” Sister Fi-delma replied softly.

The Abbot, a thick-set and ruddy-faced man in his mid-fifties, frowned and glanced at the young woman at his side. Was she rebuking him?

“Man is hardly responsible for the terrible Yellow Plague that has swept through this land,” replied Colmán, his voice heavy with irritation. “Why, is it reported that one third of our population has been carried off by its venomousness. It has spared neither abbot, bishop nor lowly priest.”

“Nor even High Kings,” added Sister Fldelma, pointedly.

The official mourning for the brothers Blathmac and Diarmuid, joint High Kings of Ireland, who had died within days of each other from the terrors of the Yellow Plague, had ended only one week before.

“Surely, then, a curse of God?” repeated the Abbot, his jaw set firmly, waiting for Sister Fidelma to contradict him.

Wisely, she decided to remain silent. The Abbot was obviously in no mood to discuss the semantics of theology.

“It is because of these events that I have asked you to come to Tara,” the Abbot went on, as he preceded her into the chapel of the Blessed Patrick, which had been built next to the High King’s palace. Sister Fidelma followed the Abbot into the gloomy, incensed-sweetened atmosphere of the chapel, dropping to one knee and genuflecting to the altar before she followed him to the sacristy. He settled his stocky figure into a leather chair and motioned for her to be seated.

She settled herself and waited expectantly.

“I have sent, for you, Sister Fidelma, because you are an advocate, a dálaigh, of the Brehon courts, and therefore knowledgeable in law.”

Sister Fidelma contrived to shrug modestly while holding herself in repose.

“It is true that I have studied eight years with the Brehon Mor-ann, may his soul rest in peace, and I am qualified to the level of Anruth.”

The Abbot pursed his lips. He had not yet recovered from his astonishment at his first meeting with this young woman who was so highly qualified in law, and held a degree which demanded respect from the highest in the land. She was only one step below an Ollamh who could even sit in the presence of the High King himself. The Abbot felt awkward as he faced Sister Fidelma of Kildare. While he was her superior in religious matters, he, too, had to defer to the social standing and legal authority which she possessed as a dálaigh of the Brehon Court of Ireland.

“I have been told of your qualification and standing, Sister Fi-delma. But, apart from your knowledge and authority, I have also been told that you possess an unusual talent for solving puzzles.”

“Whoever has told you that flatters me. I have helped to clarify some problems. And what little talent I have in that direction is at your service.”

Sister Fidelma gazed with anticipation at the Abbot as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“For many years our country has enjoyed prosperity under the joint High Kingship of Blathmac and Diarmuid. Therefore their deaths, coming within days of one another, must be viewed as a tragedy.”

Sister Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

“Is there anything suspicious about their deaths? Is that why you have asked me here?”

The Abbot shook his head hurriedly.

“No. Their deaths were but human submission to the fearsome Yellow Plague which all dread and none can avoid once it has marked them. It is God’s will.”

The Abbot seemed to pause waiting for some comment but, when Sister Fidelma made none, he continued.

“No, Sister, there is nothing suspicious about the deaths of Blathmac and Diarmuid. The problem arises with their successor to the kingship.”

Sister Fidelma frowned.

“But I thought that the Great Assembly had decided that Sech-nasach, the son of Blathmac, would become High King?”

“That was the decision of the provincial kings and chieftains of Ireland,” agreed the Abbot. “But Sechnasach has not yet been inaugurated on the sacred Stone of Destiny.” He hesitated. “Do you know your Law of Kings?”

“In what respect?” Sister Fidelma countered, wondering where the question was leading.

“That part relating to the seven proofs of a righteous king.”

“The Law of the Brehons states that there are seven proofs of the righteous king,” recited Sister Fidelma dutifully. “That he be approved by the Great Assembly. That he accept the Faith of the One True God. That he hold sacred the symbols of his office and swear fealty on them. That he rule by the Law of the Brehons and his judgment be firm and just and beyond reproach. That he promote the commonwealth of the people. That he must never command his warriors in an unjust war-”

The Abbot held up his hand and interrupted.

“Yes, yes. You know the law. The point is that Sechnasach cannot be inaugurated because the great sword of the Uí Néill, the ’Caladchalog,’ which was said to have been fashioned in the time of the ancient mist by the smith-god Gobhainn, has been stolen.”

Sister Fidelma raised her head, lips slightly parted in surprise.

The ancient sword of the Uí Néill was one of the potent symbols of the High Kingship. Legend had it that it had been given by the smith-god to the hero Fergus Mac Roth in the time of the ancient ones, and then passed down to Niall of the Nine Hostages, whose descendants had become the Uí Néill kings of Ireland. For centuries now the High Kings had been chosen from either the sept of the northern Uí Néill or from the southern Uí Néill. The “Calad-chalog,” ” the hard dinter,” was a magical, mystical sword, by which the people recognized their righteous ruler. All High Kings had to swear fealty on it at their inauguration and carry it on all state occasions as the visible symbol of their authority and king-ship.

The Abbot stuck out his lower Up.

“In these days, when our people go in fear from the ravages of the plague, they need comfort and distraction. If it was known throughout the land that the new High King could not produce his sword of office on which to swear his sacred oath of kingship then apprehension and terror would seize the people. It would be seen as an evil omen at the start of Sechnasach’s rule. There would be chaos and panic. Our people cling fiercely to the ancient ways and traditions but, particularly at this time, they need solace and stability.”

Sister Fidelma compressed her lips thoughtfully. What the Abbot said was certainly true. The people firmly believed in the symbolism which had been handed down to them from the mists of ancient times.

“If only people relied on their own abilities and not on symbols,” the Abbot was continuing. “It is time for reform, both in secular as well as religious matters. We cling to too many of the pagan beliefs of our ancestors from the time before the Light of Our Savior was brought to these shores.”

“I see that you yourself believe in the reforms of Rome,” Sister Fidelma observed shrewdly.

The Abbot did not conceal his momentary surprise.

“How so?”

Sister Fidelma smiled.

“I have done nothing clever, Abbot Colmán. It was an elementary observation. You wear the tonsure of St. Peter, the badge of Rome, and not that of St. John from whom our own Church takes its rule.”

