Our Lady of Darkness (10 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Our Lady of Darkness
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‘What bales? Show me exactly where the body was positioned.’
Mel pointed to where some bales and a few boxes were piled nearby on the quay.
‘It lay just there.’
Fidelma frowned as she scrutinised the spot.
‘Are you saying that those boxes and bales are the same as on that night?’
‘I did not mean to imply that. They are different but similar boxes, and bales stood there on that night. I would swear that they stood almost in the same position.’
Fidelma glanced at him swiftly. ‘You would swear, even though it was dark?’
‘It was my task to examine the spot in daylight to show the Brehon.’
‘What did you see of the body by your torchlight?’
‘You could see hardly anything in that light. The girl had a dress on but not the robes of a religieuse.’
‘I see. So it was only later that she was identified as a novitiate at the abbey?’
‘I suppose it was.’
‘What was Abbess Fainder doing all this time while you were examining the body?’
‘She waited until I had finished. There being nothing that I could do for the poor lass, I stood up and told the abbess that the girl was dead. She instructed me to bring the body to the abbey and said that she would go on to find the physician, Brother Miach. So I—’
‘Wait one moment,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Did Abbess Fainder tell you why she was here, sitting on her horse in the darkness and within feet of a dead body?’
Mel shook his head. ‘Not at that time. Later on I think she told the Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, that she had been returning to the abbey from some distant chapel and was about to enter the gate when she saw the dark shadow of the body and rode towards it just as I appeared.’
Fidelma pressed her lips tight for a moment, glancing from the gates of the abbey to the spot which Mel had indicated and measuring the distance.
‘Yet you could hardly see it in the shadows of the bales even though you were carrying a torch and were right next to it? I will have to speak further with the abbess,’ she muttered. ‘Well, continue. I am confused as I was told that there was an eye-witness to the killing.’
‘There was, indeed. I shall come to that,’ continued Mel. ‘When the abbess went into the abbey, I realised that I would need some help in the task; I also needed to let my men know where I was. So I waved my torch as a signal to my comrade who was on watch at the next quay, and
he came to join me. It was then that I heard a sound behind the bales. I called out and raised my torch. The light illuminated a young girl standing behind the bales.’
‘Had you noticed her before?’
‘Not in the darkness. Nor had the abbess noticed her. I demanded to know who she was but she was in a distressed condition, shivering and frightened. It was some time before we learned that her name was Fial and that the dead girl was her friend Gormgilla. She told me that they were novitiates at the abbey. Apparently, she had come to the quay to meet her friend, and saw Gormgilla struggling with the figure of a man. She stood rooted to the spot in fear and in that moment, the man rose from her friend and ran off in the direction of the abbey. The girl said that she recognised him as a Saxon religious who was staying there.’
‘Why wasn’t this girl noticed before?’
‘I told you, it was dark.’
‘You had a torch and had stood some time on this quay.’
‘Torches do not cast a great amount of light.’
‘There was enough light for the abbess to see the dead body from horseback at a distance of several metres and ride over to it. Now it seems there was enough light for this girl, Fial, to recognise the killer. And presumably recognise him from a distance. Was she ever asked why she didn’t scream or come forward to help her friend?’
‘I think that she might have been asked at the trial. She was probably too frightened to move. It can happen.’
‘It can. But why did she not come forward when the abbess rode up, or when you arrived? Why did she not cry out to the watch to help her?’
Mel considered the question before replying with a shrug.
‘I am not a
dálaigh,
lady. I am a simple captain of the watch …’
Fidelma shot him a glance and smiled. ‘No longer. You are now a commander of the palace guard. How did you receive your promotion?’
Mel was not abashed.
‘I was informed that the King was pleased with my vigilance and I was to become a commander of the guard at the palace. Bishop Forbassach recommended me.’
Fidelma was silent for a moment or two.
‘So, this girl, Fial, appears out of nowhere …’
‘From behind the bales on the quay,’ corrected Mel.
‘She says that she has seen everything in the darkness and yet did
nothing,’ mused Fidelma with cynicism in her voice. ‘Did she confirm Abbess Fainder’s story?’
Mel looked startled. ‘I did not know that the evidence given by the abbess needed confirmation.’
‘Everything concerning an unnatural death needs confirmation, even the evidence of a saint,’ replied Fidelma shortly. She glanced at the bales, walked across to them and looked towards the abbey gates.
