Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘One of the largest abbeys in the Five Kingdoms and one which must take a fair amount of work to govern,’ added Fidelma.

  Conrí rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘What is it that you are suggesting?’

  ‘I was wondering whether there have been any communications between here and Mungairit in recent months?’

  ‘Mungairit is, as you recall, a closed community so little news comes from them as a rule. Anyway, I have spent much of my time at my own fortress at the Ford of the Oaks – where I have my own herds and fields to attend to. So I am not sure what has passed between here and there.’

  ‘Surely messengers from the abbey would come to keep Abbot Nannid informed of events? Does he not send regular messengers to Mungairit?’

  ‘Have you asked Brother Éladach?’

  ‘He mentions that Abbot Nannid has gathered gold and silver from the community to send to Mungairit, but he does not seem to know about regular communication.’

  ‘What are you thinking, lady?’

  ‘How many days would it take a fast horseman to ride from here to Mungairit? Two or more?’

  ‘A fast rider should easily make it within two days, avoiding the river route and going by way of the low-lying land to the east. In fact, I have such a warrior in my command. He is a great rider and his horse is a powerful beast. He could leave here immediately.’

  ‘Could he do so without alerting anyone as to his destination or the questions he must seek answers to?’

  ‘If so ordered, lady. What do you think he might learn if he rode to Mungairit? I cannot see that he would return here with information that would save Gormán or resolve these other mysteries.’

  ‘I simply want to know why Abbot Nannid has spent so much time here.’

  ‘Then I shall send him to Mungairit.’

  ‘I am sure that you will be as interested in the news he brings back as I will be,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Now let us go and see what new strife Abbot Nannid wants to stir up.’

  The atmosphere in Prince Donennach’s hall was tense. The prince himself was presiding from his official seat on the dais with Brehon Faolchair just below and in front of him. Even Donennach’s sister, Airmid, was present, seated to his right. Conrí had taken his place behind them. At the long table below them sat Abbot Nannid together with his steward, Brother Cuánáin, sitting beside him. Opposite them sat Prior Cuán with his steward, Brother Tuamán. Fidelma and Eadulf took their seats.

  Without waiting for permission, Abbot Nannid rose and launched forth, his voice high and accusing.

  ‘We now see what delays and prevarications have produced,’ he screeched. ‘We start with a simple murder. The identity of the culprit was obvious – but his punishment was delayed because our Brehon wrongly advised our prince that the King of Cashel must be informed before punishment was meted out. This Eóghanacht King must be allowed, it is said, to send legal representation to defend the murderer. So a week passes and the murderer’s friends arrive – the notorious young advocate, Fidelma of Cashel, with her Saxon …’ He paused as if searching for the right word. ‘Her Saxon companion. Her honey tongue convinces our Brehon and our prince that the law has not been properly obeyed, even though the murderer has been found guilty. So we have another delay.

  ‘And what does that delay result in? It results in the murder of an innocent serving girl of the prince’s household. Then the murder of another religieux from Imleach, who just happens to be the nephew of the doorkeeper of the abbey of this township. It is time for us to search out the guilty ones and punish them as I have advocated all along. If we continue to delay, who knows how many more are to die?’

  Throughout his harangue, for there could be no other description for his speech, there was a silence. The silence continued for a while after the abbot resumed his seat and sat back with folded arms.

  Brehon Faolchair then slowly rose. His face, albeit expressionless, seemed drained of blood.

  ‘I have no need to defend my actions. It is true, I did make some errors in fulfilling the legal obligations. Abbot Nannid, however, would have been quite happy for me not to acknowledge them as errors. It was our duty to send to Cashel in this matter, in accordance with the peace that has been agreed between the Uí Fidgente and Cashel.’ He sat down suddenly and glanced to Fidelma as if inviting her to speak.

  Fidelma came to her feet with her features set in a grim smile.

