Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘This is the dálaigh who will question you,’ Conrí told the man. ‘Give your answers truthfully and without fear.’

  The young warrior stiffened before his commander. ‘I am at your service, lady.’

  ‘What were you doing on the evening that Abbot Ségdae was killed?’ she began.

  ‘I was on duty at the door of this hostel.’

  ‘And the abbot and his party were inside?’

  ‘Well, the abbot and the abbot’s steward …’

  ‘Brother Tuamán?’

  ‘That is so. There were two other brothers from the Abbey of Imleach but they were not at the hostel. I can’t remember their names. They were scribes, I think – those who waited attendance on the abbot.’

  ‘Where were they if not in the hostel that evening?’

  ‘I was not told, lady. I think that they were in the township and had not returned to the fortress. It was not late.’

  ‘So you were at the door of this building on guard duty?’

  ‘It was a hot night, lady. I was outside and I didn’t mind as I had a seat to rest on.’ He pointed to a bench nearby. ‘The guard was not arduous because out here, no danger threatened.’

  ‘A danger did threaten,’ Conrí said reprovingly, ‘otherwise the abbot would not lie dead.’

  The young man shifted his weight uneasily. ‘That was a danger within, Commander. One cannot guard against that.’

  ‘A guard should be prepared for any danger,’ Conrí responded.

  ‘It was a danger that no guard could be prepared for, unless he was standing next to the abbot,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Now, let us proceed. Tell me what you know, Lachtna.’

  ‘When I took over my shift on guard duty, I was told that a warrior from Cashel had arrived at the fortress. He had seen the prince and then tried to see the abbot, who had been in council with other churchmen. The abbot’s steward, Brother Tuamán, told the warrior to return later.’

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Fidelma when he paused.

  ‘This Cashel warrior did return that evening. It was not yet dark but many had taken the evening meal by then. He approached me and asked to see the abbot, Abbot Ségdae. I opened the door to the guest-hostel and called for Brother Tuamán. The abbot’s steward was in conversation with another religious but he invited the warrior inside. He was, of course, expecting him to return.’

  ‘Do you know who this religious was – the one he was in conversation with?’

  ‘I think it was the steward from Mungairit. Brother Cuineáin is his name.’

  ‘Very well. And then what happened?’

  ‘The door closed and I remained outside on guard. Time passed and I heard the sound of yelling. It was—’

  ‘Just a moment,’ broke in Fidelma. ‘How long was it between the warrior going into the hostel and the time that you heard this disturbance?’

  Lachtna put his head to one side as if calculating. ‘Not very long,’ he said at last.

  ‘Immediately?’ Fidelma pressed.

  ‘Not immediately.’ Then Lachtna’s face brightened as he remembered. ‘Long enough for me to have walked to the gates,’ he pointed across the courtyard, ‘paused and walked back to my post.’

  ‘Then you heard yelling – can you describe it?’

  ‘It was the anxious cries of Brother Tuamán, the steward, who was calling my name. I rushed in and—’

  ‘You mentioned that the steward had been engaged in discussion with Brother Cuineáin, steward to the Abbot of Mungairit.’ It was Eadulf’s turn to interrupt. ‘Where was he when you came rushing in?’

  It was a point Fidelma had nearly forgotten about, and this made her cross with herself.

  ‘Oh, he had left by then,’ the warrior said. ‘He left as soon as the warrior arrived. Only the steward, Brother Tuamán, was here. So, as I was saying, I rushed in and—’

  ‘Excuse me.’ It was Fidelma again. ‘The best method is to show us. Take us inside and show us where you went.’

  Behind the large oak door was a communal room with doors on either side and, at the far end of the room, a wooden staircase leading to the first floor. Conrí took it upon himself to explain the lay-out.

  ‘When this was used as the main guardhouse, the rooms for the guards were on either side of the ground floor here. The two brothers you were enquiring about have their quarters here now.’

  Lachtna then pointed to the stairs.

