Read Our Lady of Darkness Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland
Our Lady of Darkness (13 page)
Fidelma paused for a moment, as if taking breath.
‘On these grounds, Brehon of Laigin, I appeal directly to you with the request that the sentence on Brother Eadulf be suspended until such time as a proper impartial investigation has been made and a fair and just trial be held.’
Bishop Forbassach waited for a moment, as if giving her a chance to continue, and then he asked sharply: ‘Do you have any further arguments to put before me,
dálaigh
of Cashel?’
dálaigh
of Cashel?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Given the time that I was allowed, that is all I can bring forward at the moment. I think it is enough for a stay of the execution for a few weeks at least.’
Bishop Forbassach turned and held a hurried whispered conversation with Fianamail. Fidelma waited patiently. The bishop turned back to her.
‘I will make the decision known in the morning. However,’ he glanced sourly at Fianamail, ‘if the decision were mine alone I would say it fails.’
Fidelma, usually so self-controlled, took a step backward as if someone had pushed her in the chest. If she admitted the truth to herself, she had realised from the outset that Bishop Forbassach had decided to protect his initial judgment and sentence. However, she had hoped that he might delay the execution for a few days for the sake of appearances. It appeared that Fianamail was more conscious of keeping to the façade of justice than Forbassach. Fidelma was not prepared for such a blatant demonstration of injustice.
‘Why do you say that you would fail my appeal, Forbassach?’ she asked, after she had recovered her voice. ‘I am interested to know the argument. Would the learned judge tell me on what grounds he is dismissing this appeal?’
Her tone was quiet, subdued.
Bishop Forbassach misinterpreted the timbre as an acknowledgment of defeat. There was something of triumph in his expression.
‘I told you that the decision will be announced tomorrow. However, firstly, I was the judge at the trial of the Saxon. I say that he was accorded every respect and facility. He says that this was not so. You have his word, that of a stranger to this land, against mine. I speak as the Brehon of Laigin. There is little doubt whose word should be taken.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed angrily. Her temper rose.
‘You reject my appeal because you were judge at that first trial? I did not ask you to be judge at this appeal. I see that you are merely safeguarding your own interests …’
‘Fidelma of Cashel!’ It was Fianamail who stopped her. ‘You are addressing my Brehon. Even your relationship to the King of Muman does not give you the right to insult the officers of my household.’
Fidelma bit her lip, realising that she had let her temper run away with her.
‘I withdraw those words. From the outset, however, I find a judge judging himself … unusual, that is all. I would like to know, apart from the unwillingness of a judge to admit to any mistake that he might have made, what other grounds there are for dismissing this appeal?’
Bishop Forbassach leaned forward.
‘I would dismiss it because you have no facts. You have merely asked a lot of clever questions.’
‘Questions that cannot be answered at this time,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘That is the basis of my plea, a plea to stop the sentence until those questions
can
be answered.’
can
be answered.’
‘Unanswerable questions do not bear on the original decisions of the trial. You say this Saxon was a messenger. Where was his white wand of office? You now produce it like a conjurer and your only witness cannot swear that she saw you take it from the spot from which you claimed you took it.’
‘I can produce—’
‘Anything that you can produce,’ interrupted Bishop Forbassach, ‘is invalid as evidence, for who knows but that you brought it to this place yourself. It is not evidence, for we do not know that the Saxon carried it. As to the witnesses, you impute both their knowledge and integrity.’
‘I do not do so!’ protested Fidelma.
‘Ah.’ Bishop Forbassach smiled triumphantly. ‘Are you withdrawing the remarks which you made about them?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I do not do so.’
‘Then you must impute their testimony.’
‘I do not. I have put forward a number of questions that they should have been asked at the trial.’
‘We heard their testimony at the original trial and saw no reason to cross-examine them,’ Forbassach said decisively. ‘They are all of upstanding character and, in our judgment, have told the truth. The witness, Sister Fial, clearly saw the Saxon. She was an eye-witness to
his heinous crime. You would dare to impute the credibility of a thirteen-year-old child who has just witnessed the rape and murder of her even younger friend? What justice is that, Fidelma of Cashel? We obviously have different values here, in Laigin, to your courts of Cashel where it is said you entertain the crowds with sharp wit and legal niceties. Here we consider that truth is not games of legal
fidchell.’
his heinous crime. You would dare to impute the credibility of a thirteen-year-old child who has just witnessed the rape and murder of her even younger friend? What justice is that, Fidelma of Cashel? We obviously have different values here, in Laigin, to your courts of Cashel where it is said you entertain the crowds with sharp wit and legal niceties. Here we consider that truth is not games of legal
fidchell.’
