The Devil's Seal Read online

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  This one is for

  Kate and Dave Clayton

  with deep appreciation;

  and may good fortune always follow the clan Clayton

  Dan, James, William and Matthew

  … affuit inter eos etiam Satan. Cui dixit Dominus: Unde venis? Qui respondens, ait: Circuivi terram, et perambulavi eam.

  … and Satan came also among them. The Lord said unto him: Where do you come from? Answering, he said: I have circled the Earth, and walked around on it.

  Job 1:6–7

  Vulgate Latin translation of Jerome 4th century

  PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

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

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

  At Cill Siolán, by the River Siúr

  Gormán, commander of the Nasc Niadh, bodyguards to the King

  Enda, a warrior of the guard

  Dego, a warrior of the guard

  Brother Siolán

  Brother Egric

  At Cashel

  Colgú, King of Muman and brother to Fidelma

  Beccan, rechtaire or steward to the King

  Dar Luga, airnbertach or housekeeper of the palace

  Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach and Chief Bishop of Muman

  Brother Madagan, his steward

  Aillín, Chief Brehon of Muman

  Luan, a warrior of the guard

  Aidan, a warrior of the guard

  Alchú, son of Fidelma and Eadulf

  Muirgen, nurse to Alchú

  Brother Conchobhar, an apothecary

  Visitors to Cashel

  Deogaire of Sliabh Luachra, Brother Conchobhar’s nephew

  Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile

  Sister Dianaimh, her bann-mhaor or female steward

  Cummasach, Prince of the Déisi

  Furudán, his Brehon

  Rudgal, an outlaw of the Déisi

  The Venerable Verax of Segni

  Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete

  Brother Bosa, a Saxon scribe

  Brother Cerdic, a Saxon emissary

  Brehon Fíthel, from the Council of Brehons

  In Cashel township

  Rumann, tavern-keeper

  Della, mother of Gormán

  Aibell, friend of Della and Gormán

  Muiredach, a warrior of Clan Baiscne

  At Eatharlach

  Brother Berrihert, a Saxon religieux settled in Ireland

  Brother Pecanum, his brother

  Brother Naovan, his brother

  Maon, of the Déisi

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I intend to follow the Irish spelling of the River Siúr (pronounced ‘shure’) in this book and not the Anglicised spelling, River Suir. It is thought that this spelling came about by the mistaken transposition of the ‘i’ and ‘u’. This explanation is to avoid letters from well intentioned partisans of either spelling who, in the past, have sought to correct previous spellings no matter which form was chosen.

  The Siúr means the ‘sister’ river. It rises in the Devil’s Bit Mountain north of Durlus Éile (Thurles) – see Chapter 16 of The Seventh Trumpet – and crosses south over the Tipperary Plain to swing east and, after its 185 kilometres journey, empty into the estuary by Port Láirge (Waterford). The actual Devil’s Bit, or Bite, was anciently called Bearnán Éile (Gap of the Éile).

  The events in this story follow in chronological order those related in Atonement of Blood and are set during the period known as Dubh-Luacrann, the darkest days, which now correspond to the months of January and February. The story begins just before the ancient feast of Imbolc, now fixed in the modern calendar as 1 February. This was the festival that marked the time when the ewes came into milk and when the days started to become perceptibly longer. It was associated with the Irish Goddess of Fertility, Brigit, but soon after the introduction of Christianity, it became the feast day of St Brigid of Kildare. The year is AD 671.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The three horsemen halted their mounts on the hillside and gazed down into the river valley. Below them, an expanse of trees formed a barrier between the hills and the broad, sedately flowing river to the south. The scene was a patchwork of greens, yellows and browns depending on the varied species and condition of the arboreal canopy and its foliage. The trees were mainly broad-trunk oaks, with their massive crooked branches and spreading crowns. Here and there were blackthorns, with tough yellow wood and long cruel thorns; and then appeared grey-brown rowans and even willows. They all crowded together, pressing towards the river as if seeking its nourishing waters.

  The day was unusually warm for the time of year. Patches of blue with hazy sunlight appeared now and then behind the slow-moving grey-white clouds. For what was supposed to be the darkest days of the year, it was pleasantly light and mild.

  The three riders were young men, warriors by their style of dress and weapons, and each wore the distinctive golden necklet that denoted that they were members of the élite bodyguard of the King of Muman, the most south-westerly and largest of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann. Their leader, Gormán, leaned forward and patted his horse on its neck. His eyes glanced quickly to the east and then, as if following the sun, which had drifted behind the clouds, moved westwards. He finally gave a satisfied nod.

  ‘We will be at the Field of Honey long before sundown,’ he announced to his companions. Cluain Meala, the Field of Honey, was a settlement further to the west, on the northern bank of the river called the Siúr whose waters lay before them. ‘We’ll stay there and ride on to Cashel tomorrow.’

  ‘I shan’t be sorry to get home,’ sighed one of his companions. He glanced nervously back in the direction from which they had come, back to where the hills rose to a dark, impressive mountain.

  The leader chuckled as he caught the young man’s expression. ‘Did you expect to be enchanted by the women of the Otherworld while we were crossing the mountain, Enda?’

