She suddenly felt cold.
Someone had probably already killed a religieuse; decapitated her and hung her body down the well at the abbey. Fidelma was sure that the headless corpse was that of a sister of the Faith. Her instinct and what evidence she had seen told her so. She shivered. Had she come close to following the nameless corpse into Christ’s Otherworld?
She raised her head abruptly from her contemplation as her ears caught the sound of a horse cantering on the path ahead. Was Torcán returning? She stood still and peered along the path. A rider was coming rapidly towards her. Her body tensed. The rider soon emerged through the shadowy shrubbery of the forest. It was Adnár.
The handsome, black-haired chieftain swung easily down
from his horse, almost before the beast had stopped. He greeted Fidelma with a worried glance.
‘Olcán told me that he and Torcán had met you on the forest road and that you were on your way to my fortress. Olcán told me that there had been an accident. Is it so?’ Adnár was examining her anxiously.
‘A near accident,’ Fidelma corrected pedantically.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. It is nothing. Nevertheless, I was on my way to see you. Your coming has saved me the trouble of completing the journey.’ She turned and pointed to a fallen tree trunk. ‘Let us sit for a while.’
Adnár hitched his horse’s reins to a twisted branch on the dead tree and joined Fidelma.
‘You have not been entirely honest with me, Adnár,’ Fidelma opened.
The chieftain’s head jerked slightly in surprise.
‘In what way?’ he demanded defensively.
‘You did not say that the Abbess Draigen was your sister by blood. Nor did Brother Febal explain that he was once married to Draigen.’
Fidelma was not prepared for the amused look which crossed the man’s pleasant features. It was as if he had been expecting some other accusation. His shoulders slumped a little in relaxation.
‘
That
!’ he said in a dismissive tone.
‘Is it not of importance to you?’
‘Little enough,’ admitted Adnár. ‘My relationship to Draigen is not something I wish to boast of. Luckily, she has my father’s red hair while I my mother’s black mane.’
‘Do you not think that mention of your relationship was of importance to me?’
‘Look, sister, it is my misfortune and perhaps Draigen’s misfortune, too, that we were born from the same womb. As for Febal, I will not answer for him.’
‘Then answer for yourself. Do you really hate your sister as much as you appear to?’
‘I am indifferent to her.’
‘Indifferent enough to claim that she has unnatural affairs with her acolytes.’
‘That much is true.’
Adnár spoke in earnest without anger. Fidelma had previously seen his irritable temper and was surprised how calm he now was, sitting there in the wood, hand clasped between his knees, gazing moodily at the ground.
‘Perhaps you should tell me the story?’
‘It is not relevant to your investigation.’
‘Yet you claim that Draigen’s sexual proclivities are relevant. How, then, am I to judge this if I am not possessed of the truth of these matters?’
Adnár made a slight movement of his shoulders as if to shrug but changed his mind.
‘Did she tell you that our father, whose name I take, was an
óc-aire,
a commoner who worked his own land but had not sufficient land or chattels to render him self-sufficient? He worked all his life on a small strip of inhospitable land on a rocky mountain slope. Our mother worked with him and at harvest time, it was she who gathered what small crop we had while my father went to hire himself to the local chieftain in order to make sufficient to keep our bodies and souls together.’
He paused for a moment and then went on: ‘Draigen was the youngest and I, I was two years her senior. We both had to help our parents on their small plot of land and there was no time or money to spare on educating us.’
There was a bitter tone to his voice but Fidelma made no comment.
‘As a boy, I did not want to follow in my father’s footsteps. I did not want to spend the rest of my life working unprofitable land simply in order to live. I had ambition. And so I would sneak along to the clan hostel every time I
heard that a warrior was passing through the territory. I would try to persuade the warrior to tell me about soldiering, about the warrior’s code and how one trained to be a warrior. I made my own weapons of wood and would go into the forests and practise fighting bushes with a wooden sword. I made a bow and arrows and became an expert shot in my own way. I knew that this was my only path to escape the poverty of my life.
‘As soon as I was at the age of choice, on my seventeenth birthday when no law could stop my going, I left home and sought out our chieftain Gulban of the Beara. He was engaged in wars against the Corco Duibhne over the boundaries of his territory. As a bowman, I distinguished myself, and was soon placed in command of a band of one hundred men. At the age of nineteen Gulban appointed me a
cenn-feadhna
, a captain. It was the proudest day of my life.
‘The wars made me rich in cattle and when they ended, I returned here to be appointed
bó-aire,
a cattle chieftain. Although the land was not mine, I had a sufficient cattle herd to be a person of influence and wealth. I am not ashamed of my escape from poverty.’
‘It is a laudable tale, Adnár. Any tale of a man or woman transcending difficulties is commendable. But it tells me nothing of the animosity between you and your sister nor why you should accuse her of unnatural relationships.’
Adnár grimaced expressively.
‘Draigen talks much of her loyalty to our parents. She claims that I deserted them. She was no more loyal to them than I was. She wanted to escape the poverty as much as I did. When she was approaching the age of choice, she would even try to conjure the old pagan spirits - the goddesses of ancient times — to help her.’
Fidelma regarded him closely. But Adnár seemed lost in his memories, not as if he were speaking for effect at all.
‘What did she do?’
