‘It seems,’ she reflected, ‘that Conrí was not misleading me when he told me earlier this evening that the last thing Prince Donennach wanted was to see Gormán executed. In fact, he implied that if we could devise a plan of rescue without implicating Donennach, he would look the other way.’
‘But will they look the other way when Nannid finds Gormán missing at first light and comes looking for him here?’ Enda wanted to know.
‘We’ll deal with that in the morning. Were you able to subdue the men guarding Gormán?’
‘I am afraid we were forced to kill them,’ Enda replied bluntly.
‘Was there no other alternative?’
Enda shook his head. ‘No. It was a case of their lives or ours, lady. Brother Éladach dealt with one. Eadulf thought he had rendered the man unconscious, but he recovered and was about to raise the alarm. I dealt with the other. We left the bodies locked in the hut where they had kept Gormán. With luck they might not be discovered until morning.’
‘But is Gormán safe with Étromma?’ Aibell pressed anxiously.
‘He is as safe there as anywhere,’ Enda said. ‘The plan was followed and, hopefully, it will be thought that Gormán has fled eastwards towards Cashel.’
Fidelma was not completely convinced. ‘Remember that Nannid is not a stupid man,’ she cautioned them. ‘He must know that Gormán would not leave Aibell behind here. Where Aibell is, there too will Gormán be. I fear that Nannid will descend on Donennach’s fortress with such rage that Nebuchadnezzar in his fury will seem like a lamb by comparison.’
Aibell looked bewildered. ‘Neb … who?’
‘Just a story from the old scriptures that Nannid is so fond of,’ Fidelma told the girl. ‘More importantly, tomorrow is going to test my ingenuity and I shall need all your support.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Even before Fidelma and her companions had completed their morning toilette, they had heard a bell ringing frantically from the abbey in the township. Pandemonium had erupted.
‘You had better remain here in this chamber,’ Fidelma told Aibell. ‘Keep the door locked. That is, until we discover what is going on. You will obviously be the first target for Abbot Nannid if he is as angry as I think he will be.’
Fidelma, Eadulf and Enda made their way down to the great hall. They were surprised at how few people were gathered there. The next thing they noticed was that the food, which the attendants had laid on the table, had been left more or less untouched. A worried-looking Prince Donennach was standing having an anxious exchange with Brehon Faolchair, while Conrí stood by with a look of suppressed amusement on his face. Prior Cuán and his steward Brother Tuamán were seated with Brother Mac Raith, who was absently picking at a bowl of fruit. All eyes turned on them at their entrance.
The sound of the abbey bell was still resounding in discordant notes. Before they could speak, Prince Donennach burst out: ‘Have you not heard? Gormán has escaped!’
‘We have just risen,’ Fidelma replied blandly, whilst attempting to look absolutely dumbfounded. ‘Gormán has escaped?’
‘Yes, and he has killed his guards in the process.’
Brehon Faolchair intervened. ‘Where is the girl Aibell?’
‘Aibell is upstairs in the chamber I am now sharing with her and where she has been all night,’ Fidelma replied carefully. ‘The poor girl has passed a terrible night. I must run and tell her the news. Why do you want to know?’
‘I was asked to find her and to constrain her,’ explained the Brehon.
Fidelma looked at him coldly. ‘Who asked you to do such a thing?’
‘Abbot Nannid,’ Faolchair said hesitantly.
‘Surely you do not take orders from Abbot Nannid!’
‘You give me your word that she has been with you in your chamber all night?’
‘I am a dálaigh and sister to the King of Muman. Do you doubt my word?’ Fidelma bridled. ‘I shall defend any threat made against her.’ She turned to Enda and gave him instructions in a firm tone. ‘Take some food for Aibell and yourself, and stand guard at the chamber. No one is to enter without my permission … no one.’
Prince Donennach looked embarrassed as Enda hurried away to carry out her orders. ‘There is no need for that, Fidelma. We accept your word.’
‘I am concerned that Abbot Nannid is allowed to make free with his orders, telling your Brehon what he should do.’
‘I merely wondered where the girl was,’ protested Brehon Faolchair. ‘You must admit that it is reasonable for Abbot Nannid to wish to know her whereabouts in the circumstances. The fact that Gormán has escaped again – and this time killed his guards – puts a serious complexion on this matter.’
