The Subtle Serpent

Chapter Ten

The young members of the community seemed almost possessed as they crowded at the end of the passage crying out Berrach’s name. Their hysteria was almost out of control and Fidelma felt anger as she realised that Draigen had done nothing to calm their fears. Lerben herself seemed to have fomented the illogical frenzy and now stood at the head of what was little more than a mob. There was no sign at all of the abbess.

‘The sisters have decided?’ Fidelma’s voice rose on a dangerously icy note.

Sister Lerben was emphatic. ‘The matter is now straightforward. The abbey has given refuge to a witch all these years, one who has repaid it by murder and pagan idolatry. She will receive just punishment. Your task is over.’

There was a murmur of assent from the religieuses crowding behind her. Fidelma saw that most of them were only frightened and out of their fearful state had come their hysteria. Sister Lerben had directed that overwhelming passion against Berrach. The sisters were barely controlled. They seemed about to surge forward. Fidelma planted herself firmly in the passage and held up her hand.

‘In the name of God, do you realise what you are doing?’ she shouted above their cries. ‘I am an advocate of the courts charged by your king and bishop to investigate this matter. Will you take justice into your own hands and commit a terrible crime?’

‘It is our right,’ retorted Sister Lerben.

‘Tell me how this can be so?’ Fidelma demanded. She reasoned that any dialogue was better than blind violence. ‘What is your right? You are just a novice in this abbey, without station. Where is Abbess Draigen? Perhaps she can explain your right?’

Sister Lerben’s eyes flashed angrily.

‘Abbess Draigen has retired to her chamber to pray. She has appointed me to act as rechtaire until she has recovered from this appalling shock. I am now in charge here. Hand over the murderess to us.’

Fidelma was appalled at the young girl’s arrogance.

‘You are young, Lerben. Too young to take the responsibility of this office. What you are suggesting is contrary to the law of the five kingdoms. Now calm yourself and instruct your sisters to disperse.’

To her surprise, Lerben stood her ground.

‘Didn’t Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, and Chief Apostle of the Faith in the five kingdoms, decree that our church should follow the laws of Peter’s Church in Rome? Well, we have judged our erring sister by that ecclesiastical law and found her guilty.’

‘By what law?’ Fidelma could hardly believe her ears. Surely someone had prompted this young novice, who now claimed to be steward of the abbey, to go against all the laws of the land. She felt that she was embroiled in an argument with someone who claimed that the colour of a day sky was black and the colour of a night sky was white. Where could she find a point of logical contact?

‘By the law of the Holy Word!’ replied Lerben, unperturbed by Fidelma’s authority. ‘Does it not say in Exodus: “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”?’

‘Has the abbess instructed you in this, Lerben?’ Fidelma challenged.

‘Do you argue with the Holy Word?’ replied the novice stubbornly.

‘Our Lord said, according to Matthew: “Judge not, that yebe not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again”’ Fidelma threw back the quotation at Lerben and then turned to the suddenly subdued religieuses behind her. ‘Sisters, you are being misled. Calm yourselves and return to your dormitories. Berrach is not the guilty one.’

There was some muttering among the sisters. Sister Lerben tried to restore her authority. Her face was red and angry for she had clearly hoped to win the sisters’ unquestioned respect and allegiance by her knowledge.

‘Do you reject the dictums of Ultan?’ she demanded of Fidelma.

‘Certainly, if they disagree with truth and the law of this land.’

‘Draigen is abbess here, and her word is law!’ replied the girl.

‘That is not so,’ returned Fidelma sharply, knowing that she had to defuse the situation quickly. The longer it was left festering the easier it would get out of hand. She realised that her suspicion was right. Draigen must have encouraged Lerben in this attempt to whip up fear against Berrach. The only way she could stop this dangerous situation was to attempt to exert her own authority. She repeated clearly: ‘I am appointed ultimately by your High King. I have come here at the request of your king and bishop; by the authority of the abbot of Ros Ailithir, if you respect no other. If you harm Berrach in any way, you, and all who act with you, will be responsible for kin-slaying.’

There was a murmur of consternation among the sisters. They knew enough law to realise that the crime of kin-slaying was one of the most serious in the criminal code of the five kingdoms. It deprived even the High King of his honour price, it was a lawful cause for the driving out of a king from his rank and office. The crucifixion of Christ was considered by the Irish as the ultimate kin-slaying for the Jews were regarded as the maternal kin of Christ. All the laws andwisdom-texts from time immemorial stressed the horrendous nature of kin-slaying for the act struck at the very heart of the kin-based structure of society.

