The Subtle Serpent

Chapter Eleven

Sister Fidelma was about to continue crossing the courtyard in the wake of Sister Berrach when a hollow cough halted her.

‘I am told that you requested my presence here this morning, sister.’

She turned to find herself gazing into the blue, humorous eyes of Brother Febal. He still wore the traditional black eyelid colouring which highlighted them. He was wrapped from head to foot in a thick woollen, fur-edged cloak which also provided a cowled hood, and he carried a stout cambutta or walking stick in his hand.

She stared at him blankly for a moment. So much had happened since she had talked with Adnár yesterday afternoon. She tried to recollect her thoughts.

‘I did so,’ she acknowledged hastily. She glanced round and then indicated the path down to the inlet and the abbey’s landing stage. She realised that Brother Febal would not be welcome at the abbey if he were seen by Abbess Draigen or any of her acolytes. ‘Come, walk with me a while and let us talk.’

Brother Febal examined her curiously with his large blue eyes and then he nodded and fell in step beside her. The sun was now climbing into the sky but it was still fairly chill.

‘What do you wish to talk about?’ he began, almost in a bantering tone.

‘There are some questions I wish to ask you, Febal,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Adsum! he answered pretentiously in Latin. ‘Then I am here!’

‘Have you heard that there has been another death here at the abbey?’ Fidelma asked.

‘News travels fast in this land, Sister Fidelma. It has been spoken of at Dun Boí.’

‘By whom?’

‘I think the news was brought by a servant,’ he replied vaguely and then seemed to change the subject. ‘I have been asked to pass on a message to you, sister. It is from Adnár and the lord Olcán. They ask you to attend this evening’s feasting at Dun Boí. My lord Torcán adds his voice especially to this request. He wishes to compensate you for the fright that you received in the forest yesterday. Adnár has offered to send his personal boatman to bring you from the abbey and return you safely again.’

He grinned and reached into the small leather bag which was strung at his belt.

‘Oh yes, and see here!’ He brought out a small purse. ‘On Torcán’s behalf I am also the bearer of the fine which you imposed on him. I understand that it is to be given for the good works of the abbey.’

Fidelma took the purse of coins and, without bothering to check it, absently placed it in her own crumena.

‘I will see that this is delivered.’ She was considering the invitation. It did so happen that she wanted to know more about the attitudes in Dún Boí to the situation in the abbey and she finally accepted the proposal. ‘You may tell Adnár that I shall await his boatman.’

They walked on for a short time before Fidelma asked: ‘Did you know Sister Síomha?’

‘Who did not?’ The answer was blandly given.

‘You will have to explain that.’

‘As rechtaire of this abbey, Sister Síomha was second only to the abbess. She often came to my lord’s fortress.’

‘For what purpose?’ asked Fidelma, somewhat surprised.

‘You must know that Adnár was not on the best terms with Abbess Draigen. It was better, therefore, that Sister Síomha conducted any business between the abbey and my lord.’

‘And was there much business to be conducted?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘As chieftain along this coast, Adnár controlled much of the trading and the abbey required goods and trade which had to be reported to Adnár. Therefore, as rechtaire of the abbey, Sister Síomha visited Adnár very often.’

‘And was Sister Síomha on friendly terms with Adnár?’

‘Very friendly.’

Fidelma glanced quickly at Brother Febal but his face was inexpressive. She was not sure whether she had heard a slight inflection in his voice.

‘How well did you know Sister Síomha?’ she was prompted to ask.

‘I knew her but not well.’ The reply came back firmly.

They had reached the abbey quay and Fidelma led the way down some steps along the shoreline of the inlet. She walked towards a section of rocks by the water which seemed to provide a good, sheltered place to sit away from the northerly wind. The sun was now high in the blue, cloudless sky, and its rays were mild but warming, provided one kept out of the shadows. Only the plaintive cry of the swooping gulls together with the soft whispering of the water along the pebbled shore cut through the still air.

Fidelma seated herself on a comfortable rock on which the sun was casting its warmth and waited while Brother Febal also seated himself.

