Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I am sure you did,’ Fidelma said. ‘I am not questioning your thoroughness in the matter. Yet he could only amend it if it was not true in the first instance. I wondered if you made any deduction as to why Gormán would have killed the Abbot of Imleach and in circumstances that left no other suspect.’

  ‘Because he is not as clever as you think,’ came Abbot Nannid’s spiteful comment.

  ‘Again I have to point out that I am asking a question of the learned Brehon!’ Fidelma rapped out.

  Brehon Faolchair spread his arms. ‘Are you asking whether I found a motive for the killing?’

  ‘Exactly that,’ she confirmed.

  ‘I have to admit that I did not, and even when Gormán was judged guilty of the crime and given an opportunity to state his motive in case some means of justification might be found in it, he refused to offer any reason.’

  ‘Do you mean he refused or could not offer a reason.’

  Brehon Faolchair sighed. ‘He could not offer one.’

  ‘While still maintaining his innocence?’ Fidelma pressed.

  ‘While still maintaining his innocence,’ conceded the Brehon.

  ‘This is just time-wasting!’ denounced Abbot Nannid, anger now replacing his sarcasm. ‘We did not come here to listen to the sister of the King of Cashel try to mislead us by displaying her legal aptitude.’

  ‘I have seen no sign that Fidelma of Cashel is trying to mislead us.’ It was the Prior of Imleach who spoke up. ‘I can understand the questions that have been asked because those questions needed to be asked and I, whose knowledge of law is probably the equal to my learned brother, the Abbot of Mungairit …’ he paused to let the words sink in ‘… I would have wanted those questions to be put and to be answered.’

  Eadulf glanced at Fidelma to see whether she acknowledged that they seemed to have an ally in the prior, but her face was impassive.

  ‘Questions that are irrelevant,’ Abbot Nannid returned sourly. ‘We have heard that Brehon Faolchair, Prince Donennach’s own judge, has investigated and heard all the evidence. This man Gormán remains guilty of having killed Abbot Ségdae of Imleach. There is now just one question left: does Fidelma of Cashel claim that Brehon Faolchair has made a mistake in his judgement?’

  ‘Fidelma of Cashel,’ she replied coolly, ‘concedes that Brehon Faolchair has made an investigation and has, on the given evidence, formed the opinion that Gormán was responsible for the death of the abbot.’

  ‘Hah!’ ejaculated Abbot Nannid. ‘We have already reached a verdict. The man is guilty and the only reason we are here now is to discuss the punishment.’

  ‘A punishment which is clear in the laws of the Fénechus, the laws passed down by the Brehons, the judges of our people,’ said Prior Cuán. ‘Our law allows for someone guilty of murder to atone for their crime by payment of prescribed compensation and a fine. That has been our law since the time before time.’

  ‘The time beyond time when we were savages; pagans and not bathed in the light of the New Faith!’ Abbot Nannid countered. There was a muttered agreement from his steward. ‘Are we now not all of the one Faith and should we not obey the one law – the law of God?’

  ‘It seems that we may have one Faith but already there are many interpretations of it,’ replied Cuán.

  Abbot Nannid rose dramatically from his seat. ‘There is only one interpretation. The law of the New Faith is clear in the words of the ancient scriptures: non misereberis eius sed animam pro anima …’

  ‘Show no pity for the guilty!’ translated Prior Cuán, continuing to recite the scripture. ‘The rule should be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.’

  Abbot Nannid sat down, smiling triumphantly. ‘Therefore you know the law of the Faith as well as I do. Abbot Ségdae was of the Faith. So we of the Faith demand that the man who killed him should also be killed in accordance with the law of the Faith.’

  All eyes now turned to Fidelma rather than to Prior Cuán.

  She herself looked to Brehon Faolchair. ‘Is this demand from Abbot Nannid deemed worthy of a response?’ she asked coldly.

  Abbot Nannid flushed and was about to make some angry retort when Prince Donennach held up his hand to still him.

