Our Lady of Darkness sf-10

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘That was Brother Ibar,’ the stewardess replied quietly.

  ‘For what reason has he been executed?’

  ‘Murder and theft.’

  Fidelma’s mouth compressed for a moment. ‘Is this punishment by the Penitentials going to be the fashion now in this abbey?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Do you know the details of his crime?’

  ‘I attended the trial, Sister. The entire community were ordered to do so by Abbess Fainder. It was the first trial that led to execution under the new Penitential laws and he was a member of our community.’

  ‘You spoke of murder and theft?’

  ‘Brother Ibar was found guilty of killing a boatman and robbing him down on the abbey quay.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A few weeks ago.’

  Fidelma was studying the gently swinging corpse.

  ‘There seems much death on the abbey quay,’ she reflected. An idea occurred to her. ‘You say that Ibar killed a boatman on the quay and robbed him a few weeks ago? Was it before or after the crime of which Brother Eadulf was accused?’

  ‘Oh, after. The very day after.’

  ‘Unusual, isn’t it? Two murders on the same small quay within two days and now two Brothers of the Faith condemned to die, one dead already.’

  Sister Étromma frowned. ‘But there was no connection between the two events.’

  Fidelma gestured distastefully towards the corpse.

  ‘How long does he have to hang there?’

  ‘Until sunset. Then he will be cut down and taken out to be buried in unconsecrated ground.’

  ‘How well did you know him?’

  ‘Not well. He was a newcomer to the community. I believe he came from Rathdangan, to the north of here. He was a blacksmith by trade. He worked in that capacity in the community.’

  ‘Why did he kill the boatman and rob him?’

  ‘It was judged that he was spurred on by greed. It was a purse of gold coin and a gold chain that he took, having stabbed the man.’

  ‘Why would a blacksmith who works in this abbey need money? Ablacksmith is respected enough that he can name his own price for his art. Why, his honour price is ten seds; the equivalent of an aire-echta, a Brehon of lower qualification.’

  Sister Étromma shrugged expressively. ‘The air is chill here, Sister,’ she said. ‘Let us move on.’

  Fidelma turned after her and they continued across the quadrangle, with the buildings towering on all sides, and through another small door. Sister Étromma went up the stone steps which rose two storeys to an upper floor. The building was dank and musty. Fidelma felt an overwhelming sense of despondency. The gloom and foreboding which hung depressingly about the place in no way gave her a sense that she was in the house of a community devoted to the Christian life. There was an atmosphere of impending menace which she found hard to explain.

  Sister Étromma led her along the dingy corridor, after she had allowed Fidelma time to pause and let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. Along this corridor stood a small oak door with iron bolts.

  A huge shadow suddenly appeared in the darkness from the end of the corridor.

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded a guttural voice. ‘Is it you, Étromma?’

  ‘It is,’ replied the stewardess. ‘This is Sister Fidelma, a dálaigh who has permission from the abbess to question the prisoner.’

  Fidelma caught a smell of onions on the breath of the burly figure as he came forward and peered closely at her.

  ‘Very well,’ came the harsh tones. ‘If it is all right with Étromma, you may enter.’ The figure seemed to recede back into the darkness.

  ‘Who was that?’ whispered Fidelma, slightly awed by the size of the guard.

  ‘That was my Brother Cett who now acts as gaoler,’ replied Étromma.

  ‘Your Brother Cett?’ Fidelma asked, wondering about the prefix ‘my’.

  Sister Étromma’s voice was distant. ‘Both brother in flesh as well as in Christ. Poor soul, my brother is a simple man. We were caught in a raid by the Uí Néill when we were children and he received a wound to the head so that now he only does menial tasks, and those involving the need for strength.’

  Sister Étromma withdrew the iron bolts from the cell door.

  ‘Call me when you are ready to leave. Brother Cett or I will be in earshot.’

  She drew open the door and Fidelma entered the cell beyond, standing for a moment blinking in the beam of light which came through the barred window in the opposite wall.

  A startled voice exclaimed: ‘Fidelma! Is it really you?’

