Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Seven

On her arrival back at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain, Fidelma sought out Dego and Enda. They had returned from their excursion around the township but had little to report. They had found a very divided population. Some people were clearly shocked at the King’s decree that the Penitentials should now form the law for all citizens — and cease being simply the rules by which some religious communities conducted their life. Others, more fanatical in their belief in the new faith, supported the extreme measures of the Penitentials. Dego and Enda could only base their opinions on the few conversations they had had with traders and merchants in the market square, for they had to proceed carefully. Even so, it was clear that news of Fidelma’s arrival and the purpose of it was spreading through the township. What was the ancient saying? Gossip needs not a horse to carry it.

Fidelma, in return, sketched the basis of her findings at the abbey. The faces of Dego and Enda grew long as she told them of the evidence against Eadulf.

‘I have to return to the abbey to speak again with Abbess Fainder,’ she said. ‘There is the matter of the missing Sister Fial, whose evidence I find hard to believe. Fainder intrigues me, however. If we discount Fial’s motives, it is the impetus of the abbess which has wrought this change to the law. There is something very disturbing about her.’

‘Even so, lady,’ Enda said reflectively, ‘there is this testimony of Sister Fial. She says that she actually witnessed Eadulf rape and kill her friend. That is clear enough in any law.’

Dego was grim-faced in agreement with his comrade. ‘Do you think that you can shake her testimony?’ he asked.

‘I think I might, on what I have been told so far, but only if I have a chance to speak with her. It seems convenient that she has disappeared.’

Dego and Enda exchanged a glance.

‘Do you suspect a conspiracy to hide her?’ Enda said.

‘All I say is that the disappearance of Sister Fail is coincidental.’ Fidelma paused thoughtfully. ‘However, I should be able to raise enoughquestions on the conduct of the trial to cause any unbiased judge to delay the enactment of this penalty pending further investigations. After I have seen the abbess again, I will demand that King Fianamail keep his word and hear my grounds for an appeal. We simply need to buy a week of time. I’d be happier pleading my case before Barrán than a Laigin Brehon who might be influenced by Bishop Forbassach.’

‘What shall we do in the meanwhile?’ Dego asked.

‘There is something,’ Fidelma said slowly. ‘I have found that the Abbess Fainder regularly leaves the abbey on horseback each afternoon and apparently goes on mysterious journeys, sometimes returning very late. I’d like to know where she goes and who she sees.’

‘Do you believe that the abbess is involved in this case in some way?’ Enda demanded.

‘Possibly. At the moment, I find that there are so many mysteries in this place that it is probably best to clarify each one in turn. Maybe it is of no importance, maybe it is. It was when she was returning from such a journey, after midnight, that she was seen next to the body of the murdered girl. Was that merely a coincidence?’

‘Enda and I will keep a watch on the fine abbess and her travels then, lady,’ smiled Dego. ‘Leave that to us.’

It was some time before Mel returned to the inn. Fidelma had finished her midday meal and was preparing to go back to the abbey. Dego and Enda had set off on their tasks again. Fidelma had realised, with growing frustration, that she had nothing to do until the Abbess Fainder returned to the abbey or Sister Étromma found Sister Fial. She was restless and annoyed for she was very conscious of the onward rush of time and the fact that Eadulf had so little of it left to spare. She forced herself to sit in the main room of the inn, before the crackling fire, and tried to contain her growing agitation. It was not in her nature to sit still when there was so much to do. The words of her mentor, the Brehon Morann, calmed her: Whoever has no patience has no wisdom.

She also sought refuge in the art of the dercad, the act of meditation by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the state of sitcháin or peace, calming extraneous thought and mental irritations. Fidelma was a regular practitioner of this ancient art in times of stress although several members of the Faith, such as Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, had denounced its usage as a pagan art because it had been practised by the Druids before the coming of the New Faith. Eventhe Blessed Patrick himself, a Briton who had been prominent in establishing the Faith in the five kingdoms two centuries before, had expressly forbidden several of the meditative arts of self-enlightenment. However, the dercad, while frowned upon, was not yet forbidden. It was a means of relaxing and calming the riot of thoughts within a troubled mind. Fidelma used it regularly.