The corner of the Abbot’s mouth dropped.

“I make no secret that I was in Rome for five years and came to respect Rome’s reasons for the reforms. I feel it is my duty to advocate the usages of the Church of Rome among our people to replace our old rituals, symbolisms and traditions.”

“We have to deal with people as they are and not as we would like them to be,” observed Sister Fidelma.

“But we must endeavor to change them as well,” replied the Abbot unctuously, “setting their feet on the truth path to God’s grace.”

“We will not quarrel over the reforms of Rome,” replied Sister Fidelma quietly. “I will continue to be guided by the rule of the Holy Brigid of Kildare, where I took my vows. But tell me, for what purpose have I been summoned to Tara?”

The Abbot hesitated, as if wondering whether to pursue his theme of Rome’s reforms. Then he sniffed to hide his irritation.

“We must find the missing sword before the High King’s inauguration, which is tomorrow, if we wish to avoid civil strife in the five kingdoms of Ireland.”

“From where was it stolen?”

“Here, from this very chapel. The sacred sword was placed with the Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny, under the altar. It was locked in a metal and wood chest. The only key was kept on the altar in full view. No one, so it was thought, would ever dare violate the sanctuary of the altar and chapel to steal its sacred treasures.”

“Yet someone did?”

“Indeed they did. We have the culprit locked in a cell.”

“And the culprit is…?”

“Ailill Flann Esa. He is the son of Donal, who was High King twenty years ago. Ailill sought the High Kingship in rivalry to his cousin, Sechnasach. It is obvious that, out of malice caused by the rejection of the Great Assembly, he seeks to discredit his cousin.”

“What witnesses were there to his theft of the sword?”

“Three. He was found in the chapel alone at night by two guards of the royal palace, Congal and Erc. And I, myself, came to the chapel a few moments later.”

Sister Fidelma regarded the Abbot with bewilderment.

“If he were found in the chapel in the act of stealing the sword, why was the sword not found with him?”

The Abbot sniffed impatiently.

“He had obviously hidden it just before he was discovered. Maybe he heard the guards coming and hid it.”

“Has the chapel been searched?”

“Yes. Nothing has been found.”

“So, from what you say, there were no witnesses to see Ailill Flann Esa actually take the sword?”

The Abbot smiled paternally.

“My dear Sister, the chapel is secured at night. The deacon made a check last thing and saw everything was in order. The guards passing outside observed that the door was secure just after midnight, but twenty minutes later they passed it again and found it open. They saw the bolt had been smashed. The chapel door is usually bolted on the inside. That was when they saw Ailill at the altar. The altar table had been pushed aside, the chest was open and the sword gone. The facts seem obvious.”

“Not yet so obvious, Abbot Colmán,” Sister Fidelma replied thoughtfully.

“Obvious enough for Sechnasach to agree with me to have Ailill Flann Esa incarcerated immediately.”

“And the motive, you would say, is simply one of malice?”

“Obvious again. Ailill wants to disrupt the inauguration of Sech-nasach as High King. Perhaps he even imagines that he can promote civil war in the confusion and chaos, and, using the people’s fears, on the production of the sacred sword from the place where he has hidden it, he thinks to overthrow Sechnasach and make himself High King. The people, in their dread of the Yellow Plague, are in the mood to be manipulated by their anxieties.”

“If you have your culprit and motive, why send for me?” Sister Fidelma observed, a trace of irony in her voice. “And there are better qualified dálaigh and Brehons at the court of Tara, surely?”

“Yet none who have your reputation for solving such conundrums, Sister Fidelma.”

“But the sword must still be in the chapel or within its vicinity.”

“We have searched and it cannot be found. Time presses. I have been told that you have the talent to solve the mystery of where the sword has been hidden. I have heard how skillful you are in questioning suspects and extracting the truth from them. Ailill has, assuredly, hidden the sword nearby and we must find out where before the High King’s inauguration.”

Sister Fidelma pursed her lips and then shrugged.

“Show me the where the sword was kept and then I will question Ailill Flann Esa.”

Ailill Flann Esa was in his mid-thirties; tall, brown-haired and full-bearded. He carried himself with the pride of the son of a former High King. His father had been Donal Mac Aed of the northern Uí Néill, who had once ruled from Tara twenty years before.

“I did not steal the sacred sword,” he replied immediately after Sister Fidelma identified her purpose.

“Then explain how you came to be in the chapel at such a time,” she said, seating herself on the wooden bench that ran alongside the wall of the tenebrous grey stone cell in which he was imprisoned. Ailill hesitated and then seated himself on a stool before her. The stool, with a wooden bed and a table, comprised the other furnishings of the cell. Sister Fidelma knew that only Ailill’s status gave him the luxury of these comforts and alleviated the dankness of the granite jail in which he was confined.

“I was passing the chapel-” began Ailill.

“Why?” interrupted Sister Fidelma. “It was after midnight, I believe?”

The man hesitated, frowning. He was apparently not used to people interrupting. Sister Fidelma hid a smile as she saw the struggle on his haughty features. It was clear he wished to respond in annoyance but realized that she was an Anruth who had the power of the Brehon Court behind her. Yet he hesitated for a moment or two.

“I was on my way somewhere … to see someone.”

“Where? Who?”

“That I cannot say.”

She saw firmness in his pinched mouth, in the compressed lips. He would obviously say nothing further on that matter. She let it pass.

“Continue,” she invited after a moment’s pause.

“Well, I was passing the chapel, as I said, and I saw the door open. Usually, at that time of night, the door is closed and the bolt in place. I thought this strange, so I went in. Then I noticed that the altar had been pushed aside. I went forward. I could see that the chest, in which the sword of office was kept, had been opened…”

He faltered and ended with a shrug.

“And then?” prompted Sister Fidelma.

“That is all. The guards came in at that moment. Then the Abbot appeared. I found myself accused of stealing the sword. Yet I did not.”

“Are you saying that this is all you know about the matter?”

“That is all I know. I am accused but innocent. My only misdemeanor is that I am my father’s son and presented a claim before the Great Assembly to succeed Blathmac and Diarmuid as High King. Although Sechnasach won the support of the Great Assembly for his claim, he has never forgiven me for challenging his succession. He is all the more ready to believe my guilt because of his hatred of me.”

