The Subtle Serpent

Chapter Nineteen

The duirthech, the wooden chapel of the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells, was chosen by Beccan as the place to hold the hearing. The abbess’s ornately carved oak chair had been placed before the altar, immediately in front of the tall gold cross. Beccan sat here. His personal scribe was seated on a stool to his right-hand side to take down the evidence which Fidelma would present. Fidelma herself sat on one of the front benches to the right of the chapel’s aisle with Eadulf alongside her. Ross sat as a spectator behind them together with Brother Cullin of Mullach. Behind them were seated Adnár and Brother Febal. Next to them sat the old farmer, Barr, whom Fidelma had summoned to the abbey. Then behind them, seated between two warriors of the Loigde, sat the dejected young Olcán.

On the benches on the opposite side of the aisle sat the self-assured Abbess Draigen with Sister Lerben and next to her Sister Comnat. Behind them was Sister Brónach and diffident Sister Berrach. The back benches of the chapel were crowded with as many of the community as had been able to squeeze into the building. At the door stood Mail and two more warriors.

Lanterns had been lit in the duirtlzech, their flickering light reflecting on the gold of the altar cross and the many icons and artifacts along the walls. They not only gave out a light but also a heat so that there had been no need to light the brazier in spite of the chill weather outside.

Beccan opened the proceedings by announcing that he satin judgment to hear the evidence gathered by Fidelma, as a dálaigh of the courts, into the causes of the death of two sisters of the community. He could, on the basis of the evidence she presented, consider whether there was a case to be answered by any she alleged to be the culprit or culprits. If so, they would be taken for trial to Cashel at a later date.

Having finished the formalities, Beccan indicated that Fidelma should begin.

She rose to her feet and uttered the ritual, ‘Pace tua’ meaning ‘with your permission’ but then was silent several moments, hands clasped together before her, head slightly forward as if contemplating something on the floor, while she gathered her thoughts.

‘I have rarely encountered such sadness housed in one place as it is in this abbey.’ Fidelma’s opening words echoed sharply in the confines of the building and caused a stir among the community at the back of the chapel. ‘There is much hatred in this place and that is not compatible with a house dedicated to the Faith. I found among this community living proof of the words of the psalm — that their mouths were as smooth as butter but their hearts were war, their words were smoother than oil, yet they were drawn swords.’

Abbess Draigen made to speak but the Brehon Beccan silenced her with a swift gesture.

‘This is now a court of law, not a chapel, and in this place I will say who shall speak,’ he admonished. ‘The dálaigh is making her opening remarks. Her words can be challenged at the proper time, as I shall indicate to you.’

Fidelma went on as if no interruption had been made.

‘Abbess Draigen called upon her superior in the Faith, Abbot Brocc of Ros Ailithir, and requested the presence of a dálaigh. A headless corpse had been discovered in the abbey’s main drinking well. There were certain things about this headless corpse that had a special significance. In the right hand was a crucifix and fastened on the left was an aspenwand carved in Ogham, in other words a fé, a measuring stick for the grave. The Ogham referred to the pagan goddess of death and battles, the Morrigu. The symbolism of this was, as I was informed by Sister Brónach, such as betokens someone who is a murderer or a suicide.

‘Some days later, the steward of the abbey, Sister Siomha, was likewise found decapitated, with the same symbolism. From the start, I was informed that the only person that had a motive was Abbess Draigen. I was told that she had a reputation for an attraction to young novices …’

This time Draigen rose to her feet and began to protest loudly but Beccan’s firm tone quelled her.

‘I have said that you will have a chance to answer later. Do not interrupt again otherwise it is in my power to exact a fine for such disregard of the rules of this court.’

