Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Four

The Abbey of Fearna seemed even more forbidding close to than it had from a distance. A baleful atmosphere clung to the building, as tangible as cobwebs to its walls. The feeling was insubstantial, almost ethereal, but it was there like a cold mist hanging over everything. There were two great dark oak doors, hinged with iron, which were the main gates. On the right-hand door a large bronze image was fixed. Fidelma realised that this was the famous figure of an angel wrought by Máedóc, for it seemed to have intricately decorated wings and held a sword in its right hand. The face was circular, the eyes wide, round and socketless, giving it an appearance almost of malignancy. She had heard that this image was called ‘Our Lady of Light’ and meant to be a symbol of protection.

Fainder, Abbess of Fearna, was equally impressive and forbidding; that fact Fidelma had to admit, although she took an inexplicable and instant dislike to the woman. From the moment she was shown into the room where the abbess sat, upright in a tall oak-carved chair before a long wooden table which served her as a desk, Fidelma felt the aura of her presence. Haughty and belligerent. Even sitting, she gave the impression of stature, of leanness which added to her height. Yet when she rose to greet Fidelma, the impression was not confirmed. Fidelma, who was considered tall, towered over the woman who was only of medium height. The perception of height was simply one given by her personality, her bearing and nothing else.

The hand that she held out to greet Fidelma was strong, the bones prominent, her skin rough with calluses — these were associated more with those used to working in the fields than with a religieuse. She was dark-haired and Fidelma estimated that she was in her thirties. Her face was symmetrical; however, there was something hard about the features. The black eyes were deepset and one held an odd cast. Yet it was not this that made her appearance sinister, but the fact that she seldom blinked. The dark eyes, even with a cast, seemed to fix on Fidelma like gimlets and did not look away. Had Fidelma been of lesser character she might have dropped her gaze in discomfiture.

When Abbess Fainder spoke her voice was soft, modulated and almost soothing, lulling one into a deceptive feeling of security. Only Fidelma, her sensitivity to people’s personalities developed over many years, was attuned to the strong tones behind the gentle articulation. Fainder would tolerate no disagreement with her opinions; of that, Fidelma was absolutely certain.

From the way the abbess held out her hand, Fidelma realised that she was supposed to bow and kiss her ring of office, Roman style. However, Fidelma took the hand and inclined her head only a fraction in the manner of the Irish Church.

‘Stet fortuna domus,’ she intoned.

Abbess Fainder’s eyes glinted for a moment, the annoyance gone so quickly that only a careful observer might have noticed it.

‘Deo juvante,’ she replied shortly, resuming her position and motioning Fidelma to sit on a chair before the table. Fidelma did so.

‘So, you are Fidelma of Cashel?’ The abbess smiled; it was no more than a parting of her thin, bloodless lips. ‘Your name was spoken of in Rome when I was there.’

Fidelma did not answer. There was no comment she could make. Instead she motioned to the piece of vellum bearing Fianamail’s order and seal.

‘I have come on most urgent business, Mother Abbess.’

The abbess did not acknowledge the vellum placed before her. She was sitting upright in her chair, hands on the table, palm downwards, resuming the same position as when Fidelma had been shown into her room.

‘You have a reputation as a dálaigh, Sister,’ Fainder continued. ‘Yet you are a religieuse; I am told that you took it upon yourself to leave the Abbey of Kildare because you disagreed with its abbess, Abbess Ita.’

She paused in expectation of a reply but the comment had been phrased as a statement. Fidelma gave no response.

‘When one becomes a religieuse, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the abbess laid an emphasis on the title which acknowledged that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, ‘one’s first duty is obedience to the Order, to the Rule of Saints. Obedience is the first rule for it is the duty of the religieuse not to disagree in mind, not to speak as one pleases and not to travel anywhere with entire freedom. Attention to the Rule is the manifestation of a Godly life.’

