Our Lady of Darkness

by Peter Tremayne

  Eadulf walked towards him and Dalbach held out his hand in greeting. Eadulf took it. It was a firm grasp. Still gripping his hand, the blind man raised his other to lightly touch Eadulf’s face and trace his features. Eadulf was not startled by this for he remembered the case of Móen, the blind, deaf mute of Araglin whose method of ‘seeing’ was by touch. He stood patiently until the blind man was satisfied as to his investigation.

  ‘You are used to the inquisitiveness of the blind, Brother Saxon,’ he finally observed, dropping his hand.

  ‘I know that you but wish to “see” my features,’ agreed Eadulf.

  The man smiled. It was the first time he had done so.

  ‘You can tell much from a person’s face. I trust you, Brother Saxon. You have sympathetic features.’

  ‘That is a nice way of describing a lack of handsomeness,’ grinned Eadulf.

  ‘Does that trouble you? That you consider yourself not blessed with good looks?’

  Eadulf realised that the faculties of the man were sharp and missed nothing.

  ‘We are all a little vain, even the ugliest of us.’

  ‘Vanitas vanitatum, omnis vanitas,’ laughed the man.

  ‘Ecclesiastes,’ acknowledged Eadulf. ‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’

  ‘This is my house. Come in.’

  With that, the man turned and went into the cabin. Eadulf was impressed by the tidiness of it. Dalbach moved with unerring accuracy around the obstacles. Eadulf realised that the items of furniture must have been placed so that he could memorise their position.

  ‘Place your cloak on the back of the chair and sit down, there at the table,’ instructed Dalbach, while he went straight to a cauldron hanging over a glowing fire. Eadulf took off his sheepskin cloak. He watched as Dalbach, with dexterity, picked up a bowl from a shelf and ladled the broth into it. He moved directly back to the table and put down the bowl, almost in front of Eadulf.

  ‘You will forgive any inaccuracy?’ he smiled. ‘Bring the bowl to you and pick up a spoon that should lie on the table. There is bread there, too.’

  Indeed there was and Eadulf did not even wait to mutter a gratias before he was tucking in.

  ‘You were not telling a lie then, Saxon,’ Dalbach observed when he returned with his own bowl of broth. He held his head in a listening position.

  ‘A lie?’ mumbled Eadulf, between mouthfuls.

  ‘You are, indeed, very hungry.’

  ‘Thanks to your kind hospitality, friend Dalbach, the hunger is diminishing and I am also feeling warm again. It is a cold day out there. The Lord must have guided my footsteps to your cabin. Surely, though, this is an isolated spot for a … for a …’

  ‘For a blind man, Brother Eadulf? Do not be nervous of the term.’

  ‘What made you pick this lonely spot to live?’

  Dalbach’s mouth twisted cynically. The expression did not suit him.

  ‘It chose me rather than I chose it.’

  ‘I do not understand. I would have thought life in a town or village would be more easy with other people close by in case you needed assistance.’

  ‘I am forbidden to live in them.’

  ‘Forbidden?’

  Eadulf looked at his host nervously. He knew that among his own people lepers were often forbidden to live in the towns and villages. Yet Dalbach did not appear to be suffering from leprosy.

  ‘I am an exile,’ explained Dalbach. ‘Blinded and sent out from my people to fend for myself.’

  ‘Blinded?’

  Dalbach raised a hand to the scar across his eyes and smiled sardonically.

  ‘You did not think that I was born like this, Brother Eadulf?’

  ‘How were you blinded and why?’

  ‘I am the son of Crimthann who ruled this kingdom thirty years ago. When he died, his Cousin Faelán claimed the crown …’

  ‘The same King of Laigin who died last year, after which young Fianamail came to the throne?’

  Dalbach inclined his head.

  ‘I know your Saxon kingship succession is very different to ours. Do you know our Brehon law of succession?’

  ‘I do. The man best suited among the royal family is elected by his derbhfine to be King.’