“And have you forgiven Sechnasach for his success before the Great Assembly?” Sister Fidelma asked sharply.

Ailill grimaced in suppressed annoyance.

“Do you think me a mean person, Sister? I abide by the law. But, in honesty, I will tell you that I think the Great Assembly has made a wrong choice. Sechnasach is a traditionalist at a time when our country needs reforms. We need reforms in our secular law and in our Church.”

Sister Fldelma’s eyes narrowed.

“You would support the reforms being urged upon us by the Roman Church? To change our dating of Easter, our ritual and manner of land-holding?”

“I would. I have never disguised it. And there are many who would support me. My cousin Cernach, the son of Diarmuid, for example. He is a more vehement advocate of Rome than I am.”

“But you would admit that you have a strong motive in attempting to stop Sechnasach’s inauguration?”

“Yes. I admit that my policies would be different to those of Sechnasach. But above all things I believe that once the Great Assembly chooses a High King, then all must abide by their decision. Unless the High King fails to abide by the law and fulfill its obligations, he is still High King. No one can challenge the choice of the Great Assembly.”

Sister Fidelma gazed directly into Ailill’s smoldering brown eyes.

“And did you steal the sword?”

Ailill sought to control the rage which the question apparently aroused.

“By the powers, I did not! I have told you all I know.”

The warrior named Erc scuffed at the ground with his heel, and stirred uneasily.

“I am sure I cannot help you, Sister. I am a simple guardsman and there is little to add beyond the fact that I, with my companion Congal, found Ailill Flann Esa in the chapel standing before the chest from which the sacred sword had been stolen. There is nothing further I can add.”

Sister Fidelma compressed her lips. She gazed around at the curious faces of the other warriors who shared the dormitory of the High King’s bodyguard. The murky chamber, shared by a hundred warriors when they were resting from their guard duties, stank of spirits and body sweat which mixed into a bitter scent.

“Let me be the judge of that.” She turned towards the door. “Come, walk with me for a while in the fresh air, Erc. I would have you answer some questions.”

Reluctantly the burly warrior laid aside his shield and javelin and followed the religieuse from the dormitory, accompanied by a chorus of whispered comments and a few lewd jests from his comrades.

“I am told that you were guarding the chapel on the night the theft occurred,” Sister Fidelma said as soon as they were outside, walking in the crystal early morning sunlight. “Is that correct?”

“Congal and I were the guards that night, but our duties were merely to patrol the buildings of which the chapel is part. Usually from midnight until dawn the doors of the chapel of the Blessed Patrick are shut. The chapel contains many treasures and the Abbot has ordered that the door be bolted at night.”

“And what time did you arrive at your posts?”

“At midnight exactly, Sister. Our duties took us from the door of the royal stables, fifty yards from the chapel, to the door of the great refectory, a route which passes the chapel door.”

“Tell me what happened that night.”

“Congal and I took up our positions, as usual. We walked by the chapel door. It seemed shut as usual. We turned at the door of the great refectory from which point we followed a path which circumvents the buildings, so that our patrol follows a circular path.”

“How long does it take to circumnavigate the buildings?”

“No more than half an hour.”

“And how long would you be out of sight of the door of the chapel?”

“Perhaps twenty minutes.”

“Go on.”

“It was on our second patrol, as I say, a half-hour later, that we passed the door of the chapel. It was Congal who spotted that the door was opened. We moved forward and then I saw that the door had been forced. The wood was splintered around the bolt on the inside of the door. We entered and saw Ailill Flann Esa standing before the altar. The altar had been pushed back from the position where it covered the Stone of Destiny and the chest in which the sacred sword was kept had been opened.”

“What was Ailill doing? Did he look flustered or short of breath?”

“No. He was calm enough. Just staring down at the open chest.”

“Wasn’t it dark in the chapel? How did you see so clearly?”

“Some candles were lit within the chapel and provided light enough.”

“And then?”

“He saw our shadows and started, turning to us. At that point the Abbot came up behind us. He saw the sacrilege at once and pointed to the fact that the sword was gone.”

“Did he question Ailill?”

“Oh, surely he did. He said the sword had gone and asked what Ailill had to say.”

“And what did Ailill say?”

“He said that he had just arrived there.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said that was impossible because we were patroling outside and had the chapel door in sight for at least ten minutes from the royal stable doorway. Ailill must have been inside for that ten minutes at least.”

“But it was nighttime. It must have been dark outside. How could you be sure that Ailill had not just entered the chapel before you, covered by the darkness?”

“Because the torches are lit in the grounds of the royal palace every night. It is the law of Tara. Where there is light, there is no treachery. Ailill must have been in the chapel, as I have said, for at least ten minutes. That is a long time.”

“Yet even ten minutes does not seem time enough to open the chest, hide the sword and repose oneself before you entered.”

“Time enough, I’d say. For what else could be done with the sword but hide it?”

“And where is your companion, Congal? I would question him.”

Erc looked troubled and genuflected with a degree of haste.

“God between me and evil, Sister. He has fallen sick with the Yellow Plague. He lies close to death now and maybe I will be next to succumb to the scourge.”

Sister Fidelma bit her lip, then she shook her head and smiled reassuringly at Erc.

“Not necessarily so, Erc. Go to the apothecary. Ask that you be given an infusion of the leaves and flowers of the centaurium vulgare. It has a reputation for keeping the Yellow Plague at bay.”

“What is that?” demanded the warrior, frowning at the unfamiliar Latin words.

“Dréimire buí,” she translated to the Irish name of the herb. “The apothecary will know it. To drink of the mixture is supposedly a good preventative tonic. By drinking each day, you may avoid the scourge. Now go in peace, Erc. I have done with you for the meanwhile.”

Sechnasach, lord of Midhe, and High King of Ireland, was a thin man, aged in his mid-thirties, with scowling features and dark hair. He sat slightly hunched forward on his chair, the epitome of gloom.

“Abbot Colmán reports that you have not yet discovered where Ailill has hidden the sword of state, Sister,” he greeted brusquely as he gestured for Sister Fidelma to be seated. “May I remind you that the inauguration ceremony commences at noon tomorrow?”