  Chapter Five

  As the door swung shut behind her, and the bolts rasped in their sockets, Fidelma stepped to the centre of the small room and held out her hands to the young man who rose swiftly from the stool on which he had been sitting. Brother Eadulf took her hands in his and for a moment the two stood gazing at each other; no words passed between them but their eyes met and spoke silently of their concern and anxieties for each other.

  Eadulf looked haggard. He had not been allowed to shave regularly and, as a result, a stubble covered his cheeks and jowl. His brown curly hair was untidy and matted and his clothing was dirty and rank. Eadulf saw her expression of dismay at his condition and he grinned in apology.

  ‘I am afraid that the hospitality in this place has not been of the best, Fidelma. The good abbess does not believe in wasting soap and water on one who is not destined to stay long in this vale of tears.’ He paused. ‘But I am so glad to see you once again before I depart.’

  Fidelma made a sound, inarticulate, it could even have been a small sob. Then she grimaced, making the contortion of her features an attempt to disguise her feelings.

  ‘Are you well otherwise, Eadulf? You have not been ill-treated?’

  ‘Roughly handled … at first,’ confessed Eadulf lightly. ‘Emotions can run high, due to the nature of the crime of which I am accused. It was a young girl who was raped and killed. But how are you, Fidelma? I thought you were on a pilgrimage to Iberia? To the Tomb of St James?’

  Fidelma made a small dismissive gesture with her hand.

  ‘I returned as soon as I heard the news. I hurried here to be your counsel.’

  Eadulf smiled brightly for a moment and then he grew serious again.

  ‘Have they not told you that it is all over? The so-called trial did not last long and tomorrow I have an appointment in the quadrangle down there,’ he jerked his head to the window. ‘Did you see the gibbet?’

  ‘I have been told.’ Fidelma glanced round and chose to sit on the stool which Eadulf had vacated.

  Eadulf took his seat on the bed. ‘I forget my manners in this place, Fidelma. I should have invited you to sit.’ He tried to sound humorous but his voice was hollow and flat.

  Fidelma sat back, hands clasped in her lap, and gazed inquisitively at Eadulf.

  ‘Did you do this thing that they accuse you of?’ she asked abruptly.

  Eadulf’s gaze did not falter.

  ‘Deus miseratur, I did not! You have my word on that, though I am afraid my word does not count in this matter.’

  Fidelma nodded slightly. If Eadulf gave his word then she accepted it.

  ‘Tell me your story. I left you at Cashel when I went to take the pilgrim ship for Iberia. Take up your story from there.’

  Eadulf was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

  ‘My story is not complicated. I decided to accept your advice and return to Canterbury, to Archbishop Theodore. I have been away for a year now. There was nothing to stay in Cashel for, anyway.’

  He paused but Fidelma, though she shifted her position slightly on her stool, did not comment.

  ‘Your brother had messages for me to take to Theodore and to the Saxon kings.’

  ‘Verbally or in writing?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘One message, to Theodore, was in writing. The other messages, to the kings, were verbal ones, mere salutations and expressions of friendship.’

 
‘Where is the written message now?’

  ‘My personal belongings were confiscated by the abbess.’

  Fidelma thought for a moment. ‘Did you have anything to identify you as a techtaire?’

  Eadulf knew the word and smiled.

  ‘He gave me a white wand of office. Now that I think of it, I believe I removed that and the written letter from my travelling bag and hid them for safekeeping under the bed in the guests’ room.’

  ‘So that they would have been removed by now and put with your other belongings?’

  ‘I expect so. Your brother offered me the loan of a good horse. However, not knowing when and how I could return that kindness, I took the offer of a place on the wagon of a merchant who was travellinghere to trade. I knew that I could get a passage in a boat going downriver where I could expect to find a Saxon merchant ship on which to get passage home. The journey to this place was without incident.’

  He paused for a moment as though to put the events in sequence before recounting them.