  ‘I came in and, hearing the voice of Brother Tuamán shouting for help from above, I rushed directly up the stairs.’

  He led the way and on the next floor they found themselves in a small ante-chamber with four doors leading off it. One of these doors was hanging on one hinge with the woodwork splintered.

  ‘It was Brehon Faolchair who suggested that things remain untouched until a decision on this matter was made,’ explained Conrí.

  Lachtna pointed to the door. ‘When I came up the stairs, I saw Brother Tuamán standing outside this door, which was the abbot’s chamber. He told me that he feared something was wrong. He had heard a cry from within and a noise, like something falling. He had knocked on the door to see if the abbot needed assistance but, having received no answer, he tried the door and found it was locked. It was locked from the inside.’

  ‘One moment,’ Fidelma said. ‘I just want to make sure that I know what other chambers are on this floor. This is the abbot’s door. So who occupied the other three chambers?’

  Lachtna turned and indicated with his hand. ‘That one opposite is the steward’s chamber. That at the far end is occupied by the abbot’s deputy, Prior Cuán. The one next to the abbot’s room is an empty chamber. I can assure you, lady, that there are no means of reaching the abbot’s chamber from any other.’

  ‘And you say that the two scribes have their chambers below stairs?’

  ‘That is so, lady.’

  ‘We know the steward was here, outside the abbot’s door – but where was Prior Cuán at this time?’

  The warrior was diffident. ‘He was not here, lady. Nor do I know where he was.’

  ‘So let us return to what happened. You say that the door had been locked from the inside. Why do you say that?’

  Lachtna blinked for a moment and then gathered his thoughts. ‘There was no key on the outside, lady. Brother Tuamán and I put our shoulders to the door and managed to smash the lock.’

  Fidelma glanced at the lock where it had been splintered. The metal of the door lock had clearly been wrenched from the surrounding wooden holdings by force from the outside. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Well, we burst into the chamber. I saw the warrior first. He was sprawled on his face, one arm flung out with a bloodied knife near his hand.’

  ‘Near his hand?’ Fidelma queried.

  ‘Yes. His fingertips were barely touching the handle, as his fingers were splayed out. I presume he dropped the knife as he fell forward.’

  ‘And what sort of state was he in?’

  ‘He was groaning as if coming to his senses.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well, I then saw the body of the abbot. He lay slightly forward as if he had been facing the warrior, crumpled up and covered in blood from stab wounds. Oh, and near his left hand was his staff of office. That had fallen by his side.’

  ‘But you are certain the door was locked from the inside?’ she asked again.

  ‘It clearly was, lady.’

  ‘Do you know that as a fact, or is it an assumption? This is important. Could someone not have slipped out of the door and locked it unseen to Brother Tuamán?’

  The warrior shook his head. ‘I know it was locked on the inside for, as we burst into the room, I felt something hard under my foot. I looked down and saw the key on the floor. Then, of course, I saw the warrior and the body of the abbot.’

  ‘How do you think the key came to be on the floor?’

  ‘I believe it was probably in the lock on the inside and, as we smashed open the door, the force of our blow must have j
olted it from the lock and it fell.’

  ‘Show me where.’

  The young man pushed open the smashed door and pointed to an area immediately behind it. The spot was slightly to the centre rather than immediately under the lock.

  ‘Where is the key now?’ she asked.

  ‘It was handed to Brehon Faolchair.’

  Fidelma cast her eye over the door. It was a stout oak door although there were some knots in the ageing wood, and cracks. Indeed, a couple of the knots had simply disappeared with age and wear.

  ‘Are there keys to the other rooms?’

  ‘There are, lady.’

  ‘Would any others fit this lock?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied Lachtna. ‘This place was originally built to hold prisoners as well as the guard. I was told that our locksmiths made all the keys of different shapes. That was back in the days when Óengus son of Nechtan was our prince and very wary of his enemies. He felt the differences in locks and keys were a better security than …’

  Fidelma held up her hand to stay the other’s sudden enthusiasm for the subject. She entered the room and looked about.