‘When you were talking about Abbess Draigen yesterday, you failed to mention that you were married to her.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘I think it does. In view of what you had to say about her, I think it matters a great deal. I understand from Adnár that it was you who suggested that she might have been responsiblefor the death of the corpse in the well. Whether true or not, it indicates that there is no love lost between you.’

Febal flushed and glanced down at his sandals as if suddenly feeling the necessity to examine them in detail.

‘It is obvious that you do not like your former wife,’ Fidelma observed. ‘Perhaps it would help if you could tell me how you first came to know her?’

Febal kept his eyes on his feet for a few moments, frowning, as if trying to make up his mind.

‘Very well. I was seventeen when I entered this very abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. Oh, it was a mixed house at that time, a conhospitae. The abbess at this time was Abbess Marga. She was an enlightened lady and it was she who first encouraged scribes to come to copy the books in the library in order to sell or exchange them with other libraries.’

‘Why did you join the abbey? Were you interested in books?’

Febal shook his head.

‘I am no scribe. My father was a fisherman. He died drowning. I did not want to end my life like that and so I entered the religious life as soon as I reached the age of choice.’

‘So you were here before Draigen arrived?’

‘Oh yes. She entered the abbey when she was fifteen. She was already at the age of choice. Her parents had both died so she entered the religious life. At least that is the story as I remember it. Draigen was educated and trained by the members of the community.’

‘And what was your position here when she joined the abbey?’

Febal’s chest rose a moment in pride.

‘I was already the doirseór, the doorkeeper of the abbey.’

‘A position of trust,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘How did Draigen become your wife?’

‘As you know, in some houses the brethren are encouraged to marry to raise their children in the service of the Christ. Iadmit that I was attracted by Draigen. She was a handsome and intelligent woman. I do not know what she saw in me, except that I was already in a position of responsibility here.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you believe that she only married you because you were the doirseór of the abbey?’

‘It is a reason that I find as good as any.’

‘How did things change? How did Draigen work her way into her present position? And how did you separate from her?’

Febal’s face was a momentary mask of bitterness.

‘She did it as subtly as a serpent,’ he said. Fidelma almost smiled at the echo of the phrase which Draigen herself had used only a few hours before. ‘The old abbess, Abbess Marga, was a kindly, trusting soul. The years passed and Draigen grew up. Oh, I am not denying that Draigen was clever. She responded to the education she received so that from a poor farmer’s daughter she became fluent in Greek, Latin, Hebrew as well as our own tongue, and could read and write easily in all of those languages. She knew her scripture and could quote chapter and verse. She had a clever mind but that concealed an evil temper. I have cause to know.’

Febal paused to make ugly grimace.

‘But you had married her,’ prompted Fidelma.

Febal glanced at her.

‘I did so. But that was not to say that I liked her ambition. She overstepped the bounds of womanhood.’

Fidelma’s mouth turned down.

‘What are those bounds?’ she asked with asperity.

‘You should know, being of the Christian Faith,’ Febal sounded complacent.

‘Then remind me.’ A more sensitive person might have noticed the irritability in her tone.

‘Did the Blessed Paul not write, “Let your women keep silence in the churches; for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience … And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbandsat home, for it is a shame for a woman to speak in the church.” It is his epistle to Corinthians.’

‘So you believe that women have no place in the abbeys and church?’ Fidelma had heard the argument many times before.

‘Women should obey men in the Church,’ declared Brother Febal. ‘Paul, also in Corinthians says, “the lord of the woman is the man … God created man not for the woman, but created the woman for the man.” And, in his epistle to Timothy, he says, “women must not teach, nor usurp authority over man, but should be silent.” What is more clear than that?’

‘These are the words of one man, Paul of Tarsus,’ observed Fidelma dryly. ‘They are not the words of the Christ. Yet I would go further and observe that these words did not stop you from joining a conhospitae and further from marrying a religieuse.’

Febal’s eyes burned with resentment.

‘I was younger then. But it seems to me, in your answer, that you deny the right of Paul, divinely inspired by the Christ, to teach these things?’

‘Paul was not Christ,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘In this land, men and women are coequal before God.’

Brother Febal’s tone was sneering.

