Our Lady of Darkness sf-10

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I would have thought that it was obvious, Mother Abbess,’ she said quietly. ‘This trade in young girls, selling them off to foreign slave ships, is being run by someone in Fearna, someone in the abbey — and that someone is a religious who bears a high rank there.’

  Abbess Fainder’s hand came up to clutch her throat, her face pale.

  ‘No! No! she cried and then, without warning, she collapsed to the floor in a swoon.

  Fidelma moved swiftly to her side and bent down, feeling for the pulse in her neck.

  At that moment, one of Coba’s warriors came bursting into the hall in a state of excitement.

  ‘Bishop Forbassach has returned. He is outside with a large band of the King’s warriors. He demands the release of the abbess and the warrior, Mel, and the surrender of the rest of us. What is the word, Chieftain? Do we surrender or do we fight?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eadulf awakened with a start as the door of his small chamber crashed open. He blinked in confusion at the figures crowding in the doorway. One of them was holding a lamp. His figure was very familiar. It was with a sickening sense of despair that Eadulf recognised Brother Cett. By his side stood the young, animated Fianamail. Eadulf was dimly aware of the anguished features of Brother Martan behind them.

  Fianamail’s features twisted into a smile of satisfaction as he gazed down at Eadulf.

  ‘That is the man,’ he affirmed. ‘Well done, Brother Cett.’

  Eadulf was dragged from the bed by Brother Cett and hauled upright. With expert ease, he found himself forced round; his hands were twisted behind him and he was bound. The hemp rope cut deeply into his wrists.

  ‘Well, Saxon,’ Brother Cett leered at him as he spun him back to face the young King. ‘You thought that you had made your escape. Not so.’

  He punctuated his sentences with a short, sharp rabbit punch which made Eadulf double over and retch at the pain.

  ‘Brother!’ cried Brother Martan in disgust. ‘Forbear to use violence on a bound man, a man of the Faith at that!’

  It was then that Eadulf heard a familiar voice.

  ‘The Saxon has lost whatever Faith he adheres to, Father Martan. However, you are right to admonish Brother Cett. You need not treat a dying man so harshly, Brother. God will punish him before the day is out.’

  Eadulf twisted round to see the sallow face of Abbot Noé swim into view. Realising the futility of his position, Eadulf forced a pain-racked grin at the dour religieux.

  ‘Your Christian charity does you credit,’ he gasped, trying to recover his breath.

  Abbot Noé took a step forward and examined him carefully but his thin features were expressionless.

  ‘There is no escape from the fires of hell, Saxon.’ His voice was solemn.

  ‘So I am told. We all eventually have to answer for our misdeeds; kings and bishops … even abbots.’

  Abbot Noé simply smiled, turned and left the cell.

  The young King Fianamail was impatient. He looked across the cell to the window and saw the diminishing darkness. It would be dawn within the hour. Brother Martan observed his restless glance.

  ‘Will you leave at once for Fearna?’ he asked. ‘Or return first to your hunting lodge?’

  ‘We will wait here until dawn and then ride directly for Fearna,’ the King replied.

  ‘Regretfully, we have no extra horse for your prisoner,’ apologised the Father Superior.

  Fianamail looked grim.

  ‘The Saxon will not need one. There is a good strong tree outside the gates here. He has escaped our justice twice. He will not escape a third time. We will hang him before we depart.’

  Eadulf felt a cold sensation in his stomach but he did his best not to show his feelings to those around him. He forced a smile. After all, death had to come to everyone, did it not? He had been facing death these last few weeks, although he had hoped that, with Fidelma’s arrival, there might be some chance that the truth would be discovered. Fidelma! Where was she? He wished he could see her one more time in this world.

  ‘Can that be within the law?’ Brother Martan was staring askance at his King.

  Fianamail turned on the man with a frown of displeasure.

  ‘The law?’ His voice was threatening. ‘The man has had his trial. He was about to be hanged when he escaped. Of course it is legal! I act as representative of that law. Brother Cett will see to the arrangements and if you have moral qualms, Brother Martan, I suggest you consult the abbot.’