The High King had agreed to meet her, at her own request, in one of the small audience chambers of the palace of Tara. It was a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling and hung with colorful tapestries. There was a crackling log fire in the great hearth at one end before which the High King sat in his ornate carved oak chair. Pieces of exquisite furniture, brought as gifts to the court from many parts of the world, were placed around the chamber with decorative ornaments in gold and silver and semi-precious jewels.

“That presupposes Ailill stole the sword,” observed Sister Fi-delma calmly as she sat before him. She observed strict protocol. Had she been trained to the degree of Ollamh she could have sat in the High King’s presence without waiting for permission. Indeed, the chief Ollamh of Ireland, at the court of the High King, was so influential that even the High King was not allowed to speak at the Great Assembly before the chief Ollamh. Sister Fi-delma had never been in the presence of a High King before and her mind raced hastily over the correct rituals to be observed.

Sechnasach drew his brows together at her observation.

“You doubt it? But the facts given by Abbot Colmán are surely plain enough? If Ailill did not steal it, who then?”

Sister Fidelma raised a shoulder and let it fall.

“Before I comment further I would ask you some questions, Sechnasach of Tara.”

The High King made a motion of his hand as though to invite her questions.

“Who would gain if you were prevented from assuming the High Kingship?”

Sechnasach grimaced with bitter amusement.

“Ailill, of course. For he stands as Tanist by choice of the Great Assembly.”

Whenever the Great Assembly elected a High King, they also elected a Tanist or “second”; an heir presumptive who would assume office should the High King become indisposed. Should the High King be killed or die suddenly then the Great Assembly would meet to confirm the Tanist as High King but at no time were the five kingdoms left without a supreme potentate. Under the ancient Brehon Law of Ireland, only the most worthy were elected to kingship and there was no such concept of hereditary right by primogeniture such as practiced in the lands of the Saxons or Franks.

“And no one else? There are no other claimants?”

“There are many claimants. My uncle Diarmuid’s son, Cernach, for example, and Ailill’s own brothers, Conall and Colcu. You must know of the conflict between the southern and northern Uí Néill? I am of the southern Uí Néill. Many of the northern Uí Néill would be glad to see me deposed.”

“But none but Ailill stand as the obvious choice to gain by your fall?” pressed Sister Fidelma.

“None.”

Compressing her lips, Sister Fidelma rose.

“That is all at this time, Sechnasach,” she said.

The High King glanced at her in surprise at the abruptness of her questioning.

“You would give me no hope of finding the sacred sword before tomorrow?”

Sister Fidelma detected a pleading tone to his voice.

“There is always hope, Sechnasach. But if I have not solved this mystery by noon tomorrow, at the time of your inauguration, then we will see the resolution in the development of events. Events will solve the puzzle.”

“Little hope of averting strife, then?”

“I do not know,” Sister Fidelma admitted candidly.

She left the audience chamber and was moving down the corridor when a low soprano voice called to her by name from a darkened doorway. Sister Fidelma paused, turned and gazed at the dark figure of a girl.

“Come inside for a moment, Sister.”

Sister Fidelma followed the figure through heavy drapes into a brightly lit chamber.

A young, dark-haired girl in an exquisitely sewn gown of blue, bedecked in jewels, ushered her inside and pulled the drape across the door.

“I am Ornait, sister of Sechnasach,” the girl said breathlessly.

Sister Fidelma bowed her head to the High King’s sister.

“I am at your service, Ornait.”

“I was listening behind the tapestries, just now,” the girl said, blushing a little. “I heard what you were saying to my brother. You don’t believe Ailill stole the sacred sword, do you?”

Sister Fidelma gazed into the girl’s eager, pleading eyes, and smiled softly.

“And you do not want to believe it?” she asked with gentle emphasis.

The girl lowered her gaze, the redness of her cheeks, if anything, increasing.

“I know he could not have done this deed. He would not.” She seized Sister Fidelma’s hand. “I know that if anyone can prove him innocent of this sacrilege it will be you.”

“Then you know then that I am an advocate in the Brehon Court?” asked Sister Fidelma, slightly embarrassed at the girl’s emphatic belief in her ability.

“I have heard of your reputation from a Sister of your order at Kildare.”

“And the night Ailill was arrested in the chapel, he was on his way to see you? It was foolish of him not to tell me.”

Ornait raised her small chin defiantly.

“We love each other!”

“But keep it a secret, even from your brother?”

“Until after my brother’s inauguration as High King, it will remain a secret. When he feels more kindly disposed toward Ailill for standing against him before the Great Assembly, then we shall tell him.”

“You do not think Ailill feels any resentment toward your brother, a resentment which might have motivated him to hide the sacred sword to discredit Sechnasach?”

“Ailill may not agree with my brother on many things but he agrees that the decision of the Great Assembly, under the Brehon Law, is sacred and binding,” replied Ornait, firmly. “And he is not alone in that. My cousin, Cernach Mac Diarmuid, believes that he has a greater right to the High Kingship than Sechnasach. He dislikes my brother’s attitude against any reform suggested by Rome. But Cernach does not come to the age of choice for a while yet when he can legally challenge my brother to the High Kingship. Being too young to challenge for office, Cernach supported Ailill in his claim. It is no crime to be unsuccessful in the challenge for the High Kingship. Once the Great Assembly makes the decision, there is an end to it. No, a thousand times-no! Ailill would not do this thing.”

“Well, Sister?” The Abbot stared at Sister Fidelma with narrowed eyes.

“I have nothing to report at the moment, just another question to ask.”

She had gone to see Abbot Colmán in his study in the abbey building behind the palace of Tara. The Abbot was seated behind a wooden table where he had been examining a colorful illuminated manuscript. He saw her eyes fall on the book and smiled complacently.

“This is the Gospel of John produced by our brothers at Clon-macnoise. A beautiful work which will be sent to our brothers at the Holy Island of Colmcille.”

Sister Fidelma glanced briefly at the magnificently wrought handiwork. It was, indeed, beautiful but her thoughts were occupied elsewhere. She paused a moment before asking:

“If there were civil strife in the kingdom, and from it Ailill was made High King, would he depart from the traditional policies propounded by Sechnasach?”

