The Devil's Seal (12 page)

‘I am looking for the abbess – have you seen her?’

‘She is inside,’ confirmed Fidelma, but as the girl moved to open the library door, Fidelma stayed her. ‘A word with you first.’

The bright blue eyes of the girl turned enquiringly on her.

‘I wondered how long you have served Abbess Líoch?’

‘Since last summer.’

‘You are young to be a
bann-mhaor
.’

‘Before joining the abbess, I served in the Abbey of Sléibhte in Laighin, lady. I joined Abbot Aéd’s community there when I was at the age of choice.’

‘When Brother Cerdic called at Cill Náile a few days ago to see Abbess Líoch, had she ever seen him before?’

Sister Dianaimh’s chin came up defiantly. ‘You should ask the abbess that question.’

‘You see,’ went on Fidelma, ignoring her reply, ‘I have to ask questions when someone has been killed. You will recall that I rode with you into Cashel, having met you on the highway . . .’

‘Riding with your son and a warrior,’ the girl nodded. ‘I remember.’

‘And I left you and the abbess riding into the township to find lodgings while we went on to the palace here. Then you changed your minds, left your horses at the bottom of the hill and came up here on foot. I find that strange.’

‘The abbess suddenly realised that she should let Abbot Ségdae know that we had arrived in the township. However, we thought the horses were tired – my horse was developing a limp – so we left them in the care of a boy and walked up the hill to the palace.’

‘You did not find Abbot Ségdae.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘The abbess has already told you that we did not,’ replied the
bann-mhaor
suspiciously.

‘So where did you search for him?’

For the first time Sister Dianaith looked uncertain. ‘I did not. I remained at the gate while the abbess went to find him.’

‘Did she ask the guard at the gates where he might be found?’ prompted Fidelma.

‘I cannot remember – I presume so.’

‘So the abbess went to look while you remained at the gate; was that by the gate or in the courtyard?’

‘Just inside the gate. The abbess was not gone very long. She found a member of the brethren, an old man, who told her that the abbot was with the King. So she decided that we should continue to look for lodgings in the township. We had barely returned to our horses and set off when you and the Saxon, your husband, overtook us. And now, if that is all . . .?’

‘A moment more.’ Fidelma held up a hand. ‘You said you remained inside the gate?’

‘I did,’ the girl replied impatiently.

‘In that case, you could see across the main courtyard to the side of the chapel that faces it. Did anyone cross that courtyard while you were there?’

‘A few people, as would be expected.’

‘Such as? Describe them.’

Sister Dianaimh made a gesture with her shoulder as if dismissing the question. ‘I would not know them. The
echaire
– that is, the stable-master, two warriors . . . oh, and a religieux.’

‘A religieux? What did he look like?’

‘He had his hood over his head. Even if he had been uncovered, I would not have recognised him. I have not been here before. Now, can I go?’

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully as the girl moved past and entered the library. She waited a few moments before pulling her cloak tightly around her and going out into the still driving rain, hurrying towards the smaller courtyard at the back of the chapel where, in a corner, Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary was situated.

She entered the apothecary with its almost overpowering aromas that arose from the countless dried plants and herbs that hung from the ceiling or grew in pots on benches that crowded inside. Old Brother Conchobhar was bent over a bench at the far end, busily mixing a paste with a mortar in a pestle. He looked up as she entered and laid the work aside.

‘I was expecting you,’ he greeted her. His expression was serious.

‘You were?’ she frowned.

‘I thought you would come to see me about Deogaire’s outlandish behaviour last night.’

‘Ah, that. Yes, it was extraordinary,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘But that was not my main purpose.’

‘Then how can I help?’ The old man was surprised.

‘I was told Abbess Líoch might have been about here early yesterday. It was before Eadulf found the body of Brother Cerdic. I just wondered if you saw her then.’

Brother Conchobhar rubbed the side of his temple, as if it aided his memory. ‘Yes, I saw her and she was enquiring for Abbot Ségdae,’ he confirmed. ‘That’s right . . . I told her that the abbot was with the King. She thanked me and left.’ He paused and then added: ‘Wait! That is in the wrong order. I was in here and happened to glance at that little door across the way which leads into the back of the chapel. She was trying the handle.’

‘So you saw Abbess Líoch at the door of the chapel. Did anyone answer her?’

Brother Conchobhar shook his head. ‘Not that I am aware. Certainly, when I saw her there, I went and told her that the door was kept bolted from the inside. Only the main doors were open. I asked if
I
could help her. When she said she was looking for Abbot Ségdae, that was when I was able to tell her that he had gone to see your brother.’

‘And then she left?’

‘She did. I was waiting for Deogaire to join me to help me carry some things to the blacksmith’s forge.’

‘But she might have gone into the chapel,’ mused Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar looked quizzically at her. ‘Not unless someone came and opened the bolts when I turned my back. Surely you don’t suspect Abbess Líoch of killing the Saxon – Brother Cerdic?’

‘It is my nature to be suspicious, as you know well, old wolf-lover,’ she replied, using the literal meaning of her mentor’s name as a form of endearment.

‘I know your nature well enough. Didn’t I teach you something of the art of seeking answers when you were a child?’ he replied with a smile.

‘You especially taught me that one should ask the right questions to obtain the right answers. The trouble is, the answers to the questions that I have been asking do not make sense.’

‘Which means that you are not asking the right questions,’ rejoined the old man.

‘That may well be so.’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘It must have been only a short time after this encounter with the abbess that you were joined by Deogaire and you were walking around the front of the chapel, across the main square?’

‘That is so. Deogaire had returned and he and I were taking some herbs to the smithy’s forge when Eadulf appeared at the door on the other side of the chapel and called out to us. He asked if we had seen anyone leave the chapel, which we had not. There was no one about . . . well, I saw Brother Madagan on the far side of the courtyard, but he was going in the other direction. Then Eadulf showed us the body of Brother Cerdic.’