‘You would dare …?’ Sister Lerben began uncertainly. ‘You would dare accuse us of that?’ But already she was losing support for the argument.

‘Sisters,’ Fidelma now addressed those crowding uncertainly behind Lerben. Since she now held their attention, there was little point in appealing to the inexperienced and arrogant novice. ‘Sisters, I have examined Sister Berrach and I believe that she is innocent of killing Síomha. She stumbled on the corpse just as, a moment later, Abbess Draigen did. She is no more guilty of the crime than Draigen. Do not let fear guide your logic. It is so easy to turn destructively on that which you fear. Disperse to your dormitories and let us forget this as a moment’s madness.’

The sisters looked at each other, perhaps somewhat sheepishly in the gloom, and some began to disperse.

Sister Lerben took a step forward, her mouth thin and set firm, but Fidelma quickly decided to maintain her advantage. She caught sight of the anxious Sister Brónach newly arrived, at the rear of the group.

‘Sister Brónach, I want you to escort Sister Lerben to her chamber while I go to see the abbess. That is an order by virtue of my rank,’ she added when Brónach hesitated. Then she deliberately turned her back and re-entered Berrach’s chamber. She stood just inside the door, her eyes closed, her heart beating fast, wondering whether she had completely defused the situation. Would Lerben make a further attempt to rally her supporters again and seize Berrach? There was a murmuring and shuffling in the corridor and then silence. Fidelma opened her eyes.

The girl was sitting on the bed shivering uncontrollably.

Fidelma glanced quickly into the corridor. It was empty. She exhaled long and deeply.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, turning back into the chamber andseating herself on the bed next to Berrach. ‘They have dispersed.’

‘How can they be so evil?’ shuddered the girl. ‘They were going to take me out and kill me.’

Fidelma laid a hand on the girl’s arm in comfort.

‘They are not really evil. They are merely fearful. Of all the passions, fear weakens the judgment, especially when one is so young and inexperienced as Lerben.’

The girl was silent for a while.

‘Sister Lerben has never liked me. I cannot stay here now. You heard what she said? Abbess Draigen has made her the steward of the abbey now Sister Síomha is dead.’

‘An unwise, indeed, foolish choice,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘And I will talk about this matter with the abbess. Lerben is too young to be rechtaire. Wait a while, Berrach. The sisters will come to their senses and then they will feel remorse.’

‘If they fear me so much then that fear will never be diminished but grow into hate. I will never be safe here.’

‘Give them a chance. At least, allow me to speak with Abbess Draigen.’

Sister Berrach said nothing. Fidelma decided to take it as a sign of acceptance of her suggestion.

She rose and went to the door, glancing back briefly.

‘Will you be all right here for a short while?’ she asked.

Sister Berrach looked gloomy.

‘Deo favente,’ she replied. ‘With God’s favour.’

Fidelma left the cell and walked grimly towards the Abbess Draigen’s chamber. Now that she thought about the matter, hot blood poured into her brain. She felt a rage at the conduct of the abbess. How could she have given such power to Lerben? How could she have induced the novice into encouraging her sisters to attempt nothing less than an act of murder? What hatred did the abbess feel for Berrach? Everywhere Fidelma looked a cloak of hatred hung about this place. She felt furious and then a thought came into hermind. It was easy to fly into a temper but didn’t Publilius Syrus argue that one should always shun anger? Anger made people blind and foolish. She recalled the words of her mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara: whoever experiences the white heat of anger will then experience the ice cold of regret. Better to be calm.

She had no sooner made the resolution than she found herself outside the door of Abbess Draigen’s chamber.

She thrust it open and marched in without knocking.

Abbess Draigen was sitting at her chamber, upright and stiff-backed, her mouth set determinedly. Sister Lerben was standing by the fire, evidently having eluded the escort of Sister Brónach. She stared with dislike as Fidelma entered and strode firmly into the room.

‘I will speak with you alone, mother abbess.’

‘I am …’ began Sister Lerben.

‘You are dismissed,’ snapped Fidelma.

Abbess Draigen let her eyes flicker towards the young novice and then made a dismissive motion with her hand. The young woman bit her tongue, almost bringing her teeth down painfully on her lower lip. She went, head high, from the room.

Before Fidelma could speak, Abbess Draigen’s face dissolved in wrath.

‘This is the second time you have interfered with the orders of someone appointed by me. Sister Lerben was appointed acting rechtaire in place of Sister Síomha.’

Fidelma smiled thinly against her anger.