The Abbot was taken off-guard, his jaw dropping and his eyes rounding in surprise. Then he frowned and appeared to ponder the question for a moment.

“I would think the answer is in the affirmative,” he answered at last.

“Particularly,” went on Sister Fidelma, “would Ailill press the abbots and bishops to reform the Church?”

The Abbot scratched an ear.

“It is no secret that Ailill favours a rapprochement with the Church of Rome, believing its reforms to be correct. There are many of the Uí Néill house who do. Cernach Mac Diarmuid, for instance. He is a leading advocate among the laymen for such reforms. A bit of a hothead but influential. A youth who stands near the throne of Tara but doesn’t reach the age of choice for a month or so when he may take his place in the assemblies of the five kingdoms.”

“But Sechnasach does not believe in reforms and would adhere strongly to the traditional rites and liturgy of our Church?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And, as one of the pro-Roman faction, you would favour Ailill’s policies?”

The Abbot flushed with indignation.

“I would. But I make no secret of my position. And I hold my beliefs under the law. My allegiance is to the High King as designated by that law. And while you have a special privilege as an advocate of the Brehon Court, may I remind you that I am Abbot of Tara, father and superior to your order?”

Sister Fidelma made a gesture with her hand as if in apology.

“I am merely seeking facts, Abbot Colmán. And it is as dálaigh of the Brehon Court that I ask these questions, not as a Sister of Kildare.”

“Then here is a fact. I denounced Ailill Flann Esa. If I had supported what he has done in order to overthrow Sechnasach simply because Ailill would bring the Church in Ireland in agreement with Rome, then I would not have been willing to point so quickly to Ailill’s guilt. I could have persuaded the guards that someone else had carried out the deed.”

“Indeed,” affirmed Sister Fidelma. “If Ailill Flann Esa were guilty of this sacrilege then you would not profit.”

“Exactly so,” snapped the Abbot. “And Ailill is guilty.”

“So it might seem.”

Sister Fidelma turned to the door, paused and glanced back.

“One tiny point, to clarify matters. How is it that you came to be in the chapel at that exact time?”

The Abbot drew his brows together.

“I had left the Psalter in the sacristy,” he replied irritably. “I went to retrieve it.”

“Surely it would have been safe until morning? Why go out into the cold of night to the chapel?”

“I needed to look up a reference; besides I did not have to go out into the night…”

“No? How then did you get into the chapel?”

The Abbot sighed, in annoyance.

“There is a passage which leads from the abbey here into the chapel sacristy.”

Sister Fidelma’s eyes widened. She suddenly realized that she had been a fool. The fact had been staring her in the face all the time.

“Please show me this passage.”

“I will get one of the brethren to show you. I am busy with the preparations for the inauguration.”

Abbot Colmán reached forward and rang a silver bell which stood upon the table.

A moon-faced man clad in the brown robes of the order of the abbey entered almost immediately, arms folded in the copious sleeves of his habit. Even from a distance of a few feet, Sister Fidelma could smell the wild garlic on his breath, a pungent odor which caused her to wrinkle her nose in distaste.

“This is Brother Rogallach.” The Abbot motioned with his hand. “Rogallach, I wish you to show Sister Fidelma the passage to the chapel.” Then, turning to her, he raised his eyebrows in query. “Unless there is anything else …?”

“Nothing else, Colmán,” Sister Fidelma replied quietly. “For the time being.”

Brother Rogallach took a candle and lit it. He and Sister Fidelma were standing in one of the corridors of the abbey building. Ro-gallach moved toward a tapestry and drew it aside to reveal an entrance from which stone steps led downward.

“This is the only entrance to the passage which leads to the chapel?” asked Sister Fidelma, trying to steel her features against his bad breath.

Brother Rogallach nodded. He stood slightly in awe of the young woman for it was already common gossip around the abbey as to her status and role.

“Who knows about it?” she pressed.

“Why, everyone in the abbey. When the weather is intemperate we use this method to attend worship in the chapel.” The monk opened his mouth in an ingenuous smile, displaying broken and blackened teeth.

“Would anyone outside the abbey know about it?”

The monk grimaced eloquently.

“It is no secret, Sister. Anyone who has lived at Tara would know of it.”

“So Ailill would know of its existence?”

Brother Rogallach gestured as if the answer were obvious.

“Lead on then, Brother Rogallach,” Sister Fldelma instructed, thankful to push the monk ahead of her so that she was not bathed by the foul stench of his breathing.

The moon-faced monk turned and preceded her down the steps and through a musty but dry passage whose floor was laid with stone flags. It was a winding passage along which several small alcoves stood, most of them containing items of furniture. Sister Fidelma stopped at the first of them and asked Rogallach to light the alcove with his candle. She repeated this performance at each of the alcoves.

“They are deep enough for a person to hide in let alone to conceal a sword,” she mused aloud. “Were they searched for the missing sword?”

The monk nodded eagerly, drawing close so that Sister Fidelma took an involuntary step backward. “Of course. I was one of those called to assist in the search. Once the chapel was searched, it was obvious that the next place as a likely hiding place would be this passageway.”

Nevertheless, Sister Fidelma caused Rogallach to halt at each alcove until she had examined it thoroughly by the light of his candle. At one alcove she frowned and reached for a piece of frayed cloth caught on a projecting section of wood. It was brightly colored cloth, certainly not from the cheerless brown robes of a religieux, but more like the fragment of a richly woven cloak. It was the sort of cloth that a person in the position of wealth and power would have.

It took a little time to traverse the passage and to come up some steps behind a tapestry into the sacristy. From there Sister Fi-delma moved into the chapel and across to the chapel door.

Something had been irritating her for some time about the affair. Now that she realized the existence of the passage, she knew what had been puzzling her.

“The chapel door is always bolted from the inside?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Rogallach.

“So if you wanted to enter the chapel, how would you do it?”

Rogallach smiled, emitting another unseen cloud of bitter scent to engulf her.

“Why, I would merely use the passage.”

“Indeed, if you knew it was there,” affirmed Sister Fidelma, thoughtfully.

“Well, only a stranger to Tara, such as yourself, would not know that.”

“So if someone attempted to break into the chapel from the outside, they would obviously not know of the existence of the passage?”

