Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma finished the conversation by thanking the young scribe. She and Eadulf left him at the guest-hostel and made their way across the courtyard. A flight of stone steps led up to one of the walkways around the walls of the fortress. ‘Let’s catch some of the breeze that is blowing. I need to clear my head,’ Fidelma said. She went ahead up the steps to the parapet and rested against it, looking down at the River Mháigh below them. A gentle summer breeze ruffled their hair.

  ‘It is best,’ Fidelma murmured to her husband, ‘to gather one’s thoughts in a place where one is not overheard.’

  ‘My thoughts are now concerned with the loyalties of the prior,’ Eadulf said. ‘We must check that he was with Brehon Faolchair at the time of the murder.’

  ‘That should be easy,’ she agreed.

  ‘What of the book of Penitentials inscribed as a gift from Theodore of Tarsus?’

  ‘More important is to know how, less than six months ago, he was able to come to Imleach from Cluain Eidnech and persuade Ségdae to make him Prior. That’s a short time to establish himself.’

  Eadulf said, ‘I had forgotten your tradition that abbots and bishops are usually appointed from the ruling families, and that the communities they form usually follow the tradition of electing the officials of the abbey from those appointed.’

  Fidelma nodded. ‘It may be of concern that this Cuán comes from a territory that has no connection with my brother’s kingdom let alone the Abbey of Imleach itself.’

  ‘And what about his steward, Brother Tuamán? He said he came from an abbey on a lake west of here.’

  ‘Inis Faithlinn, in Loch Léin,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘But the territory is an Eóghanacht one. Congal, son of Máel Duin, is ruler of the western peninsulas of the kingdom.’

  ‘Yet we have just been told that someone called Cuimín had a chapel there and wrote a text of these Penitentials which Abbot Nannid now quotes.’

  ‘You mean that Loch Léin is where Brother Tuamán also comes from?’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘The connection is so obvious that it probably means nothing. Don’t worry – there are so many strands to this mystery and all of them appear so inviting to follow.’

  ‘At least Prior Cuán stood up for the law while Brother Tuamán claims Abbot Ségdae was preparing to compromise on it. Surely that is another mystery to follow?’

  They were interrupted by Conrí calling up to them from the courtyard. By his side was a warrior they had not seen before. They went down the steps to join them.

  ‘I thought you might want to have a word with Ceit here.’ Conrí indicated the man at his side. ‘Ceit was the commander of the guard on the evening that the abbot was murdered. In fact, Ceit is the cenn-feadhna, commander of the Lucht-tighe, the household guards of Prince Donennach.’

  The stocky warrior had thick, curly black hair and a beard to match, yet his eyes were a sparkling light blue in a weather-tanned face. He inclined his head towards Fidelma. ‘Can I be of service to you, lady?’ His tone was a deep bass that seemed to rise from the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Indeed you may,’ she told him. ‘I was going to seek you out later but it is opportune that we meet now. Do you remember the events of the evening that Abbot Ségdae was killed?’

  ‘It is not often we have an abbot stabbed to death in this fortress, lady,’ replied the man. ‘The events are embedded in my mind.’

  ‘But this may be difficult as I am searching for information about people coming through the main gates.’

  ‘I have a good memory, lady.’

  ‘Do you remember, for example, the two religious from Imleach leaving the fortress?’

  ‘My duty started just before the evening meal, lady. They must have left before I went on duty. I first remember Abbot Ségdae returning. It was still light then for, as you know, the feast of the Grientairissem is not far off. However, the two religious returned after dark.’

  Eadulf knew that the feast of the Grientairissem or sun-standing, marked the longest day of the year and therefore darkness fell late in the evening.

  ‘Did they need permission to leave?’

  Ceit shook his head immediately. ‘They had no reason to seek it, lady. I was instructed to give our guests from Imleach every consideration. I was here when they returned after dark and was able to tell them the news about the murder of the abbot.’

  ‘You were not at the guest-hostel? I understand there were a lot of people there.’

