Inscriptions in Ogham were given in an ancient form of Irish, not the common language of the people, but an archaic form known as the Bérla Féini, the language of the land tillers. In these days, only those aspiring to be Brehons, or lawyers, studied the old language.
‘Tell me, sister, what is the meaning of an aspen wand clasped in the left hand.’
Sister Brónach smiled knowledgeably.
‘That is easy. The aspen is a sacred tree from which the fé, the rod for measuring a grave, is always cut. And always a line of Ogham is scored on it. It is a custom still used throughout the land.’
‘Indeed, that is well known. But the attachment of the fé to the left arm — why not the right arm? What does that mean? You mentioned that you pointed this out to Draigen when the first body was found.’
‘Whenever a murderer or a suicide is buried, a fé is placed at their left hand …’ She broke off, a hand came to her mouth in surprise. ‘The Ogham words are usually an invocation to a goddess of death.’
‘Such as the Mórrigú? The goddess of death and battles?’
‘Yes.’ The reply was sharp.
‘Go on,’ said Fidelma quietly.
‘I do not know the formula of words but it would be an acknowledgement of such a goddess. The headless corpse …the one in the well … she had a rod of aspen carved with Ogham attached to her left arm.’
‘So did Sister Síomha,’ Fidelma agreed.
‘What does it mean? Do you suggest …?’
‘I suggest nothing,’ Fidelma interrupted quickly. ‘I merely asked you whether you knew what the symbolism meant.’
‘Of course, I do.’ Sister Brónach appeared to be thinking carefully now. ‘But does this mean that the headless corpse was a murderess?’
‘If that were so, surely it would follow that the same conclusion must be drawn with Sister Síomha.’
‘That does not make sense.’
‘It may make sense to the killer. Tell me, Sister Brónach, apart from yourself, who else would know about this symbolism here, in the abbey?’
The doorkeeper of the abbey shrugged.
‘Times move on. The old ways are being forgotten. I doubt whether any of the young ones would know the meaning of such things.’ Her eyes widened suddenly. ‘Are you implying that I might be the culprit?’
Fidelma did not make an attempt at reassurance.
‘You might be. It is my task to discover as much. Had we been talking of the murder of the Abbess Draigen, I would say that you had a very good motive and would be my choice of a prime suspect. But, at the moment, there appears to be no motive for the killing of the first corpse or of Sister Síomha.’
Sister Brónach regarded the younger woman with a resentful stare.
‘You have an unfortunate sense of humour, sister,’ she reproved. ‘There might be some others here that are equally knowledgeable about the old ways as I am.’
‘You have already said that this abbey consists mainly of young sisters and that they would not have such knowledge. Who else, then, would know about the symbolism?’
Sister Brónach thought a moment.
‘Sister Comnat, our librarian. But there is no one else except …’
She paused and her eyes suddenly became hard and bright.
Fidelma was watching her closely.
‘Except …?’ she prompted.
‘No one.’
‘Oh, I know the thought that has come into your head,’ replied Fidelma easily. ‘You were proud of the old knowledge that your mother passed on to you. Who else could your mother have passed on such knowledge to? Someone she fostered? Come, the name is on the tip of your tongue.’
Sister Brónach looked down at her feet.
‘You know already. The Abbess Draigen, of course. She would know all about such symbolism and …’
‘And?’
‘She has been shown to be capable of killing.’
Sister Fidelma rose and nodded gravely.
‘You are the second person who has pointed that out to me within the last few hours.’
Chapter Thirteen
Sister Lerben was in the chapel polishing the great ornate gold cross which stood on the altar. She was bent industriously to her task, a frown of concentration on her pretty features. It was the thud of the door closing behind Fidelma which made her glance up. She paused and straightened as Fidelma walked up the aisle between the deserted rows of benches to halt before her. Her expression was not one of welcome. Fidelma could see the glow of belligerent dislike in her eyes.
‘Well?’
Lerben spoke in her clear, ice-cold soprano voice. Fidelma felt sorrow for her instead of anger. She appeared like a little girl, petulant and angry, in need of protection. A little girl, resenting that she had been caught by an adult doing something forbidden. Her mask of arrogance had given place to sullen pugnacity.
‘There are a few questions that I need to ask,’ Fidelma answered her pleasantly.
The girl methodically replaced the cross on its stand and carefully folded the strip of linen with which she was polishing it. Fidelma had already noticed that the girl’s actions were precise and unhurriedly deliberate. She finally turned to face Fidelma, her arms folded into her robe. Her eyes focused on a point just behind Fidelma’s shoulder.
Fidelma wearily indicated one of the benches.
‘Let us sit a while and talk, Sister Lerben.’
‘Is this an official talk?’ Lerben demanded.
Fidelma was indifferent.
‘Official? If you mean, do I wish to speak with you in my capacity as a dálaigh of the courts, then so far it is official. But such matters as we may discuss will not be placed on record.’
Sister Lerben reluctantly appeared to accept the situation and seated herself. She kept her eyes away from Fidelma’s examining gaze.
‘You may be assured that anything you say will not be reported to your abbess,’ Fidelma said, trying to put the girl at her ease and wondering how best to approach the subject. She seated herself next to the girl who remained silent. ‘Let us forget the conflict that arose between us, Lerben. I was also proud when I was your age. I, too, thought I knew many things. But you were misinformed about ecclesiastical law. I am, after all, an advocate of the courts and when you attempt to pit your knowledge against mine, it can only result in my knowledge being greater. I do not make this as a boast but simply a statement of fact.’
The girl still made no reply.
‘I know you were advised by Abbess Draigen,’ Fidelma continued to verbally prod her.
‘Abbess Draigen has great knowledge,’ snapped Lerben. ‘Why should I doubt her?’
‘You admire Abbess Draigen. I understand that. But her knowledge of the law is lacking.’
‘She stands up for our rights. The rights of women,’ countered Sister Lerben.
‘Is there a need to stand up for the rights of women? Surely the laws of the five kingdoms are precise enough for the protection of women? Women are protected from rape, from sexual harassment and even from verbal assault. And they are equal under the law.’
‘Sometimes that is not enough,’ replied the girl seriously. ‘Abbess Draigen sees the weaknesses in our society and campaigns for greater rights.’
‘That I do not understand. Perhaps you might be goodenough to explain it. You see, if the abbess wants increased rights for women, why does she argue that the Laws of the Fenechas should be rejected and that we should accept the new ecclesiastical laws? Why does she stand in favour of the Penitentials which originate in their philosophies from Roman law? These laws place women in a subservient role.’
Sister Lerben was eager to explain.
‘The canon laws, which Draigen wishes to support, would make it a more serious offence to kill a woman than a man. A life for a life. At the moment all the laws of the five kingdoms say is that compensation must be paid and the killer must be rehabilitated. The laws which the Roman church suggest is that the attacker should pay with his life and be made to suffer physical pain. The abbess has shown me some of the Penitentials which say that if a man kills a woman then his hand and foot should be cut off and he is made to suffer pain before being put to death.’