‘Fear betrays unworthy souls,’ she replied as she seated herself.

Abbess Draigen grimaced.

‘This is also the second time that you have quoted your Latin philosophers at me.’

‘You did not allow me time to report on my interrogation of Sister Berrach before you allowed Lerben to whip up the fears of your community,’ Fidelma ignored her riposte.‘What did you think she could achieve by inciting such a killing? Did you think that you, responsible for such an action as abbess, could do this without punishment?’

Abbess Draigen met her eye firmly.

‘I was aware that Lerben and her fellow sisters had condemned Berrach. They acted in accordance to the law of God. I would stand by their decisions. I believe that Berrach was guilty of killing Sister Síomha. The pagan signs spoke of evil. The book of Deuteronomy says that those that practise such evil are guilty of an abomination to the Lord and must be driven out. Sister Lerben was acting in accord with the teaching of the Archbishop Ultan. I approved of her actions. My authority is Armagh.’

Fidelma decided that there was wisdom in Aristotle when he said that anyone could give way to anger but the secret was knowing when to be angry with the right person to the right extent and in the right way. It was really Abbess Draigen whom she had to deal with. Young Sister Lerben was only her voice. Clearly, Abbess Draigen had told Lerben what to do. Yet this was not the time to be angry with Abbess Draigen either for her anger would merely meet with a brick wall.

‘Let us be clear that there is as much evidence to convict Berrach of the killing of Sister Síomha, at this time, as to convict you or Sister Brónach Your incitement of Lerben to violence is based on the hidden fears that others have because of poor Berrach’s deformity. It is not the way a member of the Faith should act. So I want you to guarantee that no harm will come to Berrach until I have finished my investigation.’

Abbess Draigen pursed her lips.

‘I shall not swear for it is against the Scriptures.’

Fidelma smiled cynically.

‘I know the passage to which you refer, mother abbess. It is the fifth chapter of Matthew. But while Christ said one should not swear by any sacred object he exhorted people tosay “yes” or “no”. Therefore, I shall exhort you to say “yes”, that you will guarantee the safety of Berrach. The other answer is “no” and, if this is so, then I shall have to refer the matter to Abbot Brocc at Ros Ailithir and safeguard Sister Berrach myself.’

Abbess Draigen sniffed angrily.

‘Then you have your “yes”. I shall say no more than that I will also refer this matter, not to Brocc, but to Ultan of Armagh himself.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed.

‘Am I to understand that you prefer to accept the rule of Rome in this land?’

‘I am of the Roman school,’ the abbess conceded.

‘So we know where we stand,’ Fidelma replied softly.

Fidelma was well aware of the growing conflict between the church in the five kingdoms of Eireann and Rome. There was also a growing debate on the systems of law. The five kingdoms had long been steeped in legal tradition ever since twelve centuries before the High King Ollamh Fodhla had ordered the laws of the Brehons, the judges, to be gathered into a unified code. But with the coming of the New Faith, new ideas were entering the land. From Rome, the advocates of the New Faith had, despising the laws of the lands which they converted, devised their own ecclesiastical laws. These canon laws were based on the decisions of councils of bishops and abbots, which ostensibly dealt with the government of the churches and clergy and administration of the sacraments and were now beginning to challenge the civil laws of the land.

In a few instances, some religious foundations had tried to claim that they were above the civil laws, indeed, even above the criminal laws. But these were few and far between. However, she knew that Ultan of Armagh favoured a closer merger with Rome and encouraged ecclesiastical legislation. Ultan himself had become a figure of controversy for, since he had succeeded Commené as archbishop six years ago, hehad demonstrated time and again that he wanted to centralise the church of the five kingdoms after the manner of Rome.

‘I stand by the teachings of Ultan and in the evidence that he has revealed showing that we should not be governed by the laws of the Brehons,’ Draigen said.

‘Evidence?’

The abbess pushed forward a small manuscript book that was resting on her table.

Fidelma glanced at it: ‘The bishops Patrick, Auxiliius and Isernius greet the priests and deacons and all the clerics …’ She put down the manuscript.

‘It was no secret that Ultan is circulating this document,’ Fidelma told Draigen. ‘I know that he claims it to be the record of a council held two hundred years ago by those who took a leading part in converting the five kingdoms to the new Faith. Archbishop Ultan claims that the thirty-five ordnances of this supposed synod are the basis of ecclesiastical law and the first ordnance states that any member of the Church who appeals to the secular courts of Éireann merits excommunication.’