  Brother Cett grinned sourly at Eadulf as Brother Martan left the cell.

  ‘Now,’ continued Fianamail, ‘let me breakfast for the day is chill and I am hungry. To be awakened before dawn and have to come chasing outlaws is a tiring business.’ He hesitated as if he had just thought of something. ‘By the way, we will also take the two young girls with us to Fearna. In the circumstances, they will have a better chance of life inthe abbey there than returning home or wandering the countryside.’

  Brother Cett’s sadistic expression broadened. ‘It shall be as you say.’

  The cell door slammed as Fianamail and the burly Brother Cett left Eadulf alone to watch the arrival of his last dawn.

  The horses were trotting in a column, two abreast, towards Fearna. Dego was riding beside Fidelma while behind them rode Coba and Enda and behind them came Fial mounted on the same horse as Mel who, in turn, rode with Abbess Fainder. Bishop Forbassach was behind. In the front and at the rear came warriors of King Fianamail’s guard. It was cold and dark but the leading horsemen seemed to know the road from Cam Eolaing to Fearna well and did not hesitate in keeping up a steady pace.

  Dego finally glanced at Fidelma.

  ‘Why did you persuade Coba to surrender, lady?’ He demanded. His tone was slightly querulous. The question had been on his mind since Fidelma had urged the bó-aire not to resist the warriors whom Forbassach had brought with him. It was the first time since those hectic moments that Dego had been able to pose the question and he did so in a low voice, not wishing to be heard by the guards. ‘We could have fought this bishop and his men.’

  Fidelma returned his look in the gloom.

  ‘And then what?’ she asked gently. ‘Taken satisfaction in making a futile stand or, had we been lucky enough to drive off Bishop Forbassach, the Brehon of Laigin and the King’s warriors, would we have had satisfaction in bringing down a bloody conflict on both kingdoms in which truth and justice would have been entirely forgotten?’

  ‘I don’t understand, lady.’

  ‘Say that Coba had refused to surrender? Bishop Forbassach is Brehon of this kingdom and has a legitimate right to demand the surrender of people held against their will.’

  Dego remained silent.

  ‘On what legal grounds did we have the right to refuse to surrender to the Brehon of this kingdom?’

  ‘I thought that we were about to discover the reason. You had already proved that Brother Eadulf had been unjustly persecuted for crimes he did not commit. You showed that the abbess must have been involved in some terrible slave trade among young girls.’

  ‘What I said,’ replied Fidelma slowly, ‘was that the abbey was a centre of passing young girls downriver and selling them to foreign slave ships. We had not yet gone into examining the details, far less discovering who is behind this trade.’

  Dego felt bewildered.

  ‘But now we have no chance of discovering anything, lady. By surrendering we have given ourselves no freedom of opportunity to continue our quest. At best, Bishop Forbassach will have us thrown out of the kingdom. At worst, he will have us imprisoned for … well, for something or other. I am sure he will dream up a suitable charge.’

  ‘Dego, had Coba not surrendered, we might have all been slaughtered by the superior numbers of Forbassach’s warriors; or, if by some miracle we had driven Forbassach off, how long would it have been before the King himself came with an army and burnt Cam Eolaing to the ground? We had no choice.’

  Dego was reluctant to a
dmit the logic of her argument. Indeed, Fidelma herself had only just supported her own logic, for emotionally she agreed with Dego. Her first instinct had been to fight, for there was a darkness and evil which pervaded the abbey and those associated with it. Yet, examining the situation coolly, she realised that there was no choice. The problem now arose as to how she could persuade Bishop Forbassach to allow her to continue the process that she had begun in Coba’s hall. At least, she had shown that Brother Eadulf was not guilty and she now had the key witness to the event, the girl Fial.

  Yet could she rely on Fial? She was young, still below the ‘age of choice’, and had already changed her version of events once. In law, her evidence was inadmissible. But that had not stopped Forbassach from finding a flimsy excuse to use it. Therefore, in an appeal, he must accept Fial’s repudiation of it. But would he? Forbassach might easily dismiss her evidence if he so wished.

