Our Lady of Darkness sf-10

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘He was. But then it was Mel who was captain of the watch that night and Daig was only following his orders. That was when the young girl was raped and killed.’

  ‘A young girl killed, a boatman killed and then Daig drowned …’ mused Fidelma. ‘In every case it seems that Forbassach has been persuaded not to ask the right questions and thus ignore the evidence. Is that a matter for concern, I wonder?’

  Deog did not understand what she was driving at.

  It was Enda who, having sat quietly through all the exchanges, suddenly spoke up, his eyes excited.

  ‘Didn’t you tell me that Gabrán’s boat was tied up on the abbey quay the night the girl was killed? Isn’t there a link there?’

  Fidelma turned to him in annoyance but saw the young warrior was so eager that she felt she could not reprove him for pointing out a fact that she had completely overlooked.

  ‘We will speak of that later, Enda,’ she said. It was then Fidelma realised that the room had grown dark, apart from the warm light cast by glowing embers of the fire.

  Deog stood up and lit a tallow candle and then threw some more wood onto the fire. There was a crackle and soon flames licked at the dry wood, causing a brighter light to chase the gloom.

  ‘We’d better head back to Fearna,’ Fidelma announced, rising regretfully. She turned to Deog. ‘I am most grateful for everything thatyou have told us, Deog. I am sorry to awaken any chords of anguish in your heart. Sometimes it is best to discuss things so that grief can be exposed rather than bottled up.’

  Deog grimaced. ‘I do not mind speaking of my husband. He was a good man and sought to do his best for the community. My great sadness was that he did not get on with my sister. Nor did she like him. Alas, her years in religion have seen her grow bitter with life and harsh in her judgments of people. Yet she does not see her own faults. This relationship with Bishop Forbassach will end unhappily.’

  Fidelma raised a hand and touched the woman comfortingly upon the shoulder.

  ‘They are truly good who are faultless, Deog. Alas, who among us is without faults?’

  Deog looked pleadingly at Fidelma. ‘You will not tell anyone about Fainder?’

  Fidelma looked impassive. ‘I cannot promise that, Deog. You know that for I, too, have sworn an oath to pursue truth.’

  ‘Fainder will never forgive me.’

  The woman was clearly distressed at the idea of what her sister might do if the truth became known. Fidelma squeezed her shoulder again.

  ‘Fainder must live with the consequences of her own actions and prejudices. You need not mention the substance of our discussion to her. I promise you this, I will not reveal Fainder’s relationship with Forbassach nor with yourself unless it becomes necessary.’

  ‘Becomes necessary? I don’t understand.’

  ‘If this fact needs to be brought to light in the course of my enquiries, then I shall bring it to light. If it is simply irrelevant, then it shall remain a secret between the two of us. Isn’t that fair?’

  Deog, sniffing, nodded her head in agreement. ‘I suppose it will suffice.’

  ‘Good. Now, it is dark and we must return to Fearna.’

  They left the woman in her cabin and went to where they had tethered their horses.

  The night was dark and chill, the clouds, chasing one another across the night sky, obscured the stars and the moon for the most part, making it almost impossible to see far.

  ‘It’s best to give the horses their heads,’ advised Enda. ‘In that way, they may tread the path homeward more carefully.’

  Fidelma smiled in the shadows. She had ridden almost before she could walk and knew the habits of horses well enough. She rode with a loose rein allowing the horse to pick its way along the track, guiding gently only now and then to keep the beast moving in the right direction. She rode behind Enda, a dark shadow in front of her, knowing that the young warrior was keenly aware of his surroundings, attuned to any sense of danger.

  The late autumn evening was really cold. Instinctively she knew that there would be a frost that night, the first frost of the oncoming winter. She hoped that Eadulf was not sleeping out in the open. She shivered at the thought. Yet if he were not hiding in the surrounding forests or hills, where was he? Who would be sheltering him?

  She had pondered long on the problem of how he had managed to effect his escape from his cell in the abbey. Time and again she had come back to the conclusion that he must have been helped by an outside force. But who? And why?