Fidelma waited patiently until the abbess had ended her homily before speaking clearly and deliberately.

‘I am here in my capacity as dálaigh, Mother Abbess, and with the authority of my brother, Colgú, King of Cashel. That which I have placed before you is an authority of Fianamail, King of Laigin.’

Abbess Fainder’s voice hardened and still she did not glance at the vellum.

‘You are now a religieuse in the abbey of Fearna — my abbey — and all religieuse have a duty to obedience, Sister.’

‘This is not Rome, Mother Abbess,’ replied Fidelma with a voice that was quiet yet betrayed a sharpness that gave clear warning. ‘I understand that you have only recently returned from there and may be forgiven for a lapse of memory as to the laws of this land. I am here as a dálaigh of the level of anruth. Surely I do not have to remind you of the law of rank and privileges?’

Holding a degree which was only one lower than the highest that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges could bestow, Fidelma, in law as well as her position as sister to a king, outranked an abbess.

Fainder blinked for the first time. It was an oddly menacing movement, like a snake that hoods its eyes for a fraction of a second.

‘In this abbey,’ Fainder spoke softly, ‘the rules of the Penitential govern our life. Thanks be to God that we also have a progressive King in Fianamail who has seen the wisdom of extending the Rule of the Penitentials to all his people as the Christian Duty of Life.’

Fidelma stood up, leaning forward and deliberately retrieving the unread vellum from Abbess Fainder’s desk. Her patience was exhausted.

‘Very well. I take it that this is a refusal to obey the authority of the Council of the Chief Brehon and of the High King. You bring a disservice on your abbey, Fainder. I am surprised that you wish to incite the wrath of a judicial enquiry by disregarding my authority and the warrant of your King, Fianamail.’

Fidelma had turned to the door when Abbess Fainder’s voice, an odd-sounding staccato, stayed her.

‘Stop!’

The abbess was still sitting in the same position, hands palm downward on the table. It seemed to Fidelma that her face had become like a mask; every line sharp and graven.

Fidelma waited at the door.

‘Perhaps,’ the abbess seemed to struggle for a formula of words toescape from the corner in which she found herself by Fidelma’s refusal to be intimidated, ‘perhaps I did not choose my words as well as I might have. Let me see the authority of Fianamail.’

Fidelma returned to the desk and placed it once more before the austere woman. She said nothing. Fainder read it quickly, a frown momentarily passing over her features. Then she looked up at Fidelma.

‘I can raise no objections to the authority of the King. I only inform you of the way this abbey is governed and my aspiration to keep it governed by the Penitentials.’

Having found a formula of words which suited her, Fainder’s voice was now back to its gentle reassuring level. Fidelma distrusted the tone immediately.

‘Then I have your leave to see Brother Eadulf and conduct my enquiry?’

Abbess Fainder waved to the seat which Fidelma had recently vacated.

‘Reseat yourself, Sister, and let us discuss the matter of this Saxon. Why does he concern you?’

‘Justice concerns me,’ replied Fidelma, hoping that the hotness she felt in her cheeks was not mirrored by a flush of embarrassment at the question.

‘So you know this Saxon? Of course,’ again came the parting of the lips in a smile. ‘I heard that in Rome you were in the company of a Saxon Brother. Ah, perhaps he was the same person?’

Fidelma reseated herself and regarded the abbess with an even gaze.

‘I have known Brother Eadulf since the conference at the Abbey of Whitby. This last year he has served as an emissary from Theodore of Tarsus, the Archbishop of Canterbury in the land of the Saxons, to my brother, the King of Cashel. I was sent by my brother to conduct his defence.’

‘Defence?’ Abbess Fainder sniffed. ‘You must have been informed that he has been found guilty and will be punished under the retribution laid down for his crime? The Penitentials prescribe execution which will be at noon tomorrow.’

Fidelma leaned forward a little.