  It was fairly small chamber. A window gave light but it had iron bars inserted in such a way that no one could use it to exit or enter. A cot bed, a cupboard, a chest and a desk with two wooden chairs comprised the furnishings. She saw nothing that gave her any ideas of how someone could conceal themselves in the room.

  ‘In your opinion, Lachtna, is there any way someone could have entered this chamber, knocked out Gormán, the warrior, and killed the abbot in the manner Gormán claimed?’

  The young man shook his head. ‘Not unless they were a púca, a shape-shifter, lady, and could move through solid walls. Look, even the one window there is a full storey high above ground and has iron bars across it. The windows were barred to hold the prisoners in the old days.’

  ‘But there is a closet in that corner and a chest under the window. Could an assassin have hidden there?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘Anything is possible.’ The young man walked to a position before the desk-like table. ‘The Cashel warrior claimed he was attacked from behind. From the position where I found him, he was on the floor at this point. The abbot was lying in front of him. From where I am now standing, lady, if a nameless assassin was hiding either in the closet or the chest, how could he not have been observed emerging from these hiding places? How could he come round to strike the warrior from behind without being seen? The chest is there, under the window to the warrior’s right. He would have seen the lid opening and the assassin having to climb out from a horizontal position. He did not. And the closet is almost directly behind the abbot, slightly to the left shoulder of where he stood. The abbot might not have seen an assassin emerge from that but the warrior would have done so and presumably raised the alarm.’ He paused. ‘That is, if his story is true.’

  Fidelma was silent for a moment or two, examining the positions indicated by the young warrior.

  ‘You have a keen eye for observation, Lachtna,’ she praised him.

  ‘It is my training,’ Lachtna admitted modestly. ‘I notice things. It is why I noticed the key on the floor behind the door and why I then ensured that it was presented to Brehon Faolchair because Brother Tuamán had failed to see it. The key is the confirmation that the door had been locked on the inside – and that is essential evidence.’

  ‘True,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘What do you think of Gormán’s claim that he had been hit over the head and that he was not the killer?’

  Lachtna looked uncomfortable. ‘I know you have come here to defend him, lady. That is the talk among the household guards here. I hear he is the commander of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel.’

  ‘Don’t let that influence your opinion,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Just tell me what you think.’

  Lachtna spread his arms. ‘If I had discovered a fox in a chicken run with feathers in its mouth and a dead chicken before it, it would be hard not to believe that the fox was guilty of killing the chicken.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘So there is absolutely no doubt in your mind, speaking as one of the chief witnesses to these events, that he is guilty?’ Fidelma was expecting the answer but she had to put the question.

  ‘With respect, lady,’ answered Lachtna, ‘there can be no other conclusion. It is as if Gormán wanted to be found guilty! If he had planned to assassinate the abbot, why do it in such a manner? Why not wait for some lonely spot in the dark of the night?’

  ‘That argument is of itself one in support of innocence,’ pointed out Eadulf.

  ‘I did not see the dagger being plunged into the body of the abbot, brother, but the circumstances indisputably show that he was the only person in the room apart from the victim. I cannot say anything other than what I have seen.’

  ‘That is all we can ask of you, Lachtna,’ Fidelma observed gently. ‘Now, where is the abbot’s staff, the one which is said to have caused the wound on Gormán’s head?’

  There was a movement at the doorway. Fidelma glanced over and saw the tall figure of the steward framed in it.

  ‘You come at an opportune time, Brother Tuamán. I was about to send for you,’ she said.

  When Brother Tuamán strode in, his body language assertive, once again Fidelma had the impression of a wrestler going into a contest rather than of a scholarly religieux. She dismissed Lachtna, and the young warrior left with a half shrug at the newcomer.

  ‘I am prepared to answer your questions,’ the steward announced, and the condescending tone in his voice irritated Eadulf. It was true what Conrí had previously observed: the steward seemed to have a high opinion of himself, which was unusual in a tall, muscular man. Such men had little need to prove themselves to others.

