Our Lady of Darkness (18 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Our Lady of Darkness
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The woman’s face was immobile for a moment or two and her pale
eyes searched Fidelma for some hidden meaning to her words. Then she said: ‘He was a good man.’
‘I do not question it,’ replied Fidelma.
‘They told me that he had drowned.’
‘They?’
‘Bishop Forbassach.’
‘Forbassach told you, in person? You move in illustrious circles, Deog. Exactly what did Bishop Forbassach say?’
‘That during the night watch, Daig slipped off the wooden quay and fell into the river, catching his head on one of the piers and knocking himself unconscious. He was found next morning by a boatman from the
Cág
. They said that he …’ her voice caught and then she went on, ‘that he drowned while he was unconscious.’
Fidelma leaned forward a little. ‘And were there witnesses to this?’
Deog regarded her in bewilderment. ‘Witnesses? Had anyone been nearby, then he would not have drowned.’
‘So how are these details known?’
‘Bishop Forbassach told me that it must have been that way, for that is the only way it could have happened consistent with the facts.’ She said the words as a formula and it was clear that she was repeating what the Brehon had told her.
‘But what do
you
think?’
‘It must have been so.’
‘Did Daig ever talk with you about what happened on the quays? For example, about the death of the boatman?’
‘Fainder told me that they executed poor Ibar for that crime.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘
Poor
Ibar? Did you know the Brother then?’
She shook her head. ‘I know his family. They are blacksmiths on the lower slopes of the Yellow Mountain. Daig told me how he had found him out.’
‘How was that? What exactly did Daig tell you?’ Fidelma asked eagerly.
‘Why do you want me to tell you what Daig told me about the killing?’ Deog looked at Fidelma nonplussed. ‘Didn’t Fainder tell you? Not even Bishop Forbassach wanted to know the exact details.’
‘Indulge me,’ Fidelma smiled. ‘I would like to hear and if you can manage to, keep the words as close to your husband’s own as possible.’
‘Well, Daig told me that he had been patrolling along the quay near the abbey around midnight, when he heard a cry. Daig was carrying a
brand torch and raising it, he gave an answering shout, beginning to move forward in the direction of the sound. Then he heard some footsteps running across the boards of the quay. He came upon a huddled form. It was the body of a man, a boatman. Daig recognised him as one of the crew of Gabrán’s boat which was even then tied up alongside the quay. The man’s head had been smashed in and there was a wooden club lying nearby.’
‘A club?’
‘Daig told me that he thought it was one of those wooden sticks used on boats.’
‘A belaying pin?’
Deog shrugged. ‘I am not acquainted with them but I think that was the term he used.’
‘Go on.’
‘He told me that the boatman was clearly dead and so he left the body and ran on in the direction of the running steps. But he soon realised that the night had concealed the culprit and so he returned to the body …’
‘Did he tell you in which direction the sound of the steps went? Was it, for example, in the direction of the abbey gates?’
Deog considered the question thoughtfully.
‘I do not think that it was in the direction of the abbey gates for he said the sound of the footsteps was swallowed up into the night. There are usually two torches lit at the gates of the abbey during the night. If the culprit ran to the gates, Daig would have seen him illuminated by them.’
‘Two lit torches?’ Fidelma was silent for a moment digesting this information. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Fainder told me.’
Fidelma hesitated a moment and then decided not to be side-tracked.
‘We will come back to that later. Continue with the story Daig told you.’
‘Well, he returned to the body of the boatman and raised the alarm. Another sailor from Gabrán’s boat, roused from his sleep, told Daig that Gabrán was at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain and the last time he had seen the dead man, he was also there. The man had apparently gone to the inn to collect some money Gabrán owed him.
‘Daig went to the inn and found Gabrán. He had been drinking heavily and so it was a while before some sense could be made of the
situation. Lassar, who owns the inn, told Daig that Gabrán had been joined by the boatman and there was some sort of argument. Gabrán paid him off and they became friendly again. The boatman drank there for while and then returned to the boat. Lassar was asleep by then, as it was late, but was awakened when Daig arrived to question Gabrán.’
