Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I did not,’ the young warrior replied. ‘Even the echaire, the stable-keeper, was obligingly asleep on a pile of hay and did not move while I was there saddling up the horses.’

  Fidelma nodded. ‘I suspect that Donennach and Brehon Faolchair believe that they might learn far more by sending Conrí to follow us discreetly. Perhaps they think that if we are not following Abbot Nannid we might even lead them to Gormán.’

  In the desolate town square, a few brand torches were spluttering as the embers were dying. But with the coming dawn there was light enough to see that the square was empty and Fidelma looked around to make sure they were unobserved. She turned her horse to the right, towards the wooden bridge over the river. On their left were a number of storage huts lining the riverbank which provided an area of shadowy darkness. She increased the pace a little and then abruptly turned into the dark embrace of the buildings. Once hidden from the main area among the shadows, she halted. ‘Stay quiet,’ she ordered before slipping from her horse, handing the reins to Enda and hurrying back the way they had come.

  Only a few moments later, the sound of a band of horses came to their ears. Even from where they had halted, Eadulf and Enda could hear hooves thudding hollowly on the wooden bridge across the river. They heard someone swear and a harsh voice rebuking the man who had broken the silence.

  After a little while, Fidelma reappeared out of the darkness and remounted her horse.

  ‘I was right,’ she told them, but without satisfaction. ‘That was our friend, Conrí, with six or more mounted warriors apparently trying to follow us.’

  ‘So what now, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘It will be full light soon.’

  ‘I remember the route we first took to Marban’s mill. We followed the river to the south and crossed it over a ford to the west. I think that must have been the route Gormán took. Once over the river it was not too long before we reached the mill.’

  ‘Then I suggest that we start immediately, before Conrí and his band of warriors realise they have been tricked and come back to find us,’ Eadulf suggested.

  It was with feelings of familiarity that they passed through some rocky terrain and started to smell the aroma of drying grains from the wood kilns. It was now a warm day with a cloudless blue sky. They followed the smells along a small path emerging from the trees on to a high rocky ground. It was not so many months before that they had been here and caught sight of the mill where they had once hidden from the murderous brigands of Sliabh Luachra. Marban’s mill was a watermill, situated by a fast-flowing stream, a millpond before it and a spring behind it. At one side of the mill were storehouses and beyond them, two large stone-built kilns. Even against the bright cloudless sky they could see the heat haze rising and some smoke billowing now and then. Apart from the difference due to the change of seasons, it being mid-summer now compared with winter when they had first come to the mill, the scene appeared the same. There were several workers around the mill which, as they already knew, was a large and important one.

  As they trotted their horses down the rocky slope, a shout told them they had been observed. A giant of a man appeared from the mill. He was shirtless but wore a leather apron that covered his great chest but left his muscular tanned arms bare. His large head was covered with a mass of dark red hair, and a bristling beard. He gazed at them for a moment, from light blue eyes, and then his face became wreathed in a broad grin.

  He ran forward to help Fidelma dismount, although she did not need his attention.

  ‘Fidelma!’ he grinned, then: ‘And friend Eadulf! Aibell suspected that you would turn up here sooner or later.’

  ‘You know why we have come then?’ Fidelma asked once the greetings had been exchanged.

  Marban’s grin disappeared and he motioned to the mill. ‘Come and let me provide you with good apple cider and let us talk.’

  As they walked across to the mill, Fidelma glanced around her. ‘Are Gormán and Aibell here?’

  ‘They are not,’ Marban replied without hesitation.

  ‘But you do know where they are?’ pressed Fidelma.

  To her surprise he shook his head. ‘Not exactly.’ He opened the door and motioned them inside. It was comfortable inside the slightly stuffy millhouse and the place brought back memories. Marban handed out some clay mugs and then went to the side door which gave access on the flowing stream beyond. A thin rope was attached to a basket that was balanced in the waters; from the basket he produced a large pottery jug and filled their mugs with an amber-coloured liquid. Enda tasted it immediately, licking his lips appreciatively.