  ‘All very well for you, Gormán,’ replied the other indignantly, ‘but the old stories are often true ones.’

  ‘So you really believe that Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his warriors were enchanted by women of the Otherworld as they crossed the mountain?’ enquired Gormán, his tone edged with derision.

  ‘Is it not called Sliabh na mBan – the Mountain of Women?’ protested Enda. ‘And the entrance to the underground sanctuary of the Otherworld women is known to be located near its summit.’

  The third member of the party interrupted with a snort of exasperation. ‘Stories for the campfire! If we grew cautious when approaching the site of every weird tale, we would never move from our own thresholds. Anyway, we’ve crossed the mountain without problems, so there’s no need to worry about Otherworld entities now. Let us move on, for the sooner we get to the Field of Honey, the sooner we can relax over a beaker of corma, a good meal and a bright fire.’

  ‘Dego is right,’ agreed Gormán. He was about to nudge his horse forward when a sudden cacophony of bird cries caused him to glance across the tree-tops towards the river. His keen eyes caught a rising circle of alarmed birds in the distance.

  ‘Something has startled them,’ muttered Enda, following his gaze.

  ‘Birds are always being startled,’ Dego said indifferently. ‘Maybe a wolf or a fox has taken its prey.’

  Gormán did not bother to comment further but led his companions down the hillside into the woods below. He knew the narrow track which descended towards the river. It was not long before the trees gave way to scrubland and then stretches of sedges and reeds which lined the banks of the broad river. They walked their horses westward, becoming aware, as they did so, of the still-wheeling birds ahead of them. Now and then, black-headed Reed Buntings went skimming by, barely above the level of the water, with a frightened repetitive cry. Gormán could pick out the hoarse, laughing chatter of magpies, as they fluttered against the cloudy sky above them. Then his eyes narrowed. Among the wheeling birds were large black ones with diamond-shaped tails.

  ‘Ravens!’ he muttered. His tone indicated his dislike of the creatures, for ravens were the symbols of death and battle; evil carrion which were said to feed off the corpses of the slain.

  ‘Some creature must have been killed, as Dego said,’ Enda observed. ‘That is probably why the birds were making such a noise. And now the eaters of dead flesh have come to claim their share of the kill.’

  They had been moving at a walking pace along the northern bank of the river and now, as the water course made a slight bend, they could see what it was that had alarmed the birds.

  Gormán was not alone in catching his breath and sharply drawing rein.

&nb
sp; Four corpses lay sprawled on the river bank among scattered items of clothing, remains of burned papers and other detritus. Nearby, not even secured to the bank, was a sercenn, a river craft with a single sail which, if the wind and current were contrary, was hauled in so that ramha or oars could be used to propel it. Now the sail hung limp and torn, and one of the oars, smashed and splintered, was floating in the water beside the boat.

  Misfortune had certainly overcome the occupants of the craft. Two of the corpses were clad in leather jerkins and had the appearance of boatmen. One had bloody wounds to the skull while the other, who lay face down, had an arrow still impaled between his shoulderblades.

  Gormán’s mouth tightened as he realised that the other two corpses were clad in the torn and bloody robes of religious.

  Enda and Dego had already unsheathed their swords and were peering cautiously around them, ready to respond to any threatening danger.

  Gormán shook his head. ‘It must have happened when we first heard the noise of the birds. The attackers are long gone.’

  The heavy black ravens had withdrawn a little at the men’s approach but remained watching them with unblinking malignancy. As the three riders had made no aggressive moves towards them, they had begun to edge back towards the corpses. With a sudden shout, Gormán jumped from his horse and picked up a few loose stones, which he threw at the birds. They retreated with a flapping of their dark wings to a safe distance, and then stopped to stare back at the creatures that had come between them and their food. They were obviously not to be removed so easily from the prospect of a meal.

  Enda joined Gormán in surveying the scene. Dego had descended and stood holding the horses’ reins, watching as his companions examined the bodies.

  ‘Robbers?’ he asked morosely.

  ‘It would seem so,’ replied Gormán. ‘If there was anything valuable in this boat, then they have taken it.’ He dropped to one knee by the corpse of one of the two religious. ‘The crucifix that this one was wearing has been removed by force.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘A little trick the lady Fidelma taught me. Observation. See that weal on the neck? That would have been caused when the thieves tore off the crucifix. What else would a religieux be wearing around the neck but a crucifix?’

  ‘Who was he? Someone local?’ asked Enda, staring down at the corpse.

  The man lay face down, and they noticed that part of his garments had been ripped away, revealing a number of criss-cross scars on his back. But they were old and healed wounds, as if he had been scourged some years ago. Gormán turned the body over. The victim was an elderly man, with sallow skin. There was something foreign in his appearance that Gormán could not quite place. His tonsure was certainly cut in the manner of Rome rather than that of the Five Kingdoms. The other body was that of a younger man, who also wore the tonsure of Rome.

