Blood in Eden
Contents
Cover
A selection of recent titles by Peter Tremayne
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Principal Characters
Map
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
A selection of recent titles by Peter Tremayne
The Sister Fidelma mysteries
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 *
BLOODMOON *
BLOOD IN EDEN *
* available from Severn House
BLOOD IN EDEN
Peter Tremayne
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in the USA 2019 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
This eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Trade paperback edition first published
in the USA 2020 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
Copyright © 2019 by Peter Tremayne.
The right of Peter Tremayne to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8936-2 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-633-3 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0316-8 (e-book)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
For Eleni Triantafillaki
my soul-twin
who encouraged me to accept
nulla vestigia retrorsum –
no footsteps backwards.
Eiecitque Adam et conlocavit ante paradisum voluptatis cherubin et flammeum gladium atque versatilem ad custodiendam viam ligni vitae.
After He drove out Adam, He placed, before the east of the Garden of Eden, cherubim armed and a flaming, whirling sword to guard the way to the Tree of Life.
Genesis 3-24
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 Cloichín
The victims
Adnán, a farmer
Aoife, his wife
Cainnech, their son
Abél, the second son
The inhabitants
Brother Gadra, a priest
Fethmac, the bó-aire or magistrate
Ballgel, his wife
Gobánguss, the blacksmith
Breccnat, his wife
Eórann, mother of Gobánguss
Lúbaigh, a farmworker
Fuinche, his wife
Dulbaire, Lúbaigh’s brother
Íonait, a milkmaid
Blinne, her mother, a widow
Tadgán, farmer and cousin to Adnán
Taithlech, a merchant
Flannat, his daughter and widow of Díoma, son of Tadgán
The itinerants
Celgaire
Fial, his wife
Ennec, their baby son
At the Abbey of Ard Fhionáin
Abbot Rumann
Brother Solam, the scholar
Brother Fechtnach, rechtaire or steward
At Cnoc na Faille
Conmaol, a claimant to Adnán’s inheritance
Slébíne, his son
Tuama, a shepherd
Enda, a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, or Golden Collar, élite bodyguard to Colgú, King of Muman
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story follows chronologically after Bloodmoon although it is self-contained. The year is AD 672, the month Mí Faoide (February), regarded in 7th-century Ireland as ‘the month of sleep or rest’. There was little to be done in the rural areas during the dark, cold days that preceded the quarter year known as Imbolc, the time of the coming into lamb of the ewes, and whose major festival was dedicated to the ancient Goddess of Fertility, Brigit.
The location is Cloichín (Clogheen), a settlement known as ‘the stony place’, lying not far from the shadows of the towering Cnoc Mhaoldomhnaigh (Knockmealdown) mountain range situated 32 kilometres to the south of Cashel. The abbey of Ard Fhionáin (Ardfinnan) lies a short distance away to the east. Called ‘Finan’s Height’, it took its name from a religious settlement founded in the early 7th century by Finan the Leper.
It might help readers appreciate the setting to know that the genealogical records of the indigenous Gaelic aristocracy of Ireland are considered to be the most ancient in Europe. Surviving family pedigrees, in written form, date from the 7th century AD; however, the famous Irish scholar Professor Eoin MacNeill (1867–1945) believed that they ‘are probably fairly authentic in the main as far back as 200BC’.
We are dealing with an Ireland at a time of social change. New concepts of Christianity being brought in from Rome resulted in conflicts and confusion as ideas on issues such as property ownership and inheritance began to be influenced.
The term derbhfine (dey-ruv-fin-a), used in this story, refers to a family group of up to four living generations from a common great-grandfather. This was the usual unit for agreement on dynastic succession as there was no primogeniture. Eldest sons did not necessarily succeed fathers, although there was the senior member – the ádae fine – who convened the family group. With the concept of fintiu, or kin-land, a developing form of private property was recognised. The old tribal land system, over which the derbhfine could still make collective decisions, was changing slowly. Another point to remember is that women had the right of inheritance and also retained their own property throughout marriage. In law, they were called banchomarba (ban-cho-mar-ba) or female heirs. A good analysis of this c
an be found in ‘The Relationship of Mother and Son, of Father and Daughter, and the Law of Inheritance with Regard to Women’ by Professor Myles Dillon, in Studies in Early Irish Law, Royal Irish Academy, Dublin, 1936.