Fidchell
was a wooden board game, a game of intellectual skill, on which Fidelma prided her proficiency.
was a wooden board game, a game of intellectual skill, on which Fidelma prided her proficiency.
Fianamail laid a hand on Bishop Forbassach’s arm and whispered urgently into his ear. The Brehon grimaced sourly and nodded. The young King abruptly stood up.
‘This hearing is now ended. In fairness, my Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, has asked to discuss the case with me so that any judgment we may make may be seen to be completely fair. He will announce our adjudication on this appeal at dawn tomorrow. These deliberations are now ended.’
Fidelma felt a moment of black despair as she dropped back into her chair.
‘The courts of Laigin have descended into darkness!’ cried a strident male voice. She barely noticed that it was the elderly
bó-aire,
Coba, who rose and stormed from the room.
bó-aire,
Coba, who rose and stormed from the room.
Fianamail hesitated, angered at the demonstration and then, with a scowl on his face, he swept from the chamber. Bishop Forbassach stood, undecided for a moment, and then the abbess went to join him. His features broke into a look of triumph as he turned to her and they left together. As the others began to disperse Dego rose and came forward and placed a hand awkwardly on Fidelma’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her.
‘You did your best, lady,’ he muttered. ‘They are determined to see Brother Eadulf die.’
Fidelma raised her head, aware that there were tears glistening in her eyes, and unashamed of them.
‘Dego, I do not know what else I can do now legally to save him. There is no time.’
‘But they will not give judgment until tomorrow. There is still hope that they will find for your appeal.’ There was no conviction in his voice.
‘You heard how the Brehon Forbassach hectored me. No; he will uphold the sentence he has passed.’
Dego agreed reluctantly. ‘You’re right, lady. That Bishop Forbassach has demonstrated his bias. Did you see the way he went off with Abbess Fainder and both of them smiling and his hand on hers? There is some collusion in this matter.’
‘The only hope left is if the Chief Brehon of Ireland, Barrán himself, arrives and orders a halt to this foul injustice,’ Fidelma said.
Dego shook his head sadly. ‘Then there is no hope, lady. It would take at least three more days before young Aidan could find Barrán and bring him here; probably a full week and that if luck were on our side.’
Fidelma rose, trying to regain her composure.
‘I must go back to the abbey and tell Eadulf to prepare for the worst.’
‘Would it not be better to wait until the decision is formerly announced in the morning?’
‘I cannot fool myself, Dego, nor can I fool Eadulf.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Thank you, but no, Dego. This is something I’d best do alone. I think Eadulf will wish to see some friendly faces tomorrow when this terrible thing is done. At least he can die in the company of friends as well as enemies. I will seek permission to attend as soon as the judgment is given. Will you and Enda join me?’
Dego did not hesitate.
‘We will. God forgive them if they do ignore your plea, lady. It is many a brave man that I have seen die in battle: I have killed many myself. But in the fury of the battle, in hot blood, men who were free, with a sword or spear in hand to defend themselves; a fight that was man to man, equal to equal. But this … this is a foul thing, reducing men to the dignity of a poor calf at the slaughterhouse. It leaves one with a sense of shame.’
‘It is not our way of punishment,’ Fidelma conceded. Then she sighed deeply. ‘I suppose one can argue that the person who does murder, who inflicts suffering and death on another, does not need our sympathy, but …’
‘No reason why we should descend to the level of a murderer and enact cold-blooded rituals to disguise our murder,’ Dego interrupted. ‘And, surely, you are not saying that you now accept Brother Eadulf is guilty of this crime?’
Fidelma was trying hard to fight back the emotion she felt and shook her head rapidly. She hoped that her eyes were not too bright.