‘The Blessed John Chrysostom once observed that woman taught once and ruined all by her teachings. The Faith has changed that. Augustine of Hippo points out that women are not made in the image of God, whereas man is fully and completely the image of God.’

Fidelma looked sadly at Brother Febal whose face was full of vehemence. She had met with many who advanced such arguments. It was true that there were religious houses in the five kingdoms where the advocates of the new Faith were even challenging the ancient laws, even as Draigen had done.

‘Do I take it, Brother Febal,’ she said sharply, ‘that you do not accept the Law of the Fénechus?’

Febal’s eyes narrowed.

‘Only when it contracts the articles of Faith.’

‘And on what article do you base yourself?’

‘On the Penitentials of Finian of Clonard and of Cuimmine Fata of Clonfert.’

Fidelma smiled wryly. It was strange that a few hours before Abbess Draigen had been quoting these same Penitentials, a series of ecclesiastical laws for the rule of religious communities, in support of her case. Curious how both estranged wife and husband seemed to agree. At least Fidelma knew the thoughts that motivated some of Brother Febal’s attitudes.

‘Then as a man who believed that woman had no place in the church, you must have resented being in a conhospitae, a mixed house? I still wonder that you joined such an institution. Furthermore, I wonder that you even contemplated marriage to Draigen.’

‘I have said that I was young when I joined the abbey. I had not read the scriptures in their entirety. I had not come across the works of Finian nor of Cuimmine. And at first Draigen was a quiet girl, willing and ready to obey. I did not know that she was merely biding her time, learning what she could as she awaited her opportunity.’

‘Draigen’s opportunity being her appointment to rechtaire? Was that when you sought to annul the marriage?’

‘We ceased to be husband and wife within a year or so of our marriage. We went our own separate ways within the abbey. I loathed her. I will not deny it. I was doorkeeper and when the old rechtaire died I should have been promoted to the office. But old Abbess Marga had taken a liking to Draigen …’

‘How old was Draigen at this time?’

Febal frowned, trying to recall.

‘She was in her mid-twenties, I believe. Yes, that is the age that she would be.’

‘And Abbess Marga made Draigen her house-steward?’

‘Yes. The second most powerful office in the abbey. And Draigen certainly liked to exercise all that power.’

‘In what way?’

‘She began to make life difficult for the male community and introduce more and more women into the abbey. She became strident against any man who showed talent. She would send men off on missions or give them penances which necessitated them going on pilgrimages abroad. Soon there were hardly any men left in the abbey.’

‘Are you saying that Draigen disliked men?’

‘She hated all men!’ snapped Brother Febal.

Fidelma prompted him gently.

‘And is your own attitude to women governed by how she treated you, or had you come to your dislike of women in the church before that time?’

‘My attitude is based on logic,’ reproved Febal without rancour. ‘I do not like nor dislike all women. But the Blessed Columbanus wrote a poem:

Let everyone who is dutiful in mind avoid the deadly poison

That the proud tongue of an evil woman has.

Woman destroyed life’s gathered crown …

‘In that poem, he points out that the downfall of our kind was due to Eve,’ added Febal smugly.

‘I see that you left out the last line of that verse,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘The line is-

But woman gave long lasting joys of life.

‘In that line he refers to Mary as the mother of our saviour.’

Brother Febal flushed in annoyance at being corrected.

‘She knew her place,’ he said. ‘Draigen did not. She was an evil woman who used her power to promote her own welfare.’

‘Ah yes. According to Adnár, Draigen began to prefer the company of young women.’

‘She had many young female lovers,’ Febal assured her without hesitation. ‘Probably, she had affairs with older women which made her rise in rank through the abbey so quickly.’

Fidelma leant forward towards Brother Febal and looked at him coldly in the eyes.

‘It is now my duty, as a dálaigh of the courts, to caution you, brother. If you wish to have this mentioned as a matter of record, then you must be prepared to stand by your accusation. If that accusation is false, then you are liable under the law …’

‘I know the law in that respect. I stand by what I have to say. Abbess Draigen is known to take many young novices to her bed.’

