‘The escape is not so easily explained as there was no logical reason why Gormán should decide to escape now,’ remarked Fidelma. ‘It is strange.’
‘Strange because you do not want to believe his guilt.’ Abbot Nannid’s voise was full of derision. ‘I am sure that you have had time to work out some honey-tongued reason for the man’s action. Come, Fidelma of Cashel. I am waiting for some excuse.’
‘I am as perplexed as you are,’ Fidelma returned heatedly. ‘Perhaps even more so. The case against Gormán has yet to be heard in its legal entirety.’
As Abbot Nannid let out a bark of laughter, Prince Donennach stirred and said, ‘Surely, Fidelma, the matter now speaks for itself? I am afraid that I now agree with the abbot that Gormán has declared himself guilty.’
‘Yet a court must still legally try him and find him so. That is the law,’ Fidelma insisted stubbornly.
‘You may have beguiled those who wish to be beguiled last night by trying to gain time by making legal points. But now the matter is at an end.’ Abbot Nannid raised his chin aggressively.
‘Gormán will be returned for trial. Let us wait for that trial until we declare him guilty,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘I promise you, he will return for trial.’
Brehon Faolchair smiled with sad cynicism. Even Eadulf stared at her in some amazement.
‘How long will that be?’ Abbot Nannid sniggered. ‘We do not have eternity to wait for that promise to be fulfilled.’
‘I do not expect to wait an eternity.’ She turned to Conrí. ‘Is there word from Socht yet?’
‘There is none yet,’ Conrí said.
Abbot Nannid’s tone was disparaging. ‘If you ask me, Gormán and the women had help … and I don’t mean just one guard’s greed. I mean the help of Gormán’s friends. He won’t be found easily when he has all the territories of the Eóghanacht to hide in.’
Fidelma bridled at the accusation. ‘I hear Nannid is of the line of Coirpre, son of Bríon, who claimed to be seventh-generation descent from Eóghan Mór. So Nannid claims to be an Eóghanacht. If that is so, perhaps Nannid is hiding him?’
Prior Cuán was worried at the studied insult and tried to draw them back to the main point of the discussion.
‘I am sure that the correct path is to persuade or attempt to bring Gormán back here for a hearing so that all the arguments can be properly presented before the prince and his Brehon. We must put our trust in Conrí’s men to overtake him in this flight.’
‘What if they do not overtake him?’ Abbot Nannid jeered. ‘I recall that Gormán has friends among certain warriors of the Uí Fidgente.’ The barb was clearly thrown towards Conrí, who made an obvious effort of will not to take the bait. The abbot went on: ‘What if he goes to ground like some fox? Do you expect us to calmly wait for ever and a day before we demand that Cashel make recompense for the action of the commander of the King’s bodyguard?’
Fidelma turned her gaze to Prince Donennach. ‘I ask for an adequate period of time to find Gormán and then persuade him to return here to answer the charges.’
‘Even if you found him, do you think you could persuade him?’ Prince Donennach asked in surprise.
‘I offer no guarantee, but the consequences of the matter are such that we must go as far as we can to resolve it.’
‘I object to such sycophantic behaviour to the Eóghanacht of Cashel!’ Abbot Nannid thundered. ‘These are just honeyed words again without substance. Of course she has no intention of persuading the man and his woman to return here!’
Prince Donennach ignored him even though Conrí had uttered a loud hissing sound at the suggestion that Prince Donennach was a sycophant. The prince held up a hand, as if to wave Conrí back, and glanced anxiously at Brehon Faolchair. ‘Is there some precedent to our giving a ruling to this matter?’ he asked.
Eadulf realised that most judgements were usually justified by reference to precedent or fásach.
Brehon Faolchair was hesitant. ‘I have not heard of one. Nonetheless, perhaps it is time one was set, in view of the uniqueness of the situation. However, if it is done we must have some time limitation. Abbot Nannid has made his strong views known. What do you say, Prior Cuán? Would you agree that the dálaigh from Cashel be allowed a period of time to find and persuade Gormán to return for trial?’