‘As he was an emissary of a King and a Bishop, he has rights under our laws which may not be violated. I have been given leave to investigate the case against him to see if there are grounds for appealin law, although obviously no appeal can be made against the desire I seem to feel in this place for vengeance.’

Again Abbess Fainder’s face was set, controlling any reaction she might have had to Fidelma’s thrust.

‘Perhaps you do not know the nature of the terrible crime of which this Saxon has been found guilty?’

‘I have been told, Mother Abbess. The Brother Eadulf that I know could not have done the thing of which he has been accused.’

‘No?’ The dark face of Abbess Fainder was mocking. ‘How many mothers, sisters … lovers … of murderers have said as much before now?’

Fidelma stirred uncomfortably. ‘I am not …’ she began. Then she raised her chin defiantly, determined not to be provoked. ‘I would like to start my enquiry as soon as possible.’

‘Very well. Sister Étromma is the stewardess of the abbey and she will assist you.’

She reached out towards a hand-bell. Its clamour had scarcely died away when a religieuse entered. She was a short, fair-haired woman who was pleasantly featured but moved with quick, bird-like motions. She scurried rather than walked, hands concealed in the folds of her robes. It was the same woman who had greeted Fidelma at the abbey doors and conducted her to the Abbess Fainder’s chambers. Abbess Fainder addressed her.

‘Sister, you have already made the acquaintance of our … our distinguished visitor,’ Only the momentary hesitation indicated the irony in the abbess’s voice. ‘She is to be given all the assistance she needs in these next twenty-four hours. She is investigating the crimes of the Saxon to make sure that we have not transgressed any laws.’

Sister Étromma glanced at Fidelma with wide-eyed surprise and then turned back to the abbess with a swift jerk of her head.

‘I shall see to it, Mother Abbess,’ she muttered. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added: ‘It is unusual, isn’t it? The Saxon has already been judged.’

‘You will see to it, Sister Étromma,’ snapped the abbess, ‘for she bears an authority from Fianamail which, it seems, we are obliged to obey.’

The little stewardess lowered her head. ‘Fiat voluntas tua, Mother Abbess.’

‘I will doubtless see you later, Sister Fidelma; perhaps in the chapel for devotions?’

Fidelma inclined her head to the abbess but ignored the question.

Sister Étromma hastened from the room before her. Outside the abbess’s chamber the stewardess seemed to relax visibly.

‘How may I serve you, Sister Fidelma?’ she asked in a less breathless voice than the one she used to address her superior.

‘I would like to see Brother Eadulf immediately.’

Sister Étromma’s eyes widened. ‘The Saxon? You want to see him?’

‘Is there a problem? The abbess has said that I am to be given all assistance.’

‘Of course.’ Sister Étromma looked confused. ‘I was not thinking. Come, I will show you the way.’

‘Have you been stewardess here long?’ asked Fidelma as the religieuse began to lead her through the gloomy vaulted corridors of the abbey.

‘I have been rechtaire here for ten years. I came to this abbey when I was a child, along with my brother.’

‘Ten years as rechtaire,’ Fidelma reflected. ‘That is a goodly time. Have you known Abbess Fainder long? I know she has but recently returned from Rome, but did you know her before she went there?’

‘When she came to the abbey three months ago,’ Sister Étromma said, ‘she was a stranger to most of us here. Noé was our abbot before her. We are a mixed house, you see. Like Kildare.’

Fidelma smiled a brief acknowledgement.

‘I know. Why did Abbot Noé decide to resign as abbot here?’

‘It was the King himself who required Noé to be his spiritual adviser, or so we were told. He still has chambers in the abbey but stays mainly in the King’s palace. The running of the abbey has passed to Fainder who was then appointed as our abbess.’

Did Fidelma detect a slight bitterness in her tone?

‘Why was Fainder appointed if she was not formerly of this community?’

Sister Étromma did not reply.

‘As rechtaire at the abbey for ten years it might be considered that you had a better claim to the office?’ Fidelma pressed.