Time passed and finally she heard Mel coming into the inn. She snapped out of her meditation with ease and greeted him as he entered.

‘Was it bad?’ she asked directly.

He looked startled, not immediately observing her sitting in the shadowy corner by the fire. Then he shook his head as he realised to what she was referring.

‘You mean the river boat accident? No lives were lost, thanks be.’

‘And was it Gabrán’s boat?’

The question seemed to have an electrifying effect on Mel. He started back in surprise.

‘What makes you ask that?’ he demanded.

‘Only that Sister Étromma seemed concerned when it was reported that it might have been his boat because the man traded with the abbey.’

‘Oh?’ Mel paused a moment as if to think on the matter and then shook his head. ‘It was some old river barge that should have been broken up for firewood a long time ago. The timbers were rotted. It is reckoned that it will take only a few hours to drag the wreck to the riverbank out of the way of the main passage.’

‘So Sister Étromma’s concern was without foundation?’

‘As I told you, being a river trading post, it is a concern to us all if there is any danger of the river becoming impassable.’

‘I understand.’

Mel was about to continue on his way but she stayed him.

‘A few other questions occur to me, if you don’t mind answering them. I will not keep you long.’

Mel sat down before her. ‘I am happy to help you, lady,’ he smiled. ‘Ask your questions.’

‘What were the circumstances of the drowning of your comrade — the one who was with you on the night of the murder of Gormgilla?’

Mel seemed surprised by the question.

‘Daig? He was on watch on the quays one night, as usual, and it seems that he slipped off the boards of the quay, probably on the wet wood, and struck his head on something, perhaps a timber support. Hewas unconscious in the water and drowned before anyone knew it. His body was found the next day.’

Fidelma considered this for a moment.

‘So his death — his name was Daig, you say? — so Daig’s death was just a tragic accident. There was nothing suspicious about it?’

‘It was an accident right enough, and tragic enough, for Daig was a good member of the watch and knew this river like the back of his hand. He was brought up on the river boats here. But if you think there was some connection with the murder of Gormgilla, I can assure you there was not.’

‘I see.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Do you know if Sister Étromma has returned to the abbey?’

‘I believe so.’ The warrior followed her example, rising slowly.

‘What of Abbess Fainder? Has she also returned?’

Mel shrugged. ‘I don’t know — I doubt it. When she leaves the abbey she is usually gone for some time.’

‘Did the abbess go to see the sunken boat?’

‘I did not see her there. It would be unusual. The abbess regularly goes riding alone during the afternoon. I think she goes up into the hills.’

‘Thank you, Mel. You are most helpful.’

When Fidelma returned to the abbey, she was greeted at the gates by Sister Étromma.

‘Well, Sister,’ Fidelma said, ‘have you any word on the missing girl, Sister Fial?’

Sister Étromma’s face was impassive.

‘I have only just come back to the abbey myself. I will make more enquiries. I did instruct one of our community to make a search through the abbey.’

‘Has Abbess Fainder returned? There are further questions that I need to put to her.’

Sister Étromma was confused. ‘Returned?’

Fidelma nodded patiently. ‘From wherever the abbess goes riding in the afternoon. You do not happen to know where that is, do you?’

The rechtaire of the abbey was dismissive.

‘I would not know about the personal habits of the abbess. Follow me. I believe she is in her chambers.’

She conducted Fidelma once more through the gloomy corridors of the abbey towards the chambers of the abbess. They had to cross asmall cloistered area at the back of the chapel to reach them.

Fidelma heard the raised voices from across the cloisters. She recognised the voice of the abbess, strident in its effort to quell the hard masculine tones which were raised in interrogation. Beside her, Sister Étromma halted and coughed nervously.

‘It seems that the abbess is busy. Perhaps we should return when she is less … preoccupied,’ she muttered.

Fidelma did not pause in her stride.

‘My business will not wait,’ she said firmly. She walked along the cloistered path towards the abbess’s door, with Sister Étromma trotting at her heels, and paused to knock upon it. It was partially open and the voices continued unabated as if the speakers had not heard her knocking.