‘I do not
know
at this time whether Eadulf is guilty or not. I
believe
he is innocent. I accept his word. But words are not enough in law. All I say from knowledge is that there are too many questions that should have been answered and now … now it seems too late. Go back to the inn, Dego. I will join you and Enda there soon.’
know
at this time whether Eadulf is guilty or not. I
believe
he is innocent. I accept his word. But words are not enough in law. All I say from knowledge is that there are too many questions that should have been answered and now … now it seems too late. Go back to the inn, Dego. I will join you and Enda there soon.’
She walked slowly across the township towards the abbey, her mind oppressed by gloomy thoughts. She did not know what to say to Eadulf, She could only tell him the truth. She felt that she had utterly failed him. She had no doubt in her mind that, in spite of Fianamail’s attempt to play at diplomacy, Bishop Forbassach would deny the appeal. The belligerent way he had countered all her questions indicated that he was intent on carrying through the demands of Abbess Fainder to enact these cruel new punishments.
If only she had more time! There were too many implausible aspects to the evidence. Yet Bishop Forbassach did not seem to care about pursuing them. Time! It all came down to time. And tomorrow, when the sun was at its zenith, her good friend and companion would have his life extinguished because she had not succeeded.
As she approached the gates of the abbey she determined not to let anyone see that she had lost confidence; after all, it only needed something, some little thing, to cause a delay. Her chin came up in a defensive posture.
When Sister Étromma came to the gate, she was looking strangely anxious. She had left the King’s hall and hastened back to the abbey as soon as Bishop Forbassach had announced his opinion.
‘I am sorry, Sister. I could only answer the truth. You did have your back to me when you found those items and I could not truly swear I saw you take them from their hiding place. Bishop Forbassach was so fierce in his questioning that I …’
Fidelma held up a hand to placate the anxious stewardess. She did not blame her. Had she supported Fidelma, Bishop Forbassach would doubtless have found some other means of questioning the evidence.
‘It is not your fault, Sister. Anyway, no decision has been announced as yet,’ Fidelma replied, trying to make her voice as indifferent as possible.
Sister Étromma continued to look distraught.
‘But you must know that it is a foregone conclusion?’ she pressed. ‘Bishop Forbassach has said as much.’
Fidelma tried to appear confident.
‘It is in the hands of the King and his advisers. In spite of Forbassach,
I still say that there are questions that should be addressed, and any impartial judge would know that a life could not be taken until those questions are answered.’
I still say that there are questions that should be addressed, and any impartial judge would know that a life could not be taken until those questions are answered.’
Sister Étromma lowered her head. ‘I suppose so. Do you really believe that there might be a delay in the execution of the Saxon?’
Fidelma’s voice was tight. She chose her words carefully.
‘I hope there will be. Yet it is not up to me to predict a judge’s decision.’
‘Just so,’ muttered the
rechtaire
of the abbey. ‘This is not a happy place now. I look forward to the coming day when I shall go to the Isle of Mannanán Mac Lir and retire from the anxieties of this abbey. But I expect that you will wish to see the Saxon?’
rechtaire
of the abbey. ‘This is not a happy place now. I look forward to the coming day when I shall go to the Isle of Mannanán Mac Lir and retire from the anxieties of this abbey. But I expect that you will wish to see the Saxon?’
‘I do.’
She turned and let the way through the abbey again and into the main courtyard. The sun was well down now and darkness enshrouded the abbey. However, the courtyard was lit by numerous torches. Two men, watched by two others, one of them a religieux, were cutting down the body of Brother Ibar from the wooden gibbet. They looked up from their gruesome task and one of them grinned at her.
‘Making room for tomorrow,’ he called; a coarse-faced man in working clothing. Nearby was some sacking laid out on the flagstones of the courtyard ready to receive the body. No wooden coffin for Brother Ibar, observed Fidelma, but a sackcloth and probably a swiftly dug hole in the marshland along the riverbank. The two black-clad workmen reminded her of ravens picking over the bones of their victim rather than morticians preparing a corpse for a funeral.
Fidelma hesitated in mid-stride and her gaze fell on the face of the religieux who was acting as an overseer. It was the burly, pugnacious figure of Brother Cett. He stared lopsidedly at her, displaying a row of cracked and blackened teeth. She had rarely seen a man so resembling a brute before. She shivered. Next to him was a small, wiry-framed man whose clothing proclaimed him to be a boatman. His leather trouser and jerkin and linen scarf were commonly worn among the river boatmen. This man did not bother to look up as they crossed the courtyard.
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