  Any appeal to Fianamail was almost hopeless now. He was too young, without the maturity of years, to overcome his prejudices and his excessive ambition to leave his mark on his kingdom. Abbot Noé had apparently persuaded the young man to think of himself as ‘Fianamail the Lawgiver’, the King who changed the law system of Laigin by imposing the Penitentials to make it, as he thought, a truly Christian kingdom. Her heart sank as she turned over the possibilities in her mind.

  While fighting Bishop Forbassach and his warriors had not been anoption, each kilometre they drew nearer to Fearna produced no viable alternatives. At no time in her career had Fidelma felt so helpless through the lack of choice. Dego was probably right. Knowing Forbassach, the best she could hope for would be that the bishop would have her and her companions escorted to the border and expelled from Laigin. At worst he could lay charges against her for some conspiracy, for impeding justice, for false accusations, for abetting Coba in a ‘rebellion’ against the law. Forbassach was capable of all these things.

  She sighed. Now she really hoped that Eadulf had absconded from the kingdom. Had he been wise, he would have made for the coast and picked up a ship to escape back to his homeland. Had he not done so, she shivered slightly at the thought of what might be his fate.

  Dawn heralded a bright, chill morning. Brother Martan and two of his community stood with arms folded in their robes, and heads bowed under their cowls, at the gates of the tiny church and community of the Blessed Brigid, on the broad frost-covered slopes of the Yellow Mountain. The white frost stretched away like snow, southward towards the distant valley where the river swept around the principal town of the Laigin kingdom, around the place of the great alder trees, Fearna.

  Standing in front of the monks were the two young girls, Muirecht and Conna. They were shivering in the frigid early morning air in spite of the woollen cloaks given them by the kindly Brother Martan. They were bewildered and scared by the developments. Brother Martan looked on unhappily as he viewed the unfolding scene from beneath his cowl.

  One of Fianamail’s warriors was standing with the horses of the company, holding them with the reins drawn loosely into one hand. Abbot Noé stood slightly to one side of Brother Martan’s group, seemingly disinterested by the proceedings. Only the young King Fianamail, already seated on horseback, appeared impatient.

  Outside the gate were several trees but one tree caught the attention immediately; a twisted black oak that seemed as old as Time itself. From a low branch, the burly Brother Cett had secured a hemp rope which he had expertly fashioned into a noose. He had placed a three-legged stool, borrowed from the community, underneath it. Now he looked questioningly towards Fianamail, indicating that he was ready.

  Fianamail glanced up at the bright sky and smiled, a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ he called harshly.

  Three of his warriors emerged from the gates, propelling Eadulf before them.

  Eadulf was no longer frightened of death. He would have admitted that he was fearful of being hurt, but not of death itself. He walked with a firm step. He felt sad at the unjust manner of his death as it seemed to him to serve no useful purpose. But he was resigned to it and the quicker it was over the sooner his fear of pain would be gone. He even stepped up on the stool without being asked. He found his thoughts were filled by images of Fidelma. He tried to keep her face before him as he felt the noose being secured around his neck by Brother Cett.

  ‘Well, Saxon, do you confess your sins?’ cried Fianamail. Eadulf did not bother to answer him and the young King turned impatiently to Abbot Noé. ‘You are his religious superior, Noé. It is your task to take his confession.’

  Abbot Noé smiled thinly. ‘Perhaps he does not believe in the Roman form of public confession and would prefer to whisper his sins into the ears of a soul friend in the manner of our church?’

  ‘You will not be interested in my confession for I am innocent of the crimes laid against me,’ Eadulf replied, irritated by their delay. ‘Get on with this murderous business.’

  Yet Fianamail appeared conscious that the law should be assuaged by a confession.

  ‘Do you refuse to admit your guilt even at this moment? You are about to come face to face with the Almighty God to answer for that guilt.’

  Eadulf found himself smiling in spite of the imminence of death. It was an automatic reaction.

  ‘Then He will know that I am not guilty. Remember, Fianamail, King of Laigin, that Morann, a Brehon and philosopher of your country, said that death cancels everything — except the truth.’