  ‘I had been there earlier, just after Lachtna raised the alarm. Brehon Faolchair had arrived and he took command so I was superfluous. However, I was there when Prince Donennach and the lady Airmid arrived. Lachtna was well able to take charge of any service warriors could give at that stage. Gormán had already been taken to the prison house, so I returned to my post at the gates. Brother Tuamán and Lachtna were the only witnesses to what actually took place.’

  Fidelma thanked the man, who continued on his way across the courtyard to the main gate. Conrí, who had remained, asked: ‘Is there anything else I can help you with, lady?’

  ‘I am very interested in this side gate. Would you show it to me?’

  The warlord smiled ruefully. ‘I suspected it would play a prominent part in your thoughts, lady. I am still wondering how Gormán could have been so foolish as to destroy any hope he had of defending himself.’

  They followed Conrí in silence across the courtyard to the stone block that housed the cells. It was a squat building squeezed between the stables and the Laochtech or warriors’ barracks. Just by the side of it was a pair of large solid oak doors. While they were not as tall and wide as the main gates they were certainly tall and wide enough for a mounted rider, ducking over the neck of his horse, to pass through. They were now shut and secured by bolts. Fidelma also noticed that a large lock served as extra security. She glanced around.

  ‘The big iron key,’ she pointed to the key hanging on a hook on a wooden pillar by the right side of the gate, ‘I presume that fits this lock? Does it always hang there?’

  ‘It does,’ Conrí confirmed.

  ‘If the bolts were undone, it would require no great feat of strength to take the key and unlock the gates?’

  ‘No strength at all,’ confirmed Conrí. ‘But, as you say, the iron bolts that also secure the doors would have to be released first.’ One was at the level of Fidelma’s waist and the other was just above the top of her head.

  ‘Yet we are told that Gormán’s wife had two horses, saddled and ready beyond the gates – which had been opened by her,’ Fidelma observed. ‘It needed a taller person to remove the top bolt. Even with bribing the guard, it would be difficult to accomplish everything that was needed. And I doubt the guard would risk deserting his post to perform those tasks.’

  ‘Perhaps the horses were on this side of the doors and it was Gormán who undid the tougher bolt. Anyway, we can ask the guard who was well paid for his part in this matter,’ suggested Conrí. ‘He now inhabits the cell in which Gormán had been placed – so perhaps we should interrogate him now?’

  There came the sound of a bell from the main building and Fidelma said, ‘It is time to prepare for the evening meal. Let the guard languish in his cell overnight and we will speak to him in the morning when he has had more time to contemplate his future.’

  The evening meal was not attended by either Abbot Nannid or Prior Cuán; nor was Prince Donennach present. Brehon Faolchair presided over the meal while Brother Tuamán was the only representative of the Imleach delegation there. When Fidelma enquired about these absences Brehon Faolchair explained that each absentee apparently had other matters to attend to. The meal passed mostly in silence albeit interspersed with brief exchanges about the weather, crops and the condition of the local game. The subject of Abbot Ségdae was studiously avoided.

  The meal having been consumed, Fidelma and Eadulf, with Conrí and Enda, went to watch the final moments of the sun setting behind the western hills. At the main gates, flickering brand torches had been lit in pre
paration for nightfall, which was almost on them. As they looked, there was sudden movement – horsemen were arriving. Then a dismounted warrior separated himself from the shadows and came hurrying across the courtyard in their direction.

  ‘It is Socht!’ Conrí exclaimed.

  Socht raised a hand and let it fall in formal salutation. There was light enough to see the disappointed expression on his face which revealed that his mission had been unsuccessful.

  One part of Fidelma felt a surge of relief that Gormán had not been caught; the other filled with dismay that they had only nine nights in which to resolve the situation. It was not a good prospect though it was better than the immediate action threatened by Abbot Nannid.

  ‘I do not have to remind you that Gormán is good at his profession,’ Socht said with grudging admiration. ‘He is an able warrior who knows how to disguise his trail.’