  ‘I am afraid it is, lady. The purpose of this gathering before our meal is to discuss our opinions about the conflict of these laws. Abbot Nannid will argue that the religious communities in my territory have all adopted these Penitential rules that have come to us from the east with the incoming New Faith. It is argued that these are the laws of the New Faith which we must accept and therefore they must be adopted as governing our people. I would hear a discussion on this matter. Having but recently agreed a peace with your brother, Colgú of Cashel, and acknowledged the kingship of Muman as residing in Cashel, I would not wish to act in any other but a logical way.’

  There was a subdued muttering from across the table while Fidelma sat silent for a moment before speaking slowly and clearly.

  ‘It is true that we have adopted a New Faith from the east. In many ways it is different to the Faith of our forefathers, which was followed from the time before time, and so, even in the area over which you claim authority, Donennach of the Uí Fidgente, there are some who have yet to embrace it.’

  That caused an angry rumble from Abbot Nannid but Fidelma’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Is it denied that, less than a day’s ride to the western mountains, you will find that the old gods and goddesses are still revered? Speak, anyone who denies it!’

  There was a silence before Abbot Nannid said roughly: ‘Come to the point.’

  ‘That point I shall now attempt to elucidate. The people of Rome and, indeed, in the east – in the very land where this New Faith was born – followed their own religions until they were converted to this New Faith. Many saw the New Faith as but an extension of their old one. They continued to adhere to their native laws – laws from their religions which, it must be admitted, were punitive and unlike our more enlightened laws. The very words enunciated by Abbot Nannid are taken from the old texts of their religion, and were not born out of new interpretations.’

  ‘That is sacrilege!’ Abbot Nannid cried.

  ‘Let me continue.’ Fidelma raised her voice above the muttering of outrage. ‘The place where the New Faith was first taught was a desolate and desert country. Into this desert, groups of religious wandered in search of tranquillity and formed communities dedicated to the contemplation of their Faith. It was a harsh life indeed. In order to survive, these groups had to have a strict discipline. Among these groups was a man called John the Ascetic.’

  ‘When was this, lady?’ asked Brehon Faolchair, intrigued and wondering where her story was leading.

  ‘A little over two centuries ago,’ she replied confidently. ‘He joined a community of the New Faith who decided to establish themselves in a place called called the Desert of Scetis, which is in Egypt. There he realised that, in order to survive, he needed to enforce discipline upon the community. This John the Ascetic set down a number of rules for the community to follow, a list of rules of behaviour which, if transgressed, were called “sins” and were punished in the manner in which his people had punished wrongdoers from their ancient times. They were the punishments of the laws of his people – not our people,’ she added with emphasis.

  ‘How would you know this?’ Abbot Nannid scoffed.

  ‘How do you know anything but by seeking after knowledge?’ she returned.

  ‘You are no longer a religious, even though some still call you Sister.’ Abbot Nannid made it sound like an accusation.

  ‘True, I have left the religious – which is not to say that I have left the religion,’ she replied. ‘And I am not responsible for what other people call me. I will say, however, that in pursuit of the New Faith I have opened my mind to learning, not closed it.’

  ‘This is a long and weary way to make a point,’ dismissed the abbot. ‘That is, if you have any point to ma
ke.’

  ‘You seem to find it weary. However, I shall continue. John the Ascetic left his community in the Desert of Scetis and travelled to Gaul. He was to die in the city of Massilia, a place I have visited during my travels to Rome. It was near there that he set up another community, and he used the same harsh rules to govern it as he had with the community of Scetis – rules that little reflected the change of attitude and law of the people in the area in which he now settled. Yet his rules were to have an influence on Martin of the Turones and his community. They also influenced Benedict, whose rules for the communities of the Faith have now been officially adopted by Rome.’

  This time it was Prince Donennach who interrupted.

  ‘This is a fascinating history that you recite, Fidelma, but I am at a loss to understand the purpose, except that you say that the rules now being adopted by our churchmen are, as they already claim, being spread by the Faith.’

  ‘I am not denying this,’ she rejoined. ‘What I am saying is that we have missed the intention of these rules. These Penitentials listed penances and punishments based on foreign laws. Even when accepted by religious communities, they were never meant to supersede the laws of different kingdoms. They applied only to those who had voluntarily joined a religious community that had voted to accept them. Finnian of Cluain Ioraird, then Cummian, and then others, like Abbot Nannid, may have accepted those rules for their communities but not for the Five Kingdoms. They cannot enforce them on all the peoples.’

