Copyright © 2017 Peter Tremayne

The right of Peter Tremayne to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in this Ebook edition in 2017 by

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Cover shows the reverse of a 6th century silver coin from Lombardy, © The Trustees of the British Museum.

eISBN 978 1 4722 3868 9

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About the Author

Peter Tremayne is the fiction pseudonym of Peter Berresford Ellis, a well-known authority on the ancient Celts, who has utilised his knowledge of the Brehon law system and seventh-century Irish society to create a new concept in detective fiction.

An international Sister Fidelma Society has been established, with a journal entitled The Brehon appearing three times yearly. Details can be obtained either by writing to the Society at PMB #312, 1818 North Taylor Street, Suite B, Little Rock, AR 72207, USA, or by logging onto the society website at www.sisterfidelma.com.

Praise for the Sister Fidelma series:

‘The Sister Fidelma books give the readers a rattling good yarn. But more than that, they bring vividly and viscerally to life the fascinating lost world of the Celtic Irish. I put down The Spider’s Web with a sense of satisfaction at a good story well told, but also speculating on what modern life might have been like had that civilisation survived’ Ronan Bennett

‘The background detail is brilliantly defined . . . wonderfully evocative’ The Times

‘Rich helpings of evil and tension with lively and varied characters’ Historical Novels Review

‘The detail of the books is fascinating, giving us a vivid picture of everyday life at this time . . . the most detailed and vivid recreations of ancient Ireland’ Irish Examiner

‘Definitely an Ellis Peters competitor’ Evening Standard

‘This is masterly storytelling from an author who breathes fascinating life into the world he is writing about’ Belfast Telegraph

‘A brilliant and beguiling heroine. Immensely appealing’ Publishers Weekly

‘Tremayne’s super-sleuth is a vibrant creation, a woman of wit and courage who would stand out in any era, but brings a special sparkle to the wild beauty of medieval Ireland’ Morgan Llywelyn

By Peter Tremayne and featuring Sister Fidelma:

Absolution by Murder

Shroud for the Archbishop

Suffer Little Children

The Subtle Serpent

The Spider’s Web

Valley of the Shadow

The Monk who Vanished

Act of Mercy

Hemlock at Vespers

Our Lady of Darkness

Smoke in the Wind

The Haunted Abbot

Badger’s Moon

Whispers of the Dead

The Leper’s Bell

Master of Souls

A Prayer for the Damned

Dancing with Demons

The Council of the Cursed

The Dove of Death

The Chalice of Blood

Behold a Pale Horse

The Seventh Trumpet

Atonement of Blood

The Devil’s Seal

The Second Death

Penance of the Damned

Night of the Lightbringer

About the Book

Sister Fidelma returns in this brand-new 7th-century Irish mystery by Peter Tremayne, acclaimed author of THE SECOND DEATH and PENANCE OF THE DAMNED.

IRELAND, 671 AD. On the eve of the pagan feast of Samhain, Brother Eadulf and the warrior, Aidan, discover a man murdered in an unlit pyre in the heart of Cashel. He has been dressed in the robes of a religieux and killed by the ritualistic ‘three deaths’.

When a strange woman known as Brancheó appears in a raven-feather cloak foretelling of ancient gods returning to exact revenge upon the mortal world, she is quickly branded a suspect.

But in their search for the killer, Sister Fidelma and Eadulf will soon discover a darker shadow looming over the fortress. For their investigation is linked to a book stolen from the Papal Secret Archives which could destroy the New Faith in the Five Kingdoms . . . and Fidelma’s own brother, the King, will find himself in mortal danger before the case is unravelled.

In memory of my ‘anam cara’

DOROTHEA CHEESMUR ELLIS

(11 September 1940–30 March 2016)

There was a Door to which I found no Key:

There was a Veil through which I could not see

Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee

There was – and then no more of Thee and Me.

Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

transl. Edward FitzGerald

Quomodo cecidisti de caelo lucifer qui mane oriebaris corruisti in terram qui vulnerabas gentes.

How art thou fallen from heaven O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which did weaken the nations!