  ‘Just so. The derbhfine is the electoral college of the family, three male generations from a common great-grandfather. I was a young man then, a warrior, and not long having reached the age of choice. Faelán was safe enough when he was elected but as the years went by he became obsessed with the idea that he might be challenged and he thought there was only one who could be that challenger. Me. He had me seized at night and a hot poker placed over my eyes, to give me a disability which would prevent the derbhfine from seriously considering me for any office in the kingdom. Then I was turned out to fend for myself, forbidden to dwell in any town or village throughout the kingdom of Laigin.’

  Brother Eadulf was not surprised to hear of Dalbach’s story. He knew that such things happened. Among the Saxon kingdoms, where the law was that the eldest male heir succeeded, the brutality in the scramble to the throne and power was just as bad. Brothers slaughtered each other, mothers poisoned sons, sons murdered fathers and fathers killed or imprisoned sons. Among the five kingdoms of Éireann it required only a physical blemish to prohibit someone from standing for kingship, so perhaps the brutality was not as bad as the Saxons’ need to kill a candidate outright.

  ‘It must have been hard to readjust to this life, Dalbach,’ Eadulf commented in sympathy.

  The blind man shook his head.

  ‘I have supportive friends and even relatives. One of my cousins is a religieux in Fearna who frequently visits me to bring food or gifts, although his conversation is limited. My friends and relatives have helped me cope. Faelán is dead now and there is no danger. Besides, I lead an interesting life.’

  ‘Interesting?’

  ‘I have forsaken the sword to compose poetry, and I play the cruit, the small harp. I am well content with my life.’

  Eadulf glanced doubtfully at the man’s physique.

  ‘You do not acquire such muscles by merely playing a harp, Dalbach.’

  Dalbach slapped his hand on his knee and chuckled.

  ‘You are observant, Brother. It is true that I continue to take exercise, for in these conditions one needs to be strong in body.’

  ‘That is true … Ah!’

  The blind man raised his head expectantly at Eadulf’s sudden exclamation.

  ‘What is it?’

  Eadulf smiled ruefully.

  ‘I have just worked out what the Ogham sticks mean around your cabin. They are a guide, aren’t they?’

  ‘You are observant, indeed, Brother Eadulf,’ confirmed the other appreciatively. ‘When I wander in the clearing, the posts are there to tell me at what point of the compass I am and guide me back to the cabin.’

  ‘That is inventive.’

  ‘One becomes inventive in such circumstances.’

  ‘And are you not bitter? I mean about Faelán who did this terrible thing to you?’

  Dalbach considered the idea and then he shrugged.

  ‘I think the bitterness has evaporated. Wasn’t it Petrarch who said that nothing mortal is enduring …?’

  ‘ … and there is nothing sweet which does not eventually end in bitterness,’ finished Eadulf.

  Dalbach chuckled in delight.

  ‘Well, I admit, for some years I felt bitter towards Faelán. But when a man dies, what point is there in hating him? It is now the grandson of my Uncle Rónán Crach who rules the land. So it goes.’

  ‘You mean Fianamail? He is your cousin?’

  ‘The Uí Cheinnselaig are all cousins.’

  A tone of wariness entered Eadulf’s voice. ‘And are you close to your Cousin Fianamail?’

  Dalbach had picked up on the subtle change immediately.

  ‘He ignores me and I ignore him. He has done nothing to recompense my sorrow. Why are you wary of him, Brother Eadulf?’

&nb
sp; Eadulf was surprised by the abrupt question. He reminded himself that he was dealing with someone who was able to pick up every slight nuance and interpret it. Yet he found himself trusting this blind man.

  ‘He wished to execute me,’ Eadulf said, deciding that truth was the easiest course.

  There seemed no change of expression on the face of Dalbach. He sat in silence for a moment or two and then sighed softly.

  ‘I have heard about you. You are the Saxon who was to be hanged for raping and murdering a young girl. I thought your name was familiar and that was why you hesitated to give it.’

  ‘I did not do it,’ returned Eadulf swiftly. Then he realised that he should be surprised that Dalbach knew of him. ‘I swear I am innocent of the charge.’

  The blind man seemed to guess what he was thinking.

  ‘I might be in a lonely place, but that does not mean to say that I am alone. I told you that I have friends and relatives who bring me news. If you are not guilty, why were you condemned?’