  ‘I arrived at the abbey in the late afternoon and, naturally, I came asking for hospitality for the night, thinking to find a boat the next morning. I spoke to the rechtaire, Sister Étromma, who asked me my business. I told her that I was on my way back to Canterbury. I did not think it worth mentioning that I was bearing messages to the archbishop. She offered me a bed in the guests’ dormitory. There was no one else staying that night. I attended devotions, had a meal and went to bed. Oh, and Sister Étromma introduced me to Abbess Fainder … but the abbess seemed preoccupied, or else she does not like Saxons. She more or less ignored me.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I was in a deep sleep. It must have been early morning, perhaps an hour before dawn, when I found myself being dragged out of bed. There was shouting all around me and I was punched and pummelled. I did not know what was happening. I was dragged here and thrown in a cell …’

  Fidelma leaned forward with interest.

  ‘Did anyone explain to you what was happening? Did anyone accuse you of anything or say why you were being dragged from your bed at such an hour?’

  ‘No one said anything except to scream abuse at me.’

  ‘When did you first know what you were being accused of?’

  ‘Not for a long time. I would say that it was about midday when that giant, Brother Cett, came into this cell. I demanded to be told what was going on, but almost immediately, Abbess Fainder entered with a young girl. The girl was dressed in the robe of a novitiate although she seemed very young.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The girl simply pointed at me. Nothing was said and then she was led from the cell.’

  ‘She did not say anything? Anything at all?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘She just pointed at me,’ repeated Eadulf. ‘Then the abbess took her away. Nothing was said at any time and Brother Cett withdrew and locked the door.’

  ‘When were you actually informed of the crime of which you were being accused?’

  ‘It was not until two days later that I was told.’

  ‘You were left here for two days without anyone telling you anything?’ Fidelma’s tone rose angrily.

  Eadulf grinned ruefully. ‘And without food and water,’ he added. ‘I told you that the hospitality of this abbey was not of the best.’

  Fidelma stared at him in consternation. ‘What?’

  ‘It was two days later that Brother Cett came in again and allowed me to wash and eat something. An hour afterwards, a tall man, cadaverous-looking with a brittle voice, came and told me he was the King’s Brehon.’

  ‘Bishop Forbassach!’

  ‘Indeed, Bishop Forbassach was his name. Do you know him?’

  ‘He is an old adversary. But go on.’

  ‘It was this same Forbasssach who told me that I was accused of raping a young novitiate of the abbey and then strangling her. I was speechless. I told him that I had come to the abbey for food and a bed for the night. That I had been awakened and assaulted and thrown in this cell for two days.

  ‘He told me that I had been found in bed with blood on my clothes and a piece of the novitiate’s torn and bloody robe.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I thought I was being clever for I said, sarcastically, to the bishop, that I thought he had said the girl had been strangled, so if I had been found with blood all over me it was miraculous. It was then that the bishop told me where the blood had come from. The novitiate was a twelve-year-old virgin. As the final blow, the bishop informed me that there was an eye-witness to my attack.’

  ‘I am afraid it is pretty damning evidence, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said. ‘Do you have any explanation as to how it was come by?’

  Eadulf lowered his head. ‘None. I thought I was having a bad dream,’ he muttered.

  ‘Was it true that there was blood on your clothes?’

  Eadulf held out his hand. She could see dark stains on it.

  ‘I noticed the blood on my robe soon after I was thrown in here. I thought it was simply my own blood, having been punched and kicked by those who dragged me here. I did have a cut on the face.’

  Fidelma could see a small, healing scar. ‘What of the piece of torn robe?’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘That I knew nothing about until a piece of cloth was presented at the formal hearing. I had no knowledge of it.’

  ‘And the eye-witness?’

  ‘The young girl? She was either lying or mistaken.’

  ‘Had you seen her before? Before she accused you, that is?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I presumed that it was the same young girl who was shown into the cell and pointed to me. I must admit that I was not very alert after my beating. She appeared at the trial and was called Fial.’

  ‘You say that you attended devotions and a meal before going to bed? Did you see this girl, Fial, at that time?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, though she might have seen me. The strange thing is that I could not remember any young novitiates at all in the chapel; at least, not as young as she was. Fial was no more than twelve or thirteen years old.’