Fidelma spoke clearly and coldly. ‘I would remind you, Brehon Faolchair, that under our law, Abbot Nannid has acted illegally. Gormán should have been handed back to your custody yesterday until such time as we made a proper examination of the facts. The abbot refused to release him, even when given a clear order and opportunity. He held Gormán illegally and threatened to execute him illegally.’
‘But Gormán killed his guards!’
‘The deaths of two mercenaries – thieves and doubtless murderers themselves, men from Gláed’s bunch of ravening wolves – does not overly excite me. I would argue that these killings were lawful as a means of self-defence. These men were part of the group that killed a peaceful woodsman, his son and the son’s wife. Do not ask me to have sympathy for them. Had there been an opportunity, I would have had them apprehended for the killings under our law and not Nannid’s law. Anyway, under our law, I would argue that by killing them, Gormán, who was going to be illegally executed, was only acting in self-defence, so no crime has been committed.’
Conrí had begun to grin in approval at her response but stopped as Brehon Faolchair glared at him.
‘I am sure that Abbot Nannid will bring accusations of conspiracy in this matter,’ the Brehon said heavily.
‘Let him do so,’ shrugged Fidelma. ‘What does he think? That I and Eadulf, Enda and Aibell rose in the middle of the night, went to his so-called abbey, tapped on the door, were admitted, went and released Gormán, killing the guards by the by, and then came back here and went calmly back to sleep again?’
Eadulf erupted in a bout of coughing.
‘No chance of that,’ Conrí piped up. ‘I was with Ceit in the fortress last night and know you were all here during the night.’ The warlord actually allowed one of his eyelids to half-close in an approximation of a wink.
‘Personally, I hope Gormán is well on his way to Cashel.’ Prior Cuán spoke for the first time, helping himself to an apple.
His steward, Brother Tuamán, gazed at him aghast. ‘I must ask you to remember that this Gormán murdered Abbot Ségdae.’
At that moment, there was a disturbance at the doors of the great hall which were flung open. The gaunt figure of Abbot Nannid stormed in – there was no other expression to describe his entrance, so Eadulf thought. His black cloak was flapping like giant raven’s wings, his thin features were twisted in a scowl. Almost running behind him was his steward, Brother Cuineáin, clearly out of breath. Behind them came Ceit, the commander of the guard. Ceit started to make an apology to Prince Donennach but the abbot cut him short.
‘Where is he?’ the man thundered, coming to a halt before Prince Donennach. Brehon Faolchair moved forward to stand between the abbot and his prince as if some physical threat was taking place.
‘Remember that you are addressing the Prince of the Uí Fidgente,’ he warned, but his tone was nervous.
‘The murderer could not have overcome my guards without help,’ the abbot shouted. ‘He is being hidden somewhere and I shall personally track him down. Where is his woman?’
The last question was directed specifically at Fidelma, who decided not to reply.
Brehon Faolchair’s face reddened. ‘I must ask you to speak in tones of respect before your prince, Nannid of Mungairit. As for the wife of Gormán of C
ashel, she is in a safe place and has been so since last night.’
The abbot blinked rapidly as if he were not expecting the response.
‘I demand that she be turned over to me,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll soon make her tell me where the murderer is hiding. I demand it by the law.’
‘To which law do you refer?’ Fidelma said. ‘I seem to recall that you have rejected the ruling of our law in favour of your own rules.’
‘What were your rules, Abbot Nannid of Mungairit?’ It was Prior Cuán who met his fellow prelate’s bluster with a raised eyebrow. ‘You held Gormán captive and so you declared it was you who could decide his fate. Qui tenet teneat, qui dolet doleat,’ he murmured. ‘He who holds may go on holding. He who complains may go on complaining. In other words, the law is with the person who is in possession, not those seeking possession. That is your declared law and you must accept it now that it applies here.’
‘There has been a conspiracy.’ Abbot Nannid’s voice was still high-pitched in anger. ‘I will get to the bottom of it.’
‘Abbot Nannid has finally said something with which I agree,’ Fidelma rejoined. She went to the table and calmly poured herself a mug of apple cider.
Uncertain looks were cast in her direction. Even the abbot seemed confused and his angry rantings died away.