‘I tell you, Abbess Fainder, it is an outrage!’ The man who was speaking was an elderly man whose clothing distinguished him as someone of rank and influence. He had snow-white hair falling to his shoulders and a silver circlet around his forehead. He wore a long green woven cloak and carried a wand of office.

Abbess Fainder was smiling in spite of her strident tone. On closer inspection it was simply a mask, a taut assembly of her facial muscles. An attempt to demonstrate her superiority.

‘Outrage? You forget to whom you speak, Coba. Besides, my actions have been approved of by the King, his Brehon and his spiritual adviser. Do you dare to say that you are more competent to judge matters than they are?’

‘That I do,’ replied the elderly man, unabashed. ‘Especially if they ignore the principles of our laws.’

‘Our laws?’ sneered the Abbess. ‘The laws recognised in this abbey are those governing the Church of which it is part. We recognise no other law. As for the rest of the kingdom, why — we must not allow it to wallow in ignorance any longer. We must turn to Christian law as given by Rome otherwise we are cursed for eternity.’

The man addressed as Coba took an almost threatening step closer to the table of the abbess. Fainder did not flinch as he bent forward in anger across it.

‘It is strange to hear those words coming from a learned woman, especially one in your position. Do you not recall the words of Paul of Tarsus to the Romans? “When Gentiles, who do not possess the law, carry out its precepts by the light of nature, then, though they have no law, they are their own law, for they display the effect of the lawinscribed on their hearts.” Paul of Tarsus had more sympathy with our law than you do.’

Abbess Fainder’s eyes were dark with anger.

‘You have the effrontery to lecture me on the Scriptures? Do you dare tell the religious, who are your superiors in the Faith, how to interpret the Scriptures? You forget yourself, Coba. You have a duty of obedience to us who are appointed to govern you in the Faith; you will obey and not question me.’

The elderly man looked down pityingly at her.

‘Who appointed you to govern me? I certainly did not do so.’

‘My authority comes from Christ.’

‘As I recall in the first letter of the Apostle Peter from the same Scriptures, and he was Christ’s appointed leader of the Faith, it says to “Tend the flock of God whose shepherds you are, and do it not under compulsion but out of sheer devotion; not tyrannising over those who are allotted to your care, but setting an example to the flock.” Perhaps you should remember those words before you demand unquestioning obedience?’

Abbess Fainder almost choked in frustration.

‘Have you no humility, man?’ Her voice rose, cracking in anger.

Coba laughed coldly. ‘I have humility enough to recognise when I lack humility.’

The abbess suddenly caught sight of Fidelma standing at the door, witnessing the argument with an expression of amused interest on her face. Abbess Fainder’s features immediately dissolved into a cold mask. She turned back to the elderly man.

‘The Brehon and the King have agreed on the matter of punishment, Coba. It will be carried out. That is all I have to say. You may go.’ She turned again to Fidelma and her voice was icy. ‘Now, what do you want, Sister?’

The elderly man had turned to the door as soon as he was aware of Fidelma’s presence. He made no effort to obey the abbess’s summary dismissal.

‘I give you fair warning, Abbess Fainder,’ he said, eyes on Fidelma and cutting across any reply that she was about to give to the abbess. ‘I shall not let this matter drop. You have slaughtered one young Brother already and now you intend to kill the Saxon. That is not our law.’

Fidelma addressed herself to him rather than the abbess.

‘So, you have come to protest against this sentence of death?’ sheasked, regarding the elderly man with interest.

The man called Coba was not friendly.

‘That I have. If you call yourself a religieuse, then you will do likewise.’

‘I have already made my protest known,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Who are you?’

It was Abbess Fainder who reluctantly intervened.

‘This is Coba of Cam Eolaing of which place he is bó-aire and not an ollamh of law nor of religion,’ she added spitefully. A bó-aire was a local magistrate, a chieftain without land whose wealth was judged by the number of cows he owned, hence he was called a ‘cow-chief’. ‘Coba, this is Sister Fidelma from Cashel.’

The elderly man’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he turned to examine Fidelma.

‘What is a religieuse of Cashel doing in Fearna? Simply to protest at the actions of its abbess, or do you have another purpose?’ he demanded.