The woman paused in her recitation.
‘Is this truly what you want to know, Sister?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Bishop Forbassach thought it was all irrelevant.’
‘Go on, Deog. What else did Daig tell you?’
‘Gabrán confirmed that he had just paid the man some wages that he owed him.’
‘Did he explain the argument?’
‘It was to do with the money. Daig said the cause was not important. What was important was that no money was found on the sailor. There was another thing. When Gabrán was told the money was missing he asked about a gold chain that the man usually wore around his neck. That was gone as well.’
‘I presume no money or chain was found on the body.’
‘That was what worried Daig. You see, after he had made his futile attempt to chase the footsteps he had heard receding into the night, he came back and searched the body.’
‘It worried him? Worried him in what way?’
Deog was frowning as she tried to recall what Daig had told her.
‘It was … and he thought that he might well have been mistaken … it was …’
‘Take your time,’ advised Fidelma as she hesitated, trying to remember.
‘When he first saw the body, before he started to chase after the sound of the footsteps, Daig was sure that he caught sight of the gold chain around the neck of the dead man. He thought it glinted in the torchlight.’
‘But the chain had gone when he returned to the body, is that it?’
‘That’s what caused him concern. It was not there when he returned.’
‘Did he mention this to anyone?’
‘To Bishop Forbassach.’
‘I see. What happened? What did Forbassach do?’
‘I don’t think it was ever mentioned again. After all, Daig was not absolutely sure. Lassar confirmed that the man had been given the money and she knew that he usually wore a gold chain. She knew him
as a regular member of Gabrán’s crew who came to the inn several times. He always boasted that the gold chain had been won in some battle against the Uí Néill.’
Fidelma was silent for a moment as she turned over the information in her mind.
‘I know that the question of the gold chain began to worry him,’ Deog added.
‘Did Daig tell you how he managed to follow the trail to Brother Ibar?’
‘Indeed he did and he felt it was an amazing coincidence. Gabrán himself came to Daig the next day and said that he had been in the market square when a religieux approached him and tried to sell him a gold chain. He had immediately recognised it as that belonging to his dead crewman.’
‘Rather an odd coincidence,’ observed Fidelma dryly.
‘Yet coincidences do happen,’ replied Deog.
‘Did Gabrán know the religieux?’
‘He knew he was a member of the abbey community.’
‘So he says he bought the chain?’
‘He pretended to be interested and arranged to meet the man later. Then he followed this Brother straight back to the abbey. He asked the
rechtaire
what his name was – it was Ibar, of course – and then he went to Daig and told him the whole story. Daig went to the monastery and explained matters to Abbess Fainder. Together with the
rechtaire,
Daig made a search of his cell. They found the chain and a purse of money under Brother Ibar’s bed.’
‘What then?’ queried Fidelma.
‘The chain was identified by Gabrán who also said that the purse of money approximated to that which he had given his crewman for his wages. Fainder sent for Bishop Forbassach, and Brother Ibar was formally accused.’
‘I am told that he denied the accusation?’
‘He did. He denied the killing, he denied trying to sell the chain to Gabrán, and he denied all knowledge of the money hidden under his bed. He called Gabrán a liar. Yet in view of the overwhelming evidence there was only one conclusion to be reached. Yet Daig was worried about the coincidence – just as you said, he felt it was an amazing coincidence. He was also worried by his memory of having seen the chain on the neck of the victim
after
the killing.’
‘But you said that he told Bishop Forbassach of his concern?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he do anything further about all this? Did he pursue the matter with Gabrán?’
‘You are a
dálaigh.
You should know well enough that Daig was just a watchman. He was no lawyer to pursue such enquiries. He told Forbassach and, from then on, it was his task. Bishop Forbassach was content with the evidence.’
‘But nothing of this came out at Ibar’s trial?’
‘Not as far as I know. My Daig drowned before the trial, so he was not able to raise his questions.’
Fidelma sat back in her chair to reflect on what Deog had told her. ‘Bishop Forbassach appears as both accuser and judge again. That is not right.’