  There was a short silence when she had finished speaking.

  Then Abbot Nannid rose again, his voice tight with anger. ‘You have listened to the beguiling voice of a lawyer. A lawyer who has an interest in ensuring that you reject the teachings of the New Faith. The fact is that she was once a member of the religious herself but now acts as her brother’s legal adviser; a woman who cleaves to the ancient laws that were devised and transmitted from pagan times. I am no lawyer. I am a plain and simple man who maintains that the words of the Faith must be obeyed. What I say is this: the Penitentials have been brought to our land as part of the Faith which we have adopted and, notwithstanding our past, these rules must govern our behaviour now and in the future. That is why we, we of the Uí Fidgente, are leading the way in the Faith by the fact that our abbeys and churchmen accept the Penitentials as the law to be obeyed above all other law.’

  Prince Donennach again had to raise his hand to silence the hubbub that followed.

  ‘There is much to be considered here. I must, however, point out that I rule here under the law of the Fénechus. How then can I give judgement under the rules of the New Faith?’

  ‘That is a matter for the council of chieftains to decide, which council must sit with the bishops and abbots of the Uí Fidgente who have equal rights as the nobles of the people,’ Brehon Faolchair declared. ‘But as I understand Abbot Nannid’s immediate argument – the argument he has continued to press – Abbot Ségdae was a leading churchman, an abbot and a bishop. Therefore his killer should be punished under the laws of the Church.’

  Prince Donennach turned with a questioning look at the Prior of Imleach.

  ‘What is your response, Prior Cuán? You now stand in place of the Abbot of Imleach and are now senior churchman of the King of Cashel. Do you agree with this?’

  The cleric painfully rose to his feet, leaning his weight on his blackthorn stick. ‘Imleach is not governed by the Penitentials. Abbot Ségdae, may he rest in peace, believed in the old laws and would not wish his death to be a cause of such changes in any part of the Kingdom of Muman, of which he was Chief Bishop.’

  ‘You know this for a fact, brother?’ Abbot Nannid called out rudely. ‘After all, Abbot Ségdae is dead and not able to come forward, is he, to affirm what you say.’

  Fidelma exhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘I think there are enough people who knew Abbot Ségdae during his lifetime to confirm his beliefs.’

  ‘I refer to witnesses who are without bias,’ Abbot Nannid replied complacently. ‘You are an Eóghanacht and an advocate of those laws you uphold over the rules of the Christ.’

  Fidelma was once more on her feet, her eyes flashing with fury.

  ‘I was not aware that these rules were laid down by anyone other than those men who decided that their isolated communities needed guidance – many years after Christ was crucified! You should know enough of the law of your people – the law you now want to reject – to know that the oath of the Brehons is to maintain the truth, and pledges are given which are forfeit if their judgement is found false. I am, indeed, an Eóghanacht and have long known that the very term is considered a badge of antagonism to one of the Uí Fidgente!’

  ‘Fidelma!’ The quiet word from Prince Donennach was enough of a warning not to let her temper overstep the mark. She sat down, biting her lip, trying to ignore the broad smile on Abbot Nannid’s twisted features.

  Prince Donennach had caught sight of the expression on Eadulf’s face. He gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘You look as if you want to contribute a comment, Brother Eadulf?’

  There were some startled gasps from the company and even Fidelma looked surprised at the invitation.

  ‘He is a foreigner and has no right to speak here!’ Abbot Nannid immediately asserted. ‘Even if the sister of the King of Cashel has married him, he has no such right.’

  Eadulf coloured and would have remained silent but Prince Donennach took no notice of the abbot’s protest.

  ‘I am inviting Brother Eadulf to speak here and he does so under my authority,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember how Eadulf used his healing skills on me many years ago when a would-be assassin shot an arrow into my leg. No one asked then if he had a right to do so.’

  ‘He will only say what she wants him to say!’ the abbot interrupted again, causing Fidelma to start to rise from her seat.