Because this is probably the first work of fiction that deals with early medieval Irish law of property and female inheritance, readers will find a number of Old/Middle Irish words and manuscript references. Please do not waste time worrying about correct pronunciation. Now and then, some readers have expressed concern that concepts seem so advanced for the 7th century; I believe they suspect I make up the laws as I think fit. This, of course, is not so. Blood in Eden may be of help.
ONE
The group of people was a small one but no longer consisted of individual men and women, and the few small, crying children among them. It had coalesced into a frightening mob, moving along the village street as if possessed of one body and one purpose. The noise they made rose like a single discordant sound – an assault on the senses. Even their arms, waving, some bearing cudgels and sticks, appeared as appendages to a single being. A keen-eyed observer could discern that something or someone was being propelled along in their midst. Eventually the body of a man became visible; a man struggling against the rope by which he was being dragged. Through the covering of mud and filth, one thing distinguished him from the mob surrounding him, which was the colour of his skin. It was black.
At the head of the mindless crowd strode a stout figure, now and then turning and shouting encouragement, waving them on as his voice was sometimes lost among their cries and screams of hatred. He wore the black woollen robes of a religieux, with a silver cross hung on a leather thong around his neck. In one hand he carried a curiously carved blackthorn staff.
The mob manhandled their prisoner along the main village street, between dark buildings of poor quality, typical of the many rural settlements of the area. At their doors stood one or two inhabitants looking silently on. As the frenzied group passed one house, the door burst open and a young man, apparently tearing himself away from the restraint of two burly men, pushed his way into the path of the stocky religieux. As he halted, the two muscular men caught up with him and grabbed his arms. The young man, dark haired and handsome, desperately tried to shake off his captors but their grip was tight.
‘Brother Gadra!’ shouted the young man. ‘I order you to stop. Cease this madness!’
The religieux paused in mid-stride and the mob behind him came to an unruly halt, their wild yelling subsiding unevenly.
Brother Gadra turned to the young man, his eyes narrowed, and hissed, ‘I am about God’s work and the work of justice that you should have been about, Fethmac of Cloichín.’
‘I am the bó-aire, magistrate of this village. It is I who administer the law here,’ the young man replied sternly.
Brother Gadra threw back his head and chuckled cynically.
‘Magistrate, indeed,’ he scoffed. ‘You are hardly old enough to shave. What do you know of justice? You are not qualified even in the native law to be a Brehon and command the respect of others. You certainly have no knowledge of the canon laws by which we should all live, placing our trust only in our supreme judge and creator.’
The young man called Fethmac ignored the contemptuous tone in Brother Gadra’s voice.
‘I know my duties, Brother. I say again, as your magistrate I am the only one here to speak of law and justice. What you are doing is wrong. Release that man.’
He gestured towards the now prone body of the mud-covered victim, the end of the rope held in the hands of his tormentors.
There was a nervous movement among the crowd at the authority in the young magistrate’s words.
‘You think this … this beast … is a man?’ sneered Brother Gadra. ‘You think he has any rights? He is a creature, a mindless animal – and his actions have shown that.’
Fethmac was defiant in front of the confident religieux.
‘He is a man under our law and must be heard in his defence. Release him, I say!’
‘And I say, we will not! Death is his reward,’ shouted Brother Gadra. ‘Does not the Holy Book of Leviticus say “He that kills any man shall surely be put to death”? He has killed, so he shall die!’
There now rose a muttering in agreement at Brother Gadra’s loud declaration.
‘Our law demands trial and proof before a man is declared guilty,’ cried the magistrate, once more attempting to free himself of those who were forcibly restraining him. ‘He has not been judged.’
‘We have already judged him,’ snapped Brother Gadra. ‘As Ezekiel says, “Every person shall die for his own sin.” So be it. He shall die now.’
He nodded to the two men holding the young magistrate, and they hauled him from the path. Brother Gadra then turned to the crowd, his eyes aflame with fanaticism, aware that the magistrate’s intervention might have weakened their hot-blooded resolve. He held up his silver crucifix for them all to see.
‘We are about our Lord’s work,’ he boomed. ‘Do not be turned from the path of righteousness, for the Holy Book says, without qualification, that a killing is punishable by death. God demands it – and is there any among you who will defy God?’