Rogallach moved his head in an affirmative gesture.

Sister Fidelma stood at the door of the chapel and gazed down at the bolt, especially to where it had splintered from the wood and her eyes narrowed as she examined the scuff marks on the metal where it had obviously been hit with a piece of stone. Abruptly, she smiled broadly as she realized the significance of its breaking. She turned to Rogallach.

“Send the guard Erc to me.”

Sechnasach, the High King, stared at Sister Fidelma with suspicion.

“I am told that you have summoned the Abbot Colmán, Aillil Flann Esa, my sister Ornait and Cernach Mac Diarmuid to appear here. Why is this?”

Sister Fidelma stood, hands demurely folded before her, as she confronted Sechnasach.

“I did so because I have that right as a dálaigh of the Brehon courts and with the authority that I can now solve the mystery of the theft of your sword of state.”

Sechnasach leaned forward in his chair excitedly. “You have found where Ailill has hidden it?”

“My eyes were blind for I should have seen the answer long ago,” Sister Fidelma replied.

“Tell me where the sword is,” demanded Sechnasach.

“In good time,” Sister Fidelma answered calmly. “I need a further answer from you before I can reveal the answer to this puzzle. I have summoned Cernach, the son of your uncle Diarmuid, who was, with your father, joint High King.”

“What has Cernach to do with this matter?”

“It is said that Cernach is a most vehement supporter of the reforms of the Church of Rome.”

Sechnasach frowned, slightly puzzled. “He has often argued with me that I should change my attitudes and support those abbots and bishops of Ireland who would alter our ways and adopt the rituals of Rome. But he is still a youth. Why, he does not achieve the age of choice for a month or so and cannot even sit in council. He has no authority though he has some influence on the young members of our court.”

Sister Fidelma nodded reflectively.

“This agrees with what I have heard. But I needed some confirmation. Now let the guards bring in Ailill and the others and I will tell you what has happened.”

She stood silently before the High King while Ailill Flann Esa was brought in under guard, followed by the Abbot Colmán. Behind came a worried-looking Ornait, glancing with ill-concealed anxiety at her lover. After her came a puzzled-looking, dark-haired young man who was obviously Cernach Mac Diarmuid.

They stood in a semi-circle before the High King’s chair. Sech-nasach glanced toward Sister Fidelma, inclining his head to her as indication that she should start.

“We will firstly agree on one thing,” began Sister Fidelma. “The sacred sword of the Uí Néill kings of Tara was stolen from the chapel of the Blessed Patrick. We will now also agree on the apparent motive. It was stolen to prevent the inauguration of Sech-nasach as High King tomorrow… or to discredit him in the eyes of the people, to ferment civil disorder in the five kingdoms which might lead to Sechnasach being overthrown and someone else taking the throne.”

She smiled briefly at Sechnasach.

“Are we agreed on that?”

“That much is obvious.” It was Abbot Colmán who interrupted in annoyance. “In these dark times, it would only need such an omen as the loss of the sacred sword to create chaos and alarm within the kingdoms of Ireland. I have already said as much.”

“And what purpose would this chaos and alarm, with the overthrow of Sechnasach, be put to?” queried Sister Fidelma. Before anyone could reply she went on. “It seems easy to see. Sechnasach is sworn to uphold the traditions of the kingdoms and of our Church. Rome claims authority over all the Churches but this claim has been disputed by the Churches of Ireland, Britain and Armorica as well as the Churches of the East. Rome wishes to change our rituals, our liturgy and the computations whereby we celebrate the Cáise in remembrance of our Lord’s death in Jerusalem. And there are some among us, even abbots and bishops, who support Rome and seek the abandoning of our traditions and a union with the Roman Church. So even among us we do not all speak with one voice. Is that not so, Ailill Flann Esa?”

Ailill scowled.

“As I have told you, I have never denied my views.”

“Then let us agree entirely on the apparent inner motive for the theft of the sword. Destabilization of the High King and his replacement by someone who would reject the traditionalist ways and throw his support behind the reforms in line with Rome.”

There was a silence. She had their full attention.

“Very well,” went on Sister Fidelma. “This seems an obvious motive. But let us examine the facts of the theft. Two guards passed the door of the chapel in which the sword was kept shortly after midnight. The door was secured. But when they passed the chapel door twenty minutes later, they saw the door ajar with the bolt having been forced. Entering they saw Ailill standing at the altar staring at the empty chest where the sword had been kept. Then the Abbot entered. He came into the chapel from the sacristy to which he had gained entrance from the passage which leads there from the abbey. He accused Ailill of stealing the sword and hiding it. The sword was not found in the chapel. If Ailill had stolen the sword, how had he time to hide it so well and cleverly? Even the ten minutes allowed him by the guards was not time enough. This is the first problem that struck my thoughts.”

She paused and glanced towards Ornait, the sister of the High King.

“According to Ailill Flann Esa, he was walking by the chapel. He saw the door ajar and the bolt forced. He went inside out of curiosity and perceived the empty chest. That is his version of events.”

“We know this is what he claims,” snapped Sechnasach. “Have you something new to add?”

“Only to clarify,” replied Fidelma unperturbed by the High King’s agitation. “Ailill’s reason to be passing the chapel at that hour was because he was on his way to meet with Ornait.”

Ornait flushed. Sechnasach turned to stare at his sister, mouth slightly open.

“I regret that I cannot keep your secret, Ornait,” Sister Fidelma said with a grimace. “But the truth must be told for much is in the balance.”

Ornait raised her chin defiantly toward her brother.

“Well, Ornait? Why would Ailill meet with you in dead of night?” demanded the High King.

The girl pushed back her head defiantly.

“I love Ailill and he loves me. We wanted to tell you, but thought we would do so after your inauguration when you might look on us with more charity.”

Sister Fidelma held up her hand as Sechnasach opened his mouth to respond in anger.

“Time enough to sort that matter later. Let us continue. If Ailill speaks the truth, then we must consider this. Someone knew of Ailill’s appointment with Ornait. That person was waiting inside the chapel. Being a stranger to Tara, I had not realized that the chapel could be entered from within by means of a passageway. In this matter I was stupid. I should have known at once by the fact that the chapel doors bolted from within. The fact was staring me in the face. I should have realized that if the chapel was left bolted at night, then there must obviously be another means for the person who secured the bolt to make their exit.”

