‘He arrived at the boat and found Gabrán having sent one of his men into the hills to collect his merchandise. The arrival of the girls on the boat always took place in a secluded spot. Most of Gabrán’s crew were given money and told to take the asses, which drew the boat along the river to this point, and not return until the next day. While they were away, the girls would arrive and only one or two of the crew would know of their existence.
‘Our killer found Gabrán apparently alone. He killed him with the powerful stroke of a sword on his neck. The killer then had to wait, presumably to kill the other man when he arrived with the young girls. He would probably have killed them as well so that all the mouths were shut. However, the killer then saw the abbess approaching along the bank. There was no alternative but to leave hurriedly. He went into the hills. Perhaps he thought that Gabrán’s man and the girls might be encountered on the road and the murders completed. When he could not find the man and the girls, the killer continued on to the relative that they had promised to visit.
‘Back on Gabrán’s boat, unbeknown to anyone, in the tiny cabin where she had been a prisoner for several days, poor little Fial had freed herself from her foot constraints. Not knowing what had happened, she climbed up into Gabrán’s cabin and saw him lying dead on the floor. Her first thought was to break for freedom and she grabbed the key that she knew opened her wrist manacles.
‘Then she paused as a great rage welled up in her. She seized a knife and dragged Gabrán’s head up by the hair and plunged the little knife into his chest and arms in a frenzy of anger. He was already dead and no mortal wounds were struck. It was an expression of rage only for all the harm and hurt he had done to her. Then there came a knock at the cabin door. The abbess had by this time come aboard. Startled, Fial dropped both Gabrán and the knife, and fled back into her hole, grabbing a handful of keys as she did so. The abbess entered.
‘Fial eventually found the right key among the four she had taken, escaped through the length of the ship into the hold, climbed up onto the deck and jumped into the water. She was swept away downriver until she was able to climb out, but then found herself pursued by Forbassach and Mel.’
‘It is a good reconstruction, Fidelma,’ observed Barrán. ‘Do we come near to proving any of it? Some of it I can see has the weight of evidence from Fial and the abbess, but what of this mysterious killer? And how do you know about the relative in the hills?’
‘It is not so mysterious. Thanks to what Brother Eadulf has told me of his adventures, we can identify this man.’
‘The Saxon? How can he identify the killer? He was already a fugitive,’ asked Barrán.
‘Brother Eadulf found hospitality with a blind recluse named Dalbach.’
Fianamail stirred for the first time since the proceedings began. He sat up suddenly.
‘Dalbach? But he is a cousin of mine! He is my relative!’
Barrán smiled thinly at him before turning to Fidelma.
‘Are you saying that it was the King of Laigin himself who was visiting his cousin that day?’
Fidelma sighed impatiently.
‘Dalbach told Eadulf that his relative was one of the religious at the abbey of Fearna. The identity was obvious.’
When no one responded and made what seemed to Fidelma the obvious identification she continued testily.
‘Very well, let me lead you further. Dalbach obviously made the mistake of confiding to his cousin that he had given Eadulf hospitality. Willingly or unwillingly, he told that cousin that he had recommended that Eadulf should seek sanctuary that night on the Yellow Mountain. This relative of Dalbach’s, realising that Eadulf’s death was vital to the plan to hide the traces of this conspiracy, rode for the Yellow Mountain.’ She paused and looked at Fianamail. ‘You were at your hunting lodge which was close by the community of the Blessed Brigid, where Eadulf had taken the two girls. In the middle of the night, someone arrived to inform you where Eadulf might be.’
Many eyes had fallen on Abbot Noé but Fianamail was looking askance.
‘It was my cousin, my cousin …’
Brother Cett had made a curious animal cry and was trying to fight his way out of the hall. It took four of Barrán’s guards to restrain the big, powerful man.
Fidelma spread her hands.