Isaiah 14-12

Vulgate Latin translation of Jerome 4th century

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

Sister Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh or advocate of the law courts of 7th-century Ireland

Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the land of the South Folk, her companion

At the Lateran Palace, Rome

The Venerable Gelasius, Nomenclator of the Lateran Palace

Brother Pothinus Maturis, Praecipuus of the Secret Archive

Brother Lucidus, agent of the Nomenclator

At Cashel

Colgú, King of Muman and brother to Fidelma

Dar Luga, ainbertach or housekeeper of the royal palace

Fíthel, Chief Brehon of Muman

Alchú, son of Fidelma and Eadulf

Muirgen, nurse to Alchú

Nessan, a shepherd, Muirgen’s husband

Spélan, a shepherd

Brother Conchobhar, an apothecary

Rumann, the tavern-keeper

Curnan, a woodsman in charge of the Samhain bonfire

Febal, of the Uí Briúin Seóla of Connacht

Warriors of the Nasc Niadh, or Golden Collar, the King’s Bodyguard

Gormán, commander

Aidan, second-in-command

Dego

Enda

Luan

Religious council of Cashel

Brother Mac Raith, steward of the Abbey of Imleach

Brother Sionnach of the Abbey of Corcach Mór

Brother Duibhinn of the Abbey of Ard Mór

Brother Giolla Rua of the Abbey of Ros Ailithir

At the Hill of the Bullock

Brancheó, the raven-caller

Torcán, a woodsman

Éimhin, his wife

At Ráth Cuáin Abbey

Abbot Síoda

Brother Tadhg, aistreóir or gatekeeper

Brother Gébennach, leabhar coimedach or keeper of books

Sister Fioniúr, the herbalist

At Cnocgorm

Erca, the Druid and hermit

Secondary Named Characters

Della, Gormán’s mother

Aibell, Gorman’s wife

Abbot Cuán of the Abbey of Imleach

Gelgéis, Princess of Éile

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The events in this story follow in chronological sequence from Penance of the Damned. The year is AD 671 and it is the end of the month known in Old Irish as Mí Forba, the month of completion. This equates with modern October. This was considered the last month of the old Celtic year.

The following month was Cet Gaimrid, the ‘first of winter’, which is, of course, November. The ancient Irish, like their Indo-European cousins, the Hindus, believed that the year started in a period of darkness and eventually wakened into light. So the end of summer was marked by the pagan feast of Samhain (sam = summer and fuin = end of). It was one of the four great festivals of the Celtic year. The Irish, like all the Celtic peoples, marked the passage of time by nights followed by days – and so their celebrations began during the night.

Samhain was a time when the start of the dark period was marked by the building of bonfires; a festival of light, with attendant rituals, to ward off the dangers that darkness brought. Samhain was also a time of spiritual danger, for it was then that the borders between the natural and supernatural worlds ceased to exist; a time when those who had been wronged could return from the Otherworld to wreak vengeance on the living; a time of primeval chaos.

The early Christians found such pre-Christian beliefs hard to suppress until Pope Gregory I (AD 590–604) instructed that pre-Christian beliefs and sacred sites should be Christianised simply by re-dedicating them to the New Faith instead of attempting to destroy them. The Roman Christians had already begun to hold a special festival for their martyred dead and Pope Boniface IV (AD 608–615), who had consecrated the Pantheon as a new Christian church in honour of these martyrs, had set aside 1 May as All Saints’ Day.

However, in AD 834 Pope Sergius II found that most people in Western Europe were not observing this feast day, preferring to observe the more ancient pre-Christian festival of Samhain at the start of winter, in memory of the dead. He therefore transferred the feast day to 1 November, naming it All Souls’ Day. As the Anglo-Saxon word for ‘saint’ was halig it also became known as All Hallows’ Day in the English-speaking world, and the evening before thereby has become Hallowe’en.

As diluted as the rituals of the modern Hallowe’en have become, it is still remembered as the one night of the year that great spiritual danger threatens the living by the Shades from the Otherworld.

It should be noted that, in spite of Fidelma’s earnest hope expressed towards the end of this story that Christian abbots and bishops would not always enjoy secular power as princes, at least three of her own Eóghanacht descendants were King-Bishops of Muman (Munster). These were Fedelmid, son of Crimthainn (d. AD 846), Ólchobar, son of Cináeda (d. AD 851) and, most famous of all, Cormac, son of Cuilennáin (d. AD 908).

