Our Lady of Darkness sf-10

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Abbess Fainder?’ Fidelma reflected. ‘I have not heard of her.’

  ‘She has but lately returned to this kingdom from several years’ service in Rome.’

  ‘And so she supports the Penitentials of Rome against the wisdom texts of her own land?’

  Fianamail inclined his head by way of an affirmative reply.

  ‘I see,’ Fidelma said. ‘You mentioned that Brother Eadulf was charged with causing the death of a novice in the abbey. Just who is it that he was supposed to have killed?’

  Fianamail regarded her in mock reproof. ‘For someone who comes riding post haste from Cashel determined to prove the Saxon’s innocence, I would have thought you might have known of what he was accused,’ he said slyly.

  ‘Murder, of course. But who is he supposed to have murdered?’ Fianamail was almost pitying. ‘I suspect, Fidelma of Cashel, that you have rushed into this mission with your heart instead of your head.’

  Fidelma coloured hotly. ‘My reason is to let justice be served,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Now who was he supposed to have killed?’ she asked again.

  ‘Your Saxon friend raped a young girl and then strangled her,’ the King said tonelessly, watching her face. ‘She was a novice at the abbey … and she was only twelve years old.’

  Even after she had been conducted from the King’s chamber, Fidelma still felt a numbness in her. Of all the crimes, the very idea that Eadulf could have been accused of raping a twelve-year-old girl and then murdering her was abhorrent. How could Eadulf have been adjudged guilty of such a thing? It was something so alien to the nature of the man she knew.

  In the courtyard of the fortress, Fidelma, waiting until there were no Laigin warriors within earshot, turned to Dego, Aidan and Enda.

  ‘I need one of you to ride to Tara and seek out the Chief Brehon, Barrán,’ she said quietly. ‘It will be a dangerous journey through hostile Laigin territory, but needs to be done with all speed.’

  Aidan stood forward immediately.

  ‘I am the best rider here, lady,’ he said simply. It was not a boast and neither Dego nor Enda wasted time by disagreeing with him. Fidelma accepted the truth of his statement without further ado.

  ‘I need you to persuade Barrán to return with you immediately, Aidan. Explain the situation so far as you know it. Plead in my name if you have to. And, Aidan … be very careful. There may be people who would not want you to reach Tara, let alone return here with Barrán.’

  Aidan was confident.

  ‘I understand and will have a care, lady. It will not take me long to reach the territory of the southern Uí Néill. They are no friends to the Laigin and as soon as I am there, I shall be safe enough. With good fortune I shall return within a few days.’

  ‘All that falls to me is to prevent this execution tomorrow. Then hope that you can return in time with Barrán to hear what mystery lurks here,’ she said.

  Aidan spoke hesitantly. ‘Are you sure that there is a mystery to be uncovered, lady? I mean, could it be …?’ He lapsed into silence under her disapproving scrutiny.

  Dego intervened; he was anxious.

  ‘If you expect Aidan to leave here in broad daylight, lady, it will not give him much of a chance if, as you appear to believe, Laigin warriors will be watching our movements.’

  ‘We will give them something to watch then,’ Fidelma replied with a sudden burst of her old confidence. ‘We will go into the township to find accommodation for our stay here. Once among the crowds of the town, Aidan will leave us. If he rides west for the Slaney, it might appear as if he is simply heading back to Cashel. There are woods enough near the river and he can use the cover of them to strike north. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Aidan confirmed. Then he paused: ‘I am sorry, lady, that I questioned …’

  Fidelma reached out a hand and laid it on his arm.

  ‘You have a right to be suspicious, Aidan. The unthinkable might even be true — Eadulf could be guilty; let us not prejudge matters. But also let us remember that we know the man.’

  Dego exchanged glances with his companions.

  ‘We are with you, lady. Shall we leave now?’

  ‘At once. Let us walk our horses from the gate, slowly and casuallydown the hill and once we are in among the houses, hidden from the eyes in this fortress, then Aidan can mount up and ride westward.’