Under the law, homosexuality was not a punishable offence unless it be that Draigen used a position of power to coerce unwilling young girls into her bed. Usually, homosexuality was only a ground for divorce by either party under the Cáin Lanamna. In Fidelma’s own abbey of Kildare, it was known that Brigid, the founder of the community, had a lover named Darlughdaca, a young novice, who shared her bed. Once, when Darlughdaca looked appraisingly at a young warrior staying at Kildare, Brigid flew into a jealous rage, and, according to the accounts, made Darlughdaca walk on hot coals as a penance. But when Brigid died, it was Darlughdaca who became abbess.

‘Known by whom?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘It is common knowledge.’

‘Usually, that means that it is simply rumour. I would want a more specific witness before I accepted that. Now tell me, how did Draigen became abbess?’

Brother Febal raised a hand to scratch the tip of his nose reflectively with his finger.

‘The Devil’s will, I suppose. Marga was old, as I have said. She had an ailing chest. In the end, Draigen insisted that she, and she alone, would nurse the old abbess. She prepared themedicines and attended in the abbess’s chamber. I was not surprised when it was announced that Marga was dead.’

‘When was this …?’

‘Five summers ago now.’

‘And so Draigen became abbess?’

‘Oh, there was a meeting of the community, for, like all the houses in the five kingdoms, the community met and argued the rival merits of candidates.’

‘But Draigen was the only candidate?’

‘I made a protest and demanded my name go forward to be considered as abbot.’

‘And?’

‘By that time there was only myself and two elderly brothers in the abbey. We were laughed at. Draigen did, indeed, become abbess. At that very meeting she announced that the abbey would cease to be a conhospitae. I was also stripped of my position as doirseór. Together with my brothers I was told to leave.’

‘You left and joined Adnár?’

‘Yes. My two companions decided to go north and join the community of Emly. I stayed here for Adnár, the chieftain, sought a brother who would be a soul-friend and celebrate the mass for him.’

‘When did you know that Adnár was Draigen’s brother?’

‘A long time ago.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Adnár returned from serving the armies of Gulban the Hawk-Eyed a few years before Draigen was appointed as rechtaire of the abbey. There was a lot of talk at the time. He even made a legal claim against her for his share of the land. It was rejected.’

‘Rejected?’ Fidelma frowned. ‘Yet it sounds as if Adnár had a good case.’

‘Yet it was rejected. Everyone knew that I had been married to Draigen and Adnár obviously felt sympathy with me.’

‘And have you used that relationship?’

‘Why should I use it and in what manner?’

‘You had come to feel bitter about Draigen. Did that reflect on your service to her brother?’

Febal smiled. There was no warmth or humour in it.

‘I did not have to use it. Brother and sister hated one another from the start. Adnár blamed Draigen for the loss of his land. Draigen blamed Adnár for the death of her father and of her mother.’

‘It could be argued that you sought a position in the house of Adnár in order to play the one off against the other. To stir up more trouble between them. It could be argued that you have spread lies about Draigen. The matter of her preference for young novices, for example?’

‘It is untrue. There was enough trouble between them. Adnár offered me the hospitality of Dún Boí. I accepted. It satisfied me that Draigen had not succeeded in driving me entirely from the land that is my home.’

‘But you must also hate and resent Draigen?’

‘No one knows the hatred that lives in my heart for that woman. But if you say that I lie about her, then seek out Sister Brónach and ask her if the abbess ever shares her bed with Sister Lerben.’

Fidelma was slightly surprised that Brother Febal was suddenly specific in his accusation.

‘I will do so. But let me remind you, brother, that hatred is not a tenet of our Faith. Does John not quote our Saviour as saying: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”’

Brother Febal laughed bitterly.

‘The Christ was talking of loving our fellows. Draigen is a serpent, a devil … the Devil. Does Peter not call upon us to hate the Devil and be vigilant? I obey Peter and hate the serpent that presides over this place.’

Fidelma could feel that such was the intensity of Febal’sanger against the abbess there was no chance of logic healing the rift.

‘Is it merely your anger, then, that prompted you to tell Adnár that it was probably his sister who murdered the headless corpse? Otherwise what grounds have you for such an accusation? Do not tell me that it is common knowledge.’