‘Quod erat demonstrandum. It was Brother Cett. I knew he was yourcousin, Fianamail, and when Eadulf told me only Dalbach had known where he was hiding last night and that Dalbach was also related to the royal family of the Uí Cheinnselaig and further, has a cousin who was a religieux at Fearna, I simply put two and two together. For further proof, if you examine Brother Cett’s robe, you will probably find that it has a tear and is frayed at a point about fifty centimeters from the hem.’
A warrior bent to examine the area and sprang up to give confirmation to Barrán.
Fidelma took out some frayed strands of wool from her marsupium. ‘I think these will match his garment. Cett caught his robe on a nail in Gabrán’s cabin.’
It was confirmed in a few moments.
‘Only a strong man like Cett could deliver that upward blow that killed Gabrán, not a weak girl like Fial nor even the abbess.’
There was a murmur of applause among those in the hall. It was interrupted by Bishop Forbassach’s cynical tones. He had recovered something of his old aplomb and he was looking for revenge. He was actually chuckling.
‘You are doubtless very clever, Fidelma, but not that clever. The religious who was aboard the boat when Fial was instructed to lie was not Brother Cett, otherwise the girl would have remarked on the burly build of the man. In fact, she denied it was the same person.’
There was a moment of silent anticipation while everyone looked towards Fidelma.
‘Let me congratulate you on your perception, Forbassach,’ she acknowledged. ‘It is a shame that such close scrutiny of evidence was singularly lacking when you made your examinations of Eadulf and Ibar before you sentenced them to death.’
Bishop Forbassach let out a bark of angry laughter.
‘Insult does not disguise the fact that your story does not scan. Fianamail will forgive me when I observe that Cett is not the brightest member of his family. Apart from the difference in description, the very idea of Cett being able to be the … what did you call it? … the puppet-master — that is blatant nonsense!’ And Forbassach sat back with a satisfied smirk.
‘If I recall, in the discussion of this matter at Coba’s fortress — and I am sure that Coba will confirm what I say — I also said the puppet-master was someone with a position of power in the abbey.’
Coba nodded eagerly. ‘You did, indeed, but Forbassach is correct.Fial’s description hardly fits Cett. Nor does Cett have a position of power in the abbey.’
‘I agree,’ Fidelma said. ‘The person who thought up this sordid means of making money and who persuaded Cett and Gabrán to support them was Cett’s sister; his real sister, Sister Étromma, the rechtaire of the abbey.’
Sister Étromma had been sitting stony-faced with folded arms from the moment Cett had been denounced. She did not change her attitude now even when two of Barrán’s warriors approached and stood on either side of her.
‘Do you deny this, Sister Étromma?’ demanded Barrán.
Sister Étromma raised her head and stared at the Chief Brehon. Her features were without emotion.
‘A silent mouth is melodious,’ she replied quietly, quoting an old proverb.
‘It is wise to make a statement,’ urged Barrán. ‘Guilt can be interpreted from silence.’
‘A wise head makes a closed mouth,’ the stewardess responded firmly.
Barrán shrugged and signalled to the warriors to remove her from the hall along with her now subdued brother, Cett.
‘I think that a search of Étromma’s personal possessions might reveal where she has been hoarding money,’ offered Fidelma. ‘I recall that she once said to me that she hoped one day to settle on the island of Mannanán Mac Lir. I had
assumed that she was going to join the Abbey of Maughold. Now I think she meant to go to the island with her brother, simply to live in comfort on the money she had made from her evil enterprise.’
Coba stood up.
‘Chief Brehon, I have just spoken to the messenger that I sent to the abbey. He confirms that when he went there on my instruction to tell the abbess that I had granted the Saxon sanctuary, Fainder was not available. He gave that message to the rechtaire. Étromma knew where Brother Eadulf was on the evening before Gabrán came to my fortress and attempted to kill him.’
‘I have been suspicious of Étromma for some time,’ Fidelma told them all, ‘but I could not work out why. It was only when I realised that Fial had been taken from the abbey and placed on Gabrán’s boat that I was certain she was at the centre of this enterprise.’
