Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Eleven

Fidelma was still thinking about Abbot Noé after she had returned to the Inn of the Yellow Mountain. She was surprised that he had not made a point of being in Fearna during this time. As both abbot and spiritual adviser to Fianamail, Fidelma had expected him to figure more prominently in the proceedings. Eadulf had told her he had sat at the original trial. Apart from his alleged role in supporting the cause of the Penitentials, he had not, however, been prominent in any of the subsequent events.

Why Fidelma found Abbot Noé a subject for her thoughts she could not really say. From the little she knew of the irascible abbot, she was surprised that he had appointed someone to take charge of his former abbey who sought to change the laws of the land. As she remembered Abbot Noé, he had been supportive of the Fénechus law system. Yet she knew from her past experience with him that he was a devious man and given to intrigue. She could not help wondering if he had played a major role in this mystery.

She sat in the main room of the inn turning the matter over in her mind. Then, eventually, she returned to the matter of Eadulf’s disappearance from the abbey. She was careful in her choice of the word ‘disappearance’ because she did not trust either Forbassach nor the abbess. Had he really escaped? Too many people seemed to have ‘disappeared’ who were key witnesses in the events. She shivered suddenly. What was she saying? That Eadulf had simply disappeared along with the others?

The warmth of the fire and the fact of her disturbed night caused a drowsiness to overcome her and, almost reluctantly, she found herself lulled by her thoughts, slipping into inertia. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

She did not know how long it was before the sound of a door opening awakened her. Enda was entering: he looked satisfied with himself. She smothered a yawn, stretched, and greeted him.

‘Well, Enda?’

The young warrior came immediately to her side and took a seat. He lowered his voice, having glanced quickly around to make sure they were alone, and said: ‘I followed the abbess without her observing me. She rode north …’

‘North?’

‘Yes — but for no more than five or six kilometres. Then she went up into the hills. There is a settlement there called Raheen. She went to a small cabin and was greeted by a woman there. They seemed very friendly.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly in query. ‘Friendly?’

‘They embraced each other. Then the abbess and the woman went inside the cabin. I waited for an hour or so before the abbess came out.’

It was then that Fidelma realised that the best part of the afternoon had gone. She had slept several hours.

‘Go on,’ she said, trying to hide her annoyance at the wasted time. ‘What then?’

‘While she was there, she was joined by our friend, Forbassach. The woman left the two of them alone for a while. Then Forbassach departed and, a short time later, so did Fainder. She began to ride back towards Fearna so I did not bother to follow her.’

‘What did you do instead?’

‘I thought that you would want to know who the woman was, the one whose cabin they visited.’

Fidelma smiled in approval. ‘You learn quickly, Enda. We’ll make a dálaigh of you yet.’

The young man shook his head, taking her light-hearted comment seriously.

‘I am a warrior, the son of a warrior, and when I am too old to be a warrior I shall take to my farm.’

‘Did you discover who this woman was?’

‘I decided not to ride directly to her cabin but to make some enquiries from other inhabitants in the vicinity. I was told that her name was Deog.’

‘Deog? Did you discover anything else?’

‘Only that she was recently widowed. Her husband was a man called Daig.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment or two. ‘Are you sure that was his name?’

‘That was the name I was given, lady.’

‘If she is recently widowed, he must be the same man.’

Enda looked uncertain. ‘I am not sure that I understand.’

Fidelma found that she did not have the time to explain to him. Why would Abbess Fainder and Bishop Forbassach be visiting the widow of the watchman who was drowned? Fainder had given Fidelma the impression that she had hardly known the man, so why visit the widow? Not only that but, as Enda reported, they seemed good friends. Now here was yet another mystery.

‘I don’t suppose you asked if the abbess was a frequent visitor to the woman, Deog, did you?’ she asked.

Enda shook his head. ‘I did not want to attract too much attention,’ he explained. ‘So I did not press too many questions.’

In that, Enda had behaved correctly, Fidelma conceded. Too many questions might put people on their guard.

‘How far from here did you say this woman lived?’

‘Less than an hour’s swift ride, lady.’

‘It will be dark in a few hours,’ mused Fidelma, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. ‘Nevertheless, I think I should speak with this Deog.’

‘I know the path now, lady,’ Enda said eagerly. ‘We should have no problems riding there nor returning even in the dark.’

‘Then that is what we shall do,’ Fidelma decided. ‘Where is Dego?’

‘I think he was in the stables rubbing down the horses. Shall I go and fetch him?’

She shook her head. ‘The sooner we leave the better. We will go to find him.’

It was true that Dego was rubbing down Enda’s horse after its journey. He looked up as they entered. He appeared nervous as he greeted Fidelma.

‘I came back to the inn just after noon, lady,’ he said, ‘just as you instructed. However, I saw you fast asleep by the fire. I thought you might need your sleep more than hearing that I had nothing to report anyway. I hope I did right in letting you sleep on.’

For a moment Fidelma did not know what he was talking about until she remembered that she had said that she would meet him at the inn after her return from the abbey to decide on the next strategy. She smiled apologetically at his worried features.

‘You did right, Dego. I am the better for the sleep. Enda and I are going for a ride. We shall probably be gone some hours.’

‘Should I come with you?’

‘It is unnecessary. Enda knows where we are going. While we are away I want someone here just in case Brother Eadulf tries to make contact with us.’

Dego helped her saddle her horse while Enda re-saddled his mount.

‘Where shall you be,’ Dego asked, ‘just in case anything happens?’