  ‘Did you talk with anyone at all, apart from the stewardess and the abbess?’

  ‘I did talk a short while to a young Brother. His name was Ibar.’

  Fidelma raised her head sharply. ‘Ibar?’ She glanced automatically towards the window, thinking of the body of the hanging monk.

  ‘They say he killed a boatman the day after I was supposed to have killed the young girl,’ confirmed Eadulf. ‘They hanged him this morning.’ He suddenly shivered. ‘There is something vile here, Fidelma. I think you should leave immediately lest anything happens to you. I could not bear to think …’

  Fidelma reached forward and laid her hand on his arm reassuringly.

  ‘Whatever evil it is, Eadulf, they would not dare to harm me for fear that it might bring down a retribution they are unable to contend with. Whoever “they” are. Have no fear for my safety. Besides, I have a couple of my brother’s warriors with me.’

  Eadulf shook his head stubbornly. ‘Even so, Fidelma, there is little assurance of safety in this place of darkness. Some evil stalks this abbey and I would rather you abandon me and go back to Cashel for your own safety.’

  Fidelma’s jaw came up dangerously. ‘No more talk like that, Eadulf. Here I am and here I stay until we have sorted this matter out. Now, concentrate. Tell me about your trial.’

  ‘Time passed; I lost count of it. Brother Cett fed me irregularly and allowed me to wash when it took his fancy. He likes inflicting hardship, that one. An evil man. Have a care of him.’

  ‘I was told that he is somewhat simple.’

  Eadulf grinned crookedly. ‘Simple? Yes. He obeys orders and cannot understand anything complicated. But when he is told to inflict pain, he enjoys it. He was the executioner for …’ Eadulf spread a hand towards the window leaving it to Fidelma to assume the rest.

  She wrinkled her nose in repugnance. ‘A member of the religious as an executioner? God have mercy on his misguided
soul. But you were about to tell me of the trial.’

  ‘I was taken down to the chapel and Bishop Forbassach sat in judgment with Abbess Fainder. They were joined by a man who looked as grim and stony-faced as Forbassach. He was an abbot.’

  ‘Abbot Noé?’

  Eadulf nodded affirmatively. ‘Do you know him as well?’

  ‘Both Bishop Forbassach and Abbot Noé are my antagonists of old.’

  ‘Bishop Forbassach repeated the charges: I denied them. Forbassach said it would go hard with me as I was wasting the time of the court. I denied them again; what else could I do but speak the truth?’ Eadulf was silent a moment, contemplating. ‘Sister Étromma was called as a witness. She told how she had welcomed me to the abbey. Then she identified the body of the murdered girl as one Gormgilla, who was entering the abbey as a novitiate …’

  Fidelma interrupted him sharply.

  ‘Just a moment, Eadulf. What were her exact words? About Gormgilla, I mean.’

  ‘She said that Gormgilla was a novitiate …’

  ‘That is not what you said. You said “who was entering the abbey”. Why did you use that form?’

  Eadulf shrugged diffidently. ‘I think that was the way she said it. What does it matter?’

  ‘It matters a lot. But continue.’

  ‘That was all Sister Étromma had to say, apart from the fact that this Gormgilla was but twelve years old. Then the other girl was called …’

  ‘The other girl?’

  ‘The one who had entered my cell and pointed at me.’

  ‘Ah yes, Fial.’

  ‘She identified herself to the court as a novitiate in the abbey. She said that she had been a friend of Gormgilla. She also said that she had arranged to meet her on the quay just after midnight.’

  ‘Why?’

  Eadulf stared blankly at Fidelma. ‘Why?’ he echoed.

  ‘Was she asked why she was going to meet a young novitiate on the quay after midnight? We are speaking of twelve-year-olds here, Eadulf.’

  ‘No one asked her. She simply said that she went to the quay and saw her friend struggling with a man.’

  ‘How did she see?’

  Eadulf looked bewildered; Fidelma was patient.