‘What is it, lady?’ Enda asked. ‘Have you found something?’
‘I am just having a look round,’ she explained.
As she climbed down the steps leading from the hatch to the deck below she realised that there was already a lantern glowing there. The steps led into a large cabin which she found was separated from the main cargo hold by a bulkhead and hatchway. She glanced through this and saw that the hold was open to the sky and was devoid of any goods.
Fidelma turned to examine the cabin into which she had descended. It was obvious at first sight that this was where Gabrán’s crew slept when they were on board.
There was another small bulkhead further back where the boat narrowed; this marked the position of Gabrán’s cabin above. The area beyond was undoubtedly the recess into which the small aperture from Gabrán’s cabin gave access. She lit her lamp from the small hanging lantern in the crew’s quarters and opened the small door, noting at the same time that it had a lock on it but the key was on the inside. She noted with curiosity that three other keys of different shapes lay scattered on the floor inside, just by the threshold.
The next thing she noticed was the smell, which was even more vile than that in the crew’s quarters. It contained the acrid stench of urine and the sweat of people living in close confinement. But the area was tiny, no larger than two metres by two-and-a-half metres. The space was devoid of any fixtures except for a couple of straw palliasses and an old leather slop bucket. Fidelma was too large to enter the narrow confines in comfort for the space was considerably less than two metres high. It was made even smaller by the intrusion of a small ladder leading to the hatch above.
She wondered what this space was used for. A punishment cabin? If so, for whom? For the crew who did not perform their duties? Fidelma knew that such punishments happened on seagoing ships but not on river boats where members of the crew could step ashore any time they chose. She raised her lamp high and her eyes fell on some splintered woodwork. Something had been gouged out of one of the thick woodenribs of the boat to which it had been attached, and attached quite firmly. Peering down, Fidelma saw a length of chain on the deck and a sharp piece of metal. There was no doubt that the chain and its attachment had been dug from its wooden fixing by someone using the sharp metal. But why? And by whom? She was backing out of the door when she noticed the bloodstains on the inside of the hatchway. Smeared bloody footprints led across the cabin, growing fainter and vanishing before they reached the other side.
Fidelma did not say anything as she climbed back onto the deck and snuffed out her lamp. Enda and the abbess were waiting impatiently for her. She signalled to Enda to replace the hatch cover while she went to the side of the boat and gazed down at the swiftly flowing waters in perplexity. There was no sign of any smeared or bloody footprints on the deck.
Was it conceivable that Abbess Fainder was telling the truth? It did not make sense. Could someone have killed Gabrán and, being alarmed by the arrival of Fainder, retreated down into that gruesome little cabin below decks and then made their way through the larger cabin, up the ladder onto the deck and over the side? No; there was one thing wrong with that. The hatch cover had been closed and it needed someone of strength to pull it aside. It would also have made a noise which the abbess would have heard and commented upon. She turned, still thoughtful, and went to the main cargo hold and peered down. Of course, there was a ladder there. She conceded that someone could have come up on deck through that route.
For the theory to be convincing, the person who killed Gabrán and made their escape in such a manner would have to have been a dwarf, a tiny, slim person, in order to slip through the hatch from Gabrán’s cabin down into the cell-like room below. Fidelma gave a shake of her head and turned back to where the Abbess Fainder had reseated herself on the hatch.
‘Enda,’ she addressed the warrior, ‘will you check on the horses?’
He looked bewildered. ‘They are safe enough, lady, and-’ Then he saw the steely look in her eyes and realised that she wanted to be alone with the abbess. ‘Very well,’ he said, and moved off with a self-conscious air.
Fidelma stood before the abbess.
‘I think that we should talk seriously, Mother Abbess, and leaveaside any notions of arrogant pretensions of rank and duty. It will make my task easier.’
The abbess blinked up at her in surprise at her direct approach.
‘I thought that we had been speaking seriously,’ she countered, with a flash of irritation.
