The Subtle Serpent

Chapter Seven

Sister Fidelma left the tower through the library rooms and began to cross the abbey courtyard. She was half-way across when she became aware of the short figure of a heavy-set religieuse waddling towards her with the aid of a stick. She recognised that it was the disabled religieuse whom she had seen at the funeral with Sister Brónach and it was clear that she was attempting to intercept Fidelma. Fidelma halted and allowed the sister to catch up. Once again, Fidelma felt compassion as she surveyed the girl’s broad, rather plain face with pale, watery eyes. But it was a young, intelligent face. When the sister spoke, Fidelma heard that she had a nervous stammer as a further handicap. The girl twisted her lips and made faces as she tried to get her words out, as if it were some painful exercise.

‘Sis … Sister Fidelma? Sis … Sis … Lerben is loo … looking for you … The mo … mo … mother abbess … requests your pres … presence immediately in her cha … chamber.’

Fidelma tried not to alter her expression but she felt a grim satisfaction. She had estimated that Sister Síomha would have immediately complained about her to the Abbess Draigen. It was obvious what the abbess wanted to see Fidelma about.

‘Very well. Will you show me the way? I have forgotten where the abbess’s chamber is, Sister …?’

She raised her eyebrows in interrogation.

‘I am Sis … Sis … Sister Berrach,’ replied the girl.

‘Very well, Sister Berrach. If you will lead the way?’

The young religieuse nodded her head rapidly several times before turning to lead the way. Her body swayed from side to side on her short, deformed legs, across the courtyard to the group of stone buildings in which the Abbess Draigen had her chambers. She paused before a heavy oak door and tapped timidly with the tip of her staff. Then she swung it open.

‘Sis … Sis … Sister Fidelma, mo … mother abbess,’ gasped the girl and turned, with relief on her face, as if thankful to escape, and disappeared.

Fidelma entered and closed the door behind her.

Abbess Draigen was seated alone in her chamber at her dark oak work table. The room was gloomy, for the windows did not provide much light. Even though it was just after noon, there was a lighted tallow candle on the table by which she was reading. The expression she raised to Fidelma, lit by the flickering candle, was unfriendly and set in pinched lines.

‘It has been reported that you have been extremely discourteous to my rechtaire. A house steward is deserving of respect. Surely I do not have to remind you of this?’

Fidelma moved forward and took a seat opposite the abbess. For a moment, Abbess Draigen’s features took on a look of astonishment and then outrage.

‘Sister, you forget yourself. I did not ask you to be seated.’

Fidelma was usually respectful of rules and fairly easygoing but when she felt it in her interests to throw her weight around to achieve an advantage then she was not above doing so.

‘Abbess Draigen, I am in no mood for formalities. Need I remind you that I hold the degree of anruth and may sit in the presence of provincial kings, indeed — I may dispute on their level? I may even be invited to sit in the presence of the High King himself, if he so wishes. I am not here to engage inrituals of etiquette. I am here to investigate a case of unlawful killing.’

If Abbess Draigen had been expecting to exert her authority over Fidelma she was thwarted in her aim. The cold response seemed to impede her power of speech. She simply stared at Fidelma, with hostility showing in her expression.

Fidelma felt a pang of regret for her behaviour. She knew that she was behaving disrespectfully, although within her rights as a dálaigh, but there was much on her mind and she felt she had little time for meticulous observance of the conventions. She decided to unbend a little and leant forward with a look that she meant as friendly.

‘Abbess Draigen, I must be blunt for time precludes any other course. I was abrupt with Sister Síomha because I had to cut through her vanity to find answers to my questions. She is very young to hold the position of a house steward. Perhaps, too young?’

Abbess Draigen remained silent for a moment and then she retorted icily: ‘Do you question my choice of a house steward?’

‘You are best suited to make your own decisions, mother abbess,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I observe merely that Sister Síomha is very young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Her inexperience leads to her arrogance. Surely, you have other members of your community who are equally capable to take on the position of rechtaire of the community? Sister Brónach for example?’

Abbess Draigen’s eyes narrowed.

‘Sister Brónach She is introverted and lacks ability. My choice was made carefully. You may be a dálaigh of the courts but I am abbess here and I make the decisions.’

Fidelma spread her hands.

‘I would not dream of interfering. But I speak as I find. It was my response to Sister Síomha’s conceit and her insolence towards me that made me act as I did.’

Abbess Draigen sniffed.

‘You seemed to imply that Sister Síomha was somehow connected with the corpse. I hardly think that was merely a reaction to someone’s personality.’