CHAPTER ONE

There were some who said that old Pothinus Maturis had been one of the officials of the Lateran Palace since the Emperor Constantine had given it in perpetuity to the Bishop of Rome. That was obviously not so, because the Emperor’s allegiance to the New Faith and his declaration that it become the Faith of the empire was three centuries earlier to the very day that Pothinus Maturis entered service in the Lateran Palace. It had taken him twenty-five years to attain the position of Praecipuus of the Archivum Secretum of the Sacrosancta Laternensis ecclesia omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput . . . the palace of the Holy Father of the Universal Church of Christ.

Praecipuus Pothinus was now an elderly man. He was almost a recluse in the palace for he spoke to none and had made no friends in all the years that he had worked among the archives. He was a sober, reflective man, keeping his own counsel and guarding the archives as if they were the very Gates of Heaven.

Only the most senior officials of the papal palace were allowed into the archive, which had been constructed behind the old Basilica. Constantine himself had ordered its construction when he had the stables of the imperial horse-guard barracks demolished after the guards had not shown sufficient loyalty to their Emperor. The archives remained secure, set apart from the rest of the ecclesiastical buildings. The documents contained in the Archivum Secretum justified their place there by virtue of their controversial nature. Most had been declared heretical to the accepted theology after such ideas were overturned by one council or another. Many were gospels that were at odds with those texts chosen to constitute the main fabric of the Faith. Damasus I, as Holy Father, had ordered Eusebius Hieronymus Sophronius to translate and compile the chosen texts into a Latin standard which would be the Biblos, the sacred foundation for the faithful.

Praecipuus Pothinus was proud of his unique position of trust as keeper of the abandoned contentious works which had been rejected as divisive tools which might further split the factions of Christendom. It was because of this, on one particular day, that an astounding thing happened in the Lateran Palace. Those who knew Praecipuus Pothinus by sight could not believe the evidence of their own eyes. The elderly man was witnessed almost running through the corridors of the palace towards the office of the Nomenclator, the chief secretary to His Holiness. The awkward slap of his sandals on the shiny marble floor tiles resounded along the corridors and made people stop to stare in awe and concern.

He finally reached his destination – a forbidding oak door. Apparently forgetting all sense of protocol, he did not pause to knock but grasped the brass handle and burst into the room beyond. Only then did he halt before the man seated at the desk in front of him. Praecipuus Pothinus’ shoulders were heaving at the exertion of running; his breath coming in short staccato rasps.

The man at the desk glanced up, startled at the arrival. Even seated, it was obvious that he was tall, with tufts of black hair emerging from under his skullcap. His swarthy skin spoke of one who spent time in the sun of Rome and not just in the darkened interiors of the ecclesiastic buildings. His prominent, aquiline nose would have graced any Roman patrician, especially with the addition of a mouth twisted into a permanent sneer, the thin lips darkened as if artificially coloured. The hooded eyes seemed to carry no place for compassion. Even if the features did not declare his position of authority, the jewels set into the ornate silver cross that hung round his neck, the scarlet tunica of office, the udones, white stockings, and campagi, black slippers, protruding from under the desk, all proclaimed it.

It took a few seconds for him to recover from his surprise and for Praecipuus Pothinus to regain sufficient breath.

‘Gone, Venerable Gelasius!’ Pothinus gasped. ‘It’s gone!’

The Nomenclator sat back and regarded the other man coldly.

‘Gather yourself, Pothinus. Gather yourself and then tell me carefully and explicitly . . . what has gone that you bring yourself unannounced before me in such an unseemly fashion?’

Praecipuus Pothinus sucked in a few more breaths until he was confident that he could express himself clearly.

‘The Sefer Ya’akov,’ he finally managed. ‘It has gone from the archive.’

The Venerable Gelasius frowned. ‘I am no scholar of the Hebrews, Pothinus. What has gone missing?’

‘The Biblos Iakobos.’ The man translated to the Greek before adding, ‘It has gone and—’

The Venerable Gelasius held up a thin, almost delicate hand and glanced around him as if seeking any potential eavesdroppers. ‘We would not want any heretical expression to be overheard by the wrong ears.’

Pothinus waved a hand as if it was of no consequence.

‘The point is that during the night, someone forced an entrance to the archive, got in and stole it. When I came to the archive this morning, I could see an open window and knew that it had been closed when I left. So I began to check the manuscripts and the archives. It did not take me long to see that the section of works in Hebrew and Aramaic had been tampered with. I immediately checked each one against my index and found that the Biblos Iakobos was missing. Of all the books in the archive, that one is the most dangerous to the Faith. What shall we do?’ He began to wring his hands.