As Abbess Draigen sat down abruptly, Fidelma continued with a cutting motion of her hand: ‘But there were many stories, mostly born out of malice or, as I have found, for other sinister purposes. Had Draigen been guilty of such misconduct she would have hardly asked Abbot Brocc to send a dálaigh to investigate matters. Yet the abbess has shown that she prefers the rule of Penitentials to our secular law. This was a mystery which intrigued me until I realised that the resolution was simple and one which she admits. The abbess sent to Brocc for a dálaigh simply because she did not want her brother, Adnár, who was local magistrate, to have any power in this abbey.’

The abbess glowered at her but made no response. Fidelma continued.

‘My first task was to identify the first headless corpse. It was that of a young girl whose thumb, index and little finger were stained with blue. That is typical of someone engaged in penmanship. When I found out that two sisters of the community, Sister Comnat the librarian, and Sister Almu, her young assistant, were missing from the abbey, I suspected that it might be the body of the latter. They had set offthree weeks before to the monastery of Ard Fhearta and not returned. To make a long story shorter, my suspicion eventually proved correct. This was the body of Almu.

‘Having discovered the identity of the corpse, the next question had to be the motive for the murder? Why and how had Sister Almu returned to this abbey? Why had she been decapitated after being slain? And what was the meaning of the pagan symbolism? From her corpse, there were only three other clues. She had been shackled before her death and there were some signs of ill-treatment. And there was brown red mud on her feet and under her fingernails. I was told by Sister Brónach that such mud was indicative of the copper rich land in this vicinity. Is this not true, Sister Brónach?’

The glum-faced sister started to rise in her seat. Then she inclined her head in silent agreement and sat back.

‘The death of Sister Síomha was even more intriguing and perplexing. Her body was found in the tower here, also decapitated and with the same symbols in her hands. This time the body had not been stripped of clothing. The murderer knew that we would know who she was or perhaps the murderer wanted us to know. Why the symbolism? Why the decapitation? But what intrigued me more than anything was the fact that the same brown red mud was under her fingernails. It had not been there the last time I had seen Sister Síomha just a few hours earlier.

‘There was blood smeared on the stairway from the tower into the subterraneus. It was Síomha’s blood. Her killer had severed the head in the tower and taken it down into the cave below. Why?

‘Was there some insane person at work here? Was the motivation some hatred of the sisters, hatred of the abbey, hatred of the abbess? Brother Febal certainly felt hatred in all those respects, particularly of Abbess Draigen, who had once been his wife. He, it was, who to tried to convince me thatDraigen had unnatural liaisons with the young novices. Brother Febal had more than enough hate to motivate such murders.’

She glance over her shoulder. Brother Febal was sitting staring at her with a malignant expression on his handsome features.

‘Febal’s accusations against Draigen were untrue.’

For the first time Abbess Draigen looked vaguely satisfied.

‘But,’ Fidelma continued after a pause, ‘was there some more subtle plot than the one suggested by Febal?’

Beccan cleared his throat.

‘Have you come to any conclusion?’

Fidelma raised her head and answered: ‘Yes. I trust you will bear with me while I tell you a story, which it is necessary to appreciate, in order to get to the truth of this matter. All that I claim, I can now prove.’

‘Then proceed, sister.’

‘Four hundred years ago the annals record that a fabulous gold calf was made and worshipped. But the High King Cormac Mac Art refused to indulge in this practice and condemned it. The story is that the priest of the gold calf was so angered that he killed Cormac by arranging for three salmon bones to stick in Cormac’s throat and choke him to death. Now this is symbolism again. Three salmon bones. It was merely a means of identification.

‘Not long before Sister Comnat and Sister Almu set out to Ard Fhearta a man came to the abbey with a copy of Cormac’s Teagasg Rí, Instructions of the King. This man had fallen on hard times and wanted to exchange the book for food. The man probably did not know the contents of that book. He brought it to the abbess for trade and she sent for the librarian Sister Comnat. The librarian agreed that it was a worthwhile exchange especially because she had noticed that there was a short biography of Cormac at the end of the book. In turn, she asked Sister Almu, her assistant, to look at the book and catalogue it.