‘The abbess failed to mention that I am a dálaigh of the courts with the rank of anruth,’ she replied. ‘Also, I am a friend of the Saxon who lays under the threat of death. I have come here to help defend him from any injustice.’

The elderly chieftain relaxed a little.

‘I see. And I suppose that you have not been able to persuade the abbess to desist from her evil intention?’

‘I have not been able to change the sentence which has been confirmed by the King and his Brehon,’ Fidelma admitted, wording her answer cautiously.

‘Then what do you propose to do? A man was murdered this morning and another is to be murdered tomorrow. Vengeance is not our way.’

Abbess Fainder made some inarticulate sounds but Fidelma ignored her.

‘It is not our way,’ she conceded. ‘I agree. But we can only follow the path of law to fight injustice. I have been given permission to see if there are matters which may form the basis of an appeal.’

The elderly man almost spat. ‘Appeal! Nonsense! The Saxon’s life is to be taken tomorrow. His release must be demanded. There is no time for legal niceties.’

Abbess Fainder’s eyes narrowed. ‘I must warn you, Coba, that demands will be met with resistance. If you try to interfere with the law …’

‘Law? Savagery! Those who support this judicial taking of life have an affinity with murderers and cannot call themselves civilised.’

‘I warn you, Coba, your views will be brought to the attention of the King.’

‘The King? A querulous youth who has let himself be misled in these matters.’

Fidelma laid a hand on the old man’s arm.

‘A querulous youth with power,’ she warned him gently. The chieftain seemed too outspoken for his own good.

Coba laughed dryly at her concern. ‘I am too old and have lived too full a life to be frightened of people with power, whoever they are. And throughout that life, young woman, I have supported our law, our culture and philosophies. No new savagery can replace my principles without my voice being raised in protest.’

‘I can understand your feelings, Coba,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘I share them. But you, as a local magistrate, must know that the only way to challenge and change things is by doing it through the medium of the law.’

Coba stared at her for a moment, his eyes deep set and dark.

‘Your great Christian teacher, Paul of Tarsus, once said that the law was the schoolmaster. What do you think he meant by that?’

‘And which law did he mean?’ snapped Abbess Fainder. ‘Not pagan law but the law the Faith brings.’

Coba ignored her and spoke directly to Fidelma: ‘The most characteristic feature of our law is the procedure by means of which rights and wrongs are respectively vindicated or redressed. The most obvious effect of a crime, any crime, is the infliction of an injury on some other person and the natural consequence that this should bring down on the wrongdoer. In any well-regulated society, the principle is that the wrongdoer must compensate the victim for the injury.’

‘That is the law of the Brehons,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘You sound as if you have studied that principle well.’

Coba nodded absently. ‘In the five kingdoms we have a system of honour prices which, according to the nature of the injury and the status of the person injured, compensation and fines are judged. The philosophy of the Brehons was to make the law a schoolmaster; to teach the wrongdoer that the loss which is then inflicted on him is the loss that he has inflicted on the injured person.’

Abbess Fainder interrupted him again.

‘I believe that the Roman way of punitive redress, that is “an eye for an eye”, is the deterrent and reflects the natural instinct of man. The natural retaliation for murder is to take reprisal from the wrongdoer by killing him also. Isn’t this what combative children do when they fall out? One hits another and the reaction is to strike back.’

The elderly chieftain waved his hand in dismissal of her argument.

‘That is a system based on fear. Violent reprisal for a crime leads to a fierce resentment which determines the wrongdoers to inflict even more violence as vengeance; that leads to more reprisals and the production of more fear and more violence.’

Abbess Fainder was flushed with indignation at this challenge to her authority.

‘We came out of the primitive barbarism. Some remain in it. If we want to prevent crime then we must use means that primitive barbarian minds understand. Spare the rod and spoil the child. The same applies with adults. Once they understand that the penalty of wrongdoing is death then they will not transgress.’

Fidelma thought it time to intervene in the heated argument.

‘Such a debate, interesting as it is, is leading us nowhere. I have come to ask you some questions, Abbess Fainder. With your permission I would request that Coba withdraw so that we may discuss the matter in private.’