Fidelma smiled quickly. Sister Síomha was not unintelligent and had doubtless given Draigen a full report.

‘There were some answers that I was not happy with, abbess,’ she confided. ‘And since we are speaking of this matter, I would like to ask some questions of you.’

Abbess Draigen’s mouth tightened.

‘I have not finished with the matter of the complaints of Sister Síomha.’

‘We will return to that matter in a moment,’ Fidelma assured her with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘How long have you been abbess here?’

It was such an abrupt change of questioning that the abbess jerked her head back in surprise and studied Fidelma’s face carefully. Seeing her calm resolution, the abbess sat back on her chair.

‘I have been abbess of this community for six years. Previously to that I, too, was rechtaire here.’

‘For how long?’

‘Four years.’

‘And before that?’

‘I was of the community here for over ten years.’

‘So you have been here twenty years in all? Are you from this part of the country?’

‘I do not see what this has to do with the matter you are investigating?’

‘It is just to give me some background,’ cajoled Fidelma. ‘Are you from this area?’

‘I am. My father was an óc-aire; a free clansman of this area who owned his own land but which was not adequate enough to render him self-sufficient.’

‘So you joined this community?’

Abbess Draigen’s eyes flashed.

‘I did not have to, if that is what you imply! I was free to do what I wanted in life.’

‘I made no such comment.’

‘My father was a proud man. They called him Adnár Mhór — Adnár the Great.’

Abbess Draigen’s mouth snapped shut as if she realised that she had said too much.

‘Adnár?’ Fidelma moved forward in her seat and gazed closely at Draigen. Now she realised what she saw in the face of the abbess and her neighbour the bó-aire.

‘Is Adnár of Dún Boí your brother?’

Abbess Draigen did not deny it.

‘You do not get on with your brother.’

It was an observation but Abbess Draigen did not hide her look of distaste.

‘My brother is nothing that his name implies,’ she said tightly.

Fidelma smiled softly. The meaning of the name Adnár was one who was very modest.

‘Since you observe the meaning of names, I presume that you were the staff of your family?’

Draigen’s mouth quirked into a smile. Her name meant ‘blackthorn’ and she conceded Fidelma was a worthy opponent with word games.

‘My brother Adnár left my father just when my father needed help to work his land. My mother had died and the strength had gone out of my father … the very will to pit his wits against the soil and sustain a living. Adnár went off to serve the chieftain of Beara — Gulban the Hawk-Eyed — who was raiding against the northern clans. When Adnár returned with cattle, as his reward for his services, my father was already dead. I had joined this community and my father’s land had been sold and donated to the abbey. That is why my brother became a bó-aire — a cattle chief, a chieftain without land but with wealth which he increases by his service to Gulban.’

The vehemence with which she spoke was such to give Fidelma an indication that the story had never been told before and that Draigen was using Fidelma to release her anger against her brother.

‘I see no reason in this story why you and Adnár should hate each other so violently, unless there was an argument over the disposal of your father’s land?’

Draigen did not deny her ill-feelings for her brother.

‘Hate? Hate is, perhaps, too strong a word. I despise Adnár. My father and mother should have lived out an old age on their land, watching their son rewarding them for his good health and secure upbringing by continuing to farm what they had wrenched from nature. They died too early. My father died doing work he was no longer fit to do. But enmity did start when Adnár demanded our father’s land on his return.’

‘So you blame your brother for your father’s death? But he blames you for the loss of, what he considers, his land?’

‘His claim was ruled on by a Brehon. It was judged that Adnár could not support his claim.’

‘But you blame him for the death of your father. Is that logical?’

‘Logic? That dreary prison cell for human feeling?’

Fidelma shook her head.

‘Logic is the mechanics of making the truth prevail. Without it we would live in an irrational world.’

‘I can live comfortably with my feelings towards my brother,’ advised Draigen.

‘Ah... facilis descensus Averno,’ sighed Fidelma.

‘I do not need to have Virgil’s Aeneid quoted at me, sister. I do not need to be cautioned that the descent to hell is easy. Preach your Latin to my brother.’

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘The words simply sprang into my mind. I am sorry for you, Draigen. Hate is such a waste of emotional strength. But tell me, you have given your reasons for hating … despising,’ she corrected herself as shesaw Draigen’s expression, ‘despising your brother, but why should he hate you so much?’