  ‘Perhaps in the same way that you were condemned to blindness. Fear is a great motive for any unjust action. All I can say is that I did not do it. I would give anything to know the reasons behind the false accusation.’

  Dalbach sat back in his chair thoughtfully.

  ‘It is strange that debility in one sense is able to heighten the other senses. There is something in the timbre of your voice, Brother Eadulf, that has a resonance of sincerity in it. I might flatter myself but I think I know that you are not lying.’

  ‘For that, I thank you, Dalbach.’

  ‘So you have escaped your captors? Doubtless they are hunting for you. Are you making for the coast to escape back to your own country?’

  Eadulf hesitated and Dalbach added quickly: ‘Oh, you can trust me. I shall not give your plans away.’

  ‘It is not that,’ replied Eadulf. ‘I had thought of making for the coast. The best course, though, is for me to remain and attempt to seek out the truth. That is what I intend.’

  Dalbach was silent for a moment.

  ‘That is a brave thing to do. You have confirmed my first impression of your innocence. Had you asked me to help you reach the coast, I would have become immediately suspicious. However, how can I help you to stay and seek out the truth?’

  ‘I need to return to Fearna. There is … there is someone there who will help me.’

  ‘That someone being Sister Fidelma of Cashel?’

  Eadulf was utterly astonished. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The same cousin of whom I spoke. I have heard much of Fidelma of Cashel. It was her father, Failbe Fland, King of Muman, who slew my father when he was allied to Faelán at the battle of Ath Goan on the Iarthar Life.’

  The man spoke without rancour but Eadulf’s astonishment grew.

  ‘Fidelma’s father? But he died when she was a baby.’

  ‘Indeed, he did. The battle of Ath Goan was over thirty years ago. Don’t worry, Brother Eadulf. Battles between my father and his enemies no longer concern me. There is no enmity between me and any offspring of Failbe Fland.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ replied Eadulf fervently.

  ‘So we must find a way of contacting this Fidelma of Cashel,’ Dalbach said. ‘Do you have any plans?’

  Eadulf shrugged before realising that it was a meaningless gesture. ‘I do not, beyond getting back to Fearna and hoping that she will still be there. The problem is that I might be spotted immediately. Even with my cloak, I doubt that I could pass unnoticed for any length of time with this habit and the tonsure of St Peter on my head as well as a Saxon accent.’

  Abruptly there came a nearby blast from a hunting horn. Its unexpectedness caused Eadulf to start.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, Brother Eadulf,’ Dalbach reassured him as he rose from his seat. ‘That might be my cousin. I had word that he might be passing today or tomorrow to bring me some gifts.’

  A figure appeared at the edge of the trees, halting before the clearing in front of the cabin.

  Eadulf glanced through the window and then shot to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. He had no hesitation in recognising the small, wiry, thin-faced man who had roused him from his bed in the fortress of Cam Eolaing earlier that morning. It was the very man who had pretended to set him free and then had proceeded to try to shoot him down; to kill him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Gabrán?’ Sister Étromma appeared surprised as she faced Fidelma at the gates of the abbey. ‘What makes you think that I would know where he is?’

  Fidelma was a trifle impatient with the stewardess.

  ‘You are the rechtaire of the abbey. As Gabrán trades regularly with the abbey, I would expect that you might be the first person one should ask as to his possible whereabouts.’

  Sister Étromma admitted reluctantly to the logic but spread her hands in a gesture denoting her inability to help.

  ‘I am sorry, Sister. These are difficult times and since the Saxon’s escape yesterday, the Mother Abbess has been particularly …’ She hesitated and grimaced. ‘Really, I don’t know where he is.’ Her voice was complaining. ‘Suddenly, everyone seems so keen to find Gabrán. I do not understand it.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Fidelma asked the question swiftly, interested at the comment. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  Sister Étromma reconsidered her statement.

  ‘I mean that several people have asked me today if I know where he might be. The Mother Abbess, among others. I told her a short while ago that I was not his keeper.’

  Fidelma raised a sceptical eyebrow at the idea of the bird-like, nervous stewardess saying anything so outrageous to the haughty abbess.

  ‘So Abbess Fainder was asking for him this morning?’ She was thoughtful.