‘What is it that you agree with?’ asked Prince Donennach, puzzled.
‘That there is a conspiracy here,’ Fidelma stated.
There was another pause before Brehon Faolchair spoke. ‘Are you saying that there was a conspiracy to help Gormán escape?’
‘That was not what I had in mind,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I refer to the wider conspiracy to overthrow Prince Donennach.’
‘Are you accusing the Abbot of Mungairit of such a conspiracy, apart from his disagreement with us about the law?’ Prince Donennach demanded.
‘I am not accusing the Abbot of Mungairit,’ replied Fidelma with emphasis. ‘I am accusing Nannid, a former Abbot of Mungairit.’
There were gasps of astonishment.
‘What folly are you bent on now?’ the man sneered.
‘I am accusing you, Nannid, of conspiracy. I am not accusing the Abbot of Mungairit.’
‘Fidelma,’ Prince Donennach was torn between annoyance and intrigue, ‘I would have a care with your words. Nannid is distantly related to my own family of the Uí Fidgente and has been Abbot at Mungairit for many years.’
‘But not for six months.’ It was Conrí who intervened.
Everyone swung round to the tall warlord except Fidelma, who carried on sipping her drink.
‘Explain yourself,’ Prince Donennach snapped.
‘I’ll do better,’ replied Conrí, and he motioned to Ceit with the words, ‘Bring in our latest arrival.’ Then he turned back to the prince. ‘It was Fidelma who finally prompted me into doing something which one of us should have done long ago. The abbot has been with us here for six months, together with his steward.’
‘I undertook to build up the religious community here and create an abbey that Prince Donennach would be proud to have under the walls of his palace!’ Abbot Nannid exclaimed but with less confidence than before.
Conrí heaved a sigh. ‘Had we done what the lady Fidelma suggested, we might be in a different situation today.’
‘And what did she suggest?’ asked Prior Cuán, obviously intrigued.
‘That we send someone to Mungairit to ask some questions.’
‘But for what purpose?’ Brehon Faolchair appeared baffled.
‘Will you explain, lady?’ asked Conrí.
‘It’s very simple. I was surprised that the religious community close by the chapel founded by Nechta in the township had suddenly surrounded itself with walls. The last time I was here, it was an open community indivisible from the township. I asked Brother Éladach the reason. He told me that Nannid and his steward had arrived six months ago, claiming authority as Abbot of Mungairit and senior bishop of the Uí Fidgente. He instructed walls to be built to enclose the community, renaming it the Abbey of Nechta. He then imposed the Penitentials as its rules – those rules we have been discussing so laboriously. The community accepted them solely because of his proclaimed authority, and on that basis alone.’
‘But we know that he is Abbot of Mungairit,’ pressed Brehon Faolchair.
‘He was Abbot of Mungairit,’ emphasised Fidelma. ‘Did no one think it strange that the abbot of such a great and reputable abbey was spending so much time here?’
‘Dún Eochair Mháigh is the capital of the Uí Fidgente,’ Prince Donennach protested. ‘He had the right to spend time here.’
‘He had the right as abbot and senior bishop of this territory. Yet is it not strange that he spent so long away from his abbey? That thought occurred to Brother Éladach, but when he raised it, Nannid came up with the notion that he was going to use this venue to invite Abbot Ségdae to come here to discuss the ecclesiastical problems of our people following the peace agreed by Prince Donennach and my brother, the King.’
‘Are you saying that the council was merely an excuse for him to remain here?’ Brehon Faolchair asked.
‘Not an excuse but a justification. And yet it did not ring true. Imagine abandoning Mungairit, that great abbey and school founded by Nessan, who had been appointed by Patrick. Yet Nannid came here to spend an entire six months trying to make an open community into an enclosed one.’
‘Why shouldn’t I do so?’ demanded Nannid, summoning up an effort to defend himself.
‘Several days ago I asked Conrí to send to Mungairit to make inquiries. Last night he reported that the rider had returned.’
At that moment, the doors of the great hall opened and Ceit entered. By his side was an athletic-looking young man, together with a young religieux. Brother Cuineáin’s features had assumed a ghastly pallor. And Abbot Nannid’s thin lips were almost invisible.