‘Bishop Forbassach is a good man,’ protested Deog.
Fidelma regarded her with curiosity. ‘There is one thing I find fascinating, Deog,’ she observed. ‘For a countrywoman, and one who does not live in Fearna, you have a lot of knowledge of what goes on there and seem intimate with some influential people.’
Deog sniffed deprecatingly. ‘Wasn’t Daig my husband and didn’t he keep me informed? We often talked about what he did down in Fearna. Isn’t it thanks to that fact that you have now learnt answers to the questions that you asked?’
‘Indeed. But you know more than what your husband has told you. I understand that you are visited by Bishop Forbassach and Abbess Fainder.’
Deog was suddenly nervous. ‘So, you know that?’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Exactly so. Abbess Fainder rides out to see you regularly, isn’t that so?’
‘I will not deny it.’
‘With respect, why would Abbess Fainder ride out here so regularly? Why would she feel the need to tell you, the widow of a member of the river watch, a man she told me that she hardly knew, the details about Brother Ibar’s trial?’
‘Why shouldn’t she?’ demanded Deog defensively. ‘Fainder is my young sister.’
It was some moments before Fidelma recovered from the unexpected reply.
‘Abbess Fainder, the Abbess of Fearna, is your young sister?’
Deog gave a swift affirmative gesture.
‘Does it surprise you that a powerful, rich abbess should have such a poor relation?’ she demanded, a note of belligerence in her voice.
‘Not at all,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘Talent and ability deserve important rewards, although it does occur to me to ask you – is Abbot Noé related to your family?’
Deog looked bewildered. ‘Why should he be?’
‘Are you sure that he is not related to you? Or is any other member of his family so related?’ she pressed.
‘He is not related. I do not see why you should ask such questions.’
‘Just idle curiosity, that’s all,’ Fidelma assured her. ‘Now, you were telling me that the abbess has wealth?’
Deog seemed mollified. ‘My sister has made a good life for herself.’
‘To be a servant of the Faith is not a usual way of gaining riches.’
‘Perhaps not. But as abbess in the King’s capital, she has to mix with rich and powerful people and it would not be seemly that she should go abroad in threadbare attire. I presume the abbey ensures that she has sufficient for her needs.’
Fidelma decided not to pursue the matter.
‘Why did Abbess Fainder pretend not to know your husband? Why was that? Did she not like her brother-in-law?’
‘We agreed that things were best kept from people until Fainder was settled firmly in her office. You see, she had only returned from Rome three or four months ago to become abbess. That was why she rode covertly each day to meet with me. This was where we both grew up. Luckily, she had been away for so long that many people had forgotten her. We thought it better that way until she had established her position.’
‘Are you saying that Fainder was fearful that she would lose her authority as abbess if it were known that you were her sister?’
Deog hesitated, embarrassed at the truth, then raised her head defiantly.
‘It is not so unusual, is it? If you sit on the council of the kingdom with the King, then the fact that your sister’s husband is merely a watchman could undermine your authority.’ Then: ‘Fainder was too long in Rome, perhaps. She had adopted their ways and not our ways,’ confessed Deog. ‘I am told that the great lords do not mix with peasants there, nor do the great church-leaders come from the peasant people. Apparently it is the position of the family which dictates what a child will be in those lands. Alas, Fainder has become imbued with that snobbery.’
‘But not so much that she turned her back on you.’
Deog smiled cynically. ‘There is an old saying. The thing which grows in the bones is hard to drive out of the flesh.’
‘Tell me about your sister.’
‘You should ask her such a question.’
‘You are her older sister. You will know her best.’
For a moment Deog’s expression softened.
‘It’s true. I am five years older than Fainder. When I was fifteen our father was killed in one of the wars against the Uí Néill and soon after my mother died of grief. I was of the age of choice then and took charge of this cabin and the little bit of land. Fainder remained with me until she reached the age of choice and then she went into the abbey at Taghmon to become a religieuse. I did not see her until she was eighteen years old when she came to me and said she was going away. She was joining a party of religious who were going to Bobbio where Columbanus had built his religious house.’