Febal glanced at her quickly.

‘You don’t know then that Draigen has killed before?’

Fidelma was not expecting this reply.

‘You must substantiate this accusation. Whom did she kill?’

‘Some old woman who dwelt in the forests not far from here.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just before she joined the community, when she was fifteen.’

‘So? Then you do not give first-hand testimony?’

‘No. But the story is known.’

‘Ah. It is known,’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘Know by whom?’

‘It was rumoured …’

‘Rumour is not evidence …’

‘Then ask Sister Brónach.’

‘Why Sister Brónach?’

‘It was her mother that Draigen killed.’

For a moment or two Sister Fidelma stared at Febal in quiet astonishment.

‘Let me get this right,’ she said slowly, after a while. ‘Are you telling me that Abbess Draigen killed Sister Brónach’s mother? The same Brónach who is now her doirseór?’

‘The same,’ grunted Febal indifferently.

‘And are you telling me that Brónach knows about this?’

‘Of course. Ask her, if you do not believe me. And she will also confirm that Lerben shares the bed of the abbess.’

Fidelma was silent.

‘I believe that you believe this,’ she said after a moment or two. ‘So curious a tale can only be the truth for if it were a lie it could be uncovered easily. However, you have not said whether this was an unlawful killing.’

‘Is any killing lawful?’ sneered Febal.

‘That is true, but some killings can be judged worse than others. Cold, premeditated killings. Do you know the facts of the case?’

The handsome religieux shrugged.

‘I would rather you took your facts from Brónach, for then it will not be said that I misled you.’

‘Very well. But it is a long path from a killing twenty years ago to your suspicion that Draigen killed the person whose body was found in the well of this monastery. And if she was responsible for that death then logic would have it that she was responsible for the death of Sister Síomha.’

Brother Febal gave a disdainful gesture.

‘It is not beyond the realms of possibility, Sister Fidelma.’

‘Granted. If all your allegations have substance,’ conceded Fidelma.

At once Brother Febal bristled with indignation.

‘Do you call me liar?’

Fidelma shook her head.

‘Let us examine what you have told me. You say that you have heard that Draigen killed someone before she came to this abbey. You say that rumour had it that Draigen was encouraging young novices to her bed. Even if you witnessed such matters it is not an unlawful act.’

‘Unlawful in the eyes of God!’ growled Febal.

‘So, you also speak for God?’ Fidelma’s voice was soft. Then she said more sharply, ‘You have told me nothing that can be used as evidence in a court of law against Draigen in order to prove that she is responsible for the deaths which have occurred at this abbey. But you have made allegations which could well convict you of spreading malicious stories and putting a blemish on the reputation of Draigen. A goodadvocate could destroy your story in a court by the very fact that you were once married to Draigen and were dismissed from your office in her abbey before being thrown out of the abbey itself. You are not in a strong position at all, Febal, to argue evidence and law.’

Brother Febal rose to his feet.

‘I would have expected as much from you.’

Fidelma calmly returned his angry look.

‘You should explain that,’ she invited in a voice that was ice.

‘You are a woman! “Let everyone who is dutiful avoid the proud tongue of a woman!” You merely stick together, protecting each other.’

‘You misquote the poem,’ pointed out Fidelma.

‘It matters not. The sense is the same. I have heard that you like to quote from Greek and Latin sages. Then here is a quote for you, Fidelma of Kildare. It is from Euripides-“woman is woman’s natural ally”. I should have expected that you would do your best to protect Draigen, she being woman as are you.’

Fidelma carefully folded her arms and forced a gentle smile.

‘I will not take offence, Febal. I think it is your hate of Draigen talking. Go back to Dun Boí and calm yourself. There is much anger in you.’

Brother Febal stood, swaying a little as if he had no balance, he appeared to be making up his mind as to whether he would say anything further. Then he turned and strode away, anger showing in the demeanour of his walk and the hunching of his shoulders.

Fidelma watched him until he had disappeared around the shoreline.

She suddenly felt a terrible sadness. A sense of loneliness.