Coba was not offended.

‘My business with the abbess is done. I need to speak with your rechtaire, Abbess Fainder.’ He turned and smiled shortly at Fidelma. ‘I wish you luck, Sister Fidelma. If you need someone to support your plea against the enactment of these barbarous Penitentials, then I am your man. Assuredly so.’

Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgment.

After Coba had left, Fidelma came straight to the point.

‘You did not tell me that it was you who found the body of the murdered girl.’

Abbess Fainder did not alter her expression.

‘You did not ask,’ she replied evenly. ‘Besides, it is not exactly true.’

‘Then tell me what is the truth.’

Abbess Fainder sat back reflectively, her hands palm down in what Fidelma realised was a characteristic position.

‘As I recall the matter, that night I was returning to the abbey …’

‘A curious time for the abbess to be returning to her abbey. It was after midnight, or so I am told.’

The other woman shrugged. ‘I know of no rule which forbids an abbess to leave her abbey.’

‘Where had you been?’

For a moment Abbess Fainder’s eyes narrowed in aggravation. Then she relaxed and smiled again.

‘That is none of your business,’ she said without malice. ‘Suffice to say that it has nothing to do with this affair.’

Fidelma realised that she could hardly press the point without further knowledge.

‘I am told you were on horseback.’

‘I was returning along the riverbank to the gates which overlook the abbey’s quay on the river. Our stables are just there.’

‘I have seen the place,’ Fidelma assured her.

‘I was riding along the path …’

‘Was there moonlight?’

The abbess frowned for a moment. ‘I don’t think so. No, it was a cloudy night and dark. I was about to turn into the gate when something attracted my attention.’

‘Which was?’ pressed Fidelma after she had paused.

‘I think on reflection it was a sound near a pile of bales and boxes that had been landed from one of the trading boats which had arrived that day.’

‘A sound?’

‘I do not know exactly. But something attracted my attention and I eased my horse near to the bales. That was when I saw the huddled shape of the body.’

‘Yet it was cloudy and dark. You had no torch. How could you see that it was a body in such conditions?’

Abbess Fainder pondered the question.

‘I don’t recall. There must have been some light from somewhere. I just know that I saw the huddled form and knew it was a body. Perhaps the moon came out momentarily from the clouds. I don’t know.’

‘What then?’

‘I sat for a moment and then Mel, the captain of the watch, came out of the darkness. I did not recognise him at first and so I called out to ask who he was. When I saw it was Mel, the captain of the watch, I asked him to examine the body. He did so and told me that it was ayoung girl: she was dead. I instructed him to bring the body into the abbey and I went to rouse Brother Miach, our physician.’

‘I see. And the body was brought in by Mel?’

‘It was.’

‘By Mel alone?’

‘No, by Mel and one of his comrades.’

‘Do you recall his name?’

‘It was a man called Daig,’ she said shortly.

‘When the body was laid out, I presume that you recognised it as one of your young novitiates?’

‘Not at all. I had never seen her before. It was the girl who had also been brought in, Fial, she who witnessed the attack by your Saxon friend, who identified her,’ the abbess said viciously.

‘You had never seen either of those girls before that night. Isn’t that strange?’

‘There is no mystery there for I do not greet all the novitiates, as I have said before.’

‘So you heard from Fial that she had apparently witnessed the rape and murder of her companion?’

‘By this time, Sister Étromma had been found and she led us to where the Saxon was pretending to be asleep. He was dragged from his bed. There was blood on his robe and we found a torn piece of the dead girl’s robe in his possession.’

Fidelma stroked the side of her nose with a slim forefinger, brows drawn together.

‘Didn’t you think that was odd?’

‘How so?’ demanded the abbess belligerently.

‘That after such a crime, the attacker would tear a piece of his victim’s clothing off and take it with him to bed as incriminating evidence? And the fact that he had not attempted to clean the blood off his own robe — isn’t that odd?’

Abbess Fainder shrugged. ‘It is not my place to delve into the motivations of a sick mind. People behave strangely, you must know that. One explanation is that your Saxon friend had no time, having realised a hue and cry had been raised. He simply hoped he would not be noticed.’

