Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Fourteen

It was midday and Eadulf began to feel a gnawing pang of hunger. It was still very cold but the frost had dispersed, and the morning sunshine spread a pleasant warmth in the unshaded areas. The warmth was deceptive however because the moment a cloud crossed the face of the sun, or a tall tree blocked its rays, the cold became sharp again. Eadulf eased the cloak around his shoulders and thanked God that he had had the sense to remove it from his assailant.

He had followed the banks of the broad river north through a valley for about a kilometre or so, away from Cam Eolaing, until the river began to narrow. The hills rose steeply on all sides, black, brooding peaks in spite of the pale sun. A little further on he came to a curious intersection of waters. The river was fed on either side, though not exactly at the same point, by two gushing smaller rivulets; one flowed from the south-east and the other from the west, tumbling down from the surrounding hills through smaller valleys.

Eadulf looked cautiously around before deciding to rest a moment, perching himself on a fallen tree. The log was bathed in the bright rays of the sun.

‘It is time for decisions,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Which way to go?’

If he crossed the main river and headed through the easterly valley, he presumed that he would eventually strike the sea. It could not be more than ten kilometres away. At the coast he could seek safety on a ship sailing for home. It was very tempting to head that way, to find a ship and leave Laigin — but Fidelma was uppermost in his thoughts.

Fidelma had hurried back from her pilgrimage to the Tomb of St James when she had heard of his troubles, and she had come to defend him. He could not leave her now; leave without seeing her, leave and let her think that he did not … He frowned. Think that he did not — what? He felt confused at the complexity of his own thoughts. Then he made up his mind. Fidelma was still in Fearna. He had no choice: he must return and find her.

‘Ut fata trahunt!’ he muttered, standing up. The Latin literally meant‘as the fates drag’, an expression that recognised that he had limited control over his destiny. It was the only way that he could explain the decision that he felt had already been made for him.

He turned and began to walk along the bank of the rivulet, facing the flow of its gushing waters and moving up towards the hills. A few kilometres in the distance, the tall peaks began to rise more steeply in a line, their rounded tops stretching like a barrier before him. He had no plan; he did not know how he would contact Fidelma once he returned to Fearna. Indeed, having heard of his removal from the abbey, Fidelma might have already left town. The thought niggled at him. Yet he could not leave without making the attempt to contact her. He left it to the mercy of destiny.

Dego and Enda exchanged an anxious glance.

Since finishing her breakfast, Fidelma had fallen into a silent meditation. The two young warriors became impatient.

‘What now, lady?’ Dego finally ventured, in a loud voice. ‘What should we do?’

Fidelma stirred after a moment. She looked blankly at Dego before registering his question in her mind. Then she smiled wryly at her companions.

‘I am sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘I have been turning over the facts in my mind and I seem to be getting no nearer to discovering a thread which links the events, let alone finding a motive as to why these people have been killed.’

‘Is knowing the motive so important?’ asked Dego.

‘Know the motive and you usually know the culprit,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘Did we not agree the other night that Gabrán appeared to be the thread?’ Enda reminded her.

‘It was precisely his role in this mystery that I have been attempting to analyse.’

‘Why don’t we seek Gabrán out and ask him?’ returned Enda.

Fidelma chuckled softly at his directness.

‘While I am wasting my time in trying to put those pieces into some order, you come straight to the point. You have reminded me that I am ignoring my own rule; that of not making assumptions before gathering the facts.’

Dego and Enda rose together eagerly.

‘Then let us find this boatman, for the sooner he is found, lady, the sooner you will have your facts,’ Dego said.

Smoke was rising from a small copse a little distance ahead of Eadulf: it must be smoke from someone’s fire. Hunger, cold and weariness made Eadulf’s decision for him. He moved on through the small wood and found a large clearing beyond, in which was situated a cabin by a tiny stream. It was a sturdy, stone-built affair; low-roofed and thatched. He paused for he realised that there was something curious about the clearing. It was flat and seemed to have been raked free of any obstacles except, at various points surrounding the cabin, and at unequal distances from it, heavy posts had been driven into the ground. It was as if they formed a pattern. On the top of each post were notches that had been chipped into them.

Eadulf had been long enough in the five kingdoms of Éireann to realised that the notches were Ogham, the ancient writing named after the old god of literacy and learning, Ogma. Fidelma could read the old script easily but he had never mastered it, for it represented words that were archaic and obscure. He wondered what these posts symbolised. He had, at first, thought he was coming to a woodsman’s cabin but he had never seen one with such a curious structure of posts around it.

He took a few steps forward, noting the dead and dying autumnal leaves which seemed to be scattered in profusion at a certain distance from the cabin and then, curiously, everything was swept clear of leaves all around the cabin within this border. Eadulf was perplexed and took another step forward, feeling the crunch of leaves underfoot.

‘Who is it?’ demanded a strong masculine voice, and a man appeared in the door of the cabin.

Eadulf saw that he was of medium height with long straw-coloured hair. His face was in the shade of the doorway but Eadulf saw that he was a well-muscled man with a warrior’s build and, indeed, the impression seemed to be confirmed by the balance of his body, the way he stood poised as if ready to meet any threat.

‘Someone who is cold and hungry,’ answered Eadulf lightly, taking a step forward.

‘Stay still!’ snapped the man in the doorway. ‘Keep on the leaves.’ Eadulf frowned at the request. ‘I am no threat to you,’ he offered, wondering whether the man was deranged in some way.

‘You are a stranger — a Saxon, by your accent. Are you alone?’

‘As you can see,’ replied Eadulf in growing puzzlement.

‘Are you alone?’ insisted the man.

Eadulf became irritated. ‘Don’t you trust the evidence of your own eyes?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Of course I am alone.’

The man in the doorway inclined his head a fraction and in that movement the shadow left his face. It had been a handsome face but there was an old burn mark across his brow and eyes, searing the flesh.

‘Why, you are blind!’ Eadulf ejaculated in surprise.

The man started back, nervously.

Eadulf held up a hand, palm outwards in a gesture of peace, and then, realising the futility of the gesture, let it fall.

‘Have no fear. I am alone. I am Brother …’ he hesitated. Perhaps his name might have travelled through this kingdom even to the blind. ‘I am a Saxon Brother of the Faith.’

The man tilted his head to one side.

‘You seem unwilling to give me your name. Why is that?’ he asked sharply.

Eadulf glanced round. The place seemed isolated enough and surely this blind man could do him no harm.

‘My name is Brother Eadulf,’ he said.

‘And you are alone?’

‘I am.’

‘What are you doing alone in this area? It is bleak and isolated. Why would a Saxon Brother be travelling through these hills?’

‘It is a long story,’ replied Eadulf.

‘I have plenty of time,’ returned the other grimly.

‘But I am weary and, moreover, cold and hungry.’

The man hesitated as if making a decision.

‘My name is Dalbach. This is my cabin. You are welcome to a bowl of broth. It is fresh made from badger meat and I have bread and mead to complement it.’

‘Badger meat? Now that is good fare, indeed,’ observed Eadulf, knowing that many of the people of Éireann considered it a choice dish. In the ancient tale, didn’t Moiling the Swift, as a sign of esteem, promise to procure a dish of badger meat for the great warrior Fionn Mac Cumhail?

‘Over your meal you may tell me something of your story, Brother Eadulf. Walk forward now, directly to me.’

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 hethought 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 otherappreciatively. ‘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?’

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. Ifyou 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.