  Marban smiled. ‘It’s nice and chilled. Good apple cider.’

  ‘It is that,’ Enda agreed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Fidelma was inwardly chafing at the delay in coming to the point of their visit. Only the etiquette of hospitality caused her to raise the drink to her lips and take a sip before she spoke.

  ‘Now you say you do not know where Gormán and Aibell are … exactly?’

  Marban raised his own mug and swallowed, hunching his shoulders for a moment before letting them relax.

  ‘You know that Gormán and Aibell are married?’

  ‘We do. We had the story from her friend Ciarnat.’

  ‘Ah yes. The girl who helped them escape from Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

  Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a quick glance of surprise. ‘How do you know this?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Aibell told me.’

  ‘She told you that Ciarnat helped them?’ Eadulf clarified.

  ‘She did,’ confirmed the miller.

  ‘Did she say why?’ Fidelma wanted to know.

  ‘Ciarnat said that you had betrayed Gormán and was not going to help to free him.’

  ‘But …’ Eadulf exploded and was stopped with a gesture by Fidelma.

  ‘It is not true,’ she said quietly. ‘Why was this believed?’

  ‘I thought it didn’t sound like the dálaigh I knew, lady. But Aibell believed her friend.’

  ‘I can think of no conversation that I had with Ciarnat from which she could have mistaken my intentions.’

  ‘Unless …’ Eadulf said, ‘unless Ciarnat was told this by someone she trusted, then she would have been wary of checking the truth with us and Aibell would take her word.’

  ‘It would fit,’ Marban agreed slowly. ‘Gormán was certainly reluctant to believe the story that you would abandon him, but Aibell was convinced. There was a necessity to move quickly and no time to debate the matter. So Gormán accepted it as the truth.’

  ‘It might also explain the reason why Ciarnat was killed,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  Marban looked shocked. ‘What? You say that Ciarnat has been killed?’

  ‘Murdered,’ Eadulf said heavily. Then, warming to an idea, he went on. ‘What if the person who told Ciarnat that we intended to abandon Gormán had done so knowing that an escape would be made? Once the plan had gone as expected, what if that person then killed the girl to prevent her being a witness against him?’

  Enda leaned forward. ‘Why make it look as if Brother Máel Anfaid killed her?’

  Eadulf was terse. ‘We know the killer had tried to implicate him, hanging the girl with his loman after he had killed Brother Máel Anfaid. Perhaps it was simply to lead a false trail? If Brother Máel Anfaid had fed her the lie about Gormán’s warning having been dismissed by Donennach, it is likely that he also told her that we had betrayed Gormán.’

  ‘Did Aibell amplify on what Ciarnat told her?’ Fidelma’s question was aimed at Marban.

  ‘She only said that Ciarnat had told her that you had accepted that Gormán’s cause was lost and had given up on saving him. But … I am sorry, lady. I am trying to remember what Aibell said. Ciarnat mentioned that it was someone of influence. Anyway, it was felt that the only thing they could do in the circumstances was to flee the fortress and go into exile. Ciarnat arranged everything, having bribed a guard who showed them a gate in the fortress through whi
ch they could escape without being observed.’

  ‘Brother Máel Anfaid was a part of all this?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘It is hard to believe that Ciarnat would describe him as someone of influence,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully.

  ‘Many things are hard to believe,’ Marban volunteered. ‘Even the evidence against Gormán.’

  ‘Ciarnat was given the wrong information on purpose, knowing she would pass it on. Afterwards, the poor girl was murdered to silence her. Máel Anfaid enters into the chain of information somewhere. It is my intention to find out the truth from Gormán and Aibell.’

  Marban was unhappy about this. ‘It is a heavy responsibility you are placing on me, lady. Can I be assured that you are still determined to defend Gormán? Aibell my niece has found happiness with him. I would not want to rob her of it as she has been robbed of her mother and most of her young life. You must promise me that you do not intend to simply drag him back to Dún Eochair Mháigh and give him over to the mercy of Abbot Nannid.’