She wondered whether to tell Draigen of Adnár’s claim that his sister had relationships with the younger members of her community; that he went so far as to claim that Draigen might well have been responsible for the murder of a former lover to hide the affair. She wondered how a brother could hold his sister in such bitter hostility as to make such an accusation. Surely not simply over a land dispute?

‘I do not care about his hate. He and his so-called soul-friend may slowly rot of disease. I pray for the sorrow of my brother’s house!’

‘So you know Brother Febal?’

‘Know him?’ Abbess Draigen laughed hollowly. ‘Know him? He was my husband.’

For the second time in a short period, Fidelma was shocked. That Adnár was Draigen’s brother was a matter of surprise. That Febal turned out to be her former husband was almost absurd. There was some deeper mystery here that she could not quite understand.

Abbess Draigen had suddenly drawn herself together and said coldly: ‘I think that is enough prying into my personal life, sister. As you so succinctly put it, you are here to investigate a murder. In doing so, you seem to display a talent to vex people, including my house steward as well as myself. Perhaps you would now confine yourself to your investigation.’

Fidelma hesitated, not wishing to make the situation any worse. Then she decided that she had to continue the road her investigation was taking her.

‘I thought, Abbess Draigen, that I was confining myself to the investigation. You may wish to know that both your brother and Febal suggest that you might be implicated in the murder of the girl found in your well.’

The abbess’s eyes glinted with anger.

‘Yes? For what reason?’

‘They suggested that you had a reputation.’

‘A reputation?’

‘Of a sexual nature. It was suggested that the crime might have been committed to cover such misdemeanours.’

There was no disguising the look of repulsion on Abbess Draigen’s face.

‘I might have expected this from my brother and his lickspittle. Their souls to the devil! May they die the death of kittens!’

Fidelma sighed deeply. The curse of the death of kittens was to wish someone would die of drowning.

‘Mother abbess, it ill behoves one of your position to utter such curses. I need to ask you again, why it is your brother and Brother Febal should level such charges against you, or spread such rumours? Your attitude indicates to me that they are without foundation.’

‘Ask Adnár and his lickspittle, Febal, if you must know. I am sure that they will invent a suitable story.’

‘Mother abbess, ever since I arrived here, I have found much arrogance and deception. Also, there is great hatred and threatening evil here. If there is anything I should know further about the background to this matter, I urge you to tell me now. I shall find out, eventually. Be sure of that.’

Abbess Draigen’s face was graven.

‘And I can assure you, Sister Fidelma, that the finding of an unidentified corpse at this abbey has nothing to do with the mutual dislike that exists between my brother, myself, and my former husband Brother Febal.’

Fidelma tried to read beyond Draigen’s wooden expression but gathered nothing.

‘I must ask these questions,’ she said, slowly rising to her feet. ‘If I do not then I shall be failing in my task.’

Draigen followed her with her eyes.

‘You may do what you think you must, sister. I can nowsee the purpose of your questions to Sister Síomha which touched on me. I can assure you that I am not guilty of any crime. If I were, surely I would not have sent to Brocc, the abbot of Ros Ailithir, requesting an advocate of the courts to come here to investigate.’

‘I follow your reasoning, mother abbess. Yet others have been subtle in seeking to evade suspicion in ways that you might not credit.’

Draigen snorted in disgust.

‘Then you must do as you think fit. Neither I nor Sister Síomha have anything to fear from the truth.’

Sister Fidelma was halfway to the door when the abbess’s last sentence halted her. She swung round and faced Abbess Draigen.

‘Since you mention it, I have seen fear in Sister Síomha’s eyes. I asked her if she recognised the headless corpse …’

She held up a hand to silence Draigen’s immediate protest.

‘One may still recognise a corpse even when its head is missing.’

‘I am sure that Sister Síomha did not.’

‘So she told me. But why would she fear that question?’

Abbess Draigen shrugged eloquently.

‘That is not a matter for me.’

‘Of course not. Her fear increased when I asked her whether all the sisters of this community were accounted for.’

Abbess Draigen gave another of her dry chuckles.

‘You think that the headless corpse was one of our own sisters? Come, Sister Fidelma, you must have more talent in your art than to consider that we would not know if one of our own sisters had been murdered, decapitated and thrown down our drinking well!’

‘It would be logical to presume so. Though members of a religious community would hardly be able to recognise a naked body without a head as someone they are used to seeing and recognising by face only.’

‘This is true. But no one here is unaccounted for,’ confirmed the Abbess Draigen.

‘So every member of the community is within the confines of the abbey?’

Abbess Draigen hesitated.