‘Not seriously enough, it seems. Of course, you will wish to be represented by a dálaigh of your own choice …’
A look of concern crossed the abbess’s features once again.
‘I tell you that I am not involved in this death! You cannot believe that I will be charged with a murder that I did not commit?’
‘Why not? Other people have been,’ Fidelma replied with equanimity. ‘However, I do not wish to know how you mean to instruct the dálaigh you choose but I now want you to answer some questions which I think are pertinent to the things which have been happening here during recent weeks.’
‘If I refuse?’
‘I am a witness, along with my men, to discovering you bending over the body of Gabrán with a knife,’ Fidelma pointed out brutally.
‘I have told you everything that you need to know,’ the abbess fretted.
‘Everything? I have talked with Deog, your sister.’
The effect on the abbess was startling. She paled and her lips parted in alarm.
‘She has nothing to do with-’ she began to protest, but Fidelma cut her short.
‘Let me be the judge of the information necessary to my enquiries. Let us stop prevarications and let me, at last, have some answers!’
A sigh shook Abbess Fainder’s shoulders and she bowed her head as if in submission.
‘I know you came from a poor family at Raheen: your sister told me. And I believe that you were a novitiate at the abbey of Taghmon.’
‘You have been busy,’ the abbess replied bitterly.
‘Then you decided to go to Bobbio?’
‘I was sent on a mission there to Columbanus’s foundation. I took some books as a gift to the library of Bobbio.’
‘What persuaded you to support the Roman Rule?’
Abbess Fainder’s voice momentarily took on the tone of a fanatic.
‘When I reached Bobbio it was scarcely forty years since the death of Columbanus. Many of the religious there believed that the rules that he drew up, based on the rules of the Irish houses, were misguided.Columbanus, as blessed as the man was, argued with many of his followers. The Blessed Gall left his service to set up his own foundation even before Columbanus crossed the Alps to Bobbio. I became one of the party which, having seen how communities of the Western church were governed, came to believe that we should give up the Irish Rule and adopt the rule of the saintly Benedict of Noricum.’
‘So it was out of conviction that you did so?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you went on to Rome?’
‘The Abbot of Bobbio asked me to undertake a mission to Rome, to support a sub-house that we ran there as a hostel for pilgrims.’
‘It sounds as though you did not go willingly?’
‘At first I did not. I felt it was a way for the abbot to rid himself of the opposition to his administration. He was against the Rule of Benedict.’
‘But you went?’
‘I did. In fact, on a personal level, it was a time of happiness for me. I ran the hostel by the Rule of Benedict and lived and worked in the very centre of Christendom. It was there I came to study the benefits of the Penitentials.’
‘How did you meet with Abbot Noé?’
‘Easily enough. He stayed at my hostel while he was on a pilgrimage to Rome last summer.’
‘You had not met him before nor were related to him?’
‘No.’
‘And yet he persuaded you to return with him to Laigin
and become Abbess at Fearna?’
‘He talked about Fearna,’ The abbess was complacent. ‘It was I who persuaded him to take me there.’
‘How did that come about?’
‘I suppose he appreciated the way I ran my house in Rome.’ The abbess was guarded again.
‘He knew your views on the Penitentials?’
‘We discussed such matters long into the night. With all modesty, I converted him to my ideas.’
‘Really? You must be a powerful advocate,’ observed Fidelma.
‘It is not surprising. Abbot Noé is a very progressive man. He shared my idea of a kingdom ruled by the Penitentials and we spoke of how he could become spiritual adviser to young Fianamail. To be adviser andconfessor would give him influence in the matter.’
‘So Abbot Noé suddenly developed this ambition. How was it that you were made his successor at Fearna when custom dictated that an abbot or abbess must be elected in the same manner as a chieftain or any other leader — that the candidate must be chosen from the fine or family of the previous abbot meaning either his community or his blood kin — and be elected by the derbhfine?’
Abbess Fainder flushed and said nothing.
