Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Do you know much about your steward’s background?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘About Brother Tuamán? Only that he has not been steward for very long. In fact, he arrived at Imleach shortly before me. He presented himself with good credentials, being well educated at the abbey on the island in Loch Léin. After Brother Madagan’s betrayal, which you know about, the abbot was desperate for a good steward and Brother Tuamán seemed well qualified.’

  Fidelma smiled ruefully. ‘He is that. However, I shall look forward to learning what you find out about Abbot Ségdae’s views and whether they had changed. It is an interesting point that the steward makes though,’ she added thoughtfully.

  Prior Cuán asked: ‘Which point?’

  ‘If Abbot Ségdae was about to make such a momentous decision with regard to accepting the rule of the Penitentials and bringing them into Imleach, then his sudden demise would seem providential to those arguing against them.’

  Prior Cuán’s face went pale, and an expression of anger flashed across his usually benign features.

  ‘Are you accusing me of welcoming the death of the abbot!’ he said hoarsely.

  Fidelma held up a protesting hand, palm outwards.

  ‘Forgive me, Prior Cuán. Eadulf here will tell you that I sometimes think aloud.’

  Eadulf contrived to examine the floor for he knew that Fidelma’s ‘thinking aloud’ was often designed to bring forth a reaction.

  ‘I have a fault,’ she continued, ‘which is to examine matters from other points of view. If you look at all possibilities, no matter how ill conceived and odious they may be to one, then by either storing them in the mind or discarding them, one may well come to a better perspective.’

  Prior Cuán stared at her for a moment, then gave a sound like an exclamation of disgust and limped off.

  She stood for a moment before turning to Eadulf and commenting: ‘Interesting. I’d like to find out a little more about the background of this prior.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now there are some things that I have neglected, having been sidetracked by Brother Tuamán. To accomplish them, we must return to the guest-hostel where Ségdae was killed.’

  Eadulf’s eyes brightened suddenly. ‘You mean that even now, you have not completely condemned Gormán as guilty?’

  ‘There are other ways of interpreting his flight from this fortress,’ she said.

  ‘Then you feel that there might be a way into Abbot Ségdae’s chamber through which a killer could have entered in the manner Gormán claimed?’

  ‘Not as such, but it behoves us to take a look.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There was no one about in the guest-hostel, not even a guard outside, when Fidelma and Eadulf entered. She paused and called loudly, just in case Brother Tuamán was in his room on the next floor. Before climbing the wooden stairs she took advantage of everyone’s absence to glance quickly into the rooms on the ground floor where the two scribes had their quarters. It took only a few moments to see that they contained nothing of interest. Having checked, she ascended to the next floor with Eadulf behind her. To his surprise she went directly to Brother Tuamán’s room and tapped on the door. There was no answer and so she tried the handle. It was locked.

  ‘He seems to be a cautious man,’ observed Eadulf.

  ‘He might have reason to be,’ Fidelma replied enigmatically. ‘He said he was returning to transcribe some notes. He is certainly not doing so here.’

  She turned and moved along to Prior Cuán’s room, and again she paused to knock before entering. Nothing appeared to have changed since their earlier visit. Fidelma went to the table, picked up the book she had noticed previously, and opened it to glance at the title page. She gave a gasp of surprise.

  ‘It seems he reads Greek, for there is an inscription in it. Ah – and guess what this is a copy of?’

  ‘I am afraid that construing Greek is beyond me,’ Eadulf said. ‘I sometimes even struggle with the Latin in which the ancients put down their wisdom. I can cope with the colloquial form better.’

  ‘The text is in Latin but another hand has written an inscription in Greek,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  ‘So why the surprise?’

  ‘Firstly, the book is Paenitentiaele Theodori.’

  ‘What? You mean Theodore of Tarsus? Has he written a book of Penitentials?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘It is some years since you escorted Theodore the Greek from Rome to the Kentish kingdom where he was installed as eighth archbishop and claimed jurisdiction of all the churches of the Jutes, Angles, Saxons and also the Britons – even though the Britons rejected him. He was an ambitious cleric because he also started sending deputations to the Irish abbots to claim jurisdiction over them. Here his ambition met with stronger resistance.’

