Fidelma glanced with gratitude towards Barrán.
‘I am willing to answer Forbassach. Indeed, Fial is another innocent —and I am ready to defend all who are innocent of crimes against which they are unjustly accused.’
‘If you are willing to state the truth, you will acknowledge that you only wish to defend Fial because you want to lay the blame on Abbess Fainder for the murder of Gabrán!’ Forbassach had risen angrily to his feet, his face flushed. The abbess, pale, tried to grab at his arm to pull him back to his seat.
‘Bishop Forbassach!’ Barrán’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘I have warned you once before. I shall not warn you again to moderate your behaviour towards a respected dálaigh of the courts.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ intervened Fidelma mildly, ‘I have no wish to accuse the abbess of Gabrán’s murder. It is obvious that she did not carry out that killing. You seem determined to cloud the real issues here, Forbassach.’
Bishop Forbassach dropped back to his seat deflated and abashed. Fidelma continued: ‘The person who killed Gabrán was part of the slave-trade conspiracy and was ordered to do so because Gabrán had become a liability to that conspiracy. His increasingly corrupt behaviour was endangering the whole enterprise. Too many deaths were occurring around Gabrán and bringing unwelcome attention.
‘The rape and murder of a young girl on the abbey quay by Gabrán and the stupid attempt to shift the blame on an innocent passer-by was what led to the subsequent mayhem. The person for whom Gabrán worked, the real power behind this evil enterprise, finally came to realise that it was time to dispense with Gabrán’s services – and in a permanent fashion.’
The silence in the hall was absolute. It was some moments before Abbot Noé decided to intervene.
‘Are you claiming that all the deaths are connected?’
‘The murder of the crewman followed in the wake of Gormgilla’s death. Now, what was Fial’s evidence which we listened to again this morning?’
Barrán turned to his scribe.
‘Correct me if the record speaks against me,’ he instructed. ‘As I recall, when she was taken from her confinement by one of the crewmen, in the next cabin she saw Gabrán unconscious either in a state of intoxication or having been rendered unconscious. There was a hooded figure in that ill-lit cabin dressed in the robes of the religious. This was the person who instructed her to identify the Saxon as the same who killed Gormgilla. Do I have it correctly?’
The scribe, who had been referring to some notes before him, muttered, ‘Verbatim et litteratim et punctatim,’ to confirm that it had been accurately rendered.
Fidelma thanked Barrán for reminding them of the record.
‘The crewman who released Fial was actually the same man who was murdered the next day. I must make some conjectures now but they are threaded together by facts – information that Daig passed on to his wife. I acknowledge that no surviving witnesses can confirm each detail independently. May I do so?’
‘Providing it elucidates the mystery,’ Barrán said, ‘but I will not take conjecture alone as evidence towards convicting any individual.’
‘You do not have to. I would imagine that the crewman, who was, of course, of the same low morals as Gabrán, saw his involvement in the covering up of his captain’s crime as a great chance to make some extra money by blackmailing Gabrán. They had a row in the local inn – the Inn of the Yellow Mountain. The row was witnessed by Lassar, the innkeeper. She also saw Gabrán giving the crewman some money to keep him silent. Gabrán later explained this sum by claiming it was the man’s wages. The sum that was passed was a large one, however – too large for the wages of a boatman.
‘The boatman went off happy with his spoils but he did not realise that Gabrán was no easy target. Gabrán followed the man from the inn, caught up with him down by the quay and killed him. It would have been simple had not Daig been passing in the vicinity at the time. Gabrán had only time to run off and hide before Daig arrived. Daig actually heard his steps receding but chased him in the wrong direction. Daig’s other mistake was not checking the body thoroughly first.
‘When Daig went off chasing shadows, Gabrán returned to the body of his comrade and retrieved his money. He removed the distinctive gold chain that the crewman wore around his neck and returned to the inn where Daig later came to speak with him. I think Daig’s questions may have panicked him. He sought protection for his deed and went off to the abbey to see his employer. He demanded help or threatened to confess everything.
‘I can imagine that this person was not happy with developments. Perhaps the decision for the eventual removal of Gabrán was even made there and then. After all, the whole enterprise was being put in jeopardy by this evil little man.
‘But there was another problem and one which this terrible deed might help to solve. Brother Ibar was also a weak link in the chain. Oh yes,’ she said as a murmur arose, ‘Brother Ibar was part of this trade, but I believe that he was a wholly innocent part of it. He had been ordered to make manacles. He thought that they were shackles for animals. He told Eadulf as much, but he was growing suspicious as to their real purpose. And, of course, Ibar could identify the person who had ordered him to make those manacles. That same person now took the neck chain and money from Gabrán, assuring him of their return if he complied with the scheme.
‘The scheme was simple: they planted these items in Brother Ibar’s cell. The rest was up to Gabrán. He was instructed to tell Daig that Brother Ibar had tried to sell him the gold chain in the market and he had recognised it as the one worn by his crewman. A search was made of Brother Ibar’s cell and the planted evidence was found. That dealt with Brother Ibar.’
She paused, realising that she held all present spellbound by her story. She saw the scribes looking at her wide-eyed.
‘Verba volant, scripta manent,’ she admonished sharply. ‘Spoken words fly away, written words remain.’ She wanted all this down in writing. It was a complicated tale and she did not want to repeat herself further. The scribes bent industriously to their tasks.
