Our Lady of Darkness

by Peter Tremayne

‘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.

  ‘It was after midnight,’ she explained. ‘One presumes that it was dark. How could she see all this?’

  ‘I presume that the quay is lit with torchlight.’

  ‘Was this checked? And could the features of a man’s face be seen clearly by torchlight? Was she asked how close she was and where the light was situated?’

  ‘Nothing was said. All she told the court was that she had seen her friend struggling with a man.’

  ‘Struggling?’

  ‘She said that the man was strangling her friend,’ he went on. ‘The man rose from her body and ran for the abbey. She then identified me as that man. She said she had recognised the man as the Saxon stranger staying at the abbey.’

  Fidelma frowned again. ‘She used the words “Saxon stranger”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you claim that you had not seen her before? That you had not spoken to her?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘How did she know that you were a Saxon then?’

  ‘I suppose that she must have been told.’

  ‘Exactly. What else was she told?’

  Eadulf looked at her mournfully. ‘A pity that you were not at the trial.’

  ‘Maybe not. You have not mentioned who represented your legal interests at the trial.’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘What?’ The word exploded from her in anger. ‘You did not have the services of a dálaigh? Were you offered such services?’

  ‘I was just taken into the court. I was not given the opportunity to ask for some legal representative.’

  Fidelma’s face was beginning to take on an expression of hope for the first time.

  ‘There are many things wrong here, Eadulf. Are you sure that Bishop Forbassach did not ask if you wished to be represented or if you would represent yourself?’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘What other evidence was offered against you?’

  ‘A Brother Miach gave evidence. I understand he is the physician here. He came forward to give details of how the girl had been sexually assaulted and strangled. Then I was asked if I still denied the matter and I said I did. It was then that Forbassach said that the matter was being judged under the ecclesiastical code and not the laws of the Brehons of Éireann. I was to be hanged. The sentence would be referred to the King himself to confirm. A few days ago the King’s confirmation came and so, tomorrow, I am to meet Brother Cett on that platform down there.’

  ‘Not if there is justice, Eadulf,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘There are too many questions to be asked based on what you have told me.’

  Eadulf pursed his lips ruefully. ‘Perhaps it is a little late to ask them now, Fidelma?’

  ‘Not so. I will put forward an appeal.’

  To her surprise Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘You don’t know the abbess. She has great influence over Bishop Forbassach. People here walk in fear of her.’

  Fidelma looked interested. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Having been incarcerated in here for some weeks, I have become attuned to that communication I do possess. Even that unspeakable Brother Cett can supply me with information in his monosyllabic way. If this abbey is a spider’s web, then the abbess sits at its centre like a hungry black spider.’

  Fidelma smiled, for it seemed an apt description of Abbess Fainder.

  She rose slowly to her feet and glanced about the cell. It contained nothing apart from a stool and a cot with a straw mattress and a blanket. The only clothes Eadulf had were those which he was wearing.

  ‘You said that the abbess must have your travelling bag and the wand and letter from Colgú to Theodore?’

  ‘If they have not been left under the bed in the guests’ hostel.’

  Fidelma turned to the door and banged upon it, calling for Sister Étromma. She turned her head to Eadulf and smiled encouragement.

  ‘Have hope, Eadulf. I will seek out the truth here and try to find justice.’

  ‘You have my support in that but I have come to expect nothing in this place.’

  It was the burly, sinister Brother Cett who opened the door and stood aside to let Fidelma pass into the dark corridor beyond. He slammed the cell door shut and threw the bolts.

  ‘Where is Sister Étromma?’ demanded Fidelma.

  The big man did not answer but simply raised his hand to point along the corridor.

  Fidelma followed his directions and found Sister Étromma waiting in a seated recess by a window at the head of the stairway. The window gave a view of the river beyond. Boats were moving on it. It seemed a busy stretch of waterway. So intent was Sister Étromma on examining this vista that Fidelma had to cough to attract her attention.

  She turned and came to her feet at once.

  ‘Your talk with the Saxon was satisfactory?’ the stewardess of the abbey asked brightly.

  ‘Satisfactory? Hardly. There is much that is unsatisfactory about the proceedings. I hear that you were a witness at the trial?’

  Sister Étromma’s features became defensive. ‘I was.’

  ‘I heard that you also identified the victim, Gormgilla. I had not realised that you knew her.’

  ‘I did not.’

  Fidelma was perplexed. ‘Then how did you identify her?’

  ‘I told you before, she was a young novitiate in the abbey.’

  ‘Indeed. So am I to presume that you, as rechtaire of the abbey, greeted her among the novitiates when she arrived at this abbey? When did she join this community?’

  There was a look of uncertainty on Sister Étromma’s face.

  ‘I am not sure exactly …’

  ‘It is exactness that I am seeking, Sister,’ Fidelma snapped waspishly. ‘Tell me, exactly, when you first met the dead girl, Gormgilla.’

  ‘I … I only saw her after her body was brought to the abbey mortuary,’ the rechtaire confessed.