Prior Cuán compressed his lips. ‘I am no judge but a simple man of religion. I could not say what is right and proper in this case. Let those learned with the law make the decision.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and grimaced. It seemed she didn’t think much of the prior’s attempt at diplomacy.
Brehon Faolchair held a whispered exchange with Prince Donennach then he turned back to Fidelma.
‘We have decided to allow Socht the ancient time period of nine nights and intervening days. If Gormán is not brought back here by then, he will be judged in his absence.’
It was not the first time that Eadulf had heard reference to the mystical figure nine. In ancient times Fidelma had told him that her people judged the passing of the week as by nights, followed by days. The old week was therefore nine nights, and three of these weeks constituted the lunar month. The figure of nine seemed to occur in many stories of Fidelma’s people as Eadulf had understood them. The High King Laoghaire had set up a nine-man commission to consider and render the ancient laws into the new Christian writing.
‘I accept the terms,’ Fidelma agreed, glancing at Conrí. ‘Then all we can do is wait word from Socht.’
At that very moment, the hall doors burst open and two warriors came in dragging a struggling girl between them.
Fidelma turned, wondering if it was Aibell and whether she and Gormán had already been caught. But the struggling figure was the unkempt form of Ciarnat.
‘We caught her outside the fort, lord,’ one of the warriors addressed Prince Donennach.
Cairnat tried to shake her arms free but gave up and attempted to address the prince instead. ‘I was returning to the fort when these idiots caught hold of me and dragged me here,’ she panted. ‘I do not understand the meaning of this. What am I supposed to have done?’
‘Are you saying that you do not know that your friend Aibell and her husband have escaped from this fort?’ Brehon Faolchair demanded sternly.
Fidelma saw the girl’s features tighten. It was difficult to ascertain whether she was surprised by the news or not.
‘I was visiting my mother in the township. I know nothing,’ she said sullenly.
Abbot Nannid smothered a guffaw. ‘Another chance to beguile us with some new expression of innocence?’
Fidelma moved to the side of the girl with a sympathetic look. ‘You say that you have only just returned to the fortress. When did you leave it?’
‘I left just after we delivered your message to Aibell and Gormán, lady,’ the girl responded. ‘We told Gormán to be patient, for you were reinvestigating the matter.’
‘You left at that time? Why?’ Brehon Faolchair wanted to know.
‘To see my elderly mother, as I said.’
Abbot Nannid snorted. ‘An elderly mother? I don’t believe that for one moment.’
The girl turned with an angry scowl towards him. ‘Anyone in this fortress will tell you that my mother, Étromma, served here as a cook for many years and therefore I followed in that service. She is elderly now and alone apart from myself. She lost two sons, my brothers, in the service of the Princes of the Uí Fidgente.’
‘And I suppose you claim that you have no knowledge that your friend, the girl Aibell, was plotting the escape of the murderer, Gormán?’ Abbot Nannid was unbending with his questions.
The girl’s reply was equally pugnacious. ‘My mother is elderly. She still dwells in the township in the shadow of this fortress. I left here earlier having no duties to fulfil here today, in order to visit her and break bread with her. I did not expect to be assaulted by warriors on my return to the fortress gates, nor to be dragged here as if I am some criminal with
out the law.’
Fidelma was watching the girl’s features closely. She was keeping something back, Fidelma could tell. ‘We do have to ask you some questions,’ she said gently. ‘This is because we cannot understand why Aibell should have arranged an escape for Gormán at this time, especially after the assurance I gave you this morning. I am told Gormán was content to let me handle matters. How was his mind changed so quickly?’
The girl shook her head. ‘I cannot help you.’
‘Well, I suppose your mother can support your story that you went straight there and remained there until now.’ It was Abbot Nannid again. tone.
The girl immediately protested: ‘My mother is elderly and frail. She should not be intimidated!’
‘Very convenient,’ remarked the abbot.
‘You see,’ Fidelma went on, ignoring him, ‘there are difficulties for us, Ciarnat. Brehon Faolchair must be assured that you did nothing to aid the escape of Gormán and your friend, Aibell.’