‘Do you wish to hear the words from Mungairit?’ asked Fidelma.
There was a silence which Conrí took as permission to speak.
‘My messenger will confirm these words, as will the young brother from Mungairit who arrived with him. This is Brother Feradach. You will recall that in the month of Cet Gaimrid, the first of the winter months, Fidelma uncovered a conspiracy which emanated from Mungairit. The plan, as you know, intended the assassination of both Prince Donennach and King Colgú of Cashel. Gláed was part of that plot but the main instigator of it was Lorcán, son of Prince Eóghanán.
‘It had been wrongly assumed that Eoghanán and his two sons were slain at the battle of Cnoc Áine. But Eoghanán had a third son, Lugna, the identical twin brother of Lorcán, who had entered Mungairit as a pious youth. Lorcán had in fact survived Cnoc Áine. To further his ambitions, he then slew his brother, Lugna, and assumed his role at Mungairit while concocting his evil plot of revenge. The lady Fidelma and Eadulf were there, as was I, when the final revelations were made.’
Brehon Faolchair was nodding irritably. ‘Yes, yes. This is known and has been recorded by our scribes.’
‘It is also recorded that Gláed was handed over to his brother Artgal to be taken back to Sliabh Luachra for punishment. We now know that he escaped and killed Artgal – and now leads his band of ravening wolves, who are currently encamped only a short distance from the walls of this fortress,’ pointed out Conrí.
‘Furthermore, it is known that Lorcán was brought here to await my judgement following my return from my visit to the High King,’ added Prince Donennach. ‘Yet before I reached here, he contrived to escape …’
‘And was mortally wounded by my men, when he failed to surrender,’ ended Conrí.
‘That is all very well,’ snapped Brehon Faolchair. ‘But my understanding was that Fidelma judged that Abbot Nannid was innocent of any involvement.’
‘I could find no direct link to Lorcán’s conspiracy,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I did, indeed, give Nannid the benefit of the doubt.’
‘However,’ Conrí continued,
‘the derbhfine of the abbey, the council of Mungairit, later met and decided that there were many other questions to be answered by Abbot Nannid and his steward. The council decreed that Nannid was not worthy to continue as Abbot, nor was Cuineáin worthy to act as steward under such circumstances. Both were to be banished from the abbey and should seek their own salvation.’
‘Why was Prince Donennach not informed of this?’ demanded Brehon Faolchair. ‘Mungairit is not at the ends of the earth.’
‘It was learned that Nannid had come to Prince Donennach and, with some naivety, it was thought that Nannid would have explained all to his relative. The question of sending a special messenger to the prince did not occur to the council of the abbey.’
‘Prove I am not the Abbot of Mungairit!’ Nannid challenged them, making a final attempt at dominance.
Conrí pointed to the young religieux at the door. ‘Perhaps we shall hear more from Brother Feradach of Mungairit. By the way, he is the religieux whom Nannid was to meet at the Hill of Truth. He tells me that the purpose of his meeting there with Nannid was to receive money that Nannid owed to Mungairit.’
The young religieux moved forward. At that precise moment, the sound of urgent trumpet blasts shook the hall. A warrior burst in, saw Ceit and spoke urgently to him. Ceit rapped out some orders and sent the man running off. The guard commander then turned to them with an expression of dismay.
‘You will have to delay this matter. Gláed’s ravening wolves are gathered at the opposite side of the river. They are ready to cross the bridge; lined up for an assault. I’ve ordered the fortress gates to be shut and our warriors to turn out.’
Prince Donennach’s warriors were gathered along the walkways at the top of the walls that fronted the fortress, each armed with bows and quivers of arrows. The main gates had been shut and barred. Prince Donennach had climbed to the walkway above the gates with Conrí and Ceit at his side. Whatever weakness he had displayed in handling his kinsman, there was no doubting the young man’s courage in battle. He was a fighting prince who preferred to lead his men. Brehon Faolchair had nervously taken shelter nearby. Fidelma and Eadulf, having sent word to Enda to continue to guard Aibell, had decided to take their positions with Donennach. Brother Tuamán and Brother Mac Raith had also joined them to observe the threatening marauders. Only Prior Cuán remained below in the courtyard for it was difficult for him to climb up to the walls with his disabled leg.
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 31