‘We are visiting a woman called Deog who lives in a place called Raheen some six kilometres north from here. But do not let anyone know.’

‘Of course not, lady.’

They mounted, setting off at a brisk walk through the streets of Fearna. Enda led the way underneath the towering grey walls of the gloomy abbey buildings, past the walls along the banks of the river as it twisted northwards. Then he took a fork in the road which led up a slow incline over a hill and through a small wooded area, no bigger than a copse.

Here Fidelma called on Enda to halt for a moment. She turned back to the edge of the trees and shrubs which afforded a view of the road behind them and waited quietly for some time, leaning forward in the saddle, just behind the foliage of the trees.

Enda did not have to ask what she was doing. If anyone was following them they would soon be seen from this position. Fidelma waited a long while before letting out a sigh of relief. She smiled at Enda.

‘It seems my fears are groundless. No one is tracking us at the moment.’

Without a word, Enda turned and set off again through the copse and then along a track between a series of cultivated fields towards a more densely forested area which covered the rising hills beyond.

‘What is that big hill in front of us, Enda?’ asked Fidelma, as they moved upwards on the track.

‘That’s the very hill after which our host’s inn is named. That is the Yellow Mountain. We turn more easterly in a moment and come round the shoulder of the hill before turning north again towards Raheen. It stands at the head of a valley and is not a long ride away at all.’

Within a short time, as the bright autumnal sky was beginning to cloud and grow dark, showing that late afternoon was creeping on, Enda halted and pointed. They were at the head of a valley stretching southwards towards the river. Here, dotted across the hillside, were several cabins with dark smoke ascending. It was obviously a farming community.

‘Do you see that far cabin, lady?’

Fidelma followed the line of his pointing finger.

A small cabin clung to the precipitous slope of the hillside. It was not an impoverished place but neither did it speak of any degree of wealth or position. It was made of thick grey granite stone and covered by a heavy thatch that was badly in need of renovation.

‘I see it.’

‘That is the woman Deog’s cabin; the cabin that Abbess Fainder and Bishop Forbassach visited.’

‘Very well. Let us see what Deog has to contribute to our enquiries.’ Fidelma nudged her horse forward and, with Enda following, she rode directly for the cabin that he had indicated.

The occupant of the cabin obviously heard their arrival, for as they were dismounting and hitching their horses to a small fence which marked the boundaries of a vegetable garden in front of the building, the door opened and a woman came out. She was preceded by a large hound who ran towards them but was checked by a sharp command from the woman. She was not yet of middle age but her face seemed so etched with lines of worry and concern that at first glance she seemed older than her years. Her eyes were pale, probably grey rather than blue. She was dressed simply, as a countrywoman, and her appearance was that of someone hardened to the elements. To Fidelma there seemed something curiously familiar about the features. But Fidelma’s scrutiny was swift and also encompassed the dog who, she discerned, was elderly but keen to defend his mistress.

The woman came forward in concern as her eyes fell on Fidelma.

‘Have you come from Fainder?’ she demanded without preamble, obviously taking in the fact that Fidelma wore the robes of a religieuse.

Fidelma was surprised at the anxiety in her voice.

‘Why would you imagine that?’ she parried.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are a religieuse. If Fainder has not sent you here, who are you?’

‘My name is Fidelma. Fidelma of Cashel.’

The woman’s features visibly hardened and her mouth tightened. ‘So?’

‘It seems that you have heard my name,’ observed Fidelma, interpreting the other’s reactions correctly.

‘I have heard your name spoken.’

‘Then you know that I am a dálaigh.’

‘That I know.’

‘It is growing dark and cold. May we come into your cabin and speak with you for a while?’

The woman was hesitant but finally inclined her head in invitation to the cabin door.

‘Come in then, though I am not sure what we can speak about.’

She led the way into the large single living room of the cabin. The hound, seeing no danger threatened, went quickly before them. A log fire snapped and crackled in the hearth at the far corner of the room. The old hound spread himself before it, head resting on his paws, but a half-closed eye was still fixed warily on them.

‘Sit yourselves down,’ invited the woman.

They waited until she had chosen a seat by the fire and then Fidelma sat opposite her while Enda perched uncomfortably on a stool near the door.

‘Well now, what do you wish to talk about?’

‘I am told that your name is Deog?’ Fidelma began.

‘I will not deny it for that is the truth of it,’ replied the woman.

‘And was Daig the name of your husband?’

‘May the good Lord be merciful to his soul, but that was his name. What business had you with him?’

‘He was one of the watch on the quays in Fearna, I believe?’

‘Captain of the watch, he was, after Mel received promotion to the royal guard of the King. Captain of the watch, though he did not live long to enjoy it.’ Her voice caught and she let out a sniff.

‘I am sorry for your trouble, Deog, but I need to have some answers to my questions.’

The woman controlled herself with an effort. ‘I have heard that you have been asking questions. You are a friend of the Saxon, I am told.’

‘What do you know about … about the Saxon?’

‘I know only that he was tried and sentenced for killing a poor young child.’

‘Nothing else? Not whether he be guilty or innocent?’

‘Would he be innocent when he has been condemned by the Brehon of Laigin?’

‘He was innocent,’ Fidelma replied shortly. ‘And there seem to be too many deaths on the quays by the abbey to be a coincidence. Tell me about the death of your husband, for example.’

The woman’s face was immobile for a moment or two and her paleeyes 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 abrand 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 thesituation. 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 himas 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.’