‘Sister Almu did so. Imagine her excitement when she found an addition to the story of the gold calf. The fabulous beast, fashioned of gold, did exist, according to this text. Moreover, the priest of the cult of the gold calf was from this very area. Indeed, isn’t the symbol of the goddess known as the Old Woman of Beara, a cow? Isn’t Adnar’s fortress called Dún Boí, the fortress of the cow goddess. A calf is the offspring of the cow.’

‘We have heard this old folk story!’ cried Abbess Draigen, interrupting impatiently. ‘But when are we getting to the bottom of this tale?’

Beccan was exasperated by her continual interjections.

‘I have warned you once, mother abbess. It is not your place to interrupt. A fine of one sét for interruption. However, I am inclined to believe that this story grows tedious in the telling, Sister Fidelma. What has this to do with current events?’

‘The symbolism of the three salmon!’ replied Fidelma. ‘We know that the site of this abbey was formerly a pagan centre. And we know that it is now called the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. That is not only a euphemism for the Christ but it links to the pagan past. The fabulous gold calf was hidden in the caves under this abbey. Most will have seen the crude carving of the calf on the wall of the cave used as a store room. There is a similar carving in the cave next to it.’

There was a murmuring of excitement from the community.

‘Sister Almu, reading the text, was the first to realise this. The story said that the priests of the gold calf took the name Dedelchú, hound of the calf, and dwelt here in isolation. Then Necht the Pure came to convert the land to the new Faith. She was able to drive out the pagan priests. According to the text, under the abbey, for over one hundred years, ever since Necht the Pure drove out the pagans and founded this community, the gold calf had been hidden and probably forgotten about apart from this one reference in a local book.Imagine how excited Almu must have been and, more particularly, imagine the fortune such a fabulous statue would command. It was literally worth its weight in gold for it was, according to the story, solid gold.’

‘Can you prove this?’ Beccan demanded.

Fidelma turned to Eadulf who handed her the two soiled pages of vellum.

‘These two pages were recently cut from the book and contain this story. They were found on the body of Torcán.’

‘Proceed,’ Beccan grunted, glancing at the vellum sheets.

‘I discovered that Sister Almu was a close friend of Sister Siomha. A very close friend. So, naturally, the first person that she went to tell of her find was Síomha. And out of that conversation came the desire to find and possess that gold calf. The one motive that has remained constant in all the sorry events of this story has been greed. Didn’t the poet Lucan say that greed is a cursed vice and if enough gold is offered a person would, even if they were starving to death, part with their small hoard of food to possess it? In this story Sister Síomha was particularly starving but hers was a starvation of a moral and spiritual nature.

‘Sister Síomha was so overcome with greed that she even betrayed her friend Almu. She persuaded Sister Almu to say nothing about the story, perhaps saying they would discuss the matter on her return from Ard Fhearta. As soon as Sister Almu was gone, Síomha immediately drew a third person into this story. To that third person, Síomha told all. Using the pages of the book as a guide, Síomha and her companion found the place where they thought the fabulous beast was hidden but the entrance, in the abbey’s subterraneus, had been blocked in by rocks and earth.

‘In order to gain the time and space for her companion to excavate the entrance into what they thought was a treasure cave, Síomha volunteered to take as many of the night watches as she could in the tower. There was only one person who heard the knocking as the passage was excavated andthat was Sister Berrach. Sister Berrach, an intelligent young woman who through prejudice had to put on an act that she was almost half-witted, was in the habit of going to the library each morning well before dawn to read — she did not want her fellow sisters to know how intelligent she was. But even Sister Berrach thought the banging was merely an extension of the sounds often heard coming from the hidden cave under the chapel. That knocking, by the way, was due to two old wooden casks floating on an underground pool incited by the sea water from the inlet which flooded every now and again. In that presumption, the Abbess Draigen was correct.’