  ‘Not that path, lady!’ called Enda from the darkness ahead.

  Fidelma blinked.

  She realised that she had fallen so deeply into her thoughts that she had given her horse too much head. As they reached a fork in the track, the horse, with free rein, had begun to turn down the left-hand path. Fidelma hauled quickly on the rein and turned the animal’s path towards the shadow of Enda.

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ she called. ‘Do you know where that path leads? It seems to go directly south.’

  ‘It leads to a place called Cam Eolaing. I was told that it is on the same river that passes by the abbey but it is a longer route to Fearna if we go down to Cam Eolaing and turn along the river track.’

  ‘Cam Eolaing?’ Fidelma wondered why the name seemed familiar to her. She had heard it recently but could not place where and in what context. ‘And this is the quickest way?’

  ‘It is. We shall be-’

  It was Enda who heard the danger a split second before the cry caused Fidelma to start. Three or four shadows burst through the woods and brush at the side of the road, attempting to grab their horses’ heads. Instinctively Fidelma jerked the reins of her mount, causing it to rear up on its hind legs and lash out with its forelegs in protest as the bit tugged at the corner of its mouth. It was this that caused its flying hooves to connect with the body of one of the forms, knocking itbackwards with a harsh scream of agony.

  The figures were men and they were wielding weapons; not sticks or staves but swords, so far as the darkness allowed her to identify them. She tugged at her horse again, as it seemed the only means of protection.

  In front of her, Enda had drawn his sword and smashed it down on another attacker.

  ‘Ride, lady, ride!’ the young man yelled.

  It was as she dug her heels into the animal’s flanks to spur it forward, that the clouds parted for a second or so and the bright white winter moon shone down, causing the scene to be lit with an ethereal brilliance. She glanced down and for a moment time stood still.

  It was the face of the boatman, Gabrán, which stared up at her in anger.

  Then her horse surged forward and she was tearing along the darkened track with Enda at her side.

  It was only after a kilometre had passed that they drew rein to allow their snorting mounts to recover from the swift gallop. They were lucky that the track was straight, its surface fairly even, otherwise the precipitous gallop through the darkness might have been extremely dangerous.

  Enda replaced the sword that he had drawn. ‘Robbers!’ he snorted in disgust. ‘This country is filled with robbers!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ rejoined Fidelma.

  Enda’s head came up sharply. ‘What do you mean, lady?’

  ‘The moon came out for a second behind the cloud and I recognised their leader. It was Gabrán.’

  ‘Gabrán?’ Enda’s tone displayed his astonishment, mingled with some satisfaction. ‘Didn’t I say that he was the connection?’

  ‘You did. I had quite forgotten that his boat had been moored at the quay on the night the girl was killed. Then the next night, one of his crew is killed. You were right to point it out. Agnus Dei!’ she ended with an exclamation.

  Enda was startled. ‘What is it, lady?’

  ‘Gabrán’s boat was also there when Daig was found drowned. Didn’t Deog tell us that a boatman from a boat called the Cág found his body? The Cág is Gabrán’s boat.’

  Enda let out a low whistle. ‘Are
you sure that you recognised him, lady? It was dark.’

  ‘The moonlight was full on his face long enough for me to recognisethe man, Enda. His is a face that one does not forget.’

  ‘Then we’d better push on to Fearna in case they have mounts and ride behind us,’ he said uneasily. ‘What do you think his game is, lady?’

  They began to walk their mounts quickly along the track, side by side.

  ‘I’ve no idea. You have done well in making this connection, Enda. It was staring me in the face and I did not see it. There is a big mystery here. It grows each moment and always, as you say, we find Gabrán close by.’

  Enda was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘I must confess that I am at a loss, lady, as to why Gabrán attacked us. Surely he must think we know more than we do?’

  Fidelma had been thinking the same thing, turning over the facts as she knew them.