‘Your sister says that your family has no relationship with Noé’s family or with his religious community at Fearna. Thus ecclesiastical organisation reflects the civil organisation of this land.’
‘The sooner that is changed, the better,’ snapped the abbess.
‘In that regard, I might agree. The offices of bishops and abbots should not be kept in the same family for generations. But in dealing with the reality, how did Noé secure your election to the office?’
Abbess Fainder compressed her lips for a moment and then said, in a tight voice, ‘He dropped hints that I was a distant cousin and no one dared question Noé’s wishes.’
‘Not even the rechtaire, the stewardess of the abbey? She must have known the truth. She is related to the King’s family.’
The abbess grimaced, implying dismissal of Sister Étromma.
‘She is a simple soul, content merely on running the business of the abbey.’
Fidelma gave the abbess a long, searching look.
‘The reality was that you converted Noé by becoming his mistress, isn’t that it?’
Her sharp, unexpected question caught the abbess off guard and her flushed face confirmed the answer to the question. Fidelma shook her head sadly.
‘It is not my concern how the religious of Laigin govern their communities but how it impinges in the case of Eadulf. Does Forbassach know of your real relationship with Noé?’
‘He knows,’ whispered the abbess.
‘As the Brehon of this kingdom, the bishop seems to accept a lot of bending of the law.’
‘I am not aware of Bishop Forbassach breaking or bending the law,’ protested the abbess.
‘I think that you are well aware of it! Forbassach is also your lover, isn’t that the truth of it?’
The abbess was silent for a moment, not sure how to answer and then she said defensively, ‘I thought I loved Noé until I came here and met Forbassach. Anyway, there is no rule of celibacy in the Church.’
‘True enough, save for those rules which you claim to follow. Your curious triangle is a matter for your own conscience as well as for the wife of Forbassach. I know him to be married. She must consider whether this relationship is grounds for divorce or whether she will meekly accept the situation. Does Noé know about Forbassach?’
‘No!’ Abbess Fainder was scarlet with mortification. ‘I have been trying to break with him but …’
‘It is difficult after he has made you abbess?’ Fidelma was cynical.
‘I love Forbassach.’ She was almost defiant.
‘But it will present a pretty scandal, especially among those who proclaim the cause of Rome and the Penitentials. As a matter of interest, why did you refuse to acknowledge Daig as your brother-in-law or Deog as your sister, come to that? I cannot believe it was a matter of protecting your social rank.’
‘I visited Deog regularly,’ Fainder protested.
‘True, but in secret and because her cabin was a quiet place where you could meet with Forbassach.’
‘You have already answered the question yourself. You would not understand because you have always had social rank. When you do not have it and manage to obtain it, you will do anything — anything — to defend what you have gained.’
Fidelma heard the vehemence in her voice.
‘Anything?’ she mused. ‘It occurs to me that Daig’s death was convenient in protecting your rank.’
‘It was an accident. A drowning.’
‘I presume you knew that he was only a witness against Brother Ibar because of Gabrán’s word alone? It seems that the more he thought about the matter, the less sure he was about Ibar’s guilt?’
Abbess Fainder seemed perplexed as Fidelma sprang from one subject to another.
‘That is not so. It was Daig who caught Brother Ibar.’
‘But only after Gabrán had told Daig that Ibar was guilty. Did Gabrán tell Daig the truth? And why, once Daig had made his deposition, did he so conveniently get killed?’
Fainder’s face was drawn in anger now.
‘It was an accident. He was drowned — I have told you. Nor has the matter anything to do with me.’
‘Perhaps Daig could have cast more light on the matter. We don’t know. And now another person who could have told us more about this business is also dead.’ She gestured towards Gabrán’s cabin.
Abbess Fainder stood up, facing Fidelma. She seemed to be trying to recover something of her old arrogance.
‘I do not know what you mean nor what you imply,’ she said coldly. ‘I only know that you are trying to exonerate your Saxon friend. You are trying to accuse me and implicate Bishop Forbassach because we are lovers.’