‘Let us consider this,’ she began quietly. ‘Fial and the dead girl are novitiates at the abbey. Fial says that she has arranged to meet her friend here on the quay. We will leave aside the fact that it is a very curious hour to meet – in the dead of night.
‘Fial tells us that she arrived and saw her friend in the process of being attacked by a man whom she identifies as Brother Eadulf; he then ran back to the abbey. Is that right so far?’
‘That is the story as I was told it by the girl.’
‘And yet, in order to take up a position hiding behind these bales – and I presume you have identified their position correctly – Fial must surely have
walked by her friend
while she was being attacked. Only if she had arrived
before
her friend, or
with
her friend – and then remained hidden while Gormgilla was attacked – does her story make any sense.’
Mel frowned and examined the position she had pointed out, as if for the first time realising the implication of Fial’s account.
‘It was dark,’ he hazarded. ‘Perhaps in the dark she walked past her friend and the attacker?’
Fidelma smiled thinly. She did not have to say anything for him to recognise how weak his suggestion was. After a moment she turned to the obvious anomaly.
‘There is a very curious time-lapse between the murder being committed, being witnessed by the girl and then her coming forward. One must presume that the murderer had fled from the scene before Abbess Fainder arrived. His only path back to the abbey gates from this quay would have been blocked by the abbess who had halted her horse at the end of the quay. Do you agree?’
Mel nodded silently, following her logic.
‘So Fial had waited behind those bales for a long time. She had witnessed the murder; she observed the murderer leave the scene – running back to the abbey, according to her testimony; she watched Abbess Fainder arrive; she saw your arrival and examination of the
body; she waited while the abbess returned to the abbey and you summoned your comrade.
Not until then does she come forward
. Was she ever asked why she stood there in the darkness and waited so long?’
‘I did not think of it at the time,’ Mel said. ‘I carried the body into the abbey; my comrade brought the girl Fial along. Abbess Fainder had aroused the physician and the stewardess, Sister Étromma. They were present when I questioned Fial. That was when she identified the Saxon Brother as the man who attacked and killed her friend. Fial was left in the charge of one of the Sisters while we all went—’
‘We?’ queried Fidelma.
‘The Mother Abbess, Sister Étromma, a Brother called Cett, myself and my comrade …’
‘Perhaps you should name this comrade?’
‘Daig was his name.’
‘Was?’ Fidelma caught the inflection.
‘He was drowned in this river only a few days after these events.’
‘It seems that witnesses in this case have a habit of disappearing or dying,’ Fidelma said dryly.
‘We were led by Sister Étromma to the guests’ hostel. The Saxon monk was there, pretending to be asleep.’
‘Pretending?’ she asked sharply. ‘How can you be so sure that he was merely pretending?’
‘What else would it be but pretence, when he had just come from the quay, having murdered someone?’
‘
If
he had just come from the quay having murdered someone.’ Fidelma rephrased the sentence with heavy emphasis on the first word. ‘Could it be that he had not, in fact, done the murder and was genuinely asleep?’
‘But Fial identified him!’
‘Much depends on what this Fial saw, doesn’t it? So the Saxon was found in the bed in the dormitory?’
‘He was. Brother Cett was the one to arouse him. It was pointed out in the lamplight that there was blood on the fellow’s clothes and a piece of torn cloth was found on him. It was later discovered that the cloth was from Gormgilla’s robe. It, too, was bloodstained.’ Mel’s face lightened. ‘That proves the truth of what her friend Fial said, for how else had the Saxon’s clothes become bloodstained and how else had he come into possession of the torn robe?’
‘How else, indeed?’ muttered Fidelma rhetorically. ‘Did you question Brother Eadulf?’
Mel shook his head. ‘At that point the Abbess Fainder said that she would take charge of the affair as it was a matter concerning the abbey. She asked me to assist Brother Cett in removing the Saxon to a cell in the abbey. This was done and the Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, was sent for. That is all I know of the situation until I was, of course, called for to give this evidence at the trial.’
‘Were you entirely happy with the trial?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Did you not think that these events as you relate them are inconsistent and raise questions?’
Mel pondered the question for a moment.
‘It was not my place to think once the authorities had taken over,’ he said finally. ‘If there were questions to be asked, then it was the task of the Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, to do so and to point out anything which was wrong.’
‘But Forbassach raised no questions?’