‘No. I did not say that. I said that every member of the community is accounted for.’

Fidelma felt a sudden surge of adrenalin.

‘I have yet to reason that subtle alteration in emphasis.’

‘Often members of our community go on missions, on journeys to other abbeys.’

‘Ah,’ Fidelma tensed. ‘So there are members of your community away at the moment?’

‘Only two members.’

‘Why was I not told this?’

‘It was not the question which you asked, sister,’ replied the abbess.

Fidelma’s lips compressed.

‘There is hardship enough in this matter without games of mind reading and semantics. Explain who is away from the abbey at this time and why.’

Abbess Draigen blinked at the sharpness in Fidelma’s voice.

‘Sister Comnat and Sister Almu are away at this time. They are on a mission to the abbey of the Blessed Brenainn at Ard Fhearta.’

‘When did they go?’

‘Three weeks ago.’

‘Why did they go?’

Abbess Draigen was looking irritated.

‘You may not know that we, in this abbey, have some reputation for our penmanship. We copy books for other houses. Our sisters have just completed a copy of Murchú’s life of the Blessed Patrick of Ard Macha. Sister Comnat was our leabhar coimedach, our librarian, while Almu was her assistant. They were given the task of taking the copy of the book to Ard Fhearta.’

‘Why didn’t Sister Síomha tell me this?’ snapped Fidelma.

‘Presumably because …’

‘I am tired of hearing presumptions, Abbess Draigen,’ she interrupted. ‘Summon Sister Síomha now.’

The Abbess Draigen paused for a moment as if to control her response to Fidelma’s anger and then, clenching her jaw tight, she reached forward and rang a small silver bell that stood on her table. Sister Lerben entered a moment later and the abbess told her to ask the rechtaire to attend her immediately.

A few moments passed before there came a tap on the door and it opened. Sister Síomha entered, saw Fidelma, and her mouth broadened in a slight smile of obvious contempt.

‘You rang for me, mother abbess?’

‘I summoned you,’ Fidelma replied harshly.

Sister Síomha looked startled, her face loosing the self-satisfied expression.

‘A short time ago I asked you if every member of the community was accounted for. You replied that they were. Now I discover that two members of this community are not accounted for. Sister Comnat and Sister Almu. Why was I misled?’

Sister Síomha had flushed and glanced quickly at the abbess who seemed to incline her head slightly.

‘You do not have to ask permission of the mother abbess to reply to my questions,’ Fidelma said sharply.

‘Every member of this community was accounted for,’ replied Sister Síomha defensively. ‘I did not mislead you.’

‘You told me nothing of Comnat and Almu.’

‘What was there to tell you? They are on a mission to Ard Fhearta.’

‘They are not in the abbey.’

‘Yet they are accounted for.’

Fidelma exhaled in exasperation.

‘Semantics!’ she jeered. ‘Do you care more about morphology, with word formations and inflections, than with truth?’

‘You did not …’ began Sister Síomha, but this time it was Abbess Draigen who interrupted.

‘We must help Sister Fidelma all we can, Sister Síomha,’ she said, causing the young sister to glance at her in surprise. ‘She is, after all, a dálaigh of the court.’

There was a slight pause.

‘Very well, mother abbess,’ Sister Síomha said, bowing her head in compliance.

‘Now, as I understand it,’ began Fidelma determinedly, ‘there are two members of this community who are not in the abbey?’

‘Yes.’

‘And they are the only two members of your community who are unaccounted for?’

‘They are not unaccounted for …’ began Sister Síomha but halted at the look of thunder on Fidelma’s face. ‘There is no one else outside of the abbey at the moment,’ she confirmed.

‘I am told that they left for Ard Fhearta three weeks ago.’

‘Yes.’

‘Surely the journey there and back is not so long? When were they expected to return?’

It was Abbess Draigen who confessed: ‘They are overdue. That is true, sister.’

‘Overdue?’ Fidelma arched an eyebrow disdainfully. ‘And no one thought to inform me of this?’

‘It has no bearing on this matter,’ interposed the abbess.

‘I am the arbiter of what has or has not a bearing on the matter,’ replied Fidelma icily. ‘Have you had any word from the sisters since they left?’

‘None,’ replied Sister Síomha.

‘And when were they expected back?’

‘They were expected back after ten days.’

‘Have you informed the local bó-aire?’ The question wasdirected at Abbess Draigen. ‘Whatever you may think of Adnár, he is the local magistrate.’