  They ordered their horses from the stable and the guard commander came forward as the stable boys were leading them out.

  ‘Are you not staying here, lady?’ he enquired in surprise. It was usual for visiting dignitaries to be offered hospitality at the King’s court.

  ‘We will find accommodation within the town,’ she assured him. ‘It is better that I and my escort do not impose ourselves on the hospitality of your King.’

  The man looked perplexed. It was unusual but he knew something of the enmity between Fearna and Cashel and put their departure down to this reason.

  ‘Very well, lady. Is there any further service that I can render?’

  ‘Perhaps you could recommend an inn in this town.’

  The guard commander replied immediately. ‘There are several, lady. I have a sister who runs the Inn of the Yellow Mountain just beyond the main square. It is named after the place we came from, seven kilometers north-east of here. Her place is clean and quiet. She allows no rowdiness there.’

  ‘We shall look out for it then,’ Fidelma assured him with a smile of gratitude.

  ‘She is called Lassar. Tell her that her brother recommended the inn.’

  The four of them, reins held over their arms, walked their horses through the fortress gate and down the sloping path to the sprawl of buildings below. It was midday and the streets were thronging with people. There was a market in the main square around which everything centred, crammed with food stalls selling all manner of fish, poultry and meats as well as fruit and vegetables. The noise of the traders trying to outbid each other in attracting custom made an ear-splitting cacophony of sound to rise over the township.

  Fidelma led the way through the crowded square and across to the entrance of a side street, where she glanced round. They were out of sight of the sentinels’ posts on the fortress and she turned to Aidan.

  ‘You know now what you must do?’

  The young man grinned and sprang up into his saddle. ‘I will see you here within a few days and bring Barrán with me, lady. If I do not return, it will be because I am dead.’

  ‘Then make sure that you return.’

  He raised a hand in salute and dug his heels into the sides of his horse.

  They watched him move along the street as rapidly as the people allowed. Then he disappeared beyond the buildings. Fidelma sighed deeply and turned to her two remaining companions.

  ‘Where to now, lady?’ asked Dego. ‘Will we go to the abbey to find Brother Eadulf?’

  ‘Firstly, we should take up the suggestion of the commander of the guard and find his sister’s inn,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Then I shall go to the abbey.’

  ‘Isn’t that a dangerous thing? I mean, going to an inn recommended by a Laigin warrior?’ Enda asked.

  ‘Perhaps not. The connection might prove useful. I do not think that the recommendation was made through any guile. I believe the man was honest.’

  ‘A Laigin warrior … honest?’ Dego sounded as if he doubted such a thing could be so.

  Fidelma did not expand on her opinion but instead hailed a passerby with an enquiry as to where the Inn of the Yellow Mountain might be found. It turned out to be but a street away, just off the main square but protected from the hubbub of sound by other buildings. The Inn of the Yellow Mountain announced itself by a signboard bearing the image of a yellow triangular shape which was clearly meant as a mountain. The inn was large; a two-storey wooden structure with its own yard and stables. It seemed popular for there were several people coming in and out of it.

  They led their horses into the yard and Dego took Fidelma’s reins as she moved forward
to the door of the inn. A large woman came bustling out as Fidelma approached. She had a kindly face and Fidelma could see some resemblance between her features and those of the guard commander.

  ‘Rooms for the night?’ greeted the woman. ‘We have the best prices in Fearna, Sister. And you will certainly do better here for comfort and food than seeking free lodgings at the abbey …’

  She broke off with a frown as she suddenly recognised the accoutrements of the two warriors as being those of Muman.

  ‘Are you Lassar?’ asked Fidelma pleasantly, claiming her attention once more.

  ‘I am.’ The woman turned back, a look of suspicion on her face as she scrutinised her questioner.

  ‘It was your brother, the warrior at the fortress, who recommended your inn to us, Lassar.’

  The woman’s eyes widened with some respect. ‘You have been to Fianamail’s fortress?’

