Free The Subtle Serpent by Peter Tremayne Page A

for the drying cloth before scrambling out. She rubbed herself energetically, rejoicing in the invigoration of her limbs. She felt fresh and relaxed as she put on her clean clothing. Since her return from Rome she had indulged herself by using undershirts of white sída or silk, which she had brought back with her. She noticed Sister Brónach casting a look at the garments, an almost envious look which was the first emotion Fidelma had witnessed on her generally mournful countenance. On top of her underwear, Fidelma drew on her brown inar or tunic which came down nearly to her feet and was tied with a
tasselled cord at her waist. She slipped her feet into her well-shaped, narrow-toed leather shoes, cuaran, which were seamed down along the instep and were fitted without the necessity of thongs to fasten them.
    She turned to the mirror and completed her toilet by setting her long, rebellious red hair in place.
    She was aware that Sister Brónach had fallen silent now, as she finished laundering Fidelma’s dirty clothes.
    Fidelma rewarded her with a smile.
    ‘There now, sister. I feel human again.’
    Sister Brónach was contented to nod without any comment.
    ‘Is there anything else to tell me?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘For example, what happened after you and Sister Síomha pulled the body from the well?’
    Sister Brónach kept her head lowered.
    ‘We said a prayer for the dead and then I went to fetch the abbess while Sister Síomha stayed with the body.’
    ‘And you returned directly with Abbess Draigen?’
    ‘As soon as I had found her.’
    ‘And the Abbess Draigen took charge?’
    ‘Surely so.’
    Fidelma picked up her bag, turning for the door but then pausing a moment by it to glance back.
    ‘I am grateful to you, Sister Brónach. You keep your guests’ hostel well.’
    Sister Brónach did not raise her eyes.
    ‘It is my duty,’ she said shortly.
    ‘Yet for duty to have meaning you must be content in its performance,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My mentor, the Brehon Morann of Tara, once said — when duty is but law then enjoyment ends for the greater duty is the duty of being happy. Good night, Sister Brónach.’
     
    In the Abbess Draigen’s chamber, the abbess regarded the flushed-faced Fidelma — her flesh still tingling after the
warmth of her bath — with begrudging approval. The abbess was seated at her table on which a leather-bound Gospel was open at a page she had been contemplating.
    ‘Sit down, sister,’ she instructed. ‘Will you join me in a glass of mulled wine to keep out the evening chill?’
    Fidelma hesitated only a moment.
    ‘Thank you, mother abbess,’ she said. As she had been conducted across the abbey courtyard by a young novice, who introduced herself as Sister Lerben, personal attendant to the abbess, she had felt a soft flurry of snow and knew that the evening would become more icy.
    The abbess rose and went to a jug standing on a shelf. An iron bar was already heating in the fire and the abbess, wrapping a leather cloth around it, drew it out of the fire and plunged its red hot point in the jug. She then poured the warm liquid into two pottery goblets and handed one to Fidelma.
    ‘Now, sister,’ she said, as each had taken some appreciative sips at the liquid, ‘I have those objects which you wanted to see.’
    She took something wrapped in cloth and placed it on the table, then sat opposite and began to sip her wine again while watching Fidelma above the rim.
    Fidelma set down her goblet and unwrapped the cloth. It revealed a small copper crucifix and its leather thong.
    She stared at the burnished object for a long time before she suddenly remembered her mulled wine and took a hurried sip at it.
    ‘Well, sister,’ asked the abbess, ‘and what do you make of it?’
    ‘Little of the crucifix,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It is common enough. Poor craftsmanship and the sort that many of the sisterhood have access to. It could well be of local craftsmanship. It is a crucifix that