‘He would be of no help,’ Draigen said defensively. ‘But nevertheless, you are right. He shall be informed that they are missing. Messengers often go between his fortress and that of Gulban which is on the road to Ard Fhearta.’

‘I shall be seeing Adnár shortly to discuss the matter we have touched on, abbess. I will inform him of this matter. Tell me, what are these sisters like? A physical description, if you please.’

‘Sister Comnat has been here at least thirty years. She is sixty or more years of age and has been our librarian and our chief penman for fifteen of those years. She is well skilled in her work.’

‘I need a more physical description,’ insisted Fidelma.

‘She is short and thin,’ replied Draigen. ‘Her hair is grey though her eyebrows still retain the blackness of their youth and the eyes, too, are dark. She has a distinctive mark, a scar on her forehead where once a sword cut her.’

Fidelma mentally ruled out the librarian as the headless victim.

‘And of Sister Almu?’

‘She was chosen to accompany Sister Comnat not only because she is her assistant but because she is young and stronger. She is about eighteen. Fair-haired and blue-eyed with pleasing features. She is a little on the short side.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment.

‘The headless corpse could have been eighteen years old. It gave the impression of fairness and was short in stature.’

‘Are you claiming that this headless corpse is Sister Almu?’ demanded the abbess in disbelief.

‘It is not!’ snapped Sister Síomha.

‘Almu was a close friend of my steward,’ Draigen explained. ‘I am prepared to believe that she would recognise the body of Almu.’

Fidelma folded her arms determinedly.

‘Since we like to play with semantics, mother abbess, let me be precise. I am saying that it could be Sister Almu. You say Almu is an assistant to the librarian and worked copying books?’

‘Yes. Sister Almu promises to be one of our best scribes. She is highly proficient in her art.’

‘There was blue staining on the fingers of the hand of the corpse. Would that not point to the corpse having worked with a pen?’

‘Staining?’ interrupted Sister Síomha in annoyance. ‘What staining?’

‘Do you tell me that you did not notice the blue stains on thumb, index finger and along the edge of the little finger where it would rest on paper? The blue-black of an ink? The sort of stain someone who practised penmanship might have?’

‘But Sister Almu is with Sister Comnat at Ard Fhearta,’ protested the abbess.

‘She is certainly not among the community of this abbey, that much is certain,’ Fidelma commented dryly. ‘Are you sure that no one recognised the body?’

‘How can one recognise the body without a head?’ Sister Síomha demanded. ‘And if it was Almu, I would know. She is a close friend of mine, as the abbess has said.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘But as to recognising a body without a head, why, I have just shown you one method of recognition. I will acknowledge that, in a religious community, one’s first and usually only contact with the physical features of a fellow religious is with the face. But I would ask, didn’t the thought ever occur that, as these sisters were overdue, there was a remote possibility that this body, which had marks of being a member of the Faith, was that of your assistant librarian?’

‘Not even a slightest’ thought,’ replied Sister Síomha stiffly. ‘Neither does your suggestion make it so. You have provided no proof that the body belongs to Almu.’

‘No, that is so,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘What I am doing at this time is putting forward some hypotheses based on the information that I am now getting. Information which,’ she held Abbess Draigen’s eyes a moment and then turned to Sister Síomha who now dropped her gaze, ‘information which should have been given me freely, instead of this wasting of time with the sins of self-regard.’

‘Why would anyone want to stab and decapitate Sister Almu and thrust her body down a well?’ demanded the abbess. ‘If it is the body of the sister, that is.’

‘We have not been able to prove it was Almu. And we doubtless will not until we find the other part of the corpse.’

‘You mean her head?’ asked the abbess.

‘I have been told that when the corpse was taken from the well, no one was allowed to draw water and that the community has used the other springs hereabouts?’

Abbess Draigen nodded confirmation.

‘Has anyone been down the well shaft to see if the head was also placed down there?’

The abbess looked towards Sister Síomha.

‘The answer is — yes,’ Sister Síomha replied. ‘As steward it was my duty to arrange for the purification of the well. I sent one of our strongest young girls down it.’

‘And she was?’

‘Sister Berrach.’

Fidelma’s expression showed total astonishment.

‘But Sister Berrach is …’ She bit her tongue, regretting what she had been about to say.

‘A cripple?’ sneered Sister Síomha. ‘So you have noticed her?’

‘I merely observed that Sister Berrach is surely disabled. How can she be strong?’

‘Berrach has been in this community since she was three years old,’ said the abbess. ‘She was adopted not long before I came here myself and raised by the community. Althoughthe growth of her legs was stunted, she has developed a strength in her arms and torso that is truly surprising.’