  ‘Asking if I knew where he was,’ corrected the rechtaire.

  ‘But you have no idea of his whereabouts?’

  Sister Étromma exhaled in exasperation.

  ‘The man lives on his boat unless he is too drunk to return to it. He comes from Cam Eolaing. His boat is not at the abbey quay so he could be anywhere along the river, anywhere between Cam Eolaing and Loch Garman to the south of here. I am not an augur so cannot tell you exactly where he is.’

  Fidelma was surprised at the stewardess’s irritability.

  ‘Perhaps you can make a guess?’ she enquired gently.

  Sister Étromma seemed about to refuse and then she shrugged.

  ‘Abbess Fainder chose to ride towards Cam Eolaing. Therefore I would imagine that is a good starting place to look for him.’

  As Sister Étromma made to turn away, Fidelma stayed her. ‘There are a few questions that I would like to ask in order to clarify some matters, Sister Étromma. It is obvious that you are hostile to Abbess Fainder. Why is that?’

  The stewardess glared defiantly at her. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

  ‘Sometimes things can be so obvious that they are unseen.’

  ‘I had ambition. A small ambition, true. Should I like the person who stole that ambition from me?’

  ‘Then you must equally dislike Abbot Noé for bringing Fainder here and making her abbess over your head?’

  Sister Étromma shrugged. ‘I no longer care. I have already told you that I have other plans now.’

  ‘What of this merchant, Gabrán?’ Fidelma changed the subject. ‘He seems to have a special relationship with the abbess. He entered her chamber without knocking the other day.’

  Sister Étromma chuckled sourly. ‘That can be put down to his churlish, uncouth attitude. But it is true that he seems to do some private trade for the abbess. He thinks it gives him a special, familiar relationship with her. He brings her merchandise like wine and other goods when he returns from the seaport at Loch Garman.’

  Fidelma paused a moment before turning to another matter.

  ‘The night the young girl Gormgilla was killed …’

  ‘I told you what I know,’ Sister Étromma interrupted quickly.
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br />   ‘I wanted to clarify something. When Fainder had her body brought into the abbey and sent for you, where were you exactly? Asleep?’

  Sister Étromma frowned. ‘No. As a matter of fact, I met our physician, Brother Miach, who had been summoned to examine the dead girl, when I was on my way from the bibliotheca to my chamber.’

  ‘Why were you in the library so late at night?’

  ‘Because of Abbot Noé. I had been delayed by the stable lads who had asked me if they should unharness Bishop Forbassach’s horse …’

  Fidelma was confused. ‘I thought that you said that Abbot Noé …?’

  Sister Étromma heaved an impatient sigh.

  ‘Forbassach had arrived late at the abbey and left the stable in a hurry. He had not given instructions as to what should be done with his horse, whether he would be needing it again that night. He had obviously ridden some way in a hurry for it was sweating. I gave instruction to the stable lads and was making my way to my bed …’

  ‘When had he arrived at the abbey? Was this before or after Abbess Fainder arrived?’ demanded Fidelma. She felt it obvious that Forbassach and Fainder had ridden separately from Raheen but she wanted to be sure.

  ‘He arrived some time before Fainder announced the discovery of the girl’s body. I was told that she had only just arrived at the abbey when she had discovered it.’

  Fidelma paused. Forbassach could well have arrived before the girl was murdered. She wondered if there was any significance in that fact. Then she continued: ‘So you left the stable and went to your chamber?’

  ‘No. I was on my way to my chamber when I heard a noise in the bibliotheca. I looked in and saw Abbot Noé. I asked him if I could help him. I am the rechtaire, after all.’

  Fidelma tried not to show her reaction.

  ‘So Abbot Noé was also in the abbey that night? I thought his apartment was in Fianamail’s fortress.’

  ‘He said that he was consulting some old books.’

  ‘How long were you with him before you went to your chamber?’

  ‘A few moments only. He told me, quite curtly, that he did not need my help.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I continued on towards my chamber until, as I have said, I encountered Brother Miach, who told me that the abbess had arrived back and a young novitiate of the abbey had been found dead. I went with him and the rest you know.’