  He heard Fianamail’s exasperated sigh and then he felt the noose tighten as the stool was kicked from under him.

  Bishop Forbassach and his prisoners had arrived back at Fearna. They were led directly into the abbey courtyard, ordered to dismount and ushered into the chapel of the abbey under guard. Sister Étromma had greeted the appearance of Fial with some degree of astonishment. Theabbess took personal charge of the young girl and led her away, presumably to be cared for.

  Fidelma, Coba, Dego and Enda were left facing Bishop Forbassach, who examined them truculently.

  ‘Well, Forbassach?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Will you hear me out? Will you allow me to continue the arguments that I was making in the hall of Coba?’

  A look of satisfaction spread over his features.

  ‘You are as wily as a fox, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said. ‘No, I will not let you spread your lies any further. Abbess Fainder explained to me on the journey what you are trying to do. You are trying to defame this abbey, the abbess, the religious and law of Laigin. It will not work.’

  ‘You are either foolish or culpable of these crimes, Forbassach,’ Fidelma replied in an even tone. ‘You are either compounding them after the event or are guilty of involvement in them. There is no other explanation for your stupidity.’

  The bishop’s eyes narrowed belligerently.

  ‘I am minded to bring charges against you and your companions, Fidelma. I know well enough that you are sister to the King of Cashel but even the threat of incurring his displeasure does not make me flinch now. You have gone too far. Your brother’s influence will no longer safeguard you. I will discuss this matter with Fianamail before I reach a decision and, in the meantime, you will be imprisoned with your companions here in the abbey.’

  Dego stepped forward.

  ‘You will regret this, Bishop,’ he said quietly. ‘Lay hands on Fidelma and you will find the army of Muman marching on your borders. You are twice condemned by threatening my lady. You are condemned that you dare threaten a dálaigh of the courts and you are condemned because you dare threaten the sister of our King.’

  Bishop Forbassach appeared unimpressed by the young warrior’s bombast.

  ‘Your King, not my King, young man. And your threat to me has also been noted. You will have plenty of time to contemplate that threat and how such a threat is punished in this land.’

  Dego was about to make a move when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm. She had seen Forbassach’s warriors ready with their swords.

>   ‘Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem,’ she mutteredquoting one of Horace’s Odes, to remind Dego to maintain a clear head when attempting difficult tasks.

  ‘Wise advice, if you want to live,’ smirked the bishop. Then turning to his warriors: ‘Take them away!’

  ‘One moment,’ Fidelma commanded, her forceful tone causing them to hesitate. ‘What do you plan to do with Coba?’

  Bishop Forbassach glanced towards the bó-aire of Cam Eolaing. Then he turned back to Fidelma with a malicious grin.

  ‘What would your brother do to a traitor who has gone against the law and rebelled against his authority? He will die.’

  Brother Eadulf heard the sound of the shout and he closed his eyes. Then he experienced the sensation of falling and felt a hard thump as his body hit the ground. He lay for a moment, gasping for breath and puzzled until he realised that he had, indeed, fallen on the ground. The rope must have broken as the stool was kicked from under him. His immediate thought was the anguished one that he would have to go through the process all over again. He opened his eyes and peered up.

  His first sight was of Brother Cett, standing with an expression of amazement on his features; his arms were spread, almost in a position of surrender. Then he was aware of more shouting. Another figure was bending forward and hauling him to his feet. He saw a young, vaguely familiar face whose features wore a grin.

  ‘Brother Eadulf! Are you all right?’

  He looked blankly at the young man, trying to recognise him.

  ‘It is I, Aidan, a warrior of the bodyguard of King Colgú of Cashel.’

  Eadulf blinked in confusion as he found the young warrior cutting his bonds. He could not speak for the soreness of his throat.

  He was aware of several mounted warriors, richly dressed and armed, and a great blue silken banner being carried by one of them. Fianamail and his companions had frozen in shocked surprise at their appearance.

  Among the newly arrived horsemen, seated on a powerful roan mare, was a man of indiscernible age clad in robes that denoted some high rank or office. He had a prominent nose, and his eyes were bright, unblinking; and he bore a stern, thin-lipped expression.