‘She was a protégée of Abbot Noé in Rome.’

‘I did not know that Noé had ever been a religious in Rome.’

‘He only went there on a pilgrimage and did not remain for anylength of time. He met the abbess there, I believe, and brought her back to be his successor. It was when he returned that he announced his retirement from the abbey.’

‘That is unusual,’ remarked Fidelma. Then she realised another possibility. ‘Is Fainder related to Noé, perhaps?’

Nepotism was not unknown in the religious houses and often abbots and abbesses and even bishops took office following the same successional system as kings and their nobles. As well as being of blood descent they were elected by their derbhfine which usually comprised three generations of the family descending from a common great-grandfather. Often sons, grandsons, nephews and cousins, were appointed to be abbots in place of a previous abbot or abbess in much the same way as kings were appointed or other chiefly heads.

When Étromma did not respond, Fidelma posed another question.

‘Are you happy with the way the abbess runs this community? I mean, are you happy with Fainder’s commitment to govern by the Penitentials and the Roman form of administration? I am surprised that Abbot Noé blessed this new departure for I always thought that he was an adherent of the Rule of Colmcille.’

Sister Étromma halted a moment, causing Fidelma to halt also, and the stewardess looked round as if in search of eavesdroppers before replying.

‘Sister,’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘it is wise not to mention such conflicts in this place. The differences between the Irish Church and that of Rome are not a subject for discussion here. Since Fainder has become our abbess she has grown powerful and rich. It does not do to voice criticism.’

‘Rich?’ queried Fidelma.

Sister Étromma shrugged. ‘The abbess does not dismiss material wealth, even though she expounds the austerity of the Penitentials to others. She seems to have acquired much wealth since her arrival. Perhaps one should look towards the rich and powerful who patronise her. But it is not for me to voice criticism.’

It was clear to Fidelma that the stewardess was resentful of the abbess.

However, Fidelma did not wish to pursue the matter of sister Étromma’s prejudices. She was more concerned about hearing how Eadulf was faring.

Sister Étromma moved quickly on along the corridor.

‘Do you know what happened concerning Brother Eadulf?’ Fidelma allowed a short silence before raising the subject.

‘He is to be executed tomorrow.’

‘I mean the facts leading to his trial.’

‘I know that when he first arrived here, he seemed pleasant enough and spoke our language well.’

‘So you met him when he arrive here?’

‘Am I not the rechtaire of the abbey? It is my duty to greet all travellers, especially those wishing for hospitality within our walls.’

‘So when did he arrived here?’

‘About three weeks ago. He came to the gate and asked for a night’s lodging. He said that he was planning to take a boat downriver to Loch Garman. He was going to look for a ship to take him back to the land of the Saxons. There are plenty of Saxon ships putting into Loch Garman these days.’

‘So what happened?’

‘There is little I know. He arrived late one afternoon, as I, say, and I gave him a bed in the guests’ hostel. He attended devotions and ate a meal. During that night I was awakened by the abbess. It seemed that the body of a young novitiate had been found on the quay outside the abbey. The girl had been discovered by a captain of the watch. There is frequent theft from the boats that tie up there. A lot of trade passes through the township. That’s why a permanent watch is employed on the quays.

‘It seems that the young girl had been assaulted and then strangled. An alarm was raised. I was asked by the abbess to lead the way to where the Saxon was sleeping.’

Fidelma frowned. ‘Why the Saxon? What made the abbess single him out?’

Sister Étromma was dispassionate. ‘Simple enough. He was identified.’

‘Identified? By whom and how?’ Fidelma tried not to show her dismay.

‘The captain of the watch had informed the abbess that the Saxon was responsible. I led the abbess, the captain of the watch and some others into the guests’ hostel. The Saxon was in bed, pretending to be asleep. When he was forced from the bed he was found with blood on him and a torn piece of the dead novitiate’s robe.’