  But Donennach replied sharply: ‘I know, further, that when he speaks he will speak with his own voice.’

  Eadulf stood up slowly.

  ‘Indeed, I will speak on my own terms,’ he began. ‘I represent no one in my opinions but myself. Had I sought to ingratiate myself with the views of my wife or her family, the Eóghanacht, as Abbot Nannid implies, then you would be seeing me here with the tonsure of John on my head instead of that of Peter. I have continued to wear it to indicate my religious allegiance for many years. Unlike some, I do not wear the tonsure of John yet uphold the rules of Peter of Rome, Abbot of Mungairit. I am no fawning dog who will do what pleases the moment.’

  This was said in an even tone, devoid of rancour. Some of those attending suppressed chuckles while Abbot Nannid’s face whitened.

  ‘So how do you see this predicament, Brother Eadulf?’ enquired Prince Donennach before the abbot could gather his wits to respond.

  ‘I see no predicament in the matter of law. In my own country I was an hereditary gerefa before I enter the religious. I came and studied in this land of the Five Kingdoms before travelling to Rome, where I embraced the theology of Rome. I have travelled to many lands in which the New Faith was adopted, but in all of them they have kept their own laws so long as they were compatible with the New Faith. You have your own laws without which you would not have existed, these countless centuries. Rome has no more changed her native laws in favour of John the Ascetic’s rules for his community than you should. That is all I have to say.’

  ‘Such comments are appreciated, Brother Eadulf.’ Prince Donennach sighed gently. ‘However, I am still left with a choice of two possibilities. One is that I authorise the punishment of Gormán to be given under the laws of the Fénechus, in accordance with the wisdom of our Brehons. In that case I court the disapproval of my clergy. The second choice is that I do as the abbot demands and prescribe punishment under the Pententials. In the second case the punishment is extreme and would bring conflict to this land.’

  Abbot Nannid was smiling thinly. ‘You must think well on this matter, Prince Donennach. The first choice also leads to conflict.’
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br />   ‘Conflict in what manner?’ demanded Conrí, the warlord, belligerently.

  The Abbot of Mungairit gave him an amused glance. ‘I did not hear that a warrior was invited to express opinion here or ask questions.’

  ‘Nevertheless, the commander of my warriors has a pertinent question even if it is not protocol for him to ask it. I shall then ask it in his stead. You may answer to me, Abbot Nannid.’

  ‘All I say is that many of the Uí Fidgente are prepared to defend their Faith – with the sword if necessary. Prince Donennach, the fate of the Uí Fidgente has passed into your hands. After the Eóghanacht defeated our armies at Cnoc Áine and Prince Eóghanán was slain, you have steered a course of peace for our people. Some have whispered it was peace at any cost. You recently went to seek the approval of the High King for the course you have pursued. But remember that you rule by the will of your derbhfine and the approval of all your people. The Church has, through me, formed an opinion about what should befall the murderer of one of the leading churchmen of the Five Kingdoms. That opinion would be ignored at the peril of undoing all your strivings for peace.’

  Abbot Nannid resumed his seat, sitting with folded arms and a smug look on his face.

  An obvious threat was implied. Unless Gormán was turned over to punishment under the terms of the Penitentials – and that meant certain death – then Abbot Nannid believed that a civil warfare could be unleashed among the Uí Fidgente. Abbot Nannid must be sure of his support, Fidelma thought, otherwise he would not have dared to speak so openly and in such terms to the prince.

  Fidelma rose to her feet again. ‘I think we have reached a conclusion about where we all stand,’ she said. ‘Prior Cuán and I, representing the King of Cashel and his Chief Brehon, agree that the laws of these kingdoms are the laws we must use. Whereas Abbot Nannid, saying he represents all the churchmen of the Uí Fidgente, implies that in accepting the New Faith we must also accept the Penitentials as the law of that Faith. He suggests that Prince Donennach should convene a council to discuss whether the laws of the Uí Fidgente be changed from the laws of the Brehons to the laws of the Penitentials. That is a great task and one which, undoubtedly, will threaten repercussions not only in Muman, but in Laighin, Connachta, Ulaidh and even in Midhe, the Middle Kingdom of the High King.’