‘What shall we do, Praecipuus Pothinus?’ the Venerable Gelasius asked icily. ‘For the factions of heretics who deny the divine birth, that book would be of tremendous support in advancing their cause. It is already hard to suppress all the works that refer to Iakobos as the brother of . . .’ He halted and shrugged. ‘If I recall correctly, this work was purportedly written by Iakobos, or Iacomus as we call him, before he met his death at the hands of the Sanhedrin. The Nazarenes, whom Iacomus led, are still in existence, claiming they are merely part of the Jewish Faith and that Jesus was just a Rabbi.’

‘But what are we to do?’ Praecipuus Pothinus’ voice was almost a wail.

‘You have not spoken of this to anyone?’ the Nomenclator demanded.

‘Not to report the loss of the book. I did question one of the custodes, Licinius.’ The custodes were the military guards of the Lateran Palace. ‘He was on duty last night outside the archives. I simply asked him if he knew whether there had been any suspicious or untoward activity around the building during the night.’

‘Are you sure you did not tell him about the loss of the book?’ Venerable Gelasius insisted.

‘I did not. However, the custodes told me that he had encountered two pilgrims, the worse for our good Italian wine, outside the building. He remonstrated with them on their indecorous behaviour and they eventually left for their hostel.’

‘You speak as though they were foreigners.’

‘They were. Licinius said they were barbarians. He identified them as coming from that western island that gives the Holy Father such problems with the date of the Paschal ceremony, with rites and ritual and even the way religious should dress. They refuse to accept the changes to these matters that the councils of Rome have declared as the more accurate and appropriate. You know – those strange, wild people who prefer their own interpretations of the Faith to the wisdom that Rome can offer them.’

‘You mean the Five Kingdoms of Éire?’ The Venerable Gelasius almost smiled in recollection. ‘I learned much about that country from a woman who was a lawyer of that peculiar race.’

Praecipuus Pothinus looked shocked. ‘A woman? A lawyer?’

‘She had a good deductive mind,’ admitted the Nomenclator thoughtfully.

‘Well, if those barbarians were involved in the theft then they have already fled Rome,’ declared the Praecipuus.

‘How do you know that?’ the Venerable Gelasius asked sharply.

‘Custodes Licinius told me that he had asked these barbarians where they were staying. Their leader told Licinius that they had been celebrating their last night in Rome before beginning the journey back to their godforsaken island.’

Venerable Gelasius shook his head reprovingly at him. ‘No island on this earth is godforsaken, Pothinus. Did this custodes obtain the names of these barbarians?’

‘He tried, but they had strange, foreign names which he did not understand so took no note of. They merely admitted that they were from this western island and the custodes observed that they were not as abstemious as are most pilgrims to our city.’

‘So you believe that they have probably already left Rome?’

‘I would say so. What makes me suspicious is that the custodes observed that the leader carried a book satchel. It is an odd thing to carry when one is out celebrating.’

Venerable Gelasius frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, drumming his fingers on his desk top.

‘Tell no one of this loss until I give you leave. We must not admit it publicly, especially not about so dangerous a document. The contents and the name of its author could destroy all that we have built over the years and call Christendom.’

‘What shall I do then?’ the Praecipuus asked weakly.

‘Forget the entire matter. You may leave it to me to deal with. The loss of the book and this conversation never happened. If you have indexed the book, expunge it. It does not exist. It has never existed.’

The Venerable Gelasius sat for a while in silence after Praecipuus Pothinus had left. It was only a dry cough from the doorway of the adjoining chamber that made him swing around in his chair.

A tall young man, handsome and with a permanent expression of amusement on his features, stood almost lounging in the doorway.

‘You heard all that?’ asked the Nomenclator.

‘I did.’

‘Well, Brother Lucidus, it seems your warning that there might be an attempt on certain manuscripts in our archives was correct, although I did not suspect that it would happen so soon. But it is logical, I suppose. If ever a manuscript could do harm to the theological decisions of the councils over the last centuries, it is that one. It seems that the custodes have identified your countrymen as the suspects. Do you know who these men are?’

‘That I do not. I only heard a rumour yesterday that a plan was afoot to remove a Nazarene item from the archives, which is why I have come to see you this morning. The trouble is that the streets of Rome are thronging with pilgrims from the western islands.’

‘We must find these thieves!’