  Eadulf remembered the tall ascetic Greek appointed by Vitalian, Bishop of Rome, to succeed Wighard, who had been murdered in Rome. His murder had been solved by Fidelma and Eadulf. Eadulf had then been appointed to escort Wighard’s successor, Theodore, to his new seat in the town of the Cantware, as the people of Kent were called. He had never been comfortable with the man, who seemed to consider all the western churches as outlanders who should be brought firmly under his control.

  ‘That was six or seven years ago,’ reflected Eadulf. ‘Thankfully, Theodore, to my good fortune, sent me here to bring messages to Abbot Ségdae of Imleach, which led to our being reunited and …’

  But Fidelma was still peering at the volume. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that Theodore of Tarsus would support the adoption of the Penitentials, but it is an interesting choice of reading for our frugal prior in the circumstances.’

  ‘Do you mean because he claims to stand against the Penitentials? Well, reading such a book is not incompatible to his views. Remember the saying of the Romans? Nosce hostem tuum – know your enemy.’

  Fidelma gave an irritated shake of her head. ‘A good point, Eadulf, but that is not what I am reading from the Greek inscription here.’

  ‘As I said, my Greek is not good enough to construe it. What does it say?’

  ‘It says – “Theodore, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to my faithful brother in Christ, Cuán, scholar of Cluain Eidnech, since we rejoice in your faith in Christ Jesus and the word of truth”.’ Then she paused and added, ‘The phonetics of the Irish names are spelled in Greek form but they are clear as to the meaning of the names.’

  Eadulf was shocked. ‘Then how did Prior Cuán come by such a book? He must have been known to Theodore of Tarsus to have deserved such an inscription, but how …?’

  ‘A personal gift,’ Fidelma mused. ‘I knew Cluain Eidnach had a reputation for its scholarship but I did not think it extended far, even within the Five Kingdoms. I can recall only one Cuán named as a meritorious scholar but he was an abbot of Lios Mór. He died when I was a child.’

  ‘Prior Cuán may have been on a mission to the kingdom of the Cantware,’ suggested Eadulf. ‘You know how many of your countrymen still take the word of the Faith to the kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons?’

  Fidelma replaced the book carefully on the table without further comment and glanced round the room.

  ‘It is strange that there is little sign of writing materials for such a literate man, even a stylus and a ceraculum to make notes on, especially during what was a debate of some magnitude,’ Eadulf said, interrupting the silence.

  ‘Maybe the notes were taken by one of the scribes or Brother Tuamán,’ suggested Fidelma. ‘In which case, he would not need his own writing materials.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ conceded Eadulf. ‘Anyway, we are still left with the evidence that only Gormán could have killed Abbot Ségdae. So how does investigating Prior Cuán help us?’

  ‘Perhaps it does not, although it is important for both Imleach and my brother to know more about our friend Cuán and how he was appointed the praepositus or prior, as he likes to call himself. Still, we have learned enough here. Let us examine th
e other matters.’

  They moved on to the chamber which was directly next to the one the abbot had occupied. They had not examined it before, nor did it help them. Its lay-out was almost an exact replica of the others, except that it was devoid of any furnishing. It had but one window and that, like its neighbour, was barred; when tested by Fidelma, she found the iron was immovable. She looked around carefully and even examined the wall separating the room from that of Ségdae’s chamber for signs of weakness.

  ‘We have to conclude that there was no other way into the abbot’s chamber but through the one door,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘So what now?’ prompted Eadulf.

  ‘Now we still have a problem to resolve.’

  Eadulf hunched his shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘It is a problem only if we accept Gormán’s story – but what if he is not innocent after all? As incredible as it might be to us, that is a logical conclusion. The more we have considered the alternative, the more we come across the fact that Gormán’s story is impossible.’

  ‘Things are always impossible until they are achieved,’ Fidelma said dryly, turning from the room and moving down the stairs.