Mel was about to say something when he suddenly frowned, his gaze moving beyond Fidelma’s shoulder. She turned quickly to see what the object of his scrutiny was and had no difficulty in recognising the figure of Abbess Fainder, in spite of her long black robe, astride a sturdy horse, cantering away along the track by the abbey walls having, presumably, just emerged from the abbey gates.
Fidelma grimaced in annoyance.
‘I was hoping to have a word with her just now. Annoying woman! Time is at a premium. But presumably she is going to see about the sunken boat.’
Mel glanced up at the position of the sun.
‘Abbess Fainder always goes for a ride about this time,’ he observed. Then an expression of bewilderment crossed his features. ‘Sunken boat? What sunken boat?’
Fidelma ignored him for a moment for she was thinking it strange that an abbess would leave her abbey to go riding on a regular basis. Religious usually forswore horses, taking vows of poverty especially in transport, unless they were of certain social rank. Fidelma’s position as a
dálaigh
of the rank of
anruth
allowed her the privilege of travel by horseback which being a religieuse would have been denied her.
‘Where does she go every day at this time?’ she asked.
Mel was indifferent to her question.
‘Sunken boat?’ he asked again. ‘What do you mean?’
Fidelma told him of the message Sister Étromma had received, and how she had hastened off to see what help she could render.
She was mildly surprised when Mel, looking serious, began to make hasty excuses to leave.
‘You’ll forgive me, Sister. I should go to see what the problem is. It is part of my duties to be informed of such occurrences. We would not want the river blocked so that other vessels cannot pass. Forgive me.’
He turned and hurried off along the bank in the direction that Sister Étromma and her companion, as well as Abbess Fainder, had all taken.
Fidelma did not waste time puzzling about their concerns. Instead she stood on the quay and looked about her, examining the scene carefully, before letting out a low sigh. She did not think that any further secrets would be revealed by staying any longer at this place and she began to make her way back to the inn.
On her arrival back at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain, Fidelma sought out Dego and Enda. They had returned from their excursion around the township but had little to report. They had found a very divided population. Some people were clearly shocked at the King’s decree that the Penitentials should now form the law for
all
citizens – and cease being simply the rules by which some religious communities conducted their life. Others, more fanatical in their belief in the new faith, supported the extreme measures of the Penitentials. Dego and Enda could only base their opinions on the few conversations they had had with traders and merchants in the market square, for they had to proceed carefully. Even so, it was clear that news of Fidelma’s arrival and the purpose of it was spreading through the township. What was the ancient saying? Gossip needs not a horse to carry it.
Fidelma, in return, sketched the basis of her findings at the abbey. The faces of Dego and Enda grew long as she told them of the evidence against Eadulf.
‘I have to return to the abbey to speak again with Abbess Fainder,’ she said. ‘There is the matter of the missing Sister Fial, whose evidence I find hard to believe. Fainder intrigues me, however. If we discount Fial’s motives, it is the impetus of the abbess which has wrought this change to the law. There is something very disturbing about her.’
‘Even so, lady,’ Enda said reflectively, ‘there is this testimony of Sister Fial. She says that she actually witnessed Eadulf rape and kill her friend. That is clear enough in any law.’
Dego was grim-faced in agreement with his comrade. ‘Do you think that you can shake her testimony?’ he asked.
‘I think I might, on what I have been told so far, but only if I have a chance to speak with her. It seems convenient that she has disappeared.’
Dego and Enda exchanged a glance.
‘Do you suspect a conspiracy to hide her?’ Enda said.
‘All I say is that the disappearance of Sister Fail is coincidental.’ Fidelma paused thoughtfully. ‘However, I should be able to raise enough
questions on the conduct of the trial to cause any unbiased judge to delay the enactment of this penalty pending further investigations. After I have seen the abbess again, I will demand that King Fianamail keep his word and hear my grounds for an appeal. We simply need to buy a week of time. I’d be happier pleading my case before Barrán than a Laigin Brehon who might be influenced by Bishop Forbassach.’
‘What shall we do in the meanwhile?’ Dego asked.
‘There is something,’ Fidelma said slowly. ‘I have found that the Abbess Fainder regularly leaves the abbey on horseback each afternoon and apparently goes on mysterious journeys, sometimes returning very late. I’d like to know where she goes and who she sees.’
‘Do you believe that the abbess is involved in this case in some way?’ Enda demanded.