Fidelma paused as she saw Beccan’s scribe having difficulty to keep up with her.

‘Síomha’s companion had only just broken through to the second cave when a complication arose. Sister Almu returned unexpectedly to the abbey. There had been a terrible twist of fate, Sister Comnat and Sister Almu had been taken prisoner because they had discovered the conspiracy by Gulban, the chieftain of the Beara to aid the Ui Fidgenti in an insurrection against Cashel. This was an entirely unrelated set of events.

‘Sister Almu sought to escape. Now there was a young Fidgenti prince at the place where the sisters were confined. Almu, having made one escape attempt and been scourged for it, knew there was little chance of her escaping from the confines of the copper mines, where she was being kept a prisoner, unless she had some help. She proceeded to ingratiate herself to this young man. Almu, although I did not know her, I judged to be an astute judge of personality. She knew that greed was a prime factor in the young man’s thinking. She told him the story of the gold calf and promised to share the secret of the gold calf, not realising that her friend had already betrayed her trust.’

‘I presume by this prince that you mean Torcan?’ intervened Beccan.

‘I do,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Torcán, for no othermotive than greed, brought Almu to the abbey. He arranged to meet with her later at the farm of Barr. Innocently, Almu arrived back. What were Síomha and her companion to do when Almu returned? We know what happened to her. Torcán was waiting at the farm. You can imagine his annoyance when she did not return. He probably thought that she had betrayed him. He waited there all night.

‘There was no word the next day and he left. But then he returned. He learned that a corpse had been discovered in the abbey. Torcán paid the farmer to go to the abbey and say his daughter was missing and asked to see the body in case it was her. The farmer had no daughter, missing or otherwise. The farmer returned and gave a description of the corpse. In spite of its decapitation, Torcán recognised the description. Barr will confirm all this, by the way.’

Heads were craning to where the farmer sat shuffling his feet, eyes downcast.

‘Torcán recognised the description of the corpse while we did not?’ sneered Abbess Draigen cynically. ‘It is too much to believe.’

‘But it is the truth. You were all misled by Sister Síomha’s denial that it was her friend. Almu had undoubtedly told Torcan that her friend Síomha was a party to the secret. When he knew that Síomha had failed to identify Almu then he began to suspect that Síomha was involved in obtaining the treasure for herself.’

‘Are you saying that Sister Síomha killed Almu?’ Abbess Draigen was once more on her feet, a tone of querulous amazement in her voice, forgetting the censure of the Brehon.

‘If she did not do the actual deed, then she was a partner to it. I began to suspect Síomha’s involvement because of these facts: firstly, she was a good friend of Almu but said that the body was definitely not that of her friend. It is just possible she did not recognise the corpse but so unlikely as to be discounted. Secondly, Síomha clearly lied when she toldSister Brónach that she had drawn water from the well shortly before they found the corpse. The body of Almu had to have been placed down the well by Síomha and her companion before daylight otherwise the risks would have been too great. A third matter made me realise Síomha’s involvement and that was her miscalculations that night with the water-clock.’

‘Miscalculations?’ queried Draigen sharply.

‘Síomha was said to be very meticulous. On the night of Almu’s murder, she made several miscalculations which Sister Brónach mentioned to me in passing. In other words, at some point, Síomha had to leave the water-clock and the tower to go to the help of her companion in dealing with Almu. You see, Almu went, or was lured, down to the excavated cave for she had red mud under her fingernails. The same mud, I was told, was on her body before it was washed for burial. Sister Síomha had missed the essential time sequences and had to fudge them later. Errors that were picked up by Sister Brónach when she took over the watch early the next morning.’

‘Why didn’t Torcán come to the abbey to search for the gold calf immediately?’ asked Beccan.