“But everyone at Tara knows about that passage,” pointed out Sechnasach.

“Indeed,” smiled Sister Fidelma. “And it would be obvious that at some stage I would come to share that knowledge.”

“The point is that the bolt on the door was forced,” Abbot Col-man pointed out in a testy tone.

“Indeed. But not from the outside,” replied Sister Fidelma. “Again my wits were not swift, otherwise I would have seen it immediately. When you force a bolted door, it is the metal on the door jamb, that which secures the bolt, that gets torn from its fixtures. But the bolt itself, on the chapel door, was the section which had been splintered away from its holdings.”

She stood looking at their puzzled expressions for a moment.

“What happened was simple enough. The culprit had entered the chapel from the passage within. The culprit had taken the key, pushed back the altar, opened the chest. The sword had been removed and taken to a place of safety. Then the culprit had returned to arrange the scene. Ensuring that the guards were well beyond the door, the perpetrator opened it, took up a stone and smashed at the bolt. Instead of smashing away the metal catch on the door jamb, the bolt on the door was smashed. It was so obvious a clue that I nearly overlooked it. All I saw, at first, was a smashed bolt.”

Ornait was smiling through her tears.

“I knew Ailill could not have done this deed. The real perpetrator did this deed for the purpose of making Ailill seem the guilty one. Your reputation as a solver of puzzles is well justified, Sister Fidelma.”

Sister Fidelma responded with a slightly wan smile.

“It needed no act of genius to deduce that the evidence could only point to the fact the Ailill Flann Esa could not have stolen the sword in the manner claimed.”

Ailill was frowning at Sister Fidelma.

“Then who is the guilty person?”

“Certain things seemed obvious. Who benefited from the deed?” Sister Fidelma continued, ignoring his question. “Abbot Colmán is a fierce adherent of Rome. He might benefit in this cause if Sech-nasach was removed. And Abbot Colmán was in the right place at the right time. He had the opportunity to do this deed.”

“This is outrageous!” snarled the Abbot. “I am accused unjustly. I am your superior, Fidelma of Kildare. I am the Abbot of Tara and…”

Sister Fidelma grimaced. “I need not be reminded of your position in the Church, Abbot Colmán,” she replied softly. “I also remind you that I speak here as an advocate of the Brehon Court and was invited here to act in this position by yourself.”

Colmán, flushed and angry, hesitated and then said slowly:

“I make no secret of my adherence to the Rome order but to suggest that I would be party to such a plot-”

Sister Fidelma held up a hand and motioned him to silence.

“This is true enough. After all, Ailill would be Colmán’s natural ally. If Colmán stole the sword, why would he attempt to put the blame onto Ailill and perhaps discredit those who advocated the cause of Rome? Surely, he would do his best to support Ailill so that when civil strife arose over the non-production of the sacred sword, Ailill, as Tanist, the heir presumptive, would be in a position to immediately claim the throne of Sechnasach?”

“What are you saying?” asked Sechnasach, trying to keep track of Sister Fidelma’s reasoning.

Sister Fidelma turned to him, her blue eyes level, her tone unhurried.

“There is another factor in this tale of political intrigue. Cernach Mac Diarmuid. His name was mentioned to me several times as a fierce adherent of Rome.”

The young man who had so far stood aloof and frowning, now started, his cheeks reddening. A hand dropped to his side as if seeking a weapon. But no one, save the High King’s bodyguard, was allowed to carry a weapon in Tara’s halls.

“What do you mean by this?”

“Cernach desired the throne of Tara. As son of one of the joint High Kings, he felt that it was his due. But moreover, he would benefit most if both Sechnasach and Ailill were discredited.”

“Why…” Cernach started forward, anger on his face. One of the warriors gripped the young man’s arm so tightly that he winced. He turned and tried to shake off the grip but made no further aggressive move.

Sister Fidelma spoke to one of the guards.

“Is the warrior, Erc, outside?”

The guard moved to the door and called.

The burly warrior entered holding something wrapped in cloth. He glanced at Sister Fidelma and nodded briefly.

Sister Fidelma turned back to the High King.

“Sechnasach, I ordered this man, Erc, to search the chamber of Cernach.”

Cernach’s face was suddenly bloodless. His eyes were bright, staring at the object in Erc’s hand.

“What did you find there, Erc?” asked Sister Fidelma quietly.

The warrior moved forward to the High King’s seat, unwrapping the cloth as he did so. He held out the uncovered object. In his hands there was revealed a sword of rich gold and silver mountings, encrusted with a colorful display of jewels.

“The Caladchalog!” gasped the High King. “The sword of state!”

“It’s a lie! A lie!” cried Cernach, his lips trembling. “It was planted there. She must have planted it there!”

He threw out an accusing finger toward Sister Fidelma. Sister Fidelma simply ignored him.

“Where did you find this, Erc?”

The burly warrior licked his lips. It was clear he felt awkward in the presence of the High King.

“It was lying wrapped in cloth under the bed of Cernach, the son of Diarmuid,” he replied, brusquely.

Everyone’s eyes had fallen on the trembling young man.

“Was it easy to find, Erc?” asked Sister Fidelma.

The burly warrior managed a smile. “Almost too easy.”

“Almost too easy,” repeated Sister Fidelma with a soft emphasis.

“Why did you do this deed, Cernach Mac Diarmuid?” thundered Sechnasach. “How could you behave so treacherously?”

“But Cernach did not do it.”

Fidelma’s quiet voice caused everyone to turn back to stare at her in astonishment.

“Who then, if not Cernach?” demanded the High King in bewilderment.

“The art of deduction is a science as intricate as any of the mysteries of the ancients,” Sister Fidelma commented with a sigh. “In this matter I found myself dealing with a mind as complicated in thinking and as ruthless in its goal as any I have encountered. But then the stake was the High Kingship of Ireland.”

She paused and gazed around at the people in the chamber, letting her eyes finally rest on Sechnasach.