His angry words once more animated the people and once again they became a dangerous mob, baying for blood.
Satisfied, Brother Gadra pointed to the end of the settlement where the track led to a small hillock.
‘Let your territorial emblem also signify the means by which those who transgress the laws of God shall receive retribution!’
His outstretched hands pointed towards the tree that grew on top of the mound. It rose, a broad trunk with a spreading crown, an ancient sessile oak with a few obdurate brown leaves, hardy stalkless acorns, and straight branches sticking outward like signposts to the various points of the landscape. The tree had obviously stood for many centuries, marking the territory of the community, one of the countless rural habitations of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach, in turn one of the largest territories of the Kingdom of Muman. For most of the villagers, it was a sacred tree, for such emblems were used even in the time beyond time, in the time before the New Faith had spread across the land.
The captive was dragged before the tree and stood twisting but secure in the grips of the two village men. He stared up, his eyes white orbs against his black, mud-streaked face, fixing with horror on the gnarled arms of the tree, which seemed to droop ready for the fruit that would soon hang from them.
‘Who has the rope?’ demanded Brother Gadra.
A man came forward, taking a coiled rope from his shoulder. He was a powerfully built fellow with scowling features.
‘I have it here, Brother Gadra.’
‘Then secure it to that branch.’
The young magistrate who had tried to stop the mob had managed to drag his two captors closer to the edge of the crowd by sheer willpower.
‘Stop! This is wrong!’ he screamed over the heads of the crowd. ‘You will all be answerable to the law!’
The Brother glanced briefly at him. ‘As you will be answerable to God,’ he replied. ‘Have a care, young magistrate. If you keep interfering, God might require a more immediate answer from you.’
The crowd were hesitant again. After all, Fethmac had authority in the village, and was the dispenser of law. Did Brother Gadra truly have the right to threaten him to the point of death as he appeared to be doing?
Unexpectedly, a young man scarcely out of his teenage years suddenly detached himself from the crowd and moved to the tree with a curious hopping, almost dancing step. From his loosely flapping jacket he took a fedán, a reed pipe of the kind many shepherds and cowherders often played. It was no more than a hollow plant stem and he put it to his thin lips. An odd cadence came from it as he stood by the tree shuffling his feet in some frenzied ritual movement. For a few moments, the crowd looked on in silent embarrassment at his performance.
‘Dulbaire! Stop that!’ An older man came from the crowd and seized t
he boy’s arm while with the other hand he snatched at the whistle. The boy went, protesting loudly.
Brother Gadra had seized the moment and urged the man with the rope to continue his gruesome task. When there was a moment’s faltering on his part, Brother Gadra growled: ‘If any here be of faint heart, remember whose death we avenge.’
To this there came a low rumble of anger from several throats.
After a quick glance around at his fellows, the designated hangman stepped back and threw the rope towards the tree. It coiled over a branch and fell into his waiting hands, upon which he began to fashion a noose.
‘Six men on that end,’ instructed the religieux. ‘Come on!’ he urged when there seemed more dithering.
Self-consciously, reluctantly, some men shuffled forward from the crowd as if impelled by Brother Gadra’s terrible, mesmeric gaze. They took hold of the end of the rope as if they were handling a dangerous beast.
At a further nod, the prisoner was shoved forward and the hangman placed the noose over his head then drew it tight.
Brother Gadra stepped close to the sobbing victim.
‘God can spare no mercy, for your crime is beyond mercy,’ he declared, raising his voice so that the crowd could hear him clearly. ‘Do you wish to confess your sins before you meet His terrible vengeance?’
‘I did not do this,’ the man babbled. ‘I am innocent.’
Brother Gadra stepped back and nodded at the men holding the end of the rope.
‘Do God’s justice … now!’
The men began to pull. The noose tightened, choking the man’s sobs and he was raised from the ground.
At that moment, a cold feminine voice pierced the silence that had fallen over them all.
‘Stop! Stop and release that rope or suffer the anger of your King and the punishment of the law!’
Startled by the unexpected voice of authority, the men at the end of the rope stood stockstill for a moment before letting the rope slide through their hands until the victim’s urgently jerking feet found support on the muddy ground again. Everyone seemed shocked into silence. Even Brother Gadra froze in his bloodthirsty exhortations.