Fidelma suppressed a groan. This was becoming worse than she had imagined.

‘That’s bad enough, but you have not told me how he was identified.I am puzzled to know how the captain of the watch was able to claim the Saxon was responsible when, as you tell me, he was not caught on the spot but was asleep in his bed in the guests’ hostel. What is the name of this captain, by the way? I shall want to see him.’

‘His name is Mel.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened at the information.

‘The same Mel who is commander of the guard at the palace of Fianamail? The brother of Lassar, the innkeeper at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain?’

Sister Étromma looked surprised. ‘You know of him then?’

‘I am staying at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain.’

‘His success in capturing the Saxon caused the King to appoint him one of his commanders. He used to be a captain of the watch on the quays.’

‘A good promotion then,’ Fidelma commented drily.

‘Fianamail can be generous to those who serve him well,’ agreed the stewardess. Did Fidelma detect a slight note of cynicism in her voice?

‘Let me ask the question again; what led the captain of the watch so unerringly to the bed of Brother Eadulf, who just happened to have the incriminating evidence still on him?’

Sister Étromma grimaced. ‘It was reported that a religieux had been seen running from the quay to the abbey just before the body was discovered.’

‘How many religieux does the abbey of Fearna hold? One hundred? Two hundred?’ Fidelma could not keep the note of scepticism from her voice.

‘Closer to two hundred, Sister,’ agreed Sister Étromma evenly.

‘Two hundred? Yet the trail led straight to the Saxon. It seems a fine piece of detection on the part of the captain of the watch.’

‘Not really. Were you not told?’

Fidelma steeled herself for another revelation. ‘There are many things that I have not been told. To what do you now refer exactly?’

‘Why, there was a witness to the actual attack.’

Fidelma was silent for a moment or two. ‘A witness?’ she asked slowly. ‘An eye-witness to the rape and murder?’

‘Indeed. There was another novitiate who was down on the quay with the one who was killed.’

‘Are you saying,’ Fidelma said, ‘that this novitiate … what is her name?’

‘The girl who was witness?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fial.’

‘And the name of the girl who was killed?’

‘Gormgilla.’

‘Are you saying, then, that Fial actually saw the rape and murder of her friend Gormgilla and identified Brother Eadulf as the man responsible?’

‘She did.’

‘And she clearly identified the attacker? There was no doubt as to who she identified?’

‘She was absolutely clear. It was the Saxon.’

Fidelma felt an overwhelming sense of despair. Until now she had been thinking that this matter must be some silly mistake. Even when she heard the extent of the charges against Eadulf, of rape and murder, especially of a young girl of twelve — a girl under the age of choice — she had not changed her mind for she had an implicit belief in Eadulf. It was just not in his character to do such a thing. It had to be a silly mistake in identification or wrong interpretation.

Now she was confronted with overwhelming evidence. Not just the physical evidence of bloodstains and torn clothing but, above everything, the evidence of an eye-witness. The case against Eadulf now appeared devastating. What would Barrán, the Chief Brehon, say when he came to Fearna at her demand only to find that she had no case to offer him? Could it be, in spite of her faith in him, that Eadulf was guilty after all? No! Surely she knew Eadulf too well?

Sister Étromma took her through an arched door into a large quadrangle. Following, Fidelma caught sight of a wooden platform. She did not need to ask what the gruesome apparatus was. The body of a young monk hung inert from the rope suspended from the gibbet. There was no one about.

For one awesome moment, during which her blood seemed to turn to ice, Fidelma thought that the body was that of Eadulf; that, in spite of the assurances she had been given, she was too late. She halted abruptly and stared, her senses numb.

Sister Étromma, seeing that she was not following, stopped and turned back. She wore an unhappy expression and did her best to avoid looking at the corpse.

‘Who is that?’ demanded Fidelma, having registered that the corpsewore the tonsure of St John and not the tonsure of St Peter as Eadulf did.