  Fidelma stared at her for a moment in astonishment. Then she shook her head. Perhaps she should grow used to being astonished in this case.

  ‘You saw her for the first time only after she was dead? Then how could you identify her as a novitiate at the abbey?’

  ‘I was told that she was by the abbess.’

  ‘But you had no right to identify her in evidence before a court if you did not personally know her.’

  ‘I would not doubt the word of the abbess. Besides, Fial said that she was her companion and came to the abbey with her to be a novitiate.’

  Fidelma felt it pointless to lecture the rechtaire on the rules of being a witness.

  ‘Your testimony is worthless in the court. Who did see this girl before her death? She surely did not simply appear in the abbey?’

  Sister Étromma was defiant. ‘The abbess told me and I tell you. Besides, the mistress of the novitiates greets all the newcomers and trains them. She would have seen the girl.’

  ‘Ah. Now we are getting somewhere. Why didn’t the mistress of the novitiates give evidence? Who is this woman and where do I find her?’

  Sister Étromma hesitated. ‘She has gone on a pilgrimage to Iona.’ Fidelma blinked. ‘And when did she do that?’

  ‘A day or so before the murder of Gormgilla. Therefore it was natural that I, as stewardess of
the abbey, came forward to give evidence. It was from the mistress of the novitiates that the abbess probably knew that the girl was one of her charges.’

  ‘Except that your testimony in law is without any foundation. You are only repeating what you have been told, not what you know.’ Fidelma was angry; angry that normal legal procedures seemed to have been totally disregarded. There were certainly enough discrepancies of legal practice to put forward an appeal.

  ‘But Fial was also a novitiate and identified her friend,’ protested Sister Étromma.

  ‘Then we must find Sister Fial, for it seems her testimony is more than crucial to this entire affair. Let us do so now.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Also I want to see the other witnesses to this matter. There is a Brother Miach, I believe?’

  ‘The physician?’

  ‘The same – but perhaps he, too, has gone on a pilgrimage?’ she added sarcastically.

  Sister Étromma did not react to the barb.

  ‘His apothecary is on the floor below. I will leave you with him while I go to find Sister Fial.’

  She turned and made her way down the steps, with Fidelma following.

  Fidelma’s mind was racing. Never in her years as a dálaigh had she encountered such flagrant breaches of legal procedures. She believed that she already had sufficient grounds on which to base an appeal to have the trial re-heard. She could scarcely believe that the Brehon of Laigin could have officiated over this farce. He surely knew the rules of evidence.

  Obviously, the main problem was the eye-witness testimony of the young novitiate, Fial. That would be the main obstacle in any move to seek an acquittal for Eadulf. Her eye-witness evidence was disastrous for Eadulf. Yet the saga of events sounded bizarre.

  There were many questions she must ask Fial. Why had she and her friend arranged to meet on the quay in the middle of the night? And, in the darkness of that night, how could she have seen the features of the killer of her friend so clearly that she could identify him? Who told her that he was a Saxon stranger? If one accepted Eadulf’s word, he had neither seen nor spoken to Fial before. Had he been pointed out to her? If so, by whom?

  Fidelma sighed deeply, knowing that while she might pick at points and challenge the legal procedures, the main facts remained. Eadulf had been identified by an eye-witness. He had been found with his robe bloody and with a torn piece of the girl’s clothing on him. How could she refute that evidence?

  The apothecary was a large, stone room with wooden doors and shuttered windows which opened onto a herb garden. Dried herbs and flowers hung in bunches from wooden rafters and a fire burnt in a hearth at one end of the room, above which a large black iron cauldron hung. In it steamed a noxious-smelling brew. Jars and boxes were stacked along the surrounding shelves.

  An elderly man turned as Sister Étromma entered. He was slightly stooped, his grey-white hair merging with a flowing beard. His eyes were light grey and had a cold, dead quality.

  ‘Well?’ His tone was high-pitched and querulous.

  ‘This is Sister Fidelma from Cashel, Brother Miach,’ Sister Étromma announced. ‘She needs to ask you some questions.’ She spoke to Fidelma. ‘I will leave you here while I find Sister Fial.’

  Fidelma found the elderly physician glaring suspiciously at her.

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped. ‘I am very busy.’

  ‘I will not keep you long from you work, Brother Miach,’ she assured him.

  He sniffed disdainfully. ‘Then state your business.’

  ‘My business is as a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘And what is that to do with me?’

  ‘I want to ask you some questions about the trial of Brother Eadulf.’

  ‘The Saxon? What of it? I hear that they are hanging him, if they have not done so already.’

  ‘They have not hanged him yet,’ Fidelma assured him.

  ‘Ask your questions then.’ The old man was impatient and temperamental.

  ‘I understand that you gave evidence at the trial?’

  ‘Of course. I am the physician of this abbey. If there is a suspicious death then I am asked for my opinion.’

  ‘Tell me, then, of your evidence.’

  ‘The matter is over and done with.’