‘Why?’ Barrán wanted to know.
‘I had asked to see Fial. Étromma left me with the physician Miach while she went in search of her. Instead of waiting for her at the apothecary I went back to see Eadulf again. When I arrived, Brother Cett, who had been his jailer, had disappeared. The new man told me that he and Étromma had gone down to the quay. The reason why, I later deduced, was so they could get Fial out of the abbey and onto Gabrán’s boat before I could speak with her. Étromma then returned to tell me Fial was missing. Very convenient! A short while later, I learnt that Gabrán’s boat had left the abbey quay.’
‘I think the path has now been made clear, Fidelma,’ Barrán thanked her. ‘However, can you shed some light on why this woman could bring herself to engage in such wicked work?’
‘I think the immediate motive was acquisition of sufficient wealth to live in some degree of comfort and independence. What is it that Timothy tells us in his Epistle? Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas. The love of money is the root of all evil. Étromma is an unfortunate woman: many people know that. She is of the royal family, but a poor relation. She and her brother were taken as hostages when they were children, and not one of the branches of the royal family offered to pay the honour price for their release.’
Fianamail stirred uncomfortably but said nothing in defence of his family.
‘Étromma and Cett effected their own escape and, being still children, entered the service of the abbey. Cett was, through no fault of his own, simple and mainly dominated by his sister. Étromma was not outstanding enough to rise beyond the office of rechtaire. She was bitter because of that, although it was an influential enough position. She had been rechtaire, running the day-to-day business of the abbey for ten years, when Fainder was brought in over her head and made abbess. It was a considerable blow to her. Perhaps it was then that her thoughts turned to acquiring enough wealth to be able to leave the abbey and become independent. She worked out the plan and her brother Cett and the boatman Gabrán became her willing accomplices.’
‘It seems clear enough now,’ muttered Forbassach begrudgingly.
Fidelma smiled but without humour.
‘As my mentor Brehon Morann would have said, it is afterwards that events are always understood.’
While Barrán was instructing the scribes and explaining the law tothe Brehons, Eadulf turned to Fidelma and spoke for the first time since the hearing got underway.
‘When did you start to suspect Sister Étromma?’ he asked. ‘You said that you had had your eye on her for some time, but only confirmed your suspicions when you realised Fial had been on Gabrán’s boat.’
Fidelma sat back and gave the question some thought before answering.
‘I suspected her when she was showing me the quay on the very first day that I arrived.’
Eadulf was astounded. ‘The first day? How can that be?’
‘I had, as I said, learned that she and Cett had gone to the quay when she was supposed to be looking for Fial. She had come back to tell me that Fial was missing. Then we went to the quay. A religieux interrupted us to say a river boat had sunk and it was thought to be Gabrán’s. Étromma seemed unduly concerned, although she did her best to disguise it. She went off immediately to investigate. Had it been Gabrán’s vessel, Fial might have been rescued or the wreck searched, in which case the terrible trade in young girls might have been revealed.’
She paused for a moment.
‘That was one thing. Then, of course, she lied about having witnessed me finding the wand of office and letter to Theodore in the mattress where you had placed it. She had seen me find them: I knew it. I thought at first she might simply have been in awe of Forbassach and the abbess, but the real reason was that she wanted my enquiries to end with your execution …’
Several days later, Eadulf and Fidelma stood together on the quay by the side of Loch Garman. It was not technically a loch or lake at all but a big opening to the sea, a main port for ships from Gaul, Iberia, from the lands of the Franks and Saxons and many other countries as well. Loch Garman was the busiest port in the five kingdoms, standing at the south-eastern tip of the island and thus being the most easily accessible stopping off point; a fact which benefited Laigin by a rich trade as well as bringing a curse by attracting frequent raids from buccaneers.