  ‘We must forgive Abbot Nannid for his grammatical slip which has turned my reputation as an advocate into the pejorative form – notorious.’ There were several guffaws of suppressed laughter as the meaning of what she had said sank in. The word airdirc meant well-known, famous, celebrated or renowned but, with a slight inflection, could be taken to mean notorious. Her inference that the abbot was ignorant of the grammatical difference seemed to appeal to the humour of many.

  Abbot Nannid glared at her across the table, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

  Fidelma continued with a growing confidence of tone. ‘I also have to say that I am sad to see the abbot’s memory fading. Eadulf and I were guests at his Abbey of Mungairit only months ago, and I must remind him that Eadulf is not a Saxon but from the Kingdom of the East Angles. Further, he is not my “companion” but my husband. Obviously, the abbot appears under some strain or he would not overlook the fact that such terminology could be taken wrongly. Even an abbot would be liable to compensate the husband of a princess for the affront to his honour.’

  Prince Donennach had started to smile but then, taking note of the increasingly ferocious expression on Abbot Nannid’s features, he intervened. ‘I am sure that this was merely a slip of wording, as you suggest, Fidelma. Was that not so, Abbot Nannid?’

  The abbot hesitated and then, accepting that his sarcasm had not produced the effect he had wanted, he muttered: ‘A slip of grammar and of memory.’

  ‘Then I am sure Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham will accept the apology offered by Abbot Nannid?’ Fidelma looked at Eadulf who rose, bowed to the abbot and said coldly: ‘In the circumstances, the apology is accepted.’

  It was clear to everyone that Fidelma had won her points. It was not in her nature to refer to the matter again.

  ‘I am sure we all share the abbot’s concern about the subsequent murders, and we all want to see the conspirator and his co-conspirators found and judged according to the law of this land.’ She used a slight but challenging emphasis on ‘the law of this land’. ‘At this time, we do not have anything but suspicion by which to judge if the murders of Ciarnat and Brother Máel Anfaid are connected with that of Abbot Ségdae. So speculation there will lead us nowhere.’

  ‘You use the word conspirator and not murderer,’ snapped Brother Cuineáin.

  ‘That it is because I choose my words more carefully than others,’ she replied, barely glancing at Abbot Nannid.

  ‘Surely, the culprit who killed Abbot Ségdae is obvious?’ went on Abbot Nannid’s steward, who had clearly been fretting at his abbot’s retreat in the verbal battle.

  ‘Nothing is obvious unless one is in possession of information that we currently do not have,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Do you have such information?’

  ‘The girl Ciarnat, for example,’ blustered the steward, ‘she was involved …’

  ‘Ah yes,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Ciarnat, who Abbot Nannid just described as “an innocent serving girl of Prince Donennach’s household”. When did you come to this view, Abbot Nannid?’

  Startled, Abbot Nannid glanced up and said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘As I recall, last night you were all for locking Ciarnat in some cell and submitting her to vigorous interrogation. You were sure that she had helped Gormán and Aibell to escape from this fortress. You expressed your suspicion of her guilt quite belligerently, suggesting that if Gormán was a murderer, then if he could not be executed, you would contemplate Ciarnat being similarly punished. Or am I mistaken?’

  Abbot Nannid thrust out his jaw. ‘Her murder has absolved h
er from any connection with the matter.’

  Fidelma’s eyes flashed with an inner fire. ‘On the contrary, we could argue that her murder means she had some information that she was neglecting to share with us and which her assailant wanted to ensure continued to be kept a secret. Innocence and guilt are but relative terms.’

  She paused before turning to speak to Prince Donennach directly.

  ‘I think we can safely say that we have proceeded under the law, and by that I mean the law of this land, in its right and proper course. If we had followed any other course, it would still not have prevented the deaths of Ciarnat or Máel Anfaid … or perhaps those that are yet to come. It is perverse to suggest otherwise. We follow the course of the law as handed down to us from the time beyond time when the High King, Ollamh Fodhla, ordered those laws to be obeyed in every corner of the land. We shall pursue the guilty through these laws for they are the laws of this land.’