  Usually, facts were like a string of beads. There was always a connecting thread between them even if many of the beads were missing and had to be sorted out; there was always some inevitable connection. But this time there was no thread that Fidelma could see; no connection to the facts that she had garnered so far — none except this curious fact that the thin little river boat man was always near-at-hand in every event. Moreover, he traded with the abbey and seemed to have unrestricted access to Abbess Fainder’s rooms, as she had witnessed. He also stayed at the Inn of the Yellow Mountain. Was he the thread that linked everything together? But how?

  As they joined the track along the river and came up by the grim, dark walls of the abbey, Fidelma raised her head from her contemplation.

  ‘We will have to find out more about Gabrán,’ she finally spoke aloud, realising immediately that she was stating the obvious.

  ‘Do you think he realised that you recognised him?’ asked Enda.

  ‘I am not sure. See if his boat is still alongside the abbey quay. I suspect it is not. It would probably be moored close to the spot where we were attacked. But it is worth a look.’

  They were passing the quays now and Enda swung down and handed his reins to Fidelma while he went to check on the river boats.

  ‘His boat was called the Cág, wasn’t it?’ Enda asked.

  ‘The Jackdaw, that’s right.’

  Enda went to where there was a dark shadow of a boat tied up on theabbey quay. She saw a shadow emerge on the deck and heard voices. Then Enda came back, shaking his head.

  ‘Was that Gabrán’s boat?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘No, lady,’ Enda said, remounting. ‘The man said that the Cág pulled out earlier in the evening, heading upriver.’

  ‘Did the man know where Gabrán comes from?’

  ‘I asked him that. He did not. But surely Lassar, at the inn, will know where his home port on the river is. She seemed to know him well enough.’

  ‘I suppose that you are right.’

  They skirted the abbey walls and rode into the township straight to the Inn of the Yellow Mountain.

  A stable lad came to take their horses and, as they entered the warm main room of the inn, Dego came across to them. He seemed relieved to see them.

  ‘I was going to ride out in search of you both,’ he said. ‘It has been dark for ages and this is not the countryside to ride freely about in the dark.’

  Fidelma was reassuring.

  ‘I think that we would agree with you, Dego. Let us find a table near the fire and see what food Lassar can offer us this evening. Not that I feel particularly hungry tonight.’

  Lassar had come bustling out of an inner room with a tray of drinks. She saw them, served her customers, and then came across with a smile of welcome.

  ‘I was wondering whether you would be back for an evening meal, Sister. You are late this evening. Have you been searching for the Saxon? I am told there is no news of him at all.’

  Fidelma pulled off her travelling cloak and indicated a table near the large fire that was now crackling away in the hearth.

  ‘We have been out riding,’ she confirmed shortly. ‘We’ll sit there and you may tell us what you can offer us this chilly night.’

  Lassar followed them to the table and waited as they seated themselves.

  ‘For the main dishes, there is a choice tonight of lonlongin, the gullet of an ox filled with minced meat and cooked like a sausage. It is a delicacy of the area. Or there is fish — salmon — or I still have some sea-calf which I serve with duilesc and butter.’

  ‘This meat pudding sounds fine for me,’ Enda said enthusiastically.

  Fidelma wrinkled her nose a little in distaste. ‘I’ll have salmon and the duilesc.’ She had a liking for the red, edible seaweed.

  ‘There is the hair-onion, leek, if you like it, with goose eggs and cheese,’ added Lassar.

  ‘I’ll remain with the salmon but the hair-onion sounds good.’

  Dego decided to accompany Enda with the lonlongin served with root vegetables. For the next half an hour or so, a silence fell on their company. For Fidelma, each mouthful was an ordeal as her thoughts returned to Eadulf and how he might be faring that cold night. Concentration was better when she had some task to fulfil; some objective. Left to her own thoughts, she fell into a morbid frame of mind. She broke the silence by turning to Dego.

  ‘Did you find out any more about Coba?’

  Dego paused while taking a sip of wine. ‘Not really. He has a fortress not far from here, a place called Cam Eolaing. He is a minor chieftain and magistrate, well-respected and not a supporter of Fianamail’s introduction of the Penitentials.’

