‘I was confused. Was it either a badly executed attempt at disguising the murder, or it was done in an intentionally clumsy fashion so that it was easy to draw the conclusion that it was murder? The person who had killed Brother Máel Anfaid and then killed poor Ciarnat was the same person who had killed Abbot Ségdae. But I think they were told exactly how to arrange Ciarnat’s death because the chief conspirator wanted me to think that it was a badly executed disguise of a murder and would thus implicate the second conspirator.’
‘You have now mentioned two conspirators,’ Brehon Faolchair observed. ‘Are you drawing close to naming those responsible?’
‘I am,’ stated Fidelma, as a wave of murmuring swept the hall.
‘So let us get down to identities. Who is the killer of Abbot Ségdae, Brother Máel Anfaid and the girl, Ciarnat? Who would then be expendable in the eyes of the leading conspirator?
‘I said at the start that if Gormán had not killed Abbot Ségdae, there was only one other logical culprit.’
She now looked across at the pale face of the steward of the Abbey of Imleach. The tall, muscular man rose from his seat with a cry of rage but found Socht at his side with a drawn sword.
‘More often than not, the truth is in the obvious,’ Fidelma said. ‘Brother Tuamán took Gormán into the abbot’s chamber. He pretended to leave but went outside, grabbed Prior Cuán’s blackthorn from his chamber and returned. The abbot thought he had come back for some papers, so he looked down at his desk and uttered those words: “Oh yes, you want these.” It was then that Brother Tuamán hit Gormán before stabbing the abbot and arranging the murder scene. He locked the door, posted the key through the knot-hole and then called Lachtna, the guard outside, saying he had heard the sound of arguing and a noise like a body falling. What followed was a logic based on these lies.’
‘Can I ask a question?’ It was Gormán who sought permission of Brehon Faolchair before he turned to Fidelma.
‘I understand from what you say that Abbot Ségdae was lured here to be killed in order to start a conflict. But I came here purely by chance. I had just arrived at the fortress and no one expected me. How, then, was I drawn into this?’
‘A good point,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘As you say, it was pure chance. The conspirators would doubtless have arranged for someone else to be blamed. I suspect that it would have been Prior Cuán whom they chose. But what better than the commander of the King of Cashel’s bodyguard to be seen as the murderer? It was a great opportunity for them that you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Brehon Faolchair was regarding the steward of the Abbey of Imleach thoughtfully. ‘So it would also be Brother Tuamán who told Brother Máel Anfaid that you, Fidelma, were abandoning the case? His word would have been trusted implicitly by the young scribe. Certainly, Brother Tuamán is a tall man and one of some strength, which would have been needed in arranging Ciarnat’s hanging.’
‘It was felt that I was already dangerously near working out the reality of the situation,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘A distraction was needed which would confirm the guilt of Gormán. What better than if he escaped, even for a short period? It would serve as a definitive confirmation of guilt.’
‘So Brother Máel Anfaid would have no cause to believe his superior was lying and he duly passed the story on to Ciarnait,’ Brehon Faolchair summed up, clarifying the argument. ‘When that plan worked, both Máel Anfaid and Ciarnait needed to be silenced for they were the essential links to the source of the false story.’
Prior Cuán rose unsteadily from his seat, leaning forward on his stick. He seemed bewildered. ‘But Brother Tuamán is steward at Imleach and surely owed service to Abbot Ségdae. Why would he become involved in this Uí Fidgente conspiracy?’
‘Because he was either fully or part Uí Fidgente. He told me that he had come from the Loch Léin area to the south of Sliabh Luachra. That is borderland between the Uí Fidgente and the territory of Congal of the Eóghanacht of Loch Léin. He studied at Inis Faithlian. Many Uí Fidgente studied there. It is one of the three great teaching abbeys in the area.’
‘You mention Inis Faithlian as if it had importance?’ the prior said.
‘I believe that is where Brother Tuamán met his fellow conspirator when they were students. Perhaps they formed a relationship there. Was that relationship used to inveigle him into this conspiracy once he arrived with Abbot Ségdae? Perhaps it had even been arranged before he went to Imleach. Perhaps his task was to persuade Ségdae to come here. Tuamán’s rise at Imleach was remarkably quick.’
‘We have heard that Brother Tuamán was one of the conspirators but he is in no way connected with the bloodline of the Uí Fidgente,’ Prince Donennach said. ‘Surely the very basis of the conspiracy that you are arguing rests on a person having the claim of succession if I were displaced?’