Fidelma shook her head in frustration. ‘There is something that I am missing. Ah well, it will come back to me soon.’

‘And Deogaire?’ asked Brother Conchobhar. ‘Is your brother thinking of punishing him for his outburst last night?’

‘I would not think so, unless those present felt insulted,’ replied Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar was unhappy. ‘As you know, Deogaire claims to have the
imbas forosnai
– the prophecy of the poets. It is not wise to boast of such things nowadays.’

‘Abbot Ségdae says it is forbidden. He claims it is a denial of the New Faith.’

‘True,’ the old man sighed. ‘But forbidden or not, it does not make it vanish as if it has never existed. Many things are forbidden but are none the less true because of it. Did not Fionn Mac Cumhaill often display that talent for such divination? Between us, I believe Deogaire has some gift. He has often proved a worthy sage.’

‘Yet is it not said that a sage is not wise all the time?’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘True once again,’ agreed the old man. ‘And they say that there are times when the silent mouth sounds most melodious. Perhaps Deogaire should have pursued the most melodious course?’

‘Did he ever explain to you what he means about his prophecy?’

‘The prophecy never came to me before.’ The voice cut through the pause before Brother Conchobhar could respond. Deogaire emerged from the back room into the apothecary.

‘And in what form did your prophecy come to you, Deogaire?’ asked Fidelma, undeterred by the sudden appearance of the young man.

‘It came last night, when I was watching the queen of the night rise above the hills. Do we not often call her Aesca, the place where knowledge is found?’

‘And watching the moon, you suddenly saw danger approaching my brother’s palace?’

‘I’ll not deny it.’

‘I know you have little time for the New Faith, Deogaire. But is it wise to boast of the possession of the
imbas forosnai
?’

‘Not everyone has forsaken the old paths of knowledge for the new and unknown, lady. You have left the religious yourself in order to maintain our old laws.’

‘I have left the religious – which does not mean that I have left the Faith, Deogaire. And what I was going to say is that while you reject the New Faith, yet your prophecy was laced with images of the New Faith.’

Deogaire chuckled. ‘Should I have placed older images of our ancient faith and culture in my warning? How then would the interpretation of what I said have been made clear? Images, like words in a foreign language, have no meaning unless they are shared.’

‘As a matter of fact, the images were lost on some until I pointed out the meanings of the terms you were using,’ replied Fidelma, amused. ‘Why did you give this warning that Satan was about to descend on Cashel?’

‘I used the images of the Devil because it would have had little impact if I had warned that the messengers of the Fomorii were about to come and sup with the King.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. The Fomorii had been the ancient evil deities of her people; the name meant ‘undersea dwellers’. From their caverns beneath the waves, led by Cichol, Balor of the Evil Eye and the goat-headed Gaborchend, they launched attack after attack on the good gods and goddesses, the Children of Danú. Finally, Lugh Lamhfada and Nuada of the Silver Hand drove them back into the sea.

‘Well, in whatever image,’ Fidelma replied, ‘your prophecy is that evil is about to strike Cashel?’

‘Has it not already done so?’

‘You mean the murder of Brother Cerdic?’

‘I will leave it to you to make your own interpretation, Fidelma of Cashel. All I say is that I feel a chill wind from the east. I would issue you with a warning. Two glances behind you are sometimes better than looking straight ahead. Death can come in many forms – even a winged demon out of the sky. You know that I am not given to idle speculation. I inherited the gift of the
imbas forosnai
from my mother’s mother and back to her mother’s mother and their line since the dawn of time.’

With that he turned and left the apothecary.

Brother Conchobhar stood a moment in silence and then he coughed nervously, extending his arms in a helpless gesture.

‘I am sorry, Fidelma.’

She had been thinking and now she raised her head with a smile. ‘You have no need to be, old wolf-lover. I have known some with the gift of prophecy – enough to know it would be silly to dismiss it lightly. If there is evil approaching from the east, then we must be prepared for it.’

‘T
his is my son, Alchú,’ Eadulf declared, after giving the boy a hug. He had brought Egric into the chamber where Muirgen was looking after the child. ‘His name means “little hound”. Alchú, this is your Uncle Egric, my brother.’

Eadulf had taken Egric to meet Alchú as soon as Fidelma had left to pursue her enquiries. It was Muirgen’s task to wash, dress and give their son breakfast and then entertain him until his parents were free. Now Muirgen withdrew to the side of the chamber and busied herself sorting clothes. The red-haired child, who had greeted his father with a smile, now stood gazing up solemnly at the newcomer. Egric seemed stiff and awkward as he stared down into the clear blue eyes that examined him.

‘He looks more like your wife than you.’ Egric spoke directly to Eadulf and made no effort to greet the boy.

‘That is in his favour,’ Eadulf joked. Then he seemed to realise that there was a silence between the two. ‘Say hello to your uncle, Alchú,’ he said encouragingly.

The boy did not reply directly but continued to survey the newcomer with curiosity. ‘Is he truly my uncle,
athair
?’ he asked, turning his gaze to Eadulf.

Eadulf felt embarrassed. ‘Truly, he is,’ he replied. ‘And you must greet him nicely. It is . . .’ he fought to find the word for ‘ill-mannered’ in his vocabulary. He settled on
dorrda
, which meant sulky or surly. ‘It is ill-mannered not to do so.’

Alchú said reluctantly, ‘Hello.’

Egric shifted his weight and merely jerked his head in response. ‘I am not at my best with children, Eadulf,’ he finally said.

‘He does not greet me.’ Alchú turned again to his father, speaking sharply. ‘Is that not also
dorrda
?’