‘Torcán had to return to the copper mines for a few days due to his involvement in the conspiracy. When he returned to Adnar’s fortress and contacted Sister Siomha, he thought he was dealing only with her and demanded that she bring him a copy of the book which had the references he needed. He did not know which book it was. Siomha, taking advantage of this, sent him a copy of the annals of Clonmacnoise. In addition, suspecting that Torcán was likely to betray her, she decided to send the book by Sister Lerben. As a further precaution, Síomha cut the two essential pages from the real book, the Teagasg Rí, which was still in the library, and gave them to her companion.

‘By chance I happened to be going to Adnar’s fortress a short time before Torcán was expecting Síomha to travel thatpath through the wood bearing the copy of the book. I was mistaken for Síomha and shot at. I barely escaped the arrow meant for Síomha. When Torcán and his men realised their mistake they tried to cover it up by claiming they were hunting and had mistaken me for a deer. It was a weak story. And my suspicion was confirmed when a short while later, Sister Lerben appeared along that woodland path bearing a book to deliver to Torcan.’

Sister Lerben was sitting with her face almost the colour of snow.

‘I could have been killed!’ she blurted.

Fidelma ignored her and added: ‘It did not take too long for Torcán to realise that he had been duped. He went to find Siomha.’

‘And slew her?’ Beccan demanded.

‘No. Síomha’s companion in this intrigue had now realised that Síomha was a liability.’

‘Ah, the companion,’ breathed Beccan. ‘I was losing sight of this mysterious companion.’

‘Síomha was now Torcan’s open link to that companion. So Síomha had to be killed to prevent Torcán discovering the truth.’

‘And who was this companion?’ demanded Draigen. ‘You have spoken much about this companion but you have not identified who the companion was.’

‘The companion was Síomha’s lover. The person responsible for both the murders of Almu and Siomha.’

The excitement in the chapel was full of tension.

‘In both murders it had been the idea of this person to present the corpses in such a way that a two-fold purpose would be achieved. Some symbolism would be placed on the bodies in order to throw any investigator off the scent and would, at the same time, put fear into the abbey community; perhaps even in the hope that such fear would drive members of the community away from the abbey because they might believe it was under a pagan curse. So the victims weredecapitated and a fé bound on one arm and a crucifix placed in the opposite hand.

‘By now, of course, Torcán was not so much concerned with his father’s insurrection against Cashel. Perhaps he never was. He was concerned with obtaining a personal fortune which would make him rich and with those riches he would have power. His greed overcame his good sense. He knew that I was on the trail of this mystery and he used young Olcan as a decoy, sending him to the abbey and to the Gaulish ship to ask certain questions which would place suspicion on Olcán.

‘Torcán kept a close watch on me. I confess that I did not know how close. He followed Eadulf and me into the cave when we discovered the entrance to the so-called treasure cave. He followed us in and knocked Eadulf momentarily unconscious. I suspect that he thought that we had already discovered the gold calf and was about to attempt frightening me into revealing to him what he thought I knew.’

‘Adnár says Torcán was about to kill you when he intervened to save your life,’ Beccan pointed out.

‘Adnár was wrong. No deaths can be laid at the feet of Torcan in this matter. Only one attempted killing when he thought I was Síomha. Torcán would not have killed me in the cave until he had obtained the information which he believed that I could give him about the gold calf.’

‘You have spoken about Síomha’s mysterious companion as her lover. It seems to be that you are pointing the finger at Adnar.’

‘Síomha’s lover!’ The Abbess Draigen had half-turned angrily to regard her brother with a look of disgust. ‘I might have suspected.’

‘That is not so!’ shouted Adnár. ‘I was never Síomha’s lover.’

‘Yet Síomha spent enough time at your fortress, especially during these last three weeks,’ replied Sister Lerben. ‘I told Sister Fidelma so.’

There was a restless murmur from the community.

‘You are wrong,’ Fidelma said. ‘Adnár was not Síomha’s lover.’

A tense silence fell.

‘You have lost me, Sister Fidelma,’ Beccan said slowly. ‘Of whom, then, are you speaking?’