‘It would seem,’ interrupted Fidelma evenly, ‘that, whatever is going on at Fearna, people have a habit of either being killed or disappearing. I would think about that, if I were as innocent as you claim to be.’
Abbess Fainder stood staring at Fidelma with wide, dark eyes. Her face had grown pale. She took a step forward and, as she opened her mouth, a shrill cry of terror echoed from the woods on the bank.
For a moment both the abbess and Fidelma froze with uncertainty. The shriek, a shrill feminine scream, echoed once more.
Fidelma turned towards the bank, where she could see a small figure running through the trees. It seemed to be running blindly for it burst onto the bank and came to an abrupt halt, as if realising that the river barred the way. Then it twisted like a snipe, weaving and ducking and was away as fast as it could go.
‘Enda! Quick!’ cried Fidelma, running forward to the shore.
She had recognised the figure as a wisp of a girl, bedraggled and barefooted.
Enda plunged forward from his vantage position, which had been near to the spot where the girl had emerged out of the bushes; he was able to overtake her with ease. Within a few strides he was able to grab the girl by one of her thin arms and twist her around, sobbing, crying and beating vainly at him with her free hand.
Fidelma had already leapt onto the wooden jetty and she ran to Enda’s aid.
As she reached his side she was aware of horses breaking through the trees and bushes along the pathway behind. She turned and found herself staring up at the surprised faces of Bishop Forbassach and Mel, the warrior, as they pulled rein on their snorting mounts.
She turned back to the dishevelled form in front of her.
‘They’ve been after me! Don’t let them kill me! Oh please, don’t let them kill me!’ screamed the girl. She was not much more than thirteen years old.
‘Don’t struggle then,’ Fidelma said soothingly. ‘We will not hurt you.’
‘They’ll kill me!’ the girl was sobbing. ‘They want to kill me!’
Fidelma was aware that Abbess Fainder had joined her for she felt her presence at h
er shoulder.
The abbess’s voice was shocked. ‘It is Sister Fial,’ she breathed. ‘We have been looking for you, Sister.’
Fidelma took in the bedraggled appearance of the young girl.
‘Your dress is soaked,’ she observed. ‘Have you been swimming in the river?’
It had taken Eadulf and his two charges a considerable time to cross the hills; it was perhaps too generous to call them mountains for only a couple of them rose above four hundred metres. The problem was not the height but the bare, rocky countryside and the fact that the young girls were weak from their ordeal. Eadulf himself, after weeks of incarceration in a cell, and in spite of his attempts to keep fit, was also not in the best physical condition. They had to pause frequently for rest on their upward journey.
They had journeyed north, heading to the north-east end of the mountain range and then turned to continue their journey south-west. Eadulf could see the tall shadow of the Yellow Mountain in the distance and was confirmed in his plan that the main hope of passing the night in any degree of comfort and without inviting exposure was to follow Dalbach’s advice and find sanctuary in the small religious settlement dedicated to the Blessed Brigid of Kildare, on the southern slopes. But the afternoon hours were speeding. It would be a long trek and one which would not be accomplished before nightfall.
Chapter Eighteen
Dego arrived back at the boat, in the company of Coba and several of his warriors, within minutes of the surprise emergence of Fial and her pursuers. Coba suggested that everyone should return to the comfort of his fortress at Cam Eolaing to discuss events. Fidelma had not been able to extract any sense from the still hysterical Fial nor from Bishop Forbassach and Mel, who suddenly seemed disinclined to explain themselves. The abbess had likewise grown quiet. Fidelma was undecided but Dego pointed out that the day was drawing on and it would soon be dark. The decision seemed to have been made for her.
Among Coba’s men were warriors who knew the river well and they volunteered to bring Gabrán’s boat downstream to the jetty below the fortress of Cam Eolaing. Two of the chieftain’s men, together with Enda, took charge of the horses and rode back with them while Fidelma, with the others, took her place on the boat.
Our Lady of Darkness sf-10 Page 25
