Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Perhaps I chose the wrong word,’ muttered the steward. ‘He asked to see him.’

  ‘In what manner did he arrive?’

  The steward frowned, obviously not understanding.

  ‘How did he seem in manner?’ Fidelma clarified. ‘Was he excited? Was he anxious? What?’

  The steward considered and then shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Did he look like a man intent on killing someone?’ Eadulf snapped, annoyed by the man’s attitude.

  ‘How does such a man look?’ Brother Tuamán countered.

  Eadulf accepted the point. ‘We merely wanted to ascertain if there was anything unusual about the way Gormán presented himself. We have previously heard that he seemed moody.’

  ‘I would agree that he seemed somewhat short of temper.’

  ‘Angry?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘Not in a good humour,’ replied the steward.

  ‘What happened when he arrived?’

  ‘I left him in the hall while I came up here to ask the abbot if it was convenient for him to see the warrior. The abbot asked me to bring Gormán to his chamber immediately. They greeted one another as friends. Therefore I left them alone together.’

  ‘Closing the door of the chamber?’

  ‘Closing the door of the chamber,’ echoed Brother Tuamán.

  ‘And then you went back to continue your discussion with Brother Cuineáin?’

  ‘There was nothing much more to discuss. He had already left.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘I returned to my own chamber to work on my notes. It is over there,’ he pointed across the hallway to the opposite door. ‘A short time passed and then I heard raised voices coming from the abbot’s room. There was a loud cry, as if of alarm, followed by a tremendous crash. I left my chamber immediately and hastened over here to the abbot’s door. I called out, asking what was wrong. There was a silence. I tried the door but found it locked. It was not the abbot’s custom to lock his door.’

  ‘There was no response to your call?’

  ‘None. I shouted for the warrior who was on duty below. That was Lachtna, whom you have just seen.’

  Fidelma suddenly looked at Conrí, who had remained silent during her questioning. ‘I meant to ask you – was it unusual for a warrior to guard the hostel when its occupants were a religious delegation?’

  ‘Not in ordinary circumstances,’ Conrí replied cautiously. ‘You would have to ask the commander of the household Guard. I was not here at that time.’

  ‘Not in ordinary circumstances,’ repeated Eadulf. ‘What could be extraordinary circumstances?’

  ‘This is not an abbey,’ Conrí reminded him. ‘I would imagine that Prince Donennach might have some concern about the safety of the abbot. After all, this is the principal fortress of a people who had conflict with Cashel, and Abbot Ségdae was the principal adviser to the King of Cashel on religious matters.’

  ‘A good point and one we shall check,’ conceded Fidelma. She returned her gaze to the steward. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Lachtna joined me and tried the door. We agreed to break it in. As you can see,’ the steward added, gesturing at the condition of the oak door.

  ‘I have seen,’ Fidelma nodded. ‘Which reminds me, when you came to the door, received no answer, found it locked and were fearful for what had happened, did you, in the short time you had to wait for Lachtna to join you, think to peer through one of those knot-holes that I see age has put into the wood?’

  ‘No, I did not think of such a thing.’

  ‘Come into the hall with me a moment.’ They went out and Fidelma drew the door shut. She told them: ‘I noticed one knot-hole especially – the one that is just below eye-level and shaped like a diamond. It is the length of a person’s little finger. By pressing one’s eye to it you could see roughly into the chamber. Try for yourself.’

  Brother Tuamán moved forward and, following Fidelma’s instruction, peered into the gap. Then he stood back and shook his head.

  ‘I doubt that anyone would have seen very much. I can only see the abbot’s desk but not where he was lying on the floor, nor can I see where the warrior was. However, lady, this did not occur to me.’

  ‘I thought you might have made an attempt to look,’ she said mildly. ‘There seem to be a few new scratch-marks around the knot-hole. No matter.’ She reopened the door. ‘So … you and Lachtna burst into the room – and what did you see?’