‘A bird flies away from every brood,’ quoted Fidelma.
‘A fine saying, although there is another; a bird had little affection that deserts its own brood.’
‘Go on. You felt that Fainder had little affection for her home and family?’
‘When she left, it was the last that I heard of Fainder until a few months ago. Then she came riding up to my door and announced that she had returned and that she was Abbess of Fearna.’
‘You had not seen her since she was eighteen years old?’
Deog smiled sadly. ‘She had been ten years at Bobbio and then moved south to Rome. It was at Rome that she attracted the attention of Abbot Noé who happened to be on a pilgrimage there. It was he who
invited her back to Fearna and persuaded her to become the abbess.’
Fidelma was perplexed. ‘Abbot Noé actually persuaded Fainder to return to Laigin to become abbess in charge of the abbey in his stead?’
‘So she told me and so I tell you.’
‘I believed that Noé was of the creed of Colmcille but Fainder seems to have adopted many of the ways of Rome.’
‘She has become zealous for Rome,’ agreed Deog. ‘She has adopted the austere, high and mighty ways of the Roman clerics. But, I think, that is only on the exterior. She is certainly zealously committed to bringing the ways of our church into communion with the rules of Rome.’
‘Are these executions a manifestation of that determination?’
Deog looked unhappy and did not reply.
‘She seems to have exerted her will over Bishop Forbassach and over the King in his turn,’ observed Fidelma after a while. ‘She has persuaded them that the kingdom should adopt the Penitentials.’
‘She has become a very powerful person,’ agreed Deog. ‘I do wish, however …’
‘Yes?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘This harshness, it can be too excessive. Many people – and I have tried to warn her about this – many people are becoming afraid of the abbey of Fearna. That a Brother of the Faith has been executed there, and the punishments that we have heard of …’
‘Punishments?’
‘There was a Brother who was flogged there a few weeks ago.’
‘Flogged?
’
‘It is claimed that he lied and so Fainder had him stripped to the waist and flogged with birch rods. I, too, find it hard to believe.’
‘Do you know the name of the Brother who was flogged?’
Deog replied with a shake of her head.
‘You say that people are becoming afraid of the abbey. What are they saying?’
‘They say the abbey has become evil. Have you noticed the statuette, the one of the angel, outside the main abbey door? It is the one that the Blessed Máedóc is said to have made with his own hands.’
Fidelma replied that she had.
‘That used to be called our Lady of Light, and people would make offerings before it. Now it is called by another name.’
‘Which is?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Our Lady of Darkness.’
‘Have you spoken to your sister about the things people are saying?’
‘Oh yes.’ Deog was bitter. ‘She told me to tend to my garden and that I should not speak about religious matters which I did not understand.’
‘Does she not realise that she is causing alarm among the people? Does she not realise the harm she is doing to the Faith?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I do not think so. She is so used to the ways she learnt abroad, particularly the pitiless forms of punishment and unremitting harshness of life there, that she thinks that it is we, here, who are at fault; who are lax and living without morals. She is determined to impose the rule of the Penitentials over us all.’
‘And the innocent must suffer with the guilty?’
‘Do you believe Brother Ibar was innocent?’
‘Didn’t your husband, Daig, think so?’
‘Daig had his reservations. He felt that there were questions which needed to be asked.’
‘And Daig died before he could ask them at the trial.’
For a moment Deog turned two large shocked eyes on Fidelma.
‘What are you saying?’ she whispered. ‘That Daig … that Bishop Forbassach, the Brehon …?’ She raised a hand to cover her mouth.
Fidelma said swiftly, ‘I am not drawing any conclusions, I am only making an observation on the facts. It seems that Gabrán has some questions to answer. Why didn’t Forbassach ask them?’
‘Bishop Forbassach will do what Fainder tells him to,’ the woman said softly.
Fidelma examined her cautiously.
‘Is there a particular reason why Bishop Forbassach meets with Fainder in your cabin?’