  ‘There is no need to find a reason for failure,’ Conrí told him glumly. ‘I did not think it would be an easy task.’

  ‘Easy or not, I was able to follow the tracks southwards across the river in spite of the stony ground.’

  Conrí looked slightly mollified. ‘So he took the trail I thought that he might?’

  ‘There were a few signs on the far bank where he and the girl had no time to linger and cover all their tracks.’

  ‘So they crossed the river?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘They seem to have crossed it twice, lady. The river almost bends back on itself. So they crossed it again where it straightens and then followed its eastern bank. I went as far as the place where there is a smaller tributary called the “twisted river”, An Luba, which joins the Máigh. I was trying to see where they turned due east. Yet there was no sign that they headed into Gormán’s own territory, east towards Cashel. I would have expected some sign in the muddy grounds there.’

  ‘But there was none?’ asked Eadulf. As Socht was an expert tracker, the question did not even warrant a reply.

  ‘He could have started to walk his horse west along the river bed,’ Conrí suggested.

  ‘Along the Luba?’ Socht shook his head. ‘You would eventually have to pass under Cnoc Samhna and he would be seen.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Eadulf asked.

  ‘The Hill of Samhain is also known as the Height of the Kings because it is where the rulers of the Uí Fidgente are inaugurated. To protect the sacred site there are always sentinels there; it is also the site of one of our signal fires which are lit to warn the fortress of strangers,’ explained Conrí. ‘The sentinels there keep a sharp watch.’

  ‘Also, it would be a dangerous thing to do,’ Socht confirmed. ‘Walking horses along the river bed at any length would slow him and his woman down. The muddy bottom of the river could bog the animals down, especially where one horse has to follow another. The first horse might be lucky but the second would be sinking in mud already stirred up and loose.’

  ‘So where could they be heading?’ Conrí mused.

  ‘There was one thing that caused me some puzzlement,’ Socht said. ‘They had tried to ford the Máigh again but this time from east to west. This was just before we reached the Luba tributary. The river shallows there and the ford seems an easy route across. However, once on the west bank you can’t get far into the dense forest and undergrowth at that point. There were some signs that they probably turned back and re-crossed to the east bank again, although the signs were unclear. It was then I lost the tracks altogether. With little daylight left, I decided to come back and perhaps search again at first light.’

  ‘Why would he turn west?’ enquired Conrí.

  ‘I did wonder if this crossing was an attempt to confuse anyone following his trail. He would know east from west and realise that his best chance of finding safety was east among his own people. He would keep on the east bank and make his way further south before turning for home. Why, then, make a foray due west?’

  ‘You may be right. He might have tried to throw us off his track,’ the warlord said thoughtfully. He glanced across at Fidelma, who was quiet, as if her mind was elsewhere. ‘What do you think, lady? You know the man better than we do.’

  Fidelma raised her eyes and stared at him unseeingly for several moments. Then she shrugged. ‘Gormán’s home is east in Cashel, not in the west,’ she said slowly.

  ‘I will start searching again at first light,’ Socht decided.

  ‘Leave that task to one of the other trackers,’ Contrí told him. ‘I need you here tomorrow because Prince Donennach wants to discuss the disposition of our warriors.’ He glanced awkwardly at Fidelma. ‘Gormán must be back here within nine nights if we are to prevent Abbot Nannid from forcing the prince to declare his guilt and punishment.’

  ‘We have already seen the position that Prince Donennach has been presented with,’ Eadulf said.

  ‘A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi,’ Fidelma observed quietly.

  Seeing Conrí’s frown, Eadulf translated: ‘A precipice in front, wolves behind. Whatever decision Prince Donennach makes, he will be faced with war; an internal war among the Uí Fidgente or a war against Cashel. And we have only nine nights to avert it.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘It is time we talked,’ Eadulf announced.