‘I concede that you have a point but I would not accept that it is not our place to delve into the motivations of sick minds. Isn’t that what we are here for, Mother Abbess, to give comfort and succour to the sick and distressed by our understanding?’

‘We are not here to make up excuses for the evil-minded, Sister. “Whatever a man soweth that shall he also reap” — you should remember Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians?’

‘There is a fine line in discovering reasons and making up excuses.’ Fidelma swung abruptly towards the door then she paused and glanced back. ‘I also came to give you notice, Abbess Fainder, that I am going to proceed with an appeal based on the evidence that I have heard so far.’

For a moment Abbess Fainder looked startled.

‘Are you saying that you have grounds on which to appeal on behalf of the Saxon?’ she demanded.

At that moment the door swung open and Coba re-entered without knocking.

Abbess Fainder rose from her chair in quiet anger. ‘Have you taken leave of your manners, to come bursting into my chamber without knocking,’ she said icily. ‘I am …’

‘I came to warn you,’ he interrupted, though there was dry humour in his tone.

‘Warn me?’ Abbess Fainder was astonished.

‘The King is approaching the abbey,’ the bó-aire told her. ‘The Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, is with him.’

‘Then I am saved a journey to the King’s fortress,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘I shall now make my appeal on behalf of Brother Eadulf.’

‘This is good news,’ Coba cried enthusiastically. ‘It would be better news if you could stop this madness that has entered our kingdom. We must get these Penitentials thrown out before they displace our entire system of government.’

The abbess suddenly relaxed and reseated herself, reaching for her hand-bell to summon her stewardess.

‘So Fianamail is coming? Then, perhaps, he and Forbassach will put an end to this nonsense. Our abbey routine has been disturbed enough. We will receive the King and his Brehon, formally, in the chapel.’ She shot a hostile glance at Fidelma. ‘We will see how far you will get with your appeal then, Sister.’

It was Coba who addressed the abbess.

‘Even at this late stage your voice could be raised for mercy and be listened to. Return to the law of this land!’

‘I have heard no reason, so far, to change my mind either in this specific case or in terms of the wider philosophy of punishment,’ the abbess bristled.

‘Have my arguments not moved you to reconsider the effectiveness of the implementation of compensation and rehabilitation on society rather than the imposition of fear to create a moral society?’

‘We want to create an obedient society,’ snapped Abbess Fainder. ‘No, I am not moved at all. If a child steals, then the child is punished and fear of punishment creates obedience.’

Coba made a final, desperate attempt to demonstrate his philosophy.

‘Let us use that child analogy. How many have said that their child steals? “We have told the child that it is wicked to steal and we have beat him or her for stealing. Yet still they steal. Why is this?” The answer depends on the individual child. Some are cowed into submission by punishment or the threat of punishment, but not all. Indeed, punishment of a physical nature often leads to a strengthening of resolve for vengeance on the figure of authority or the society that the figure represents. It can lead to increasing violence instead of preventing it.’

‘Doing nothing at all increases that violence,’ sneered the Abbess. ‘You are an old and foolish man, Coba.’

‘What our law seeks to do is to solve the problems of the attitude of wrongdoers. The best corrective measure is to make the child understand that stealing involves pain to someone, by taking away something belonging to the child every time they commit a theft. Most children respond to this rather than to a smack or physical pain. Thus we have a law system by which the naughty child can learn. If they have any capacity for sympathy, then they realise the pain they have inflicted and further, they may be led into changing their ways.’

‘I cannot stand here arguing this nonsense, Coba. Your laws and their punishments have failed otherwise we would now live in a society free from all crime.’

Fidelma felt a strong desire to enter the argument again.

‘Every breach of law is effectively an injury to another, and if a man is brought to the realisation of that injury then his soul is saved; when he has been so rehabilitated he may go on to lead a worthwhile life. Thus the law is a work of moral education by being a curative punishment, as well as a compensatory and preventative punishment.’

Coba nodded in approval at her explanation.

Abbess Fainder turned to them both with an expression of cynicism.

‘You will not persuade me to change my mind. The Saxon has been judged and tomorrow he will hang for the crime he has committed. Now let us go and greet the King.’