  ‘Strangers, I would guess,’ Gormán said. ‘They were probably travelling upriver when they were attacked. Robbery appears to be the motive. I can’t see any signs of personal valuables or even a cargo on the boat. And before you ask, Dego, the boat’s bow is facing upriver. It is logical that they were moving in that direction.’

  Enda grinned. ‘You have indeed been taking lessons from the lady Fidelma.’

  Dego, having tied the horses to a nearby bush, had come forward and started turning over the remains of the burned pieces of vellum or papyrus with his foot. ‘Well, there are not enough of these pieces surviving to make sense of any of them. I wonder why they burned them? Vellum and papyrus are so hard to come by that a scribe would offer much merely to re-use them; to clean and write over the old text. I’ve seen it done. And…’

  He suddenly bent down and picked up something. He came to his feet squinting at a small round object between his thumb and finger.

  ‘What is it?’ Gormán asked.

  ‘I thought it was a silver coin,’ replied the other in disgust. ‘But it is just a round piece of lead. There are some letters on it as if it was a coin, but no one would use lead as currency.’ He squinted at it more closely. ‘V … I … T … A…’ he read aloud. ‘I can’t make out any more.’

  ‘Vita is Latin for life,’ declared Gormán knowledgeably.

  ‘Well, it’s not worth anything.’ Dego tossed it in the air and caught it deftly. ‘I can use it as a weight for my line when I go fishing.’

  ‘But who do you think was responsible for this?’ Enda demanded.

  ‘I heard that there was a band of Déisi youths who are in rebellion against Prince Cummasach,’ Gormán replied. ‘It might be their work.’

  The Déisi comprised a small principality south of the river whose princes owed allegiance to the King of Muman.

  ‘Could rebellious youths have committed such butchery?’ Enda asked dubiously.

  ‘I have heard that there was bloodshed over a cattle raid these youths carried out near Garbhán’s fort. They have been proclaimed élúdaig, absconders before the law, outlaws, losing their rights in society. This is why they have probably taken to murder and brigandage,’ replied Gormán.

  Enda glanced round and noticed some lengths of rope still coiled on the boat.

  ‘The best thing to do is get these corpses onto the boat and cover them as decently as we can. That way, we can protect their bodies from the ravens. Then, if I am not mistaken, we are only a short ride from the chapel of Brother Siolán. We can use the rope to tow the boat along the river with our horses from the bank. I am sure that the good Brother Siolán will offer these men a Christian burial.’

  Gormán agreed and waded to the boat to pull it closer to the bank. Enda and Dega lifted the first corpse, the elderly religieux, and placed it in the vessel while Gormán was securing one end of the rope to the bow.

  ‘It’s a light craft, therefore I think we can get away with one horse pulling it,’ he said with satisfaction, stepping back onto the river bank.

  It was while his companions were lifting the next corpse, that of one of the boatmen, that a movement caught the corner of Gormán’s eye. At first he thought it was one of the intimidating ravens and turned to meet the threat. Then his eyes widened. It was coming from the body of the younger religieux.

  In a moment, he had fallen to one knee beside the man and was feeling for a pulse point in the neck.

  ‘By the powers!’ he exclaimed in a shocked voice. ‘This one is still alive.’

  Enda brought the goatskin water bag immediately from his horse and poured some of the liquid across the lips and face of the man. He was a handsome fellow with dark hair. There was bruising on the side of his head, but Gormán’s trained eye observed that there were no other deep cuts or abrasions.

  The trickle of the water brought momentary consciousness, and suddenly the young man was striking out and moaning as if in the belief that he was still under attack. But he had no strength and Gormán was easily able to contain his threshing arms.

  ‘It’s all right, all right.’ His voice was calm and reassuring. ‘You are among friends.’

  The young man coughed, muttered something in a harsh-sounding language that Gormán felt was familiar but did not understand, then he relapsed into unconsciousness.

  ‘Will he survive?’ demanded Enda, peering over Gormán’s shoulder.

  ‘We must get him to Brother Siolán,’ replied Gormán. ‘He has the knowledge of healing.’

  Enda was frowning at the face of the young religieux.

  ‘He is a stranger to me and yet … yet I swear those features are familiar. What language was it he spoke?’

  Gormán shrugged, disclaiming knowledge. Then: ‘Help me place him in the boat. It will be an easier way of transporting him than trying to put him on a horse.’

  The young man did not recover consciousness while he was settled in the boat away from the three corpses that had been his companions.

  Enda volunteered to stay on the boat with one of the oars to help guide it while Gormán, having had one last look at the debris on the bank, to make sure that they had left nothing of importance behind, took the other end of the rope and secured it to his saddle. Enda, using the oar, and with the help of Dego on the bank, pushed the craft away from the muddy bank. Gormán then began to walk his horse along the water’s edge. It was difficult at first, and now and then Enda had to use the oar to keep the boat from embedding itself into the mud. It was not long, however, before Gormán and Enda achieved a means of hauling the boat along at a reasonable pace. Behind Gormán rode Dego, leading Enda’s horse and ready to help should difficulties arise. All were uncomfortably aware that behind them, the dark ravens seemed to be following as if reluctant to part with their intended meal – the corpses in the boat.