‘And did she find anything when she went down the well? Perhaps I should hear this from her own lips?’

Abbess Draigen reach forward and rang the bell on the table before her.

‘Then you may ask her yourself, sister.’

Once more Sister Lerben, the attractive, young novice, opened the door almost immediately.

‘Lerben,’ ordered the abbess, ‘fetch Sister Berrach here.’

The novice bobbed her head and disappeared. It was only a few moments later that there was a timid knock at the door and, at the abbess’s response, the wary features of Sister Berrach peered around the portal.

‘Come in, sister,’ Draigen spoke to her almost consolingly. ‘Do not be alarmed. You know Sister Fidelma? Yes, of course you do.’

‘H … h … how can I se … serve?’ stuttered the sister, propelling herself forward into the chamber with her heavy blackthorn stick.

‘Easy enough,’ Sister Síomha intervened. ‘I had the responsibility of examining the well of the Blessed Necht after the headless corpse was removed. You will recall, Berrach, that I asked for your assistance in this, didn’t I?’

The disabled religieuse nodded, as if eager to please.

‘You asked me to go down the well, to be lowered on a rope with a lantern. I was to wash down the walls of the well and cleanse it with water that had been blessed by our mother abbess.’

She phrased her sentences like an oft repeated lesson. Fidelma noticed that her stammer vanished in the recital of this. She found herself wondering whether poor Sister Berrach was simple, a grown woman with a deformed body and the mind of a child.

‘That is so,’ Sister Síomha said approvingly. ‘What was it like in the well?’

Sister Berrach seemed to consider for a moment and then smiled as the answer came to her.

‘D … d … dark. Yes, it was very d … dark d … down there.’

‘But you had a means of lighting that darkness,’ Fidelma spoke encouragingly and moved forward towards the girl. She laid a friendly hand on her arm and felt its strength and sinew under the sleeve of the robe. ‘You had a lantern, didn’t you?’

The girl glanced up at her nervously and then returned Fidelma’s smile.

‘Oh yes,’ she smiled. ‘I was given a la … lantern and with th … th … that I c … could see well enough. But it was n … n … not really light d … d … down there.’

‘Yes. I understand what you mean, Sister Berrach,’ Fidelma said. ‘And when you reached the bottom of the well, did you see anything that … well … anything that should not have been down there?’

The girl put her head on one side and thought carefully.

‘S … sh … shouldn’t be d … down there?’ she repeated slowly.

Sister Síomha made her exasperation clear.

‘The head of the corpse,’ she explained bluntly.

Sister Berrach shivered violently.

‘There was no … nothing else d … down there but the dark and the water. I saw n … n … nothing.’

‘Very well,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘You may go now.’

After Sister Berrach had left the abbess sat back and studied Fidelma speculatively.

‘What now, Sister Fidelma? Do you still hold to your belief that this body is that of Sister Almu?’

‘I did not say it was,’ countered Fidelma. ‘At this stage of my investigation, I must speculate. I must hypothesise. The fact that Sister Comnat and Sister Almu are overdue in returning to this abbey may simply be a matter of coincidence. Nevertheless, I must be in possession of all the factsif I am to progress. There must be no further playing of games. When I ask questions, I shall expect appropriate answers.’

She glanced to Sister Síomha but directed her remarks to Abbess Draigen. She saw an angry look remould the features of the rechtaire of the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells.

‘That much is clear, sister,’ replied the abbess tautly. ‘And perhaps now that all our bruised dignities and self-esteems have been massaged, we may return to our respective businesses?’

‘Willingly,’ agreed Sister Fidelma. ‘But one thing more …’

Abbess Draigen waited with raised eyebrows.

‘I am told that there are some copper mines in this vicinity?’

The question was not expected by the abbess and Draigen looked surprised.

‘Copper mines?’

‘Yes. Is this not so?’

‘It is so. Yes; there are many such mines on this peninsula.’

‘Where are they in relationship to this abbey?’

‘The nearest ones are on the far side of the mountains to the south-west.’

‘And to whom do they belong?’

‘They are the domain of Gulban the Hawk-Eyed,’ replied Draigen.

Fidelma had expected some such answer and she nodded thoughtfully.

‘Thank you. I will detain you no longer.’

As she turned from the abbess’s chamber she saw Sister Síomha regarding her with an intense expression. If looks could kill, Fidelma found herself thinking wryly, then she would have been dead on the spot.