  Abbot Nannid rose again. For a moment it seemed as though he would challenge Fidelma. Then, surprisingly, he appeared to change his mind and addressed Prince Donennach instead.

  ‘I spoke here to show my concern at the continuing deaths. That the death of another member of the Abbey of Imleach has taken place and remains unpunished does not fill me with confidence about proceeding under the laws that date from a period when our people walked in barbarism and the world of Christ had not yet penetrated beyond our shores. But having expressed my concerns, I will rest the matter until I return to this fortress.’

  Prince Donennach leaned forward with a frown. ‘Until you return? Are you leaving Dún Eochair Mháigh, Abbot Nannid?’

  ‘I am afraid that my steward and I must depart for a few days,’ Abbot Nannid replied.

  ‘It is an odd time to leave,’ Brehon Faolchair commented.

  ‘It is a matter of my religious duties.’

  ‘A matter of religion?’ mused Brehon Faolchair. ‘Are you returning to your own Abbey of Mungairit?’

  ‘I am not,’ snapped Abbot Nannid. ‘I have a meeting at Cnoc Fírinne, the Hill of Truth. I shall return in a few days, by which time it is my prayer that the advocate from Cashel will have recaptured Gormán and resolved the murders that have attended her investigation.’

  His glance at Fidelma was vicious. Then he bowed to Donennach with a quick ‘By your leave?’ before turning and, followed by his steward, striding out of the great hall.

  Prince Donennach relaxed back in his chair; Fidelma could almost hear his sigh of relief. He whispered something to Conrí before turning to his sister, Airmid. They rose and left the hall together. Conrí made his way quickly to Fidelma.

  ‘The prince says that you dealt with Abbot Nannid very well,’ he smiled.

  Fidelma shrugged. ‘Abbot Nannid is in many ways a vain and silly man, but in that very vanity and stupidity is a danger. By the way, what is this Hill of Truth that he mentioned?’

  ‘It’s a hill north of here. For a moment, in view of what we agreed earlier, I was worried in case he had heard that I had dispatched my rider to Mungairit, and was leaving the fortress to go there.’ Conrí’s relief was obvious.

  ‘But what is special about this hill?’

  ‘Oh, it’s one of the highest hills, about three hundred metres high, and situated just to the north-west of here. Not quite as far north as my fortress at the Ford of the Oaks. It is located well back from the river. I can’t recall anything of interest except there is a small chapel there.’

  ‘I wonder what religious problem there can be that calls the abbot to that hill?’

  Conrí displayed a complete lack of interest in this question. Fidelma now found herself facing Prior Cuán. He looked worried as he limped over and leaned on his stick before her.

  ‘You don’t think Brother Máel Anfaid had a hand in the murder of this girl Ciarnat?’ he said without preamble. ‘My steward has told me about the matter of the cord belt.’

  ‘I do not think so,’ she reassured him. ‘Trying to lay the blame on Máel Anfaid seems a little too clumsy. Have no concern, Prior. We shall get to the bottom of this matter.’

  With the meeting over, the rest of the day passed in a mood of frustration. The more Fidelma mulled over the facts as she knew them, the less she could find any avenue to explore. There was not even a glimpse of a loose end, a tiny thread by which she could start to unravel the ball of twine that was this mystery.

  It was later that evening, when they were preparing for the evening meal, that Fidelma returned from her bath. She came into the chamber in a hurry, throwing her toilet things on the bed, and causing Eadulf to glance up in surprise. Before he could speak, she stood before him, hands on hips, and declared vehemently, ‘I am an idiot!’

  Eadulf grinned. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘What has brought on this self-condemnation?’

  ‘The need to find some weak link in this mystery that will eventually lead us to the solution.’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘Well, we have considered almost everything. There appears to be no lead at all.’

  ‘Except for the one lead that we should have followed from the beginning.’ Fidelma threw herself down on the bed. ‘There was I, too busy thinking of protocol, of the correct legal methods, being too concerned in hearing the stories from the witnesses, before going to the one central person in this matter. That was my undoing.’