  ‘I saw the abbot’s body first. There was blood soaking his robes and staining the floor. He had probably tried to use his staff of office as a means of defence for it was lying by his left hand. Before him, groaning, was the warrior. He was also on the floor. I saw the bloodied dagger by the warrior’s right hand. It was obvious what had happened.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  The steward smiled thinly. ‘The man had attacked the abbot and stabbed him. The abbot, perhaps in his dying moment, had swung his staff of office at his attacker. You may know it bears a heavy cross of silver on the end. This caught his attacker on the side of the head, knocking him unconscious for a while and allowing us to apprehend him.’

  ‘I see. You felt that, had Gormán not been knocked senseless, he would have contrived to escape somehow. Surely the obstacles were many to such a flight in the circumstances.’

  The steward thought and found no answer.

  ‘You were going to show me the abbot’s staff,’ Fidelma reminded the man.

  ‘It was cleaned before being given to the prior. After all, it will be his once he is confirmed as the next abbot.’

  ‘I would still like to see it,’ she insisted.

  ‘The prior is not in his chamber …’ prevaricated the steward.

  ‘I presume, however, that the staff is?’ cut in Fidelma.

  The steward reluctantly led the way across the passage and opened the door. The room was sparsely furnished: a desk, with a candle and a tinder box on it and a vellum-bound parchment book. To Eadulf, it appeared to be a book of liturgical matter. There was a wooden chair, a bed and a cupboard which revealed only a change of robes and a pair of sandals.

  ‘Prior Cuán certainly believes in frugality,’ murmured Eadulf as he examined the belongings of the absent occupant.

  A staff with a polished silver crucifix of intricate design was leaning prominently in one corner. It was shining and clean. Fidelma had vague memories of seeing Abbot Ségdae with it, but she had never taken much notice of it before. It was Eadulf who went over and picked it up. As he did so, a shorter stick next to it, a chestnut walking stick, was dislodged and clattered to the floor.

  ‘It is the prior’s walking stick,’ the steward said, bending down to retrieve it and place it back against the wall.

  Eadulf was turning the staff of office over in his hands and examining it carefully. Then he shrugged and put it back.

  ‘You are right, Brother Tuamán,’ he said. ‘It has been well cleaned and polished. Did it have much blood on it?’

  Brother Tuamán looked startled. ‘Doubtless the physician would have such details.’

  Fidelma tried to prevent a look of surprise from crossing her features. A physician? There had been no previous mention of any physician attending the scene. She felt annoyed with herself. Of course, she should have remembered that the attendance of a physician would be obligatory, given the death of an illustrious guest. Also, someone must have attended Gormán as his defence rested on a claim of having been rendered unconscious.

  ‘Who was this physician?’ she asked.

  Brother Tuamán shrugged. ‘I can’t remember the name. They did not appear at the hearing.’

  ‘The lady Airmid is the only physician in the fortress,’ Conrí said. ‘I’ll take you to her apothecary, if you wish.’

  ‘Before that, there is one thing I am curious about,’ Eadulf said. ‘It appears that the prior and Brother Mac Raith and Brother Máel Anfaid were not here when Abbot Ségdae was killed. Where were
they?’

  ‘I think Prior Cuán had gone to see Brehon Faolchair, but Brother Mac Raith and Brother Máel Anfaid were attending some service in the chapel in the Abbey of Nechta. They have a relative who serves in the community there.’

  ‘A relative?’ Eadulf was surprised. ‘Are you saying that they are of the Uí Fidgente?’

  ‘I thought they were of the Muscraige Mittine,’ the steward replied, mentioning a clan who dwelled south of the Abhainn Mhór, the big river that almost divided the kingdom. ‘But they did mention a relative who serves at the abbey.’

  ‘You don’t know who?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘It is not my position to question the personal lives of the brethren,’ the steward said repressively.

  ‘Very well.’ Fidelma sighed. ‘You have heard Gormán’s claim that he was talking to the abbot when he was struck unconscious while standing with his back to the door. What do you have to say to that?’

  ‘That the man is a fool and a liar.’

  ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘He was alone with the abbot in his chamber. The door was locked. At first I assumed that Abbot Ségdae might have locked it, but now I think it more likely that the warrior locked it so that he would not be disturbed in his plan to kill him. The notion that someone could have entered, knocked him out, killed the abbot, arranged the bodies, and then left, locking the door from the inside before disappearing, is nonsensical. Don’t forget, I heard the voices raised, the thud of the falling bodies and was at that locked door within moments. No one could have entered or left the room. So the man is a fool to present so ridiculous an excuse and an obvious liar to boot.’

  ‘That is the conundrum,’ Eadulf observed aloud. ‘Gormán is no fool – so why would he tell such a story if it did not happen as he said?’

  ‘There was no third person,’ the steward firmly assured them. ‘You have examined the chamber. There is nowhere to hide without either the abbot or the warrior seeing them. And there is nowhere to enter or leave except through this solid oak door. Perhaps you would like to examine the window more carefully …’

  ‘We have seen the iron bars,’ Eadulf cut in. ‘Anyway, it would have been difficult enough for someone to climb up or to climb down the outside wall – even if they could get in or out through the window.’

  ‘Then you will agree with me.’ Brother Tuamán’s tone was again arrogant. ‘The idea that anyone else could have killed the abbot is preposterous. Even Brehon Faolchair pointed out that the abbot was standing in front of the warrior. Had someone crept up behind Gormán to deliver the blow, the abbot would surely have seen and given warning of the attacker. Unless,’ the steward said insolently, ‘you will argue that the abbot connived in his own murder by having the warrior knocked out first?’

  After they left Brother Tuamán, Conrí conducted them to a group of single-storey stone buildings to the far side of the fortress and took them into the centre of a well-cultivated herb garden.

  ‘You’ll find the lady Airmid there,’ he said, pointing to one of the buildings. ‘It is where she prepares her concoctions. She is usually there at this hour. I’ll leave you here as I have business at the laochtech. Should you need me, any warrior will know where to find me.’

  The woman who greeted Fidelma and Eadulf as they entered the small apothecary was tall – as tall as Fidelma. Her fair hair had a reddish tinge, making it almost copper. She regarded Fidelma and Eadulf with curiosity. Her features were pleasant, while her shapely mouth had a humorous quality to it. The couple paused a moment on the threshold to allow their senses to adjust to the pungent smells of the spices and herbs of the apothecary. Eadulf was immediately reminded of Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary in Cashel, except here a little grey terrier ran up to them and sniffed excitedly at the new scents they had brought with them. The woman had to shout an order and the dog immediately desisted and went off to examine other things.

  ‘Come in, I have been expecting you.’ Her voice had an attractive musical quality. ‘I heard that you had arrived in the fortress last evening but I was unable to attend.’

  Fidelma stared at the familiar face of the woman for a moment.

  ‘Have we met before?’ she asked.

  The woman chuckled. ‘We have not, but people often see in me a reflection of my brother, Donennach.’

  Eadulf recalled that Donennach had mentioned his sister. ‘Then you are also his tanaise, his heir-apparent?’

  ‘I am Airmid. I prefer to be known simply as the physician to this household.’

  ‘It is an appropriate name for one of your calling.’ Fidelma returned the woman’s smile. Airmid was the legendary daughter of Diancecht, the old pagan God of Medicine. Her father had been a jealous god. He had killed his own son Miach, who had begun to outshine his father’s healing knowledge. Airmid had then collected all the 365 healing herbs that had grown from the grave of her brother, and arranged them so that everyone would have knowledge of their use. However, Diancecht, in a temper, then destroyed the arrangement of her collection so that the secrets would become lost for ever.

  The physician grimaced. ‘Much sport was made of my name when I was studying at Inis Faithlcann. I rather think my professor hoped I would fail to qualify because of my name. However, I should apologise to you, lady.’

  ‘For what reason?’ Fidelma frowned.

  ‘I could not attend the feast to welcome you last night for I was called to attend an injured man in the Abbey of Nechta. One of the brethren had contrived to break his arm and it needed to be set. Thankfully, it will heal well,’ she added. ‘Now, how may I serve you? I know you are investigating the circumstances of Abbot Ségdae’s murder.’