‘Possibly. At the moment, I find that there are so many mysteries in this place that it is probably best to clarify each one in turn. Maybe it is of no importance, maybe it is. It was when she was returning from such a journey, after midnight, that she was seen next to the body of the murdered girl. Was that merely a coincidence?’
‘Enda and I will keep a watch on the fine abbess and her travels then, lady,’ smiled Dego. ‘Leave that to us.’
It was some time before Mel returned to the inn. Fidelma had finished her midday meal and was preparing to go back to the abbey. Dego and Enda had set off on their tasks again. Fidelma had realised, with growing frustration, that she had nothing to do until the Abbess Fainder returned to the abbey or Sister Étromma found Sister Fial. She was restless and annoyed for she was very conscious of the onward rush of time and the fact that Eadulf had so little of it left to spare. She forced herself to sit in the main room of the inn, before the crackling fire, and tried to contain her growing agitation. It was not in her nature to sit still when there was so much to do. The words of her mentor, the Brehon Morann, calmed her:
Whoever has no patience has no wisdom.
She also sought refuge in the art of the
dercad
, the act of meditation by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the state of
sitcháin
or peace, calming extraneous thought and mental irritations. Fidelma was a regular practitioner of this ancient art in times of stress although several members of the Faith, such as Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, had denounced its usage as a pagan art because it had been practised by the Druids before the coming of the New Faith. Even
the Blessed Patrick himself, a Briton who had been prominent in establishing the Faith in the five kingdoms two centuries before, had expressly forbidden several of the meditative arts of self-enlightenment. However, the
dercad,
while frowned upon, was not yet forbidden. It was a means of relaxing and calming the riot of thoughts within a troubled mind. Fidelma used it regularly.
Time passed and finally she heard Mel coming into the inn. She snapped out of her meditation with ease and greeted him as he entered.
‘Was it bad?’ she asked directly.
He looked startled, not immediately observing her sitting in the shadowy corner by the fire. Then he shook his head as he realised to what she was referring.
‘You mean the river boat accident? No lives were lost, thanks be.’
‘And was it Gabrán’s boat?’
The question seemed to have an electrifying effect on Mel. He started back in surprise.
‘What makes you ask that?’ he demanded.
‘Only that Sister Étromma seemed concerned when it was reported that it might have been his boat because the man traded with the abbey.’
‘Oh?’ Mel paused a moment as if to think on the matter and then shook his head. ‘It was some old river barge that should have been broken up for firewood a long time ago. The timbers were rotted. It is reckoned that it will take only a few hours to drag the wreck to the riverbank out of the way of the main passage.’
‘So Sister Étromma’s concern was without foundation?’
‘As I told you, being a river trading post, it is a concern to us all if there is any danger of the river becoming impassable.’
‘I understand.’
Mel was about to continue on his way but she stayed him.
‘A few other questions occur to me, if you don’t mind answering them. I will not keep you long.’
Mel sat down before her. ‘I am happy to help you, lady,’ he smiled. ‘Ask your questions.’
‘What were the circumstances of the drowning of your comrade – the one who was with you on the night of the murder of Gormgilla?’
Mel seemed surprised by the question.
‘Daig? He was on watch on the quays one night, as usual, and it seems that he slipped off the boards of the quay, probably on the wet wood, and struck his head on something, perhaps a timber support. He
was unconscious in the water and drowned before anyone knew it. His body was found the next day.’
Fidelma considered this for a moment.
‘So his death – his name was Daig, you say? — so Daig’s death was just a tragic accident. There was nothing suspicious about it?’
‘It was an accident right enough, and tragic enough, for Daig was a good member of the watch and knew this river like the back of his hand. He was brought up on the river boats here. But if you think there was some connection with the murder of Gormgilla, I can assure you there was not.’
‘I see.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Do you know if Sister Étromma has returned to the abbey?’
‘I believe so.’ The warrior followed her example, rising slowly.
‘What of Abbess Fainder? Has she also returned?’
Mel shrugged. ‘I don’t know — I doubt it. When she leaves the abbey she is usually gone for some time.’
‘Did the abbess go to see the sunken boat?’
‘I did not see her there. It would be unusual. The abbess regularly goes riding alone during the afternoon. I think she goes up into the hills.’
‘Thank you, Mel. You are most helpful.’
When Fidelma returned to the abbey, she was greeted at the gates by Sister Étromma.