Deog laughed bitterly. ‘Do you really think my haughty and powerful sister comes here most days simply to visit humble little me?’
Fidelma was quiet. She had begun to suspect something of the sort but she wanted Deog to spell it out.
‘My cabin is no more than a convenient place for their assignations.’
‘Did your husband know while he was alive?’
Deog shook her head. ‘I was sworn to secrecy on pain of my immortal soul, by Fainder. Now I see the path that she is intent on, I realise that it is not
my
immortal soul that is imperilled.’
‘There should be no need for secrets. It is not an offence for religious
to live together and marry, at least not yet, although there is a faction in Rome who argue for celibacy. Was it such people Fainder was scared of?’
‘It was Bishop Forbassach, not Fainder, who demanded secrecy. He is already married,’ Deog admitted. It suddenly occurred to her just how far the conversation had gone. ‘I thought that you had come here to free the Saxon? Fainder told me that you were attempting to prove him innocent but he showed his guilt by escaping last night. Why are you asking me all these questions about Daig, Fainder and Bishop Forbassach?’
‘I would not say that escaping from the abbey showed guilt,’ Fidelma replied sourly. ‘Especially after all that you have told me. It merely showed that he had no desire to be executed like Ibar.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your husband, Daig, was also involved in the apprehension of Brother Eadulf in the abbey.’
‘He was. But then it was Mel who was captain of the watch that night and Daig was only following his orders. That was when the young girl was raped and killed.’
‘A young girl killed, a boatman killed and then Daig drowned …’ mused Fidelma. ‘In every case it seems that Forbassach has been persuaded not to ask the right questions and thus ignore the evidence. Is that a matter for concern, I wonder?’
Deog did not understand what she was driving at.
It was Enda who, having sat quietly through all the exchanges, suddenly spoke up, his eyes excited.
‘Didn’t you tell me that Gabrán’s boat was tied up on the abbey quay the night the girl was killed? Isn’t there a link there?’
Fidelma turned to him in annoyance but saw the young warrior was so eager that she felt she could not reprove him for pointing out a fact that she had completely overlooked.
‘We will speak of that later, Enda,’ she said. It was then Fidelma realised that the room had grown dark, apart from the warm light cast by glowing embers of the fire.
Deog stood up and lit a tallow candle and then threw some more wood onto the fire. There was a crackle and soon flames licked at the dry wood, causing a brighter light to chase the gloom.
‘We’d better head back to Fearna,’ Fidelma announced, rising regretfully. She turned to Deog. ‘I am most grateful for everything that
you have told us, Deog. I am sorry to awaken any chords of anguish in your heart. Sometimes it is best to discuss things so that grief can be exposed rather than bottled up.’
Deog grimaced. ‘I do not mind speaking of my husband. He was a good man and sought to do his best for the community. My great sadness was that he did not get on with my sister. Nor did she like him. Alas, her years in religion have seen her grow bitter with life and harsh in her judgments of people. Yet she does not see her own faults. This relationship with Bishop Forbassach will end unhappily.’
Fidelma raised a hand and touched the woman comfortingly upon the shoulder.
‘They are truly good who are faultless, Deog. Alas, who among us is without faults?’
Deog looked pleadingly at Fidelma. ‘You will not tell anyone about Fainder?’
Fidelma looked impassive. ‘I cannot promise that, Deog. You know that for I, too, have sworn an oath to pursue truth.’
‘Fainder will never forgive me.’
The woman was clearly distressed at the idea of what her sister might do if the truth became known. Fidelma squeezed her shoulder again.
‘Fainder must live with the consequences of her own actions and prejudices. You need not mention the substance of our discussion to her. I promise you this, I will not reveal Fainder’s relationship with Forbassach nor with yourself unless it becomes necessary.’
‘Becomes necessary? I don’t understand.’
‘If this fact needs to be brought to light in the course of my enquiries, then I shall bring it to light. If it is simply irrelevant, then it shall remain a secret between the two of us. Isn’t that fair?’
Deog, sniffing, nodded her head in agreement. ‘I suppose it will suffice.’

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