‘I have no understanding of what has happened.’ Ciarnat was obdurate and yet there was still something that made Fidelma suspicious. ‘I left the fortress at midday and have only just returned.’
‘I will explain, Ciarnat,’ Brehon Faolchair said easily, ‘so that you may understand how we are thinking. Firstly, this escape seemed so well planned. Horses had to be made ready, they had to be led to the side gate of this fortress which, moreover, had to be unbolted and unlocked, ready and open for the escapers to flee through. If Aibell had accomplished all that by herself, it would have taken some time in the preparation, yet it seems she was able to do this in a very short time. The actual escape was easy enough. The guard admitted he was bribed. For the moment, the bribe continues to buy his silence – but a night in his own cell may release the stiffness of his tongue.’
Ciarnat stood silent, looking wretched and uneasy.
‘But the most puzzling aspect of this escape was something which the guard let slip,’ Fidelma added. ‘He overheard Aibell tell Gormán that they had been betrayed. By whom were they betrayed – and about what? Was this so-called betrayal the reason for the escape?’
‘You see now, Ciarnat, why we might need to ask questions of you,’ pressed Brehon Faolchair.
‘The girl is clearly the accomplice,’ Abbot Nannid asserted. ‘I am glad that the dálaigh appears to admit this. Those who help the murderer share the crime. We might not be able to hang Gormán but we can make an example of his accomplice.’
Ciarnat gave a small cry, a clenched fist raised to her mouth as she understood the meaning behind his words.
Fidelma glanced at him, infuriated. She felt sure she could have coaxed some more information from the girl, but the abbot’s brutal tactic had spoiled any chance of that by scaring her.
‘You have a way of distorting words, Abbot Nannid, and that can be a dangerous trait,’ she reproached him. ‘I have merely put some facts forward to seek answers and have yet to draw any conclusions from them.’
‘The conclusions should be obvious,’ returned the bellicose abbot.
‘They might be to you, but not to one trained in law.’ Fidelma was losing patience.
Ciarnat was trembling. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she began hesitantly.
‘Say what you know and what you believe to be the truth,’ Eadulf advised encouragingly, ‘and you will not be at fault.’
‘You told me that you would see Gormán and Aibell after the questioning of the witnesses. With the warrior, Enda, I took this news back to Aibell and Gormán. Enda is witness to this. Then I left the fortress and went to my mother’s house. That is all I know.’
‘If you didn’t help your friends to escape, who did?’ boomed Abbot Nannid.
‘I have already told you what I know. I cannot invent anything else.’
‘I for one do not believe you,’ the abbot snapped.
‘Thankfully, it is not up to you to believe the statements of a witness,’ Eadulf suddenly exploded at the man. He had been feeling his temper simmering at the rudeness and disrespect to his wife from the Abbot of Mungairit ever since the previous evening. ‘Your ability in the matter of belief has been questionable in the past. If I remember correctly, when we were uncovering the conspiracy against Prince Donennach in your own abbey, you were either gullible about believing people or you had your own purpose!’
The abbot wheeled round on Eadulf, his face livid, his mouth working. For a moment it looked as if the man would forget his religious calling and resort to violence.
Brehon Faolchair moved forward with a restraining hand to separate them.
‘I do believe that all our tempers have become a little heated today. It is not often that we find our trust abused – and this can often lead to anger.’
Fidelma shot a warning glance at Eadulf. In a way, he had been right in that the abbot had either been an innocent participant in the conspiracy at Mungairit Abbey, or that he had played his part with knowledge. In any event, she was sure that Prince Donennach’s sister Airmid had made a correct assessment that Nannid was watching the prince’s office with covetous eyes. At Mungairit, Fidelma had decided that she could allow some leniency in her judgement and did so. But now Nannid seemed to have emerged in what seemed, if Airmid was right, another conspiracy to overthrow her brother.
‘Brehon Faolchair is correct,’ Prince Donennach was saying to his cousin. ‘There is no need to be unduly harsh on the girl. I recall that Étromma, her mother, did serve our household well for many years. She has explained her absence from the fortress. It is easy to check.’