The young man chuckled sourly. ‘You and your poor Praecipuus cannot even admit that the book existed, let alone that it has been stolen. All your guard saw was two of my countrymen being a little drunk and raucous outside the library building.’

‘We must find out who they are and whether they have taken the book,’ pressed the Nomenclator.

‘Pothinus was astute in observing that it is not often that a pilgrim, celebrating in the fashion that the custodes reported, would be carrying a tiag luibhair, a book satchel, as we call them. I think it is safe to say that they were responsible – and that the missing book was in the satchel.’

‘From what Pothinus says, they could now be on their way to one of our seaports to start their journey back to your homeland. We must retrieve that book, because in the wrong hands it could fuel a movement that might overturn the Faith throughout the whole of Christendom.’

‘You have said so before – and I know it. Unfortunately, it will be hard to track them down among the teeming hordes of pilgrims who come and go from this city, even though we know the land whence they came.’

The Venerable Gelasius began drumming his fingers on his desk again. ‘Already, your island is of great concern to Rome; our advocates make slow progress against the differences of Faith that stand between us. We may have won the debates at the councils in Streonshalh and in Autun, but we have not yet won the hearts and minds of your people. Most of them stick rigidly to their insular traditions – except for the abbot of a place called Ard Macha. He has declared that he will accept the authority of Rome, but only if we recognise him as the Chief Bishop of the entire island.’

Brother Lucidus grimaced. ‘There are many difficulties with that claim – namely, that there are numerous other claimants. The Abbot of Imleach, for instance, who is declared Chief Bishop in the south of the island, has similar claim – and half the island supports it. There are several others. The Blessed Fiacc’s Abbey of Sléibhte, for example, claims to be the oldest abbey in the island. Several other abbeys have put forward good arguments for their claims to be the primacy of the Faith in my country.’

‘Well, that is not my concern at this moment. The task of trying to bring the various churches in your island under the control of Rome is one that can wait. The fact is, this ancient text could do that cause irreparable damage. It must be recovered.’

Brother Lucidus smiled thinly. ‘So you continually point out. However, I shall have to be the one to retrieve it for you.’

‘How do you intend to accomplish it?’

‘I shall track down these two Irish pilgrims and identify them. If they have already left for the Five Kingdoms with the book, I shall follow and get it back – or I shall destroy it.’

‘You sound very confident,’ the Venerable Gelasius observed, ‘but can you accomplish that much? First you will have to discover who the thieves are. What if you cannot do so? And how will you find the ancient text? Surely, there are many hiding places in your island.’

‘If the thieves are taking the book back to my country for the purpose of spreading the heresy it contains, then there are only a few places to which it could be taken. I have a very good friend, a great scholar, Brother Sionnach of the Abbey of Corcach Mór. His knowledge and contacts cover the Five Kingdoms. The island is not so big that I shall be unable to track it down. Indeed, the news of the acquisition of such a book to one or other abbey will be signalled throughout the island like a blazing beacon. The fraternity of scholars will hear of it almost immediately.’

‘Do you know of Fidelma of Cashel?’ the Nomenclator suddenly asked. ‘She was the woman lawyer of your country that I mentioned to Praecipuus Pothinus a moment ago.’

The young man drawled, ‘Who, in the Five Kingdoms, has not heard of Fidelma of Cashel or of her companion, the Saxon Brother Eadulf? I have certainly heard of her but never met her.’

‘She might be of some help to you in your mission to recover the book. I will send her a message by one of the monks departing for that kingdom tomorrow, as I don’t wish to delay you now. I will say nothing of your task, apart from the fact that a book has been stolen and that you are authorised by me to retrieve it. Should you need her assistance, I shall tell her that you will identify yourself as Lucidus and give my name as your authority.’

‘I will contact her only if necessary,’ replied Brother Lucidus confidently. ‘And I shall not be using the name Lucidus after I reach the Five Kingdoms. I will use my native name while I am there. But, if I need the help of Fidelma or anyone else, I will use Lucidus and its meaning as a password. I am sure, however, that I can accomplish this mission without involving her.’

‘Then the sooner you depart, the sooner this may be accomplished, Brother Lucidus. May God go with you.’

The young man inclined his head towards the Nomenclator and said with a cynical smile, ‘Amen to that, Venerable Gelasius. But this is a task, I believe, that I can accomplish alone, without even His help – or that of Fidelma of Cashel.’