  ‘That is good because it is your duty to answer the questions of a dálaigh and a refusal would bring penalties,’ Fidelma replied sternly. ‘But I don’t need to tell you that.’

  Brother Tuamán blinked. Eadulf wondered if he realised that his pomposity would not succeed in elevating his status with her.

  ‘As I mentioned before,’ Fidelma went on, ‘when Abbot Ségdae visited my brother at Cashel, I recall that you were in his company. However, we did not really talk at that time. I am wondering where you are from … before Imleach, that is?’

  ‘From Loch Léin.’

  ‘I meant, at what abbey did you train?’

  ‘For ten years I served in the Abbey of the Blessed Finnian Lochbhair on Inis Faithlian. The abbey is on the island in Loch Léin,’ he added condescendingly, as if she would not know this fact. ‘I grew up on the shores of the lake and that is why I joined the community there.’

  ‘Inis Faithlian is an abbey of high learning,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘What did you study there?’

  ‘Penmanship, for which I received much praise as well as my renditions of Latin, Greek and Hebrew characters.’

  The man was certainly not impeded by a lack of egotism and Fidelma’s irritation now gave way to one of amusement.

  ‘Do you also transcribe our own tongue?’

  ‘Res ipsa loquitor,’ replied the man pretentiously as if it were obvious.

  Fidelma looked at Eadulf with lowered brows and tried to hide her smile. ‘Sometimes I find it better not to presume knowledge. Many things that one thinks should go without saying, should be clarified,’ she said.

  The steward flushed but did not respond.

  ‘I am told your delegation consisted of Abbot Ségdae, his deputy, yourself and two other brothers from Imleach,’ Fidelma continued.

  ‘That is so. Brother Mac Raith, whom you met yesterday, and Brother Máel Anfaid.’

  ‘And their positions?’

  ‘Assistant scribes to make a record of our discussions.’

  ‘The purpose of this journey was to meet here with clerics of the Uí Fidgente to discuss how our churches and the leaders of the religious communities might come into a better communication with one another after the peace made betwe
en the Uí Fidgente and Cashel. Is that so?’

  ‘It was only a preliminary meeting,’ the steward replied. ‘The Abbot of Mungairit called this council and suggested it be held here at the Abbey of Nechta.’

  ‘So the council is being held in the new abbey?’

  ‘It is logical that the council be held in the religious community. But, it being only recently constructed, they do not have a guest-hostel fit for our delegation. Therefore Prince Donennach offered hospitality.’

  ‘How far had these discussions proceeded with Abbot Ségdae?’

  ‘We had only had two days’ preliminary discussion. It was the evening of the second day that this catastrophe happened.’

  ‘What churchmen of the Uí Fidgente have attended this council?’

  ‘Abbot Nannid and his steward are the only senior clerics to attend. No one else, for these were exploratory talks. Had they been successful then a full council of senior clerics would have been called.’

  ‘I wish to talk about the day that Abbot Ségdae was killed. I was about to ask to be shown the abbot’s staff of office with which he was said to have knocked Gormán unconscious … No, wait! We’ll come to that in a moment. While we are in this chamber let us continue the account of that event. I am told that Gormán had called to see the abbot earlier that day. Is that right?’

  ‘He did,’ affirmed Brother Tuamán. ‘I was here but the abbot was not. I told him that the abbot would not return here until after the evening meal. So it was later in the evening when Gormán arrived again to see him.’

  ‘The guard mentioned that one of the religieux from Mungairit was here at that time as well. I think he said it was Brother Cuineáin.’

  Brother Tuamán seemed momentarily surprised. Then he nodded. ‘Indeed, Abbot Nannid’s steward came to go over some essential details with me for the next session of our discussions the following morning. We had just finished when the warrior arrived, demanding to speak with the abbot.’

  ‘Demanding?’ Fidelma seized on the word. ‘I thought he had earlier made an arrangement to see the abbot. Why would he have felt he had to demand to see him?’