‘Well, Sister,’ Fidelma said, ‘have you any word on the missing girl, Sister Fial?’
Sister Étromma’s face was impassive.
‘I have only just come back to the abbey myself. I will make more enquiries. I did instruct one of our community to make a search through the abbey.’
‘Has Abbess Fainder returned? There are further questions that I need to put to her.’
Sister Étromma was confused. ‘Returned?’
Fidelma nodded patiently. ‘From wherever the abbess goes riding in the afternoon. You do not happen to know where that is, do you?’
The
rechtaire
of the abbey was dismissive.
‘I would not know about the personal habits of the abbess. Follow me. I believe she is in her chambers.’
She conducted Fidelma once more through the gloomy corridors of the abbey towards the chambers of the abbess. They had to cross a
small cloistered area at the back of the chapel to reach them.
Fidelma heard the raised voices from across the cloisters. She recognised the voice of the abbess, strident in its effort to quell the hard masculine tones which were raised in interrogation. Beside her, Sister Étromma halted and coughed nervously.
‘It seems that the abbess is busy. Perhaps we should return when she is less … preoccupied,’ she muttered.
Fidelma did not pause in her stride.
‘My business will not wait,’ she said firmly. She walked along the cloistered path towards the abbess’s door, with Sister Étromma trotting at her heels, and paused to knock upon it. It was partially open and the voices continued unabated as if the speakers had not heard her knocking.
‘I tell you, Abbess Fainder, it is an outrage!’ The man who was speaking was an elderly man whose clothing distinguished him as someone of rank and influence. He had snow-white hair falling to his shoulders and a silver circlet around his forehead. He wore a long green woven cloak and carried a wand of office.
Abbess Fainder was smiling in spite of her strident tone. On closer inspection it was simply a mask, a taut assembly of her facial muscles. An attempt to demonstrate her superiority.
‘Outrage? You forget to whom you speak, Coba. Besides, my actions have been approved of by the King, his Brehon and his spiritual adviser. Do you dare to say that you are more competent to judge matters than they are?’
‘That I do,’ replied the elderly man, unabashed. ‘Especially if they ignore the principles of our laws.’
‘Our
laws?’ sneered the Abbess. ‘The laws recognised in this abbey are those governing the Church of which it is part. We recognise no other law. As for the rest of the kingdom, why – we must not allow it to wallow in ignorance any longer. We must turn to Christian law as given by Rome otherwise we are cursed for eternity.’
The man addressed as Coba took an almost threatening step closer to the table of the abbess. Fainder did not flinch as he bent forward in anger across it.
‘It is strange to hear those words coming from a learned woman, especially one in your position. Do you not recall the words of Paul of Tarsus to the Romans? “When Gentiles, who do not possess the law, carry out its precepts by the light of nature, then, though they have no law, they are their own law, for they display the effect of the law
inscribed on their hearts.” Paul of Tarsus had more sympathy with our law than you do.’
Abbess Fainder’s eyes were dark with anger.
‘You have the effrontery to lecture me on the Scriptures? Do you dare tell the religious, who are your superiors in the Faith, how to interpret the Scriptures? You forget yourself, Coba. You have a duty of obedience to us who are appointed to govern you in the Faith; you will obey and not question me.’
The elderly man looked down pityingly at her.
‘Who appointed you to govern me? I certainly did not do so.’
‘My authority comes from Christ.’
‘As I recall in the first letter of the Apostle Peter from the same Scriptures, and he was Christ’s appointed leader of the Faith, it says to “Tend the flock of God whose shepherds you are, and do it not under compulsion but out of sheer devotion; not tyrannising over those who are allotted to your care, but setting an example to the flock.” Perhaps you should remember those words before you demand unquestioning obedience?’
Abbess Fainder almost choked in frustration.
‘Have you no humility, man?’ Her voice rose, cracking in anger.
Coba laughed coldly. ‘I have humility enough to recognise when I lack humility.’
The abbess suddenly caught sight of Fidelma standing at the door, witnessing the argument with an expression of amused interest on her face. Abbess Fainder’s features immediately dissolved into a cold mask. She turned back to the elderly man.
‘The Brehon and the King have agreed on the matter of punishment, Coba. It will be carried out. That is all I have to say. You may go.’ She turned again to Fidelma and her voice was icy. ‘Now, what do you want, Sister?’

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