“There has been one thing which has been troubling me from the start. Why I was called to Tara to investigate this matter? My poor reputation in law is scarcely known out of the boundaries of Holy Brigid’s house at Kildare. In Tara, at the seat of the High Kings, there are many better qualified in law, many more able dálaigh of the Brehon Courts, many more renowned Brehons. The Abbot Colmán admitted that someone had told him about me for he did not know me. I have had a growing feeling that I was being somehow used. But why? For what purpose? By whom? It seemed so obvious that Ailill was demonstrably innocent of the crime. Why was it obvious?”

Ailill started, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. Sister Fi-delma continued oblivious of the tension in the chamber.

“Abbot Colmán summoned me hither. He had much to gain from this affair, as we have discussed. He also had the opportunity to carry out the crime.”

“That’s not true!” cried the Abbot.

Sister Fidelma turned and smiled at the ruddy-faced cleric.

“You are right, Colmán. And I have already conceded that fact. You did not do it.”

“But the sword was found in Cernach’s chamber,” Sechnasach pointed out. “He must surely be guilty.”

“Several times I was pointed toward Cernach as a vehement advocate of Roman reforms. A youthful hothead, was one description. Several times I was encouraged to think that the motive lay in replacing Sechnasach, a traditionalist, with someone who would encourage those reforms. And, obligingly, the sword was placed in Cernach’s chamber by the real culprit, for us to find. To Cernach my footsteps were carefully pointed… But why Cer-nach? He was not even of the age of choice, so what could he gain?”

There was a silence as they waited tensely for her to continue.

“Abbot Colmán told me that Cernach was a supporter of Rome. So did Ailill and so did Ornait. But Ornait was the only one who told me that Cernach desired the throne, even though unable to do so by his age. Ornait also told me that he would be of age within a month.”

Sister Fidelma suddenly wheeled round on the girl.

“Ornait was also the only person who knew of my reputation as a solver of mysteries. Ornait told the Abbot and encouraged him to send for me. Is this not so?”

She glanced back to Abbot Colmán who nodded in confusion.

Ornait had gone white, staring at Sister Fidelma.

“Are you saying that I stole the sword?” she whispered with ice in her voice.

“That’s ridiculous!” cried Sechnasach. “Ornait is my sister.”

“Nevertheless, the guilty ones are Ailill and Ornait,” replied Sister Fidelma.

“But you have just demonstrated that Ailill was innocent of the crime,” Sechnasach said in total bewilderment.

“No. I demonstrated that evidence was left for me in order that I would believe Ailill was innocent; that he could not have carried out the deed as it was claimed he had. When things are obvious, beware of them.”

“But why would Omait take part in this theft?” demanded the High King.

“Ornait conceived the plan. Its cunning was her own. It was carried out by Ailill and herself and no others.”

“Explain.”

“Ailill and Ornait entered the chapel that night in the normal way through the passage. They proceeded to carry out the plan. Ornait took the sword while Ailill broke the bolt, making sure of the obvious mistake. They relied on discovery by the two guards and Ailill waited for them. But, as always in such carefully laid plans, there comes the unexpected. As Ornait was proceeding back through the passage she saw the Abbot coming along it. He had left his Psalter in the sacristy and needed it. She pressed into an alcove and hid until he had gone by. When she left the alcove she tore her gown on some obstruction.”

Sister Fidelma held out the small piece of frayed colorful cloth.

“But the rest of the plan worked perfectly. Ailill was imprisoned. The second part of the plan was now put into place. Ornait had been informed by a sister from my house at Kildare that I was a solver of mysteries. In fact, without undue modesty, I may say that Ornait’s entire plan had been built around me. When the sword could not be found, she was able to persuade Abbot Colmán to send for me to investigate its mysterious disappearance. Col-mán himself had never heard of me before Ornait dropped my name in his ear. He has just admitted this.”

The Abbot was nodding in agreement as he strove to follow her argument.

“When I arrived, the contrived evidence led me immediately to believe Ailill Flann Esa was innocent, as it was supposed to do. It also led me to the chosen scapegoat, Cernach Mac Diarmuid. And in his chamber, scarcely concealed, was the sacred sword. It was all too easy for me. That ease made me suspicious. Both Ailill and Ornait were too free with Cernach’s name. Then I saw the frayed cloth in the passage and I began to think.”

“But if it was a simple plot to discredit me by the non-production of the sword,” observed Sechnasach, “why such an elaborate plot? Why not simply steal the sword and hide it where it could not be so easily recovered?”

“That was the matter which caused the greatest puzzle. However, it became clear to me as I considered it. Ornait and Ailill had to be sure of your downfall. The loss of the sword would create alarm and dissension among the people. But it was not simply chaos that they wanted. They wanted your immediate downfall. They had to ensure that the Great Assembly would come to regret their decision and immediately proclaim for Ailill at the inauguration.”

“How could they ensure that?” demanded Abbot Colmán. “The Great Assembly had already made their decision.”

“A decision which could be overturned any time before the inauguration. After aspersions had been cast on Sechnasach’s judgment, his ability to treat people fairly, the Great Assembly could change its support. By showing the Great Assembly that Sechnasach was capable of unjustly accusing one who had been his rival, this could be done. I am also sure that Sechnasach would be accused of personal enmity because of Ornait’s love of Ailill. I was part of Ornait’s plan to depose her brother and replace him with Ailill. I was to be invited to Tara for no other purpose but to demonstrate Ailill’s innocence and Cernach’s guilt. Doubt on Sechnasach’s judgment would be a blemish on his ability for the High Kingship. Remember the Law of Kings, the law of the seven proofs of a righteous King? That his judgment be firm and just and beyond reproach. Once Sechnasach’s decision to imprison Ailill was shown to have been unjust, Ailill, as Tanist, would be acclaimed in his place with Ornait as his queen.”

Sechnasach sat staring at his sister, reading the truth in her scowling features. If the veracity of Sister Fidelma’s argument needed support, it could be found in the anger and hate written on the girl’s features and the humiliation on Ailill’s face.

“And this was done for no other reason than to seize the throne, for no other motive than power?” asked the High King incredulously. “It was not done because they wanted to reform the Church in line with Rome?”

“Not for Rome. Merely for power,” Fidelma agreed. “For power most people would do anything.”