Abbess Draigen stared at her in surprise.

‘You seem to know the work well, Sister Fidelma,’ she admitted warily.

Fidelma shrugged.

‘Well enough to question its authenticity. If such rulings had been made in this land two hundred years ago we should have known about them.’

Draigen leaned forward in annoyance.

‘It is obvious that it was suppressed by those who reject Rome’s right to lead the Church.’

‘But no one has seen the original manuscript, only the copies made on the orders of Ultan.’

‘Do you dare question Archbishop Ultan?’

‘I have that right. This book states ordnances which, while in agreement with Rome, are against the civil and criminal laws of Éireann.’

‘Exactly so,’ agreed Draigen smugly. ‘That is why we argue that those of the Faith should ignore the civil law and turn to the ecclesiastical law for the way of truth. As the laws of Patrick say — no one of the Faith should appeal to a secular judge on pain of excommunication.’

Fidelma was amused.

‘Then that argument is of itself a riddle for is it not recorded that Patrick employed his own Brehon, Erc of Baile Shláine, to represent him in all legal proceedings in the courts of this land?’

Abbess Draigen was taken aback.

‘I do not …’

‘Even more puzzling,’ pressed Fidelma, seizing the advantage, ‘is Patrick’s written support of the laws of this land. This book is no more than a forgery by your pro-Roman faction if for no other reason than Patrick himself, with his companions, the bishops Benignus and Cairenech, served on the commission of nine eminent persons which gathered together by request of the High King, Laoghaire, studied, and revised the laws of the Brehons before committing them to writing in the new Latin characters. That was in the year of Our Lord Four-Hundred-and-Thirty-Eight. Surely you would agree, Draigen, that it would have been inconceivable for Patrick and his fellow churchman to advise on the civil and criminal laws of Éireann, lending their public support to them, while drawing up a set of rules contrary to them and demanding that no member of the church appeal to them on pain of excommunication?’

There was a silence. Abbess Draigen’s face worked in anger as she tried to summon up a logical refutation. Fidelma smiled gently at her reddening face and leaned forward, tapping the manuscript book of Ultan with a forefinger.

‘You will read in the opening lines of this forgery a piece of wise advice — it is better to dispute than to be angry.’

The abbess sat in outraged silence and Fidelma continued her attack.

‘One thing that does intrigue me, mother abbess. If you believe in what you claim, why did you ask Abbot Brocc to send a Brehon to investigate this matter in the first place? You have no respect for secular law and would deny it.’

‘We are still governed by secular law,’ the abbess’s voice was waspish. ‘Adnár claims magisterial jurisdiction as bó-aire. I would recognise the authority of the Devil himself in order to check the power of my brother and prevent his interference in the affairs of this abbey.’

Fidelma’s mouth drooped.

‘So you accept the law of the Brehons only when it is for your benefit. That is no example to set for your community.’

Draigen took a moment to recover herself.

‘You will not convince me. I stand by Ultan’s declaration in the validity of this book.’

Fidelma inclined her head.

‘That is your privilege, mother abbess. If so, then I should point out to you that the ecclesiastical laws of Rome which Lerben quoted to me this morning are not justifiable.’

‘Which are?’ demanded Draigen.

‘Those she claimed gave her authority to seize and kill Sister Berrach, had she even been guilty of the crime that you accused her of. Doubtless, because of her youth, you instructed Lerben in these matters. The book of Exodus, chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen, was quoted.’

Draigen nodded swiftly.

‘You know your scripture. Yes; that is the law. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. On that basis, Berrach, when demonstrated to be a witch using pagan practices, could be killed.’

‘But, if you stand by Ultan’s declaration, and seek justification in that text which purports to be the laws of Patrick’s first synod in this land, pick it up and read to me the sixteenth law.’

An uncertainty crept into Abbess Draigen’s eyes as shereturned the calm gaze of the younger woman. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached forward and picked up the book and began to read.

‘Would you read this law aloud?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘You know what it says,’ countered the abbess in annoyance.

Fidelma reached over and took the book gently from her and began reading the law aloud.

‘A Christian who believes that there is such a thing in the world as an enchantress, which is to say a witch, and who accuses anyone of this, is to be excommunicated, and may not be received into the church again until — by their own statement — they have revoked their criminal accusation and have accordingly done penance with full rigour.’

With deliberateness, Fidelma closed the book and replaced it, then sat back and regarded the abbess thoughtfully.

‘Do you still stand by the edicts of Ultan, for if you do, you must accept that this is the ecclesiastical law which you must obey?’