  Brother Mac Raith was standing at the door of one of the rooms on the lower floor, about to enter it. He looked up in surprise as they descended. ‘Good day, lady … brother,’ he greeted them.

  Fidelma returned the greeting and asked his name. He told her, then said, ‘Can I help, for I do not think there is anyone here?’

  ‘I need to ask you a few questions,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘I was not here when the abbot was killed, so cannot help you with any details,’ the religieux offered immediately.

  ‘So I have already heard. I believe that you and your companion are of the Muscraige Mittine?’

  ‘That is so, lady,’ he replied nervously. ‘Brother Máel Anfaid and I are cousins. We received our education together and both decided to join the community at Imleach.’

  ‘Why choose Imleach?’ Fidelma queried. ‘There are many other well-known scholastic communities that are nearer to your homeland.’

  ‘But which one compares with the reputation of Imleach, founded by the Blessed Ailbe, the Chief Abbey of the Kingdom of Muman?’ Brother Mac Raith responded with a note of pride.

  ‘Then you were attracted solely by the scholastic reputation of Imleach?’ She was amused by the adulation in his voice.

  ‘I had developed a fair hand when I was young, lady, and wanted to became adept in calligraphy. Imleach was a natural choice.’

  ‘How long have you been in that community?’

  ‘Ten years – and now I am chief scribe. That was why Abbot Ségdae chose me to accompany him to this council.’

  ‘You certainly have a well-chosen name for a member of such a community,’ smiled Fidelma.

  The young man hesitated with a frown until he realised that she was referring to the meaning of his name, which was: ‘son of grace’.

  ‘A better name than my poor kinsman, Máel Anfaid,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Alas, it is apposite in the circumstances.’

  Fidelma answered the jest with a smile as the name meant ‘follower of the storm’.

  ‘It does appear that a storm has erupted here,’ she conceded. ‘But as chief scribe at these discussions, your task must be an onerous one.’

  ‘It is a task that is not beyond the limits of my capabilities,’ the young man answered with some pride. ‘However, there has been little work for me to do in the circumstances. We were expecting a council of scholars and were faced only with the Abbot of Mungairit and his steward.’

  ‘So Abbot Ségdae was expecting to attend a full council, not just some preliminary talks with Abbot Nannid?’

  ‘We all thought there would be several leading churchmen of the Uí Fidgente to debate with,’ confirmed the scribe.

  ‘Have you kept a record of these discussions so far?’

  ‘Little enough, lady,’ Brother Mac Raith replied. ‘We were only into the second day of discussions when the abbot was struck down.’

  ‘Is it possible to see those notes anyway?’

  ‘I do not have them, lady. The custom was that, at the end of the day, I would transcribe from the ceraculum, the wax tablets on which I make the notes. The record was placed on papyrus and would be handed to Brother Tuamán.’

  ‘He keeps these records?’

  ‘I suppose so. He doubtless shows or gives them to the abbot and Prior Cuán,’ the man added. They would have to agree that I had made a correct summation of the discussions.’

  ‘I will ask Brother Tuamán if I might see them. However, out of interest, can you recall what was discussed during those two days?’

  Brother Mac Raith actually grinned. There was a lot of posturing.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Eadulf queried.

  ‘The Uí Fidgente were determined to justify their cause even though their prince had signed a peace with King Colgú. Abbot Nannid was, indeed, the only spokesman during the entire two days, talking about the claims of his eponymous ancestor Fiachu Fidgennid. I have to say Abbot Ségdae was very patient.’

  ‘What about ecclesiastical matters? Was anything mentioned about the Penitentials?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Abbot Nannid made the claim that all the abbeys and bishops of the Uí Fidgente were now agreed that they would adopt the Penitentials written by someone called Cuimín. He had based his rules on a text called De Paenitate by a Roman writer named Aurelius Ambrosius.’

  ‘And who is this Cuimín?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Is he an Uí Fidgente scholar?’