  ‘My business brought me here to speak with Fianamail,’ Fidelma confirmed. ‘Have you rooms for my companions and myself?’

  Lassar glanced dubiously at the warriors again before turning back to Fidelma.

  ‘I have a room that they can share and a small room that you can use on your own — but it will cost more than sleeping in a shared room,’ she added defensively.

  ‘That is no problem.’

  Lassar raised a hand and, as if from nowhere, a stable boy appeared and took charge of their horses. Dego retrieved the saddlebags from the steeds before they were led away.

  The fleshy-faced woman gestured them inside. ‘So, Mel recommended the inn, eh?’

  ‘Mel?’

  ‘My brother. I thought that he might be too grand to think of my business, now that he is commander of the guard at Fianamail’s palace.’

  ‘Now?’ Fidelma picked up on the slight emphasis. ‘He has only just become commander there?’

  ‘Oh yes. He has only just been raised to the guard as well as made captain of it.’

  Lassar led them up the stairs to the second storey and conducted them to a door, which she flung open with the air of someone about to reveal a priceless treasure beyond. It was a dark, narrow little room, with a tiny window. It looked fairly claustrophobic.

  ‘There is your room, Sister.’

  Fidelma had seen worse and at least it appeared warm and the bed was comfortable.

  ‘And the room for my companions?’

  Lassar pointed along the corridor.

  ‘There is one they can share down there. Will you want food as well?’

  ‘Yes, although our plans might change.’

  Lassar frowned slightly. ‘Then you plan to be here for some time?’

  ‘For about a week, probably,’ Fidelma replied. ‘What are your prices?’

  ‘Since there are three of you, and if you can guarantee me a week,then I will charge you a pinginn each a person. That is a screpall a day. For that you have the freedom of the inn, coming and going as you like and meals as you like. There will be hot water for baths in the evenings. So you see, I am not wrong. You will do better by staying here and not seeking the hospitality of the abbey.’

  It was the second time that the woman had referred to the abbey in disparaging tones and it drew Fidelma’s interest. It was true that a travelling religious would normally expect to obtain free lodgings at an abbey. But Lassar’s opinion of the abbey and its hospitality seemed surprisingly low even for an innkeeper who must see the abbey as a rival.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.

  The fleshy-faced woman grimaced defiantly. ‘It is clear that you are a stranger here.’

  ‘I have not denied it.’

  ‘Times have changed, Sister. That is all I say. The abbey has turned into a place of misery. Once I was hard pressed to attract travellers to the inn here, for many sought the hospitality of its walls. Now, no one wants to enter. Not since …’ She suddenly paused and shuddered.

  ‘Not since …?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘I will say no more, Sister. A screpall a day for all three if you want the rooms.’

  Fidelma realised that Lassar would not be forced to say anything more about her views on the abbey.

  ‘A screpall a day is fine,’ she agreed, glancing at Dego and Enda. ‘I will give you three screpalls in advance for the rooms and we would like to wash first and have a meal as soon as possible.’

  ‘If you wish for a cold wash, then there is no problem. Hot water, as I say, is only provided at night for a bath. I have little help here now that my brother has become so grand a person up at the palace.’

  ‘There is no problem,’ Fidelma assured her, taking out some coins from her marsupium, the leather purse at her waist, and handing them to her.

  The woman paused for a moment as if counting the coins in her hand. Then she smiled in satisfaction.

  ‘I will send water to your room and you may come down and eat when you like. It will only be cold fare. Hot meals may be had in the evening because …’

  Fidelma smiled indulgently. ‘I know. We appreciate your help, Lassar.’

  The innkeeper disappeared down the stairs. Dego let out a breath of relief.

  ‘What now, lady?’ he asked. ‘What shall we do next?’

  ‘After we have refreshed ourselves, I suggest that you make yourselves inconspicuous around the town and see what gossip you can pick up with regards to the events here. Find out what people feel about the imposition of the Penitentials as law and punishment instead of our native laws.’