‘As chance would have it, Sister Berrach actually saw him just after he had killed Síomha. In fact, he was probably in the very act of carrying Síomha’s mutilated head down to the subterraneus. Berrach saw a cowled figure. Consider. There was only one person who had fed Adnár with lies about Draigen; only one person who tried to feed me with those same lies; only one person who has been the subtle serpent whispering here and there and guiding people in this tragedy; only one person who was not of this community yet who could wear a cowl.’

Brother Febal had leapt to his feet and was pushing his way towards the window of the duirthech.

The warrior Mail and his men were there before him, dragging Febal back as he attempted to clamber through it.

There were gasps of astonishment and horror.

Adnár was sitting pale and shaking as he saw them binding Febal.

‘Brother Febal told you that it was Torcán who was behind everything, didn’t he?’ Fidelma asked Adnár. ‘Febal was good at spreading stories. He gave you the two pages which had been removed from the Teagasg Rí …’

‘I thought that you said that you found the two pages on Torcan’s body?’ intervened Beccan.

‘So I did. How did they get there? Brother Febal gave them to Adnár …’

‘He said that he had found them in Torcan’s saddle bags,’ Adnár admitted.

‘Did he suggest that you should plant them on Torcan’s body?’

Adnár hung his head.

‘I really did think that he was going to kill you. I believed all that Febal had told me. But it was my idea to leave the pages on Torcan. When we went into the larger cave, I thought that you might not have all the evidence you needed to lay the blame on Torcan. Febal said he found the pages in Torcan’s saddle bags and so I decided to place them on his body for you to find.’

‘I know. You made an excuse to return to the body while I was nursing Brother Eadulf in order to place the pages on Torcan.’

Adnár was surprised.

‘How did you know?’

‘It is no mystery. You remember that I bent down to examine Torcán before we removed Brother Eadulf to the other cave. When I returned with Eadulf, after you had returned there, I saw the bulky pages under Torcan’s shirt. I knew that they had not been there when I checked to ensure that he was dead. It was obvious that you had placed them there.’

‘So,’ Beccan interrupted with a sigh, ‘are you saying that Adnár is not guilty of involvement in this matter? That he was misled and manipulated by Brother Febal?’

‘Adnár was not guilty of involvement with the murders of Almu and Síomha nor did he really know about the hunt for the gold calf. He is, however, guilty of complicity in the conspiracy of insurrection against Cashel.’

Adnár rose looking desperately about him.

‘But I warned you about it!’ he protested. ‘I warned you about the insurrection before it became generally known.’

‘This is so,’ whispered Brother Eadulf. ‘He did warn us.’ Fidelma ignored him.

‘Yes, Adnár,’ she said. ‘You warned me of it when it had already failed. Messengers arrived at your fortress in the early hours of that morning, the morning when you decided to arrest Olcán and follow Torcán to the cave. They came to inform you and Torcán that Gulban had been killed and theFrankish mercenaries and their weapons destroyed. I actually saw them arriving while I was making my way to meet with Brother Eadulf. Perhaps that was what compelled Torcán to come into the open and come to the abbey for one last desperate search for the gold calf.’

It was clear from the expression on Adnar’s face that Fidelma had scored a point.

‘You knew you would soon have to clear yourself of the charge of conspiracy. To show your loyalty, you first seized Gulban’s son Olcán, who, in fact, was innocent of any complicity in the plot for the insurrection. Then you followed Torcán here and were so able to warn me about the insurrection knowing that Gulban’s part in it had already failed.’

Beccan had a whispered exchange with his scribe before turning to Fidelma.

‘Let me get this straight, sister. Adnár is not guilty of killing Sisters Almu and Síomha. But what you are implying is that he slew Torcán believing it was justifiable?’

‘It is confusing,’ admitted Fidelma, ‘but the fact is, while he thought Torcán was guilty of murdering Almu and Síomha, he also killed him in premeditation in order to prevent him revealing that he, Adnár, was part of the insurrection. He is, therefore, still guilty of murder.’