Fidelma and Eadulf stood facing one another with the wind gently ruffling their hair and tugging at their clothes.
‘So,’ Fidelma sighed, ‘that is that. Young Fianamail has been summoned to Tara to be admonished by the High King. Forbassach has been stripped of rank and can no longer practise in law. He has beensent to some obscure community and his wife is divorcing him. Abbess Fainder has already gone abroad again, presumably to Rome, and Abbot Noé … well, I think he too will be heading to Rome now that he is no longer spiritual adviser to Fianamail.’
‘Fainder is a curious woman,’ Eadulf reflected. ‘On the one hand she is a fanatic about the Penitentials and the Rule of Rome. On the other, she had no compunction about using her sexuality to claw her way up to the position of abbess. How she could dominate both Abbot Noé and Bishop Forbassach, I cannot understand. I did not even think she was attractive.’
Fidelma threw back her head and chuckled. ‘De gustibus non est disputandum.’
Eadulf grimaced wryly. ‘I suppose it is so: that what I find abhorrent others may find attractive.’ He pursed his lips reflectively. ‘So, as you say, that is that. I presume that Laigin will now return to the rule of the Fénechus Law?’
Fidelma smiled confidently. ‘It will be a while before the cruel punishments of the Penitentials are tried again. I hope that may be never.’
There was an awkward pause between them before Fidelma raised her eyes to his.
‘Are you determined on this course?’ she asked abruptly.
Eadulf seemed sad but resolute.
‘I am. I have duties both to Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury, as well as to your brother, for whom I undertook to take these messages.’
Fidelma had been confused these last few days at Eadulf’s quiet determination to continue his journey back to the lands of the Saxons. She had made it as clear as she felt possible that she would welcome him returning with her to Cashel. She had never seen Eadulf so stubborn before. Her pride had not permitted her to unbend further to him. He must surely know how she felt and yet … yet he would not return with her. He had insisted on travelling to the seaport to seek a ship and she had accompanied him, thinking to change his mind and persuade him to return with her. Brehon Morann had once told her that pride was merely a mask for one’s own faults. Was she at fault? What else could she say or do? Fidelma was hesitant, as if finding it difficult to express herself clearly.
‘Are you sure that I cannot persuade you to return with us to Cashel? You know that you will be most welcome at my brother’s court.’
‘I have my duty,’ replied Eadulf solemnly.
‘When duty becomes a creed then we may as well say goodbye to happiness,’ she ventured, remembering her own excuses about duty which had previously caused her to deny her feelings towards him.
Eadulf reached out to take her hand
s in his.
‘You are fond of quoting the sages, Fidelma. Wasn’t it Plautus who wrote that to an honest man, it is an honour to have remembered his duty?’
‘The Law of the Fénechus says that God does not demand that a man give more than his ability allows,’ she countered hotly, thinking that he was teasing her about her previous opinions.
There was a shout across the water and a small skiff was pulling away from one of the large sea-going ships which lay at anchor in the inlet. The rowers were pulling rapidly towards the quay and several people, carrying baggage, were gathering to await its arrival.
‘The tide is on the turn.’ Eadulf raised his head and felt the change of wind on his cheek. ‘The ship’s captain will want to get away. I must go on board now. It seems, then, that we are always parting. I remember the last time we parted at Cashel. You determined then that your duty lay in going on a pilgrimage to the Tomb of St James in Iberia.’
‘But I came back,’ Fidelma pointed out reproachfully.
‘True,’ he agreed with a quick smile. ‘Thank God that you did or I should not be here now. Yet you told me then that I had a duty towards Theodore of Canterbury. I recall your very words: “There is always a time to depart from a place even if one is unsure where one is going”.’
She bowed her head contritely. ‘I recall those words. Perhaps I was wrong.’
‘And do you recall me replying that I felt at home in Cashel and could find a means to stay in spite of the demands of Canterbury?’
Our Lady of Darkness sf-10 Page 31