  Eadulf stared at her, perplexity apparent on his features.

  She sighed impatiently. ‘I should have questioned Gormán first.’

  ‘We have considered that already,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘We knew from the hearing exactly what his defence was. However, it’s too late now. Gormán has fled and God knows where he is.’

  Fidelma sniffed. ‘God may well know but I think I also have a clue.’

  Eadulf blinked in surprise. ‘How so?’

  ‘Remember how Socht was saying that he tracked Gormán and Aibell and that he found tracks trying to cross the river to the west and that puzzled him? He thought it was a false trail because he had expected that Gormán would head back east to his own people. Well, I am sure that it was not a false trail.’

  ‘You mean that Gormán and Aibell went towards the west … but where?’ Eadulf’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘You don’t mean he went to Rath Menma where Ciarnat said they were married?’

  ‘Perhaps not as far as that.’ Fidelma was confident. ‘I think we will find them at the home of Aibell’s uncle or somewhere in that vicinity.’

  ‘Aibell’s uncle – Marban the miller?’

  ‘Where else would they find a natural support?’

  Eadulf remained thoughtful for a moment or two. ‘So you are suggesting that we go to Marban’s mill, seek out Gormán and bring him back here?’

  ‘Perhaps not bring him back immediately,’ she replied. ‘At least, not until we have heard his story from his own mouth.’

  ‘Then we would have to be careful how we depart from this fortress. Conrí will probably want to follow us. Or, indeed, the real culprits may plan something for us. I wonder that we have not met with some accident to stop our investigation already.’

  ‘I may be wrong but I do not think it is the intention of the conspirators to kill us but rather to trap me, as adviser to my brother, into a position where my advice leads to either Donennach being overthrown or committing his people to a war against Cashel. I am being used, Eadulf, and I do not like it.’

  ‘But our deaths would also provoke your brother to descend on Prince Donennach with his war bands more quickly than this drawn-out game.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Whoever is behind this, they want to display some sort of moral right to argue before the High King. They would not want the High King to take Cashel’s side. I am merely the cat’s paw.’ She remembered her brother’s reasoning before they had left Cashel and took comfort in it.

  ‘Let us proceed on the assumption that Gormán and Aibell are sheltering either in Marban’s
mill or thereabouts. Will Marban trust us enough to reveal their presence to us? Will Gormán trust us? After all, he fled the fortress rather than just leave matters in your hands,’ Eadulf said. ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘These are questions to which we must find the answers. I will inform Prince Donennach discreetly tonight that we intend to leave at first light to pursue our investigations. We owe him that. Meanwhile, ask Enda to prepare our horses and some provisions. He must not say a word about our intentions to anyone among the guards or at the stables. If asked, he should merely say that he only obeys orders and does not question them.’

  ‘Prince Donennach will demand to know where we are going and for how long,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘I am sure he will also confide this in Brehon Faolchair.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Fidelma concurred. ‘I’ll think of something. Perhaps imply that we are interested in the intentions of Abbot Nannid.’

  A distant bell began to chime.

  ‘We had better act quickly,’ Eadulf advised. ‘That’s the summons to the evening feast.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They left the fortress just as dawn was showing a faint white line above the eastern hills. Ceit, the guard commander, was standing under the flickering light of the burning brand torches by the gate. He raised a hand in salutation but did not stop them as they walked their horses through the gate and down the hill towards the main square of the township. Eadulf noticed that Fidelma had glanced over her shoulder several times.

  ‘Anything amiss?’ he asked.

  ‘I think that Donennach has taken the hint that we have decided to shadow Abbot Nannid and passed that on, otherwise Ceit might have been more interested at our early departure. In fact, Donennach and Brehon Faolchair did not make any fuss when I told them we were going to be away for a few days.’

  Eadulf asked Enda, ‘When you were preparing our horses, you didn’t notice anyone else in the stables – anyone particularly interested among the warriors there in what you were doing?’