  ‘What will you be doing, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘Should we not go with you?’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am going to the abbey. I want to see Eadulf.’

  Chapter Four

  The Abbey of Fearna seemed even more forbidding close to than it had from a distance. A baleful atmosphere clung to the building, as tangible as cobwebs to its walls. The feeling was insubstantial, almost ethereal, but it was there like a cold mist hanging over everything. There were two great dark oak doors, hinged with iron, which were the main gates. On the right-hand door a large bronze image was fixed. Fidelma realised that this was the famous figure of an angel wrought by Máedóc, for it seemed to have intricately decorated wings and held a sword in its right hand. The face was circular, the eyes wide, round and socketless, giving it an appearance almost of malignancy. She had heard that this image was called ‘Our Lady of Light’ and meant to be a symbol of protection.

  Fainder, Abbess of Fearna, was equally impressive and forbidding; that fact Fidelma had to admit, although she took an inexplicable and instant dislike to the woman. From the moment she was shown into the room where the abbess sat, upright in a tall oak-carved chair before a long wooden table which served her as a desk, Fidelma felt the aura of her presence. Haughty and belligerent. Even sitting, she gave the impression of stature, of leanness which added to her height. Yet when she rose to greet Fidelma, the impression was not confirmed. Fidelma, who was considered tall, towered over the woman who was only of medium height. The perception of height was simply one given by her personality, her bearing and nothing else.

  The hand that she held out to greet Fidelma was strong, the bones prominent, her skin rough with calluses — these were associated more with those used to working in the fields than with a religieuse. She was dark-haired and Fidelma estimated that she was in her thirties. Her face was symmetrical; however, there was something hard about the features. The black eyes were deepset and one held an odd cast. Yet it was not this that made her appearance sinister, but the fact that she seldom blinked. The dark eyes, even with a cast, seemed to fix on Fidelma like gimlets and did not look away. Had Fidelma been of lesser character she might have dropped her gaze in discomfiture.

  When Abbess Fainder spoke her voice was soft, modulated and almost soothing, lulling one into a deceptive feeling of security. Only Fidelma, her sensitivity to people’s personalities developed over many years, was attuned to the strong tones behind the gentle articulation. Fainder would tolerate no disagreement with her opinion
s; of that, Fidelma was absolutely certain.

  From the way the abbess held out her hand, Fidelma realised that she was supposed to bow and kiss her ring of office, Roman style. However, Fidelma took the hand and inclined her head only a fraction in the manner of the Irish Church.

  ‘Stet fortuna domus,’ she intoned.

  Abbess Fainder’s eyes glinted for a moment, the annoyance gone so quickly that only a careful observer might have noticed it.

  ‘Deo juvante,’ she replied shortly, resuming her position and motioning Fidelma to sit on a chair before the table. Fidelma did so.

  ‘So, you are Fidelma of Cashel?’ The abbess smiled; it was no more than a parting of her thin, bloodless lips. ‘Your name was spoken of in Rome when I was there.’

  Fidelma did not answer. There was no comment she could make. Instead she motioned to the piece of vellum bearing Fianamail’s order and seal.

  ‘I have come on most urgent business, Mother Abbess.’

  The abbess did not acknowledge the vellum placed before her. She was sitting upright in her chair, hands on the table, palm downwards, resuming the same position as when Fidelma had been shown into her room.

  ‘You have a reputation as a dálaigh, Sister,’ Fainder continued. ‘Yet you are a religieuse; I am told that you took it upon yourself to leave the Abbey of Kildare because you disagreed with its abbess, Abbess Ita.’

  She paused in expectation of a reply but the comment had been phrased as a statement. Fidelma gave no response.

  ‘When one becomes a religieuse, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the abbess laid an emphasis on the title which acknowledged that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, ‘one’s first duty is obedience to the Order, to the Rule of Saints. Obedience is the first rule for it is the duty of the religieuse not to disagree in mind, not to speak as one pleases and not to travel anywhere with entire freedom. Attention to the Rule is the manifestation of a Godly life.’