  The couple were alone in their chamber and should have been asleep but they were both finding it difficult to clear their minds and compose themselves. It was a warm summer night. Fidelma had been standing by the window gazing up at the star-sparkling sky above the distant hills which were lit by the white-blue haze of the moon. Eadulf was stretched on his back on the bed, his head pillowed by his clasped hands.

  ‘I thought we had been talking most of the day,’ she replied. Eadulf heard the faint amusement in her voice. He eased himself up to a sitting position.

  ‘Every time I go over the facts as they have been told to us, I cannot see any way of escaping the inevitable explanation: that Gormán is guilty of this crime.’

  Fidelma swung round from her position to face him. The light from the night sky through the window caused her to see him almost clearly whereas she stood against the light, showing only the silhouette of her figure.

  ‘Do you really believe that he could do such a thing?’ she asked.

  ‘I would say no, but there is no alternative explanation,’ he replied.

  ‘One explanation is that someone is not telling us the truth.’

  ‘But who?’ Eadulf asked. ‘The events, as we have been told them by witnesses, allow for no doubt or difference in interpretation.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid would argue that it is because the facts are the facts, and Gormán is guilty.’

  ‘Yet putting the facts together as we know them, together with Gormán’s character, is difficult for me. We all have the capability of killing in the right circumstances. Gormán is a trained warrior, commander of your brother’s bodyguard. It is true that he has killed in battle. But he is imbued with a warrior’s honour code and in these circumstances …’ He ended by raising his arms in a helpless gesture.

  ‘So having reached an impasse between the facts and your assessment of his character, what would you propose?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘I don’t know, truly I don’t. Maybe we must hope that Gormán escapes and that is an end to it.’

  ‘You mean that Gormán simply vanishes into permanent exile?’

  ‘That would be a solution.’

  ‘But what kind of solution? Is it a solution for Della, his mother? Is it a solution for Gormán, or for Aibell? It would mean that they become fugitives for the rest their lives.’

  ‘But it would be a means to stop the ensuing conflict.’

  ‘That, I doubt. Abbot Nannid would say that Gormán’s escape underlines his guilt, and force Prince Donennach to demand compensation from Cashel. Cashel would refuse and …’

  ‘But according to your law any reparation should go to Imleach, not to the Uí Fidgente.’

  ‘That is true to an extent. However, because the murder happen
ed in the fortress of the Prince of the Uí Fidgente, it is an affront to his hospitality and he could demand compensation.’

  ‘But would he?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘As I said, he might be forced to it,’ countered Fidelma. ‘Abbot Nannid is already manipulating him into following his lead.’

  ‘What do we have to defend Gormán with? Only our belief that it is not in his character to commit murder, especially to kill a churchman that he knew well.’

  ‘That is a start,’ she replied without enthusiasm.

  ‘Faced with this situation, at what point does one abandon the search for truth to prevent conflict and bloodshed?’

  ‘When truth is found,’ Fidelma said firmly.

  ‘So you do not think that we have heard the truth?’

  ‘As you have just pointed out, when the facts are so cut and dried, but are in conflict with character, then something is amiss. Why do you think that Brehon Faolchair purposely created errors in preparing this case?’

  ‘Because he also wanted to prevent conflict,’ Eadulf said simply.

  ‘Just that? I think he knows that something more sinister is happening here.’

  ‘The overthrow of Donennach? Brehon Faolchair would not want to see the law of the land supplanted by these Penitentials from Rome.’

  ‘You are right, Eadulf. I suspect that Faolchair believes the murder of Abbot Ségdae, especially the circumstances in which it happened, might have been done by design.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Gormán’s arrival here was not planned. He came to warn the prince about Gláed, and we are told that it was only when Donennach didn’t show an interest that, on learning that Abbot Ségdae was here, Gormán went to protest to him. I believe that chance has more than a hand in this.’

  ‘That is a puzzling thing. Where did the story that Donennach was not interested in the potential threat from Gláed come from? Both Donennach and Conrí have confirmed that Gláed was perceived as a real threat.’