The Subtle Serpent by Peter Tremayne

anxiety that they produced. Twice she took the small Missal from her side table and turned it over and over in her hands, peering at it as if it would produce an answer to her questions.
    What had happened to Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?
    Twelve months ago or more she had parted from Eadulf on the wooden quay near the Bridge of Probi in Rome and had handed him this little Mass Book as a gift. There was her inscription on its first page.
    Twice she and Eadulf had been thrown together to investigate deaths of members of their respective churches and found that, while opposite in character, they found mutual attraction and complementary talents in their pursuit of solutions to the problems they had been set. Then the time came for them to go their different ways. She had to return to her homeland and he had been appointed scriptor and advisor to Theodore, of Tarsus, the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, Rome’s chief apostle to the Saxon kingdoms. Theodore, being a Greek, and only a recent convert to the Church of Rome, required someone to instruct him in the ways of his new spiritual charges. Even though Fidelma had thought, at the time, that she would never see Eadulf again, she had found her thoughts gravitating more and more to memories of the Saxon monk. She had been experiencing feelings of isolation and had only recently come to admit to herself that she missed the companionship of Eadulf.
    Now she was faced with a mystery that was more aggravating to her mind than any of the riddles she had been called to solve before.
    Why was this small Missal, her parting gift to Eadulf in Rome, on a deserted Gaulish merchant ship, an entire world away, off the coast of south-west Ireland? Had Eadulf been a passenger on that vessel? If so, where was he? If he had not,
who had possessed the book? And why would Eadulf have parted company with her gift?
    Eventually, despite the throbbing questions in her head, sleep caught her unawares.

Chapter Five
    Fidelma was awakened by Sister Brónach while it was still dark although there was that tell-tale texture to the sky which foretold the imminent arrival of dawn. A bowl of warm water was placed for her toilet and a candle was left burning so that she could accomplish this task in comfort. It was intensely cold at this early hour. She had barely finished dressing when a slow chiming bell began to sound. Fidelma recognised it as the traditional ‘death-bell’ which custom decreed should be rung to mark the passing of a Christian soul. A moment later Sister Brónach returned, head bowed, eyes floor-ward.
    ‘It is time for the observance, sister,’ she whispered.
    Fidelma acknowledged and followed her out of the guests’ hostel, to the duirthech where the entire community appeared to have gathered. To her surprise, the snow of the previous evening had not lain around the abbey buildings, though a glance showed that a thin layer of snow covered the surrounding woods and hills beyond. There was an eerie white glow to the early morning.
    Inside the wooden chapel building, it was so cold that someone had lit a fire which blazed in a brazier standing at the back. The damp and cold struck up from the stone flags of the floor of the duirthech. The Abbess Draigen was kneeling behind the altar on which a large, and rather magnificent, tall gold cross stood, almost dominating the chapel. Before the altar, in front of the congregation, stood the fuat , the funeral bier, on which the body of the unknown girl had been laid.

    Fidelma took her place on the end bench next to Sister Brónach. She was thankful for the warmth from the nearby brazier. She looked round, appreciatively taking in the opulence of the furnishings of the wooden chapel. As well as the richness of the altar cross, the walls were hung with numerous icons with gold fixtures conspicuous everywhere. She presumed that the obsequies had been observed since last night. The corpse was now wrapped in a racholl, a white linen shroud.