‘Now we have come to the heart of the matter.’ Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘You may have often heard me quote the wise Roman judge, Cicero. In dealing with all such mysteries as these I start with the question – cui bono? Who benefits?’
‘Who would benefit if Prince Donennach was overthrown in some coup?’ Brehon Faolchair said. ‘Nannid is the only possible claimant I know of, and he is now discredited from any office. He would not be acceptable. So there is no one.’
‘No one?’ queried Fidelma innocently. ‘Is there not one who has often been overlooked because the Uí Fidgente boasts a line of warrior princes? Is there not an heir apparent, a tanaise?’
‘This is outrageous!’ Airmid, Donennach’s sister, had risen white-faced from her chair. ‘The woman lies – she is an Eóghanacht spy sent to sow dissension among us. Ceit, have your men arrest her!’
‘Airmid?’ Prince Donennach was clearly shocked to the core. ‘But that is ridiculous! She is my sister and cares nothing for matters of statecraft.’
‘She is also your heir apparent, the single eligible successor.’
‘It’s all up! She knows all!’ the burly figure of Brother Tuamán suddenly burst out. ‘Help me, Airmid. You have the power to save us both.’
‘Shut up, you fool. Can’t you see all this is just words – words and no substance. The woman is just an Eóghanacht bitch sent to … she can’t prove anything.’
‘Remember, Tuamán, she was prepared to sacrifice you,’ Fidelma said. ‘You would have been blamed for the murder of Ciarnat, and no doubt her idea was to blame you for all the deaths if anything went wrong.’
The steward collapsed back in his chair, muttering. Then he peered round helplessly. ‘I obeyed her – it was out of love. She promised to raise me by her side …’
‘I think confession counts as evidence,’ Brehon Faolchair said to Prince Donennach, his heart heavy for the young prince.
Suddenly, a knife appeared in Airmid’s hand – one of her sharp surgeon’s scalpels – and she had whirled round on her still-seated brother, who sat frozen in shock. She was in the act of throwing herself on him, her brother, screaming with hatred, when Ceit struck. Later, it emerged that he had merely meant to disarm her knife hand, at the very worst sever it. But Airmid was moving so swiftly, her right hand raised, that the sharp point of his sword went in, under the arm, through the ribcage and into her heart. Almost without a sound, the sister of Donennach collapsed to the floor at her brother’s feet, blood gushing from her hate-twisted mouth.
Prince Donennach sat paralysed with horror, looking down at his dead sister.
L’ENVOI
The body had been taken away. In a broken voice, Prince Donennach had called for the hall to be cleared but Brehon Faolchair had countermanded the order and told the guards to remain where they were. He gently explained this to the prince.
‘I hate to contradict you,’ he said, ‘but this is a court of law and must conclude in a legal manner. It is essential, under law, that we hear what else Fidelma was going to say about the motivation of your sister to this treacherous act.’
Prince Donennach collapsed bac
k into his chair and gave a listless assent.
Fidelma regarded the Prince of the Uí Fidgente with sympathy. ‘I am sorry that it has come to this, Donennach. But many things caused me to pose questions that brought me to this conclusion. When we first met, Airmid told me she had studied the healing arts at the Abbey of Inis Faithlian. I wondered why Tuamán, who had studied at Inis Faithlian at the same time as Airmid, pretended not to know her, or her very name, when she was called upon to examine the body of Abbot Ségdae. It was Conrí who told me the name of the physician who attended. Yet when I came upon Airmid and Tuamán playing fidchell last night, in this very hall, and Airmid was winning, what did Brother Tuamán say? That she had always been an excellent player even when she was a student.
‘I do not say it was conclusive. But then I recalled something else. Your cousin Eoganán was Prince of the Uí Fidgente when Airmid left her studies to practise her healing arts. Your family had been displaced by Eoganan. I was told that your sister fell in love with someone that your family did not approve of. In spite of their protests, Airmid married that person. Now what family would be powerful enough to stand up to your family’s disapproval? The only one would be the rival branch of the royal line. The man she married was a son of Eoganán … that son was Lorcán. Lorcán, who had survived his father’s defeat, killed his twin brother – the religieux, Lughna – and hid for some years in the Abbey of Mungairit, plotting the death of my brother, Colgú, and your overthrow, Donennach.’
There was an icy silence in the hall.