She always felt sad when she came across someone whose views of life were so embittered. And she realised immediately why she was feeling a sense of loneliness. She wasthinking of Brother Eadulf. There was a man who liked life and people. There was no malice in him. Malice. Why had she picked that word? Malice was what she felt in Febal. His hostility was imbued with a malevolence.

It is true that a man can find many justifications for his emotions after the event which were not there when the seed of those emotions was planted. Misognynism could certainly be found in the Penitentials of Finian which Febal might have found as justification of his hatreds. But perhaps his hatred had other roots. And a man capable of hatred, capable of strong emotions, could certainly be capable of expressing those emotions in other channels. Even murder.

She stood up and stretched, feeling abruptly uncomfortable. She had a feeling of distaste; distaste not for the individual misogynism of Febal but for a movement in the Faith which he represented. Fidelma was a person born of her culture but the Faith was now changing that very culture as the new ideas from Greece, Rome and other cultures, which helped shape the Faith, were changing the philosophies propounded by the churches of the five kingdoms. It had been women, as well as men, who had converted the five kingdoms to the new Faith-their names were legend; the five sisters of Patrick, Chief Apostle of the five kingdoms, and women like Darerca, Brigid, Ita, Etáin and countless others. Fidelma could reel their names off like a litany …

But two hundred years of the spread of the Faith had produced men, and even a few women too, who sought to reject the rule of civil law and, led by Finian of Clonard, they had devised ecclesiastical laws which sought to replace the Law of the Fénechus by which the five kingdoms were governed.

Febal had mentioned the Penitentials of Cuimmíne, which had been inspired by Finian’s laws. These were now being taken from religious foundation to religious foundation, with the approval of Ultan of Armagh. Cuimmine had died only four years ago and already his ecclesiastical laws were findingconverts among the male religious for they, like Febal’s views, were based on the precepts of Paul of Tarsus.

Fidelma had good reason to resent the Penitentials of Cuimmine. Cuimmine had been responsible for the tragic death of her childhood friend, Liadin, who had been educated with her at Cashel. Liadin had become a religieuse and a poet of remarkable talent. She met a fellow poet from the kingdom of Connacht named Cuirithir and they had fallen in love. Cuimmine was the abbot of the community in which Cuirithir served and he sent him away, forbidding him ever to see Liadin again and using the arguments of Paul of Tarsus to forbid the relationship. He was an abbot of ascetic extremism. Cuirithir had left the shores of the five kingdoms and was never seen again. Liadin eventually sickened and died, broken and unhappy. Her grief had been extreme.

Fidelma had little respect for laws which made people unhappy for no accountable reason, that denied human beings their greatest asset — love. Liadin and Cuirithir should have ignored the ascetic extremism of Cuimmine and been strong enough to have gone away together. As she had lain dying, young Liadin had written her last song, ending:

Why should I hide

That he is still my heart’s desire

More than all the world.

A furnace blast

Of love has melted my heart

Without his love, it can beat no more.

A few days later she had indeed stopped her heart from beating.

Fidelma suddenly exhaled and shook her head. This was not what she should be thinking of. She should not be making moral judgments but looking for the evidence whichwould identify the person responsible for two horrendous killings.

At least her next step was clear. She must have a longer talk with Sister Brónach.

She rose and began to walk along the seashore and up to the wooden jetty.

As she ascended the steps on to the quay she suddenly noticed a sail, white against the green and brown of the far hills which marked the opening to the inlet. She could hear a horn sounding across the little bay from the fortress of Adnár, obviously warning the occupants of the entrance of a ship into the inlet.

Fidelma raised her hand to shield the sun from her eyes and peered across the stretch of sparkling water.

Suddenly her heart began to beat more rapidly.

It was the Foracha, Ross’s barc, sailing swiftly and surely into the harbour.

All thoughts of Febal and even Draigen were gone from her mind. Now her thoughts were concentrated on what news Ross was bearing. Her mind was wholly concerned with the mystery of the Gaulish merchant ship and, more importantly, the beat of her heart was more for fear, fear of what news he might have about the fate of Brother Eadulf.