  Fidelma was irritable. She could have told Dego as much.

  ‘But would he go against Fianamail to the extent that he might help Eadulf escape?’ she asked.

  Dego shrugged but was silent.

  ‘We will go to see this chieftain tomorrow,’ Fidelma decided.

  When Lassar reappeared to collect their dirty plates, Fidelma took the opportunity to ask her about Gabrán.

  ‘Gabrán? Why do you ask about him?’ The woman looked suspiciously at her.

  ‘I am interested in this river-boat trade, that is all.’

  ‘He has gone away for a few days now.’

  ‘Gone?’ asked Fidelma innocently. ‘Back to his home port? Where is it that he comes from — somewhere upriver?’

  ‘Not far from here — Cam Eolaing. Beyond that place the river is not really navigable for any length.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eadulf had not slept well. The pre-dawn chattering of the birds finally caused him to give up the idea of sleep and splash his face in the bowl of cold water which stood by his bed. As he towelled himself he felt a new strength of purpose. He had been left alone for an entire day since the old man, Coba, had brought him to the fortress. He was free to wander around but always within the confines of the walls and there were always guards nearby who answered him in monosyllabic tones and politely refused to elaborate on any of his questions. When he had asked to see Coba he was told that the chieftain was unable to see him. True, he had been fed well, but he was irritated that no one would explain what was happening. He wanted information.

  Why had Coba given him sanctuary? Did Fidelma know where he had been taken and what his position was in law? While Eadulf had heard of this maighin digona he was not sure that he entirely understood it although he did realise that sanctuary was an ancient custom. Coba had said that he had disagreed only with the punishment handed out to him because it was not in accordance with the law of the Fénechus. But would a man really stand against his King and the highest authorities in the kingdom to such a point that he would rescue a foreigner from his death cell in total defiance of them? Eadulf was uncomfortable and suspicious of the motivations of the chieftain.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, there was a sound outside his door and it opened. Eadulf threw the towel on the bed and found himself face to face with a small, wiry and thin-faced man whom he had never seen before.

  ‘I am told that you understa
nd our language, Saxon,’ the man said abruptly.

  ‘I have a knowledge of it,’ admitted Eadulf.

  ‘That is good.’ The man obviously believed in brevity. ‘You may go.’

  Eadulf frowned, uncertain that he had heard him correctly. ‘Go?’

  ‘I am to tell you that you are free to leave this fortress. If you godown to the river you will find a religieuse from Cashel waiting for you.’

  Eadulf’s heart beat faster and his face lightened. ‘Fidelma? Sister Fidelma?’

  ‘I am told that is her name.’

  Eadulf felt a surge of relief and joy. ‘Then she has cleared me? She has won the appeal?’

  The thin-faced man’s features were immobile. His eyes dark and deep set.

  ‘All I am asked to convey to you is what I have already done. I know no more.’

  ‘Then, my friend, I shall leave you with my blessing. But what of the elderly chieftain? How may I express my thanks to him for his kindness in bringing me here?’

  ‘The chieftain is not here. There is no need to thank him. Go quickly and silently. Your friend is waiting.’

  The man’s tone was without emotion. He stood to one side and made no attempt to take Eadulf’s extended hand.

  Eadulf shrugged and glanced round the room. He had nothing to take with him. All his possessions were at the abbey.

  ‘Tell your chieftain, then, that I owe him a great debt and will ensure that it is repaid.’

  ‘It is of no consequence,’ replied the foxy-faced man.

  Eadulf left his room and the man followed him outside. The fortress seemed deserted in the cold white light of the crisp autumnal dawn. A frost still lay on the ground making it slippery beneath his leather sandals. His breath came like puffs of smoke and he realised just how cold it was.

  ‘Is it possible to borrow a cloak?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘It is cold and my cloak was confiscated at the abbey.’

  His companion seemed impatient.

  ‘Your companion has clothing for your journey. Do not delay. She will be growing impatient.’

  They had reached the gate of the fortress. A second man stood there; a sentinel who began to unlatch the wooden bolts and swing open the portal.