‘But in the meantime, we should keep her in the cells until we are sure,’ Abbot Nannid said eagerly.
‘I do not think we need be so drastic,’ Brehon Faolchair reproved him. ‘Anyway, if she were part of the escape plan, why should she return here? She would have ridden off with her friends. Is this not so?’
He asked the question of Fidelma who bowed her head in response.
‘The logic is unassailable,’ she replied solemnly.
‘Then I will suggest a compromise,’ Prince Donennach offered. ‘My sister, Airmid, will take her into her household, where she may feel safe. Then we can have time to consider matters.’
‘Once again, I protest.’ Abbot Nannid would not let it go. He said snidely, ‘Surely we do not have to continue appeasing the Eóghanacht?’
However, Brehon Faolchair was nodding his approval. ‘An excellent suggestion. So be it.’ He turned to the two warriors who had brought Ciarnat into the hall. ‘Take the girl to the lady Airmid and tell her that she is to be treated as a guest in her household by order of the prince. I will come later and explain the situation in more detail.’
As the men escorted Cairnat from the hall, Prince Donennach rose. Abbot Nannid did not disguise his rage as he too rose and, with a swift jerk of his head towards the prince, strode away. His steward, Brother Cuineáin, followed – almost scampering behind him.
Prince Donennach looked after them as the doors of the hall were slammed shut with a force that shook the walls. He turned apologetically to those who remained. ‘This prelate cousin of mine is a man of fixed vision. I fear he admits of no opinions, judgements or interpretations other than his own. Remember, you have nine nights to find the fugitive and return him to face trial, otherwise we face difficult decisions.’
With this comment he left for his private chamber, followed by Brehon Faolchair.
Brother Tuamán rose, bowing to Prior Cuán. ‘Forgive me, I have more matters to attend to in respect of the debates between Imleach and the Mungairit.’
Prior Cuán regarded him in astonishment. ‘Do you mean, after all this, that you expect there to be some sort of debate continuing between Imleach and Mungairit?’
‘We should not abandon the work now.’ The steward’s voice rose slightly in admonishment. ‘We can still achieve much.’
‘For what purpose is this work when we have heard so clearly that Abbot Nannid will not retreat from his position? H
e and his acolytes will insist on keeping to the Penitentials and the argument that they should supplant the laws of the Five Kingdoms.’ Prior Cuán concluded dryly, ‘I, for one, would say that the only course was for us to return to Imleach.’
‘Just because the abbot has been removed from the debate,’ Brother Tuamán argued, ‘there is no need to abandon it entirely. After all, Abbot Ségdae was reconsidering his view on this matter of church law.’
Fidelma could not contain her surprise at his remark.
‘Brother Tuamám, I have known Abbot Ségdae since he became Abbot and chief ecclesiastical adviser to my brother. Are you seriously claiming that he was considering adopting the Penitentials? Is that what you mean?’
The tall man reared up and said in a pompous tone, ‘As steward it has been my privilege to have discussed many of these matters with the abbot, and his attitudes were not as fixed as has been suggested. I hope, when I have gathered my notes, to have similar discussions with Prior Cuán, to carry on this momentous work with our brethren of the Uí Fidgente churches.’
With an all-embracing bob of his head to the company, he strutted off.
Prior Cuán then struggled to his feet, pausing for a moment, leaning heavily on his stick. ‘I cannot believe Ségdae would have contemplated supporting the Penitentials,’ he said.
‘You seem as surprised as we are, Prior Cuán,’ observed Eadulf.
‘I have only been Abbot Ségdae’s deputy for a short period,’ Prior Cuán replied quietly, ‘yet it is the first time that I have heard of any compromise on this matter. Abbot Ségdae and I discussed this topic several times together, as well as in the opening debate with Abbot Nannid. He was prepared to stand against the use of the Penitentials outside any religious community. Furthermore, he was even against their use within a community in which the entire fine or family of the community had not freely accepted them. I will have to tackle the subject further with Brother Tuamán. The fellow has an exaggerated idea of his own self-importance, as you may have noticed. It seems inconceivable that the abbot would reveal this change of attitude to him and not to me.’
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 12