  ‘I believe that he is now dead. Abbot Nannid spoke of him in the past tense. It seems that he was from near Loch Léin where he had established a church. He was mentioned as being the son of Fachna, a chieftain of that area.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid claimed all the Uí Fidgente abbots and bishops had adopted these rules?’

  ‘That is so, lady. Yet I heard Abbot Ségdae remark that it was curious that only Abbot Nannid represented them at these discussions.’

  There was something in his voice that made her say: ‘You sound sceptical of the truth of this?’

  The scribe thought for a moment, as if considering what he should say. ‘It is just that the religious community here do not support Abbot Nannid.’

  ‘Really? In what way?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Brother Máel Anfaid and I have a kinsman in the Abbey of Nechta. From what he says, his community were more or less forced to accept the Penitentials by Abbot Nannid.’

  She glanced meaningfully at Eadulf. ‘Is this the kinsman that Brother Máel Anfaid and you went to see on the night the abbot was killed?’

  ‘That is correct, lady. He is Brother Éladach who holds the office of aistreóir, doorkeeper of the community. It was never called an abbey before Nannid arrived and ordered it to be enclosed.’

  ‘I recall that when we visited here about six or seven moons ago,’ Eadulf remarked, ‘there was a small community around the chapel. It was nothing so grand as an abbey. There were no walls, just a group of people who were part of the township but devoting some of their work to the chapel.’

  ‘That is so,’ agreed the scribe. ‘Nechta was a local woman who became converted to the New Faith. She established the chapel. After Nannid arrived, I am told that there have been great changes which have displeased the entire community. A wall has been built enclosing them and the new rules have been imposed.’ He suddenly paused and looked at them in warning. ‘But Éladach’s views must not be aired abroad, especially to Abbot Nannid. The community felt they had no option but to accept because of Nannid’s rank, and he apparently threatened to use these Penitentials to punish them if he was not obeyed. But do not attribute this to Brother Éladach, please, lady.’

  Fidelma offered him reassurance. ‘Everything that you tell me remains strictly between us, unless it has a direct bearing as evidence in a criminal proceeding.’

  ‘Something you said puzzles me,’ Eadulf remarked
thoughtfully. ‘You speak as if Abbot Nannid has been here some time. Did he not come here just for this council only a week or so ago?’

  Brother Mac Raith looked troubled. ‘You must speak with Éladach on that matter. He implied that Abbot Nannid had been here a long time.’

  ‘We will take it up with Brother Éladach,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘He is a kinsman of yours, you say?’

  ‘He is Máel Anfaid’s uncle and a cousin of mine. Éladach chose to join this community here long ago when it was just a group of folk, each pursuing their own professions – he was a carpenter. That was long before it was enclosed.’

  ‘So you and Brother Máel Anfaid share Brother Éladach’s thoughts?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘So let me return to that evening – the evening when Abbot Ségdae was killed,’ said Fidelma. ‘You and Máel Anfaid both went to see his uncle, Éladach?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘At what time did you return to the guest-hostel and hear the news of the abbot’s death?’

  ‘We stayed to join him in the last meal of the day and then the last service. We came back towards midnight and found the fortress awake and in uproar. That is when we heard the terrible news.

  ‘How did you come back?’

  The scribe frowned, trying to understand the question. ‘How? How else but walk?’

  ‘I meant, by which route?’

  Brother Mac Raith was still puzzled. ‘There is surely only one path from the township to the fortress. We walked up through the main gates.’

  ‘I see. And who was at the guest-hostel when you returned?’

  ‘There were many people milling around in great consternation. Prior Cuán was among them. Brother Tuamán, Brehon Faolchair, some attendants, some warriors and the female physician – I do not know her name but think she is related to the prince – they were all crowding around the hostel. The Brehon was trying to gather all the relevant facts, I think.’

  ‘Where was Gormán at this time?’

  ‘He had already been taken to the cells. I heard afterwards that his wife had also been taken to a cell in case there was some conspiracy. It is little enough that I can tell you. Neither of us can provide any details connected with the event as we were not here.’