Abbess Draigen did not reply. She was clearly confused.

‘The penalties are clear,’ Fidelma’s voice was soft but contemptuous. ‘Excommunication or a recantation of such accusations and penance with full rigour.’

Abbess Draigen swallowed.

‘You are as subtle as a serpent,’ she breathed softly. ‘You do not believe in obeying this law yet you use it to ensnare me.’

‘Not so,’ Fidelma replied, ignoring the insult. ‘Veritas simplex oratio est — the language of truth is simple.’

‘Yet you do not believe in this law which you now try to enforce,’ the abbess repeated stubbornly.

‘But you claim to believe in it. If your mind is dictated by logic, you must obey it. Indeed, you were the one who referred it to me as a justification of the crime that nearly happened here.’

The bell on the tower has started to sound.

Sister Lerben entered haughtily. She cast a sneering glance at Fidelma.

‘I presume that you would want to know that the bell for matins is sounding, mother abbess. The congregation will be expecting you.’

‘I have ears, Lerben. When my door is closed you should knock before entering.’ Abbess Draigen’s voice was a querulous yap. The young novice seemed stunned, obviously not expecting the reaction. Her face reddened and she went to say something, caught the angry eye of the abbess and hastily withdrew.

‘Do you wish to reject Ultan’s teachings …?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps you need advice from your anam-chara, your soul-friend?’

Abbess Draigen suddenly rose angrily to her feet.

‘Sister Síomha was my anam-chara,’ she replied shortly. She seemed about to argue further but her jaw tightened. ‘Very well; I will revoke my accusation against Berrach.’

Fidelma also rose to her feet, almost casually.

‘That is good. It must be done before the community, as it was before the community that these accusations were made. Rescind the accusation, apologise and do penance.’

Abbess Draigen had an ugly expression on her face.

‘I have said that I will do as much.’

‘Good. Then, now is the appropriate time when the community are gathered for matins. I will escort Sister Berrach to the chapel as she may be wary of going abroad since violence was offered to her person — violence,’ she added softly, ‘in a sanctuary of the Faith.’

Then she left the abbess’s chamber.

Outside she paused a moment and breathed deeply. She was beginning to feel a sympathy with Adnár; his sister was a curious woman. She would have no course but to refer this matter to Abbot Brocc for, if Draigen was innocent of all other things, she was guilty of an incitement to kin-slayingand using another’s youth and lack of knowledge and experience to attempt to perpetrate that crime. That could not be absolved. There was, indeed, something perverse in Draigen’s character.

The bell was tolling and the figures of the religieuses were hurrying towards the duirthech — the chapel of the community. In Sister Berrach’s cell, Fidelma found the handicapped young sister being comforted by Sister Brónach and told them briefly what had transpired between her and the abbess.

When Fidelma arrived with Sister Berrach, struggling along with the aid of her staff and supported by the solicitous Sister Brónach, the community were gathered together. The abbess was standing behind the altar, almost directly behind the large ornate gold altar cross, while a chanter was leading the congregation in a Latin canticle.

Munther Beara beata

fide fundatacerta,

spe salutis ornata,

caritate perfecta.

Fidelma wondered whether the Abbess Draigen had purposefully chosen the chant. The words were simple. ‘The blessed community of Beara, founded on certain Faith, adorned with Hope of salvation, perfected by Charity.’ The sisters sang with an unquestioned conviction in their message.

As Fidelma led Berrach forward the voices lost their unison and raggedly died away. Heads raised and there was a nervous tension which swept along the rows of the congregation.

Fidelma squeezed gentle encouragement on Berrach’s arm.

The chant died away and Abbess Draigen moved majestically from her position and came to stand before the altar.

‘My children, I come before you to ask your forgiveness, for I have been guilty of a grievous fault. And allowing someone young and inexperienced to act wrongly on my advice.’

The opening words caused a sudden silence to descend; so silent that even the rasping winter breath of some of the congregation could be heard.

‘Moreover, I am guilty of a terrible injury to one of this community.’

The congregation began to understand now and were casting ashamed glances towards Berrach and at Fidelma. Berrach stood leaning on her staff, eyes downcast. Sister Brónach stood with head held high as if she was the one accepting the apology. Fidelma, on the other side of Berrach, also kept her head erect, her eyes fastened to those of the abbess.