‘There was an old woman who dwelt in the woods nearby
who claimed to adhere to the old ways. Her name was Suanech, as I recall. All the children were frightened of her. She claimed that she worshipped Boí, the wife of Lugh, god of all arts and crafts. Bo was known as the cow goddess, or the old woman of Beara. You see, this land was once her domain in the dark, pagan days. My fortress was named after her, Dun Boí.’
‘There are many old ones who still cling to the ancient times and the old gods,’ Fidelma pointed out. The Faith had only come to the five kingdoms during the last two centuries and Fidelma realised that there were still isolated pockets where the beliefs of the Ever Living Ones, the old gods and goddesses, still held sway.
‘And you may find many territories where even the mountains are named after gods and goddesses,’ Adnár agreed.
‘So your sister was influenced by this old pagan woman?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘When did she come back to the True Faith and join the religieuses?’
Adnár grinned crookedly.
‘Who said that she had returned to the True Faith?’
Fidelma looked at him in surprise.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I say nothing. I merely point the way. Since she was a young girl, especially when she went to see the old woman, she has always acted strangely.’
‘You have still not presented me with evidence of any of your claims or why there is this animosity between you.’
‘That old woman turned her head with her tales and with her …’
He stopped and shrugged.
‘While I was serving in Gulban’s army, my father and mother died. Draigen went to live with this old woman in the forests.’
‘This made you hate her?’
He shook his head.
‘No. I am not sure of the story but Draigen fell foul of the law and had to pay compensation. To do this she sold the pitiful plot of land and entered the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. The loss of the land was an annoyance to me. I will not deny that. I should have inherited some of it. I laid a claim against Draigen for my share of the land but a Brehon dismissed the claim.’
‘I see. This claim was the cause of the animosity?’
Adnár shrugged.
‘I resented what she had done. But I had accrued wealth. I did not really need it. It was principle. No, the hate started to come from Draigen. Perhaps she hated me for making the claim. She avoided me afterwards. When I became
bó-aire
of this district, she was forced to have dealings with me but always used a third party to intermediate. Her hatred of me was keen.’
‘Did Draigen give you a reason for her hatred?’
‘Oh yes. She claims to blame me for the death of our father and mother. But it does not ring true to me. Perhaps it really was simply resentment that I made a legal claim against her. Anyway, whatever the primary cause, the years have served merely to increase her hatred.’
‘She denies it and says that it is you who hates her. So, I ask you again, have you come to return her hate?’ Fidelma realised that she was faced with two opposing testimonies without room for compromise.
‘I felt hurt at first, then anger towards her. I do not think I have ever felt true hatred. Of course, there were stories from the abbey about Draigen. I heard stories of her liking for young novices. Then when I heard the story of the body of a young woman being found in the well, I feared the worst.’
‘Why?’
For the first time he raised his head and gazed directly into her eyes.
‘Why?’ he repeated, as if he had not understood the question.
‘Why should this make you come to the conclusion that your sister, your own sister, had murdered this girl as the result of some illicit relationship? I do not see how there is a connection. At least, not from what you have told me so far.’
Adnár looked uncomfortable for a moment or two as he gave the matter thought.
‘It is true that I cannot give you a truly logical reason. I just feel that it fits in some terrible way.’
‘Did your
anam-chara
, Brother Febal, suggest this explanation to you?’
The question was sharp and direct.
Adnár blinked rapidly.
Fidelma could tell by the slight tinge of colour that rose to his cheeks that she had scored a hit with her question.
‘How long have you known Brother Febal?’
‘Since I returned and became
bó-aire
here.’
‘What do you know of his background?’
‘Once the abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells was a mixed community, a
conhospitae
as they are called. Brother Febal was one of the monks who dwelt there. Febal and Draigen married. Under the old abbess, Abbess Marga, Brother Febal was doorkeeper of the community. Then my sister was appointed
rechtaire
, or steward, which, as you know, is a position second only to the abbess. I understand the relationship between Draigen and Febal ended abruptly. Draigen, taking advantage of the frailty and age of the old abbess, began to purge the abbey of all its male members and designed to make it a house of female religieuses only. Brother Febal was the last to be driven from his post and came to join me as my religious advisor. Not long after, the old abbess died. It did not surprise me to find that my sister Draigen was appointed in her stead.’
‘You imply that Draigen is ruthless and ambitious?’
‘That you may judge for yourself.’
‘Well, what you are also saying is that Brother Febal has
good cause to hate Draigen; good cause to stir up enmity between you and her and good cause to create rumours over the finding of this corpse.’
‘From an outsider’s position this may seem true,’ Adnár admitted. ‘I will not try to convince you to my views. The only reason I wanted to see and speak with you before Draigen, when you arrived yesterday, was to alert you to certain things. To ask you to follow those paths I have pointed to. Whether you choose to or not is your concern. You are an advocate of the courts and is not your war-cry,
quaere verum?’
‘To seek the truth is our maxim not a war-cry,’ she corrected pedantically. ‘That I shall endeavour to do. But accusation is not truth. Suspicion is not a fact. I shall need to speak further with this Brother Febal.’
Adnár ran a hand through his black curly mane of hair.
‘You may return with me to the fortress, though I am not sure whether Febal will be there now. As I came away, I believe he was about to conduct Torcán and his men to a place of pilgrimage across the mountain.’
‘If he has done so, when will he return?’
‘Later this evening, undoubtedly.’
‘Then I will see him tomorrow. Tell him to come to the abbey.’