  ‘I was told that a physician had examined the abbot’s body,’ explained Fidelma. ‘Conrí conducted us here.’

  ‘I am that physician,’ Airmid confirmed easily and indicated a bench for them to be seated while taking a stool opposite. ‘This is a sad event, and one that has upset my brother considerably. He was hoping to strengthen the peace that he has made with your brother. This murder has provided an opportunity for Abbot Nannid to pursue his ambitions.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid has ambitions?’ Eadulf asked in surprise. ‘So far as I am aware, Mungairit is the largest abbey among the Uí Fidgente. He is its abbot. What other ambition could he have?’

  ‘The abbots of our kingdoms are usually of the royal families. Abbot Nannid is a cousin of Crundmáel of the Ua Coirpri. Crundmáel’s son, Eóghanán, led the Uí Fidgente against Cashel at Cnoc Áine where Colgú defeated him. If anything happened to my brother, Nannid could have a legitimate right to claim that he be ruler.’

  ‘I did not know that,’ admitted Fidelma. ‘But you are Donennach’s heir-apparent.’

  ‘I hold the office only on sufferance; that is, until someone better qualified in the eyes of the derbhfine emerges,’ smiled the physician. ‘My brother’s son is not yet of the age of responsibility but it is hoped that he will prove himself a worthy successor. However, Nannid’s ambition is one that concerns us. If my brother stands against Nannid and his newfound views, then who knows what might happen?’

  ‘Newfound views?’ Eadulf picked up the phrase.

  ‘It was not that long ago that Nannid decided to become a champion of the Penitentials, claiming that they superseded the laws of the Brehons. Having now claimed the role of spokesman for those who believe this, Nannid is making himself very popular among several of our clerics.’

  ‘And this is why your brother finds it hard to challenge him about Gormán? I see … Nannid has decided to make this an issue of magnitude.’ Fidelma could understand Donennach’s dilemma.

  ‘Whichever choice Donennach makes, I am afraid it will mean war and perhaps the destruction of our house.’

  ‘Let me finish my investigation first before the sentence is given on punishment,’ Fidelma advised. ‘Gormán has yet to be proven guilty beyond all doubt.’

  Airmid looked sceptical. ‘Well, I do not think that I can
help you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Eadulf demanded.

  ‘Oh, it is not that I won’t,’ Airmid explained hastily, ‘but I can’t present you with any magical evidence that would prove your warrior friend is innocent as he has claimed. I was summoned to the abbot’s chamber and found that he had been stabbed several times in the chest and in the neck. The wounds were such that they seemed to have been struck in a frenzy of anger.’

  ‘Did you also examine Gormán?’

  ‘Only afterwards, when he had been dragged to the cells and handled roughly by our guards. I could discount the superficial bruises from that beating. He maintained that he had been struck from behind and rendered unconscious, as you already know. He had certainly been struck on the head,’ Airmid told them. ‘There was evidence of a blow on the right side of the skull.’

  ‘Had the skin been cut there?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘The bruising and swelling could have been made with a staff striking the area above the right ear, with some force. But there was no sign of the skin being perforated and bleeding.’

  ‘No blood?’

  ‘None. Is that important?’

  ‘It is claimed that he was struck with the abbot’s staff,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘So I was told,’ she nodded. ‘It seems logical that the abbot would use it to defend himself with.’

  ‘And was the staff presented in evidence to Brehon Faolchair at the hearing?’

  Airmid grimaced. ‘The circumstances and events were considered obvious and so I was not summoned to any formal hearing. My opinion, when I gave it to Brehon Faolchair, was not deemed to be at odds with the rest of the evidence. I could only say what I observed of the injuries, no more, no less.’

  ‘And for that we are grateful,’ Eadulf said, with a glance to Fidelma to signal that he had finished.

  They left Airmid’s apothecary, but before Fidelma could question Eadulf, they found Brehon Faolchair coming towards the building.

  ‘Lady,’ he greeted her. ‘Conrí said that I might find you here.’

  ‘And you have found me,’ Fidelma replied.