  Enda gave a low chuckle. ‘The idea of anyone trying to drag Gormán anywhere he did not want to go …’

  ‘You have my promise that I believe Gormán to be innocent of the murder of Abbot Ségdae. I knew it almost from the first moment I arrived at Prince Donennach’s fortress.’

  Marban hesitated only a moment more. ‘I trust you, Fidelma. I trust you all,’ he added, including Eadulf and Enda. He was silent awhile and then he made up his mind. ‘I know where Aibell and Gormán have gone and will direct you there.’

  ‘It is for the sake of truth and justice, Marban,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘When did they leave here?’

  ‘They left yesterday because they reasoned that it was well known that I was Aibell’s uncle and eventually someone would come here looking for them.’

  ‘Where did they intend to go?’

  ‘They had not decided on their final destination. The first place they intended going was to a cousin of mine. His homestead is north-west of here. He and his son have a farmstead but my cousin is a worker in wood and prefers to isolate himself in a woodman’s hut in a dense forest on a nearby hill. That is where they will be, not at the farmstead. You can’t miss the hill because of its length and it rises no more than three hundred metres. It is mostly hazelwood that covers the slopes.’

  ‘To the north-west?’ Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘Would that take us towards the coast?’

  ‘Not as far as that,’ said Marban. ‘It is no more than ten kilometres from here. Just a short ride. I will show you the track that will take you across the marshlands. Follow it, and then, keeping to the track through the forests, you will come to the hill that I speak of.’

  ‘Will it also help if we know its name?’ suggested Eadulf.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard it,’ Marban said with a grin. ‘Anyway, my cousin is named Corradáin and he is an erscraidhe.’

  It was Enda who explained: ‘That means a carver of wood.’

  ‘Like I said, it is my cousin’s profession,’ Marban agreed.

  ‘Is there any special reason why they should be going to stay with your cousin?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Only that Corradáin is an honourable person. He will hide them until they make up their mind where they should eventually go.’

  ‘Before we leave I would like to know a little about what happened when Aibell first came here. I mean before Gormán turned up.’

  ‘That was some weeks ago, when she arrived here with a man from Sliabh Luachra. He was called Deogaire and apparently had helped Aibell escape from the bondage of Fidaig. He did not stay long. Aibell wanted to meet me and talk about her parentage. I told her the story of how I helped her mother escape from her father Escmug to Rath Menma, and how I finally had to kill him to protect her mother. I kept nothing back from her.’

  ‘That was good,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘It was not long afterwards that the warrior, Gormán arrived. At first they had a big row shouting at each other. Then the next thing they were in each other’s arms.’ The miller threw back his head and gave a loud shout of laughter. ‘Young love!’

  ‘So,’ prompted Fidelma, ‘they decided to go to Rath Menma …?’

  ‘Yes. I went with them.’

  ‘And they were married there?’

  ‘And there they were married,’ confirmed the miller. ‘The old couple Cadan and Flannair, who farmed there, knew a local Brehon who came to ensure all was done according to law.’

  ‘Then you all returned here?’

  ‘It was while we were returning that we encountered a band of merchants who told us the news about Gláed. He had killed his brother Artgal and escaped, and was now leading the Luachair Deaghaid out of their burrows from Sliabh Luachra.’

  ‘This is the point where I become confused,’ Eadulf admitted. ‘Why did that fact become of such concern to Gormán? Admittedly, he knew that Gláed was an outlaw, who had killed his own father among others and now his own brother. We all knew that. But all those who dwell in the valleys of Sliabh Luachra are thieves and robbers if not killers.’

  The miller spread his hands. ‘Gormán and Aibell had decided to return to Cashel. But one of the merchants said that he had overheard that Gláed had agreed to serve as a mercenary to some powerful person who was going to overthrow the Prince of the Uí Fidgente.’

  ‘What?’ Fidelma straightened with a startled look.

  ‘We had heard about Gláed and his declaration to have revenge on those who had wronged him. But we did not know this particular detail,’ Eadulf explained.