There was a moment of silence before Adnár started to protest.

‘You can’t prove that I knew about the plot and what was happening at the copper mines.’

‘I think I can,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You see, when you entered the cave and slew Torcan, you were able to recognise Brother Eadulf here by name. How would you know who he was if you did not know what was going on at the copper mines and that he had just escaped from them?’

Adnár made to speak but hesitated, his guilt written on his face. He sat down abruptly as if the strength had left him.

Beccan looked satisfied as he addressed Fidelma.

‘This leaves Brother Febal as the murderer of Almu and Siomha?’

‘That is so. He slew Almu and laid the false trail. When Torcan came close to him, he sacrificed Síomha. And Síomha was his lover.’ She looked across to Sister Lerben. ‘Síomha was not visiting Adnár at Dún Boí, as you thought, but Febal.’

Brother Febal had stood, hands bound, between the two warriors. He started to laugh, a slight hysterical note in his voice.

‘All very clever, dálaigh! Didn’t I tell you once that all you women stick together. Well, dálaigh, tell me this; where is the gold calf now? If I have done so much to find it, where is it now?’

The Brehon Beccan looked across to Fidelma.

‘Though we seem to have enough evidence and confession, Febal has raised an interesting point. Where is this fabulous gold calf that has cost so much blood?’

Fidelma shrugged eloquently.

‘Alas, that is a mystery that may never be solved.’

There were gasps of astonishment.

‘You mean my sacrifice was for nothing?’ Febal’s voice rose to a high pitch.

‘Your sacrifice?’ thundered Beccan. ‘You killed two members of this community and your scheming caused the death of Torcán.’ He gestured to the warriors. ‘Remove him from this place and take him aboard my vessel. Adnár also. They will be taken to Cashel.’

Adnár and Febal were hustled from the duirthech by Mail and his warriors.

Beccan gazed quizzically at Fidelma.

‘Are you saying that this gold calf never really existed?’ he asked.

Fidelma gave a wry grimace.

‘I think it probably did. Who are we to doubt the words of the ancient chronicles? But it is certainly no longer in thecave. It may be that it was removed from that cave many long years ago. And perhaps that may be the reason as to why the entrance had been blocked up. Perhaps, years ago, one could enter that cave complex from the inlet and that was how people originally went in and out.’

‘What makes you say this?’

‘Because of the casks. The two wooden casks floating on the underground pool, knocking into each other.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Simple enough. How had the casks come into the cave? How could the statue have been placed in that cave or have been removed? The entrance through which Febal and Síomha gained their access was, as I and Eadulf know, only two feet wide. The logic is that the casks came by another entrance and through that same entrance the statue had been placed or removed. One thing more; the casks were less than a century old by the look of them. They were certainly no older for they were not rotten. They were still fairly dry inside and firm enough to create the hollow knocking when they banged together. I’d hazard a guess that when those casks were taken into the cave, the gold calf was taken out.’

‘So we may never know who removed the gold calf or its whereabouts now?’

Fidelma’s lips twitched slightly. Before answering she let her gaze wander slowly around from the large gold altar cross and the other gold icons hanging on the walls of the duirthech. Then she returned her mocking blue eyes to the figure of the Brehon.

‘I think, perhaps, when Necht the Pure drove the pagan Dedelchú and his people away from here and purified this place in the new Faith, the gold calf vanished with them.’

There was a pause and then the Brehon rose from his seat.

‘This hearing is now ended. We have seen here today much wisdom from you, Fidelma of Kildare,’ Beccan said approvingly.

Fidelma shrugged diffidently.

‘Vitam regit fortuna non sapientia,’ she responded in deprecation.

‘If chance, not wisdom, governs human life,’ retorted the Brehon dryly, ‘then you are truly possessed of a great deal of luck.’