  Fidelma replied harshly: ‘I will say when it is over and done with, Brother Miach. You will answer my questions.’

  The old man blinked rapidly, apparently unused to being spoken to in such tones.

  ‘They brought me the body of a young girl to examine. I told the Brehon what I had found.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘The girl was dead. There were bruises around her neck. Clearly she had been strangled. Moreover, there were obvious indications that she had been raped beforehand.’

  ‘And how did those obvious indications manifest themselves?’

  ‘The girl had been a virgin. Not surprising. She was only twelve, so I am told. The sexual intercourse had caused her to bleed extensively. It needed no great medical knowledge to see the blood.’

  ‘So there was blood on her robe?’

  ‘There was and around the area where you would expect to find it in the circumstances. There is no doubt as to what happened.’

  ‘No doubt? You say it was rape. Could it have been otherwise?’

  ‘My dear … dálaigh,’ the old physician was pitying in his tone. ‘Use some imagination. A young girl is strangled after having intercourse; does it seem likely that it could be anything else but rape?’

  ‘It is still more of an opinion than true medical evidence,’ Fidelma said. The old physician did not reply and so she passed to her next question. ‘Did you know the child?’

  ‘Gormgilla was her name.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Because I was told.’

  ‘But you had never seen her in the abbey before she was brought to you in death?’

  ‘I would not have seen her unless she had been ill. I think it was Sister Étromma who told me her name. Come to think of it, I would have been seeing her sooner rather than later, had she not been killed.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I think she was one of those religieuses who like to punish themselves for what they think are their sins. I noticed that she had sores around both wrists and around one ankle.’

  ‘Sores?’

  ‘Signs that she had used bonds on herself.’

  ‘Bonds? Not connected with her rape and murder?’

  ‘The sores had come from the use of constraints which she had obviously worn some time prior to her death. The sores had nothing to do with her other injuries.’

  ‘Were there signs also of flagellation?’

  The physician shook his head. ‘Some of these ascetic masochists simply use bonds to expiate the pain of what they deem as sins.’

  ‘Did you not find that this masochism, as you define it, was strange in one so young?’

  Brother Miach was indifferent. ‘I have seen worse cases. Religious fanaticism often leads to shocking self-abuse.’

  ‘Did you also examine Brother Eadulf?’

  ‘Brother Eadulf? Oh, the Saxon, you mean. Why would I do that?’

  ‘I am told that he was found with blood on him and in possession of a piece of the girl’s torn robe. Perhaps it would have been appropriate to have examined him to show whether there was any consistency in his appearance with the idea that he had carried out an attack on the girl.’

  The physician sniffed again. ‘From what I hear, it needed no words of mine to convict him. As you say, he had blood on him and a piece of the girl’s bloodstained robe. He was also identified by someone who saw him do the killing. What need for me to examine him?’

  Fidelma restrained a sigh. ‘It would have been … appropriate.’

  ‘Appropriate? Pah! If I spent my life doing what was appropriate, I would have let a hundred suffering patients die.’

&n
bsp; ‘With respect, that is hardly a comparison.’

  ‘I am not here to argue ethics with you, dálaigh. If you have done with your questions then I have work to do.’

  Fidelma ended the interview with a brief word of thanks and left the room. There was nothing else to pursue with the physician. There was no sign of Sister Étromma returning. She waited outside the apothecary for several minutes before a thought came to her. One of the gifts Fidelma possessed was an almost uncanny ability to find her way in any place once she had been there before. She knew by means of retained memory and instinct just how to find her way back to the places in the abbey through which she had been led. So instead of continuing to wait for Sister Étromma, she turned along the passageways and began to retrace her steps towards the chamber of Abbess Fainder.

  She opened the door onto the silent courtyard of the abbey and crossed it slowly. The body of the monk was still hanging from the wooden gibbet. What was his name – Brother Ibar? Strange that he should have murdered a boatman and robbed him on the same quay just a day after the rape and death of Gormgilla.

  She suddenly halted in the middle of the courtyard’s quadrangle.

  This was one of the two people in the abbey to whom Eadulf had spoken at any great length on the evening that he had arrived.

  She turned back and rapidly made her way up the stairs to the dank corridor which led to Eadulf’s cell. Brother Cett had gone; another religieux was standing guard in his place.

  ‘What do you want?’ he muttered rudely, emerging from the gloom.

  ‘Firstly, I would like to see you use better manners, Brother,’ Fidelma replied curtly. ‘Secondly, I would like you to open the door to this cell for me. I have authority from the abbess.’

  The figure took a step back in the gloom as if in surprise.

  ‘I have no orders …’ came his sullen tone.

  ‘I am giving you the orders, Brother. I am a dálaigh. Brother Cett had no problem when I came here earlier with Sister Étromma.’

  ‘Sister Étromma? She said nothing to me. She and Cett have gone down to the quay.’

  The religieux considered the matter while Fidelma fretted impatiently for several long seconds. She thought that she would be met with a stubborn refusal. Then, almost reluctantly, he moved forward and threw the bolts back.