  ‘But it is logical, now I give it thought,’ Fidelma reflected. ‘He was involved with the previous conspiracy to murder Prince Donennach, so why should he not be involved in another one?’

  ‘I suppose the merchants did not tell Gormán the identity of this powerful person?’ Eadulf asked.

  They were not surprised when Marban gave a shake of his head. ‘No names were mentioned.’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘When Gormán and Aibell came back here, did Gormán tell you any details about the murder of Abbot Ségdae?’

  ‘Only that he had just entered the chamber to speak to the abbot when he was hit on the head from behind. When he recovered consciousness, the abbot was dead and he was accused.’

  ‘When they turned up here with this story, did you offer them advice?’ Fidelma asked the miller.

  The big man gave one of his characteristic shrugs. ‘As you know from my past, lady, I am not the right person to give such advice. I did not do well when Aibell’s mother fled to me for protection from my brother, Aibell’s father. In the end, I had to kill my own brother to prevent a greater evil.’

  ‘It was a matter of duinorcun, manslaughter, for you acted in self-defence,’ she told him. ‘I judge you without legal blame.’

  Marban looked awkward for a moment and then suddenly rose and stretched his limbs, glancing through the window.

  ‘Let me remind you that the sun now stands at its zenith. I would not recommend you to commence your journey through the marshland now. This is the time when the insects are most active. Wait until the day begins to cool. Meanwhile, please join me and my workers in the etar-shod, the midday meal, albeit frugal. You will then have plenty of time to ride on to Corradáin’s homestead and arrive there long before twilight.’

  ‘Now that sounds like a good idea!’ exclaimed Enda, who then looked embarrassed, for it was Fidelma’s role to accept the invitation. Nevertheless, she did not rebuke him but indicated her acceptance.

  ‘But we must not tarry too long, as I know that Conrí and a band of warriors will soon be on our trail.’

  Marban raised his brows in surprise. ‘I thought Conrí was a friend of yours, lady?’

  ‘He is also warlord of the Uí Fidgente and his allegiance is to Prince Donennach and Brehon Faolchair. His duty is to track down Gormán and return him to the custody of the fortress. We must ensure that we reach Gormán first.’

  ‘I understand,’ the miller ack
nowledged. ‘How far behind is he?’

  Enda was the expert. The young warrior thought for a moment. ‘It depends how far they went northwards over the bridge in the wrong direction. If they went to the Hill of Truth before they turned back, it could be as much as two days.’

  ‘Let us hope that is the course they have taken, for we need to gain as much time as possible.’

  Marban left the millhouse and they heard him shouting orders to arrange the food. The miller’s idea of a frugal meal did not match their own. Usually the etar-shod was a light affair because the main meal of the day was in the evening. However, the aroma of roasting meat, baking bread and several other delicious odours they could not identify, soon assailed their nostrils. Several wooden tables were swiftly erected before the mill, on which the workers and their wives placed the feast, along with the inevitable jugs of apple cider, and were now seating themselves.

  Marban escorted his visitors to the end of one of the tables and seated them around his own chair. The atmosphere was cordial. The millworkers, many of whom remembered Fidelma and Eadulf from the previous year, were friendly. There was no hierarchy here, unlike the formal meals given by princes and kings. Meat was cut from two nearby roasting spits, placed on dishes and brought to the table where those seated just helped themselves. Everyone lent a hand and no one was appointed carver or server as at formal feasts.

  As Eadulf examined the dishes of meat, hesitating to make a choice, he found Marban at his side. The miller explained the dishes with pride. ‘That is muilt-fheoil, mutton, and that is fiadh-fheoil, venison. The venison I particularly recommend, my friend. It is basted on the spit with honey and salt and is quite sweet.’

  Also on the table were hard-boiled eggs, freshly baked small loaves, still warm, called tortíne, and some dishes of green vegetables which Eadulf identified as a kind of kale or cabbage, whose taste had been enhanced by crem or wild garlic, as well as some other herbs. As these various dishes were pressed on him, he joked, ‘If I succumbed to all these temptations, I swear I would not be able to ride out of the millyard, let alone to our destination.’