‘During all that time,’ Fidelma continued, ‘you were led to believe that Airmid was a widow. Six months ago, when I uncovered the truth that Lorcán was alive and plotting in Mungairit, he was captured and sent by me as a prisoner to this very fortress to await your pleasure when you returned from your visit to the High King. I learned that he had escaped from his cell, but that the watchful guards had mortally wounded him. He died being nursed by Airmid who then became his widow in reality and swore vengeance on you.
‘One more thing,’ she concluded. ‘It was thought he had help to escape. If we speculate that it was his wife who helped him, I do not think we would be far wrong. You had been so used to thinking of her as a widow during the years that had passed since Cnoc Áine that it did not occur to you that she might still be infatuated with him.
‘Conrí was mid-way through telling me the story when we were interrupted before he could name the man that she had married. Had I insisted on the end of that story, in spite of my distraction, we might have achieved a quicker resolution to this matter.’
‘At least the matter is resolved now,’ Brehon Faolchair said with satisfaction. ‘Needless to say, Gormán of Cashel leaves here without a stain on his character and reparation will be offered according to law. Tuamán will not be allowed to return to Imleach and his punishment will be decided later. As for Nannid and Cuineáin, they will be handed to the community of Nechta for their council to decide what is to become of them.’
Prince Donennach rose from his seat almost like a sleepwalker and stared round at those assembled in the hall.
‘I take the burden of my sister’s guilt on my shoulders and ask for your forgiveness,’ he said slowly. ‘I assure you that reparation of the honour price of each of those who met their death at the hands of her evil plot will be swiftly paid – the honour price of Abbot Ségdae, that of Ciarnat and of Máel Anfaid. This I have said and so it will be done.’
Brehon Faolchair waited a moment and heaved a sigh before announcing: ‘This court, this hearing, is now terminated.’
As Fidelma and her companions rode through the gates of Dún Eochair Mháigh, she silently prayed it would be for the last time. Conrí, Socht and Ceit stood at one side of the gates and raised their hands in salute as they rode by. The atmosphere at the farewell feasting in the great hall during the previous evening had been mixed with sadness. Prince Donennach had not attended, but took his farewell of Fidelma privately. He continued to be visibly devastated by his sister’s treachery and violent death whilst trying to kill him. For Fidelma and her companions there was a mixture of relief – and even happiness – at the prospect of returning to Cashel. She and Eadulf had missed their son. Prior Cuán and the young steward Brother Mac Raith were certainly relieved that the truth had been uncovered, but contemplated the future with uncertainty. There were, of course, notable absences at the feast. Brother Tuamán now occupied the cell once occupied by Gormán, while Nannid and Cuineáin had been taken to the Abbey of Nechta to be heard before the community.
Prior Cuán and Brother Mac Raith had left earlier that morning in a mule cart, joining a group of travelling merchants heading for the great Abbey of Imleach. However, Fidelma and her group had slept long past the usual hour and now, with Enda leading the way, followed by Fidelma and Eadulf, with Gormán and Aibell bringing up the rear of their small group, they finally left the fortress. Passing down the slope into the main square of the township, they heard the sounds of sawing, hammering and happy raised voices. On the far side of the square, the forbidding wooden walls of what had been the Abbey of Nechta were being hauled down with a joyous will.
Brother Éladach was hurrying across the square to speak to them.
‘I had to say farewell, lady,’ he gasped, ‘and to give our thanks to you for preserving our way of life.’
Fidelma halted her horse for a moment and smiled down at him.
‘You were not long in making a decision, my friend, as to whether to adopt the pretensions of an abbey or simply become part of the community of this township again.’
‘It needed no great thought, lady. We can do without abbots and bishops to tell us how to live our lives, or walls to separate us from the knowledge and friendship of our fellow citizens.’
‘What of Nannid and his companion, Cuineáin?’
‘At the same time that our community decided to rejoin the real world, we informed them that they could leave at once, taking only whatever they had arrived with. Even that was more than they deserved.’
Eadulf pulled a face. ‘With any luck, they took less than they arrived with. I am referring to the weight of their arrogance, their pretensions and their fanaticism.’
Brother Éladach chuckled and said sagely, ‘One cannot ask too many miracles of God at the one time. Thanks to the lady Fidelma here, we have seen miracles enough.’
‘Do you know where they will go?’ She was curious.
‘They were last seen heading south-west. The further they go, the better. And for all this, thank you, lady.’ He raised a hand in blessing. ‘May your journey be without hardship. Until the end of the road may you enjoy peace and safety.’
With a smile and a wave, Fidelma and Eadulf rejoined their companions moving eastwards towards Cashel.
Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Page 34