‘Things have happened in this abbey which are the cause of alarm among our community; alarm and fear. This morning, as you will know, our rechtaire, Sister Síomha, was cruelly slain. Acting in partial knowledge, I accused one of this community. In impetuous enthusiasm to punish the person I deemed to be the culprit, I forgot the teachings of Our Lord, for is it not said in the book of John — “he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her”? I was with sin and I cast a stone. For my unjust actions, I crave forgiveness and will do a daily penance for a year from this day. That penance may be prescribed by you, my sisters, meeting in this congregation.’

She turned to look at Sister Lerben. The young novice stood with head held high and defiant. Fidelma glanced at her and was troubled by the depth of suppressed rage on her features. There would be problems with Sister Lerben before long, she thought.

‘Furthermore, I advised our young Sister Lerben erroneously and, having appointed her as my new rechtaire, asked her to go forth and act on my advice. For this I accept fullresponsibility. Lerben had not sufficient experience to know that I was in error. I apologise on her behalf.’

Before the astonished eyes of the gathered sisters, Sister Lerben suddenly made her way noisily from the chapel, like a petulant child.

Abbess Draigen stared somewhat sadly after her. There was a silence before she turned her attention to Sister Berrach.

‘Sister Berrach, before God and this congregation, I ask your forgiveness. It was fear and abomination of the dreadful death suffered by Sister Síomha and by the unnamed soul found in our well which caused me to lapse and cry “witch” at you and incite this congregation to do harm to you. Mine is the guilt and to you I turn asking for absolution.’

All eyes now turned on to Sister Berrach.

She shuffled forward a pace. There was a tense silence as she stood, as if hesitating in giving a decision. Fidelma saw that the abbess’s facial muscles were twitching as if she were trying to control her emotions. Fidelma wondered whether Berrach was going to reject Abbess Draigen’s apology. Then the girl spoke.

‘Mother abbess, you have quoted the words of the Gospel of John. John said that we deceive ourselves if we claim that we are all innocent of sin. The acceptance of our sins and confession is the first step to salvation. I forgive you your sin … yet I cannot absolve you from it. Only the Ever Living God can do that.’

Abbess Draigen looked as if she had been slapped in the face. It was clearly not the form of words that she had been expecting. And a murmur of surprise went up among the congregation. They had suddenly realised that Sister Berrach was no longer stuttering but speaking in a cold, clear and well-articulated tone.

The girl, using her staff as a fulcrum, pulled herself round and slowly lurched and swayed down the aisle to let herself out of the door.

There was a silence until the doors thudded shut behind her.

‘It is truly said, only God can absolve our transgressions. We can only forgive.’

Heads were turned as Sister Brónach took a pace forward, her tone was without rancour.

‘Amen!’ added Fidelma loudly when she saw the community stood hesitant as to their response.

There was a slow murmur of approval and Abbess Draigen bowed her head in acceptance of the verdict of the congregation and returned to her place.

The chanter rose and began to intone:

Maria de tribu luda,

summi mater Domini,

opportunam dedit curam

aegrotanti homini …

‘Mary of the tribe of Judah, mother of the mighty Lord, has provided a timely cure for sick humanity.’

Fidelma swiftly genuflected to the altar, turned and made her way rapidly out of the chapel after Sister Berrach.

A timely cure for sick humanity? Fidelma pursed her lips cynically. There seemed no cure for the sickness which was permeating this abbey. She was not even certain what that sickness was except that hatred was at the heart of it. There was something here which she could not understand. This was no simple problem; no simple riddle of who killed who and why.

Two women had been found, each stabbed through the heart, each decapitated and each placed with crucifixes in the right hand and aspen wands written in Ogham in the left. How were these two women connected? Perhaps if she knew that she would be able to discover a motive. So far, the sum total of her investigation had revealed hardly anything of value in pointing a path towards a motive let alone a culprit.All she had been able to gather was that the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was governed by a woman of powerful personality and whose attitudes were, at least, questionable.

The matins had given way to the singing of the lauds, the psalms which marked the first of the daylight hours of the Church. The voices of the sisters were raised in a curious vehemence:

‘Let the high praises of God be in their mouth, and a two-edged sword in their hand.

‘To execute vengeance upon the heaven, and punishments upon the people;

‘To bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron;

‘To execute upon them the judgment written: this honour have all his saints. Praise ye the Lord.’

Fidelma shivered slightly.

Did these words take on some new meaning which she was not privy to?’

Yet the lauds always consisted of Psalms 148 to 150, always sung together as one long psalm each morning at the first hour of daylight.

The words did not change. Why did she see in them some vague threat?

She knew that there was someone who was taking her for a fool. But she was unsure of what she was being made a fool over.