‘That was Brother Ibar,’ the stewardess replied quietly.

‘For what reason has he been executed?’

‘Murder and theft.’

Fidelma’s mouth compressed for a moment. ‘Is this punishment by the Penitentials going to be the fashion now in this abbey?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Do you know the details of his crime?’

‘I attended the trial, Sister. The entire community were ordered to do so by Abbess Fainder. It was the first trial that led to execution under the new Penitential laws and he was a member of our community.’

‘You spoke of murder and theft?’

‘Brother Ibar was found guilty of killing a boatman and robbing him down on the abbey quay.’

‘When was this?’

‘A few weeks ago.’

Fidelma was studying the gently swinging corpse.

‘There seems much death on the abbey quay,’ she reflected. An idea occurred to her. ‘You say that Ibar killed a boatman on the quay and robbed him a few weeks ago? Was it before or after the crime of which Brother Eadulf was accused?’

‘Oh, after. The very day after.’

‘Unusual, isn’t it? Two murders on the same small quay within two days and now two Brothers of the Faith condemned to die, one dead already.’

Sister Étromma frowned. ‘But there was no connection between the two events.’

Fidelma gestured distastefully towards the corpse.

‘How long does he have to hang there?’

‘Until sunset. Then he will be cut down and taken out to be buried in unconsecrated ground.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘Not well. He was a newcomer to the community. I believe he came from Rathdangan, to the north of here. He was a blacksmith by trade. He worked in that capacity in the community.’

‘Why did he kill the boatman and rob him?’

‘It was judged that he was spurred on by greed. It was a purse of gold coin and a gold chain that he took, having stabbed the man.’

‘Why would a blacksmith who works in this abbey need money? Ablacksmith is respected enough that he can name his own price for his art. Why, his honour price is ten seds; the equivalent of an aire-echta, a Brehon of lower qualification.’

Sister Étromma shrugged expressively. ‘The air is chill here, Sister,’ she said. ‘Let us move on.’

Fidelma turned after her and they continued across the quadrangle, with the buildings towering on all sides, and through another small door. Sister Étromma went up the stone steps which rose two storeys to an upper floor. The building was dank and musty. Fidelma felt an overwhelming sense of despondency. The gloom and foreboding which hung depressingly about the place in no way gave her a sense that she was in the house of a community devoted to the Christian life. There was an atmosphere of impending menace which she found hard to explain.

Sister Étromma led her along the dingy corridor, after she had allowed Fidelma time to pause and let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. Along this corridor stood a small oak door with iron bolts.

A huge shadow suddenly appeared in the darkness from the end of the corridor.

‘Who is it?’ demanded a guttural voice. ‘Is it you, Étromma?’

‘It is,’ replied the stewardess. ‘This is Sister Fidelma, a dálaigh who has permission from the abbess to question the prisoner.’

Fidelma caught a smell of onions on the breath of the burly figure as he came forward and peered closely at her.

‘Very well,’ came the harsh tones. ‘If it is all right with Étromma, you may enter.’ The figure seemed to recede back into the darkness.

‘Who was that?’ whispered Fidelma, slightly awed by the size of the guard.

‘That was my Brother Cett who now acts as gaoler,’ replied Étromma.

‘Your Brother Cett?’ Fidelma asked, wondering about the prefix ‘my’.

Sister Étromma’s voice was distant. ‘Both brother in flesh as well as in Christ. Poor soul, my brother is a simple man. We were caught in a raid by the Uí Néill when we were children and he received a wound to the head so that now he only does menial tasks, and those involving the need for strength.’

Sister Étromma withdrew the iron bolts from the cell door.

‘Call me when you are ready to leave. Brother Cett or I will be in earshot.’

She drew open the door and Fidelma entered the cell beyond, standing for a moment blinking in the beam of light which came through the barred window in the opposite wall.

A startled voice exclaimed: ‘Fidelma! Is it really you?’