‘We have the saying that one should not count the eggs until one has purchased the chicken. Perhaps it was something Gabrán said or that Ibar had told him, but Daig became suspicious that he had arrested the wrong man. Unthinking, Daig probably mentioned as much to Gabrán for, shortly afterwards, on a dark night on the same quay, Daig met his own death.’
‘Are you saying that Daig was murdered?’ protested Bishop Forbassach. ‘It is well-known that it was an accident. He fell, hit his head and drowned.’
‘I would argue that Daig was hit on the head, fell and drowned in that order, that is if he was not dead before he hit the water. The motive was to prevent him proceeding further with his suspicions.’
There was a pause while the resultant hubbub of sound rose and was then allowed to die away. The assembly turned almost as one towards Barrán. The chief scribe banged his staff for their attention.
‘Continue with your presentation, Fidelma,’ the Chief Brehon instructed. ‘I remind you that this is still conjecture.’
‘I am aware of it, Barrán, but I am sure that, at the end of my surmise, I shall bring forward those who will give testimony to the various foundations on which I make it. Thus I hope to confirm a picture that leaves no reasonable doubt in our minds.’
Barrán indicated that she should continue.
‘My unexpected arrival put a halt to some of the plans. It was realised that Fial would not stand up to close questioning from a dálaigh who was looking for faults in her story and so she was replaced on Gabrán’s boat. She had to be disposed of. However, Gabrán being the licentious man he was, decided to use the poor girl until he had grown tired of her. She was kept like an animal, manacled below deck.’
‘Until Fial killed him?’ interposed Abbot Noé quickly.
‘I have already said that she did not kill him,’ snapped Fidelma.
Barrán was irritated.
‘You should list
en carefully to the dálaigh’s arguments, Abbot. Fidelma of Cashel has already stated this clearly.’ He turned to Fidelma. ’I have a question.’
Fidelma turned enquiringly.
‘All the while Brother Eadulf and Brother Ibar were alive they were surely a danger because they might prove their innocence or let out some vital information which might lead a thinking person to investigate. Under our own laws, without a death penalty, it would be worthless to lay the guilt on another as there would always be a chance that they could demonstrate their innocence …’
‘But who questions the innocence of a dead man?’ queried Fidelma sharply.
‘So, does the fact that Abbess Fainder insisted on punishment by the Penitentials, meaning execution, have anything to do with this matter? Does the fact that Bishop Forbassach, apparently forgetting his oath as a brehon, agreed with the abbess relate to this matter? If so, we must bring into account the fact that Abbot Noé influenced King Fianamail to accept the Penitentials in place of the Law of the Fénechus.’
Fidelma did not bother to look at the opposite benches.
‘It has everything to do with it, Barrán. The plan to lay the blame on Eadulf and Ibar rested on the end result that they would be executed. Mortui non mordent!’
Barrán looked grim.
‘Dead men don’t bite,’ he repeated, savouring the phrase.
Before the murmurs of surprise rose, Fidelma continued: ‘The plan might have worked out, in spite of my appearance, had it not been for the bó-aire of Cam Eolaing.’
Coba glanced up in surprise. He had been sitting in an attitude of close attention.
‘What had I to do with this?’
‘You are against the use of the Penitentials. But neither Bishop Forbassach nor Abbess Fainder realised just how much against them you were nor how far you would be prepared to go in support of the legal system of this kingdom.’
Coba grimaced ruefully.
‘I am too old to embrace new philosophies. What is it that the Brehons say? The soft twig is more durable than the stubborn tree.’
‘Eadulf owes his life to your stubbornness, Coba. You did the one thing that no one was expecting by rescuing Eadulf and giving him sanctuary.’
‘For which you will be accountable,’ muttered Bishop Forbassach with a sideways glance of anger.
‘Not so,’ Barrán intervened sharply. ‘Defence of the law is no crime.’
Bishop Forbassach glowered with hatred at the Chief Brehon but he wisely said nothing further.
‘However,’ Fidelma went on as if the interruption had not occurred, ‘it made me suspicious of you for a while, Coba. You had given Eadulf sanctuary and then claimed that he had abused it and escaped. Thus he could be shot down at will. I knew that there was a good reason for Eadulf to leave the confines of the maighin digona. He understood the law well. I thought it might have been you who had tricked him into leaving the sanctuary. It was not until I spoke with Eadulf a short while ago that I realised you had no hand in the matter.’
Coba looked uncertain and then shrugged. ‘For that, I am glad.’
‘It was Gabrán again, but this time acting on the orders of his employers who had found out where Eadulf was. Gabrán went to Cam Eolaing. He knew a warrior there called Dau, who was in Coba’s service. Dau could be bought and was. Gabrán killed the guard at the gate, hid the body behind it and then, pretending to be acting for you, Coba, he told Eadulf he was free to go. But things do not always proceed according to plan. When Gabrán and Dau tried to shoot Eadulf down, he eluded them and escaped into the hills. Now things began to get really complicated for the puppet-master.’
‘Puppet-master?’ The Chief Brehon was frowning at the unusual expression.
Fidelma smiled apologetically. ‘You’ll forgive me, Barrán. It refers to an entertainment I saw on pilgrimage to Rome. I mean one who manipulates others but is unseen. We have the old expression seinm cruitte dara hamarc.’
The ancient proverbial expression she used related to one playing a harp without being seen.
‘How did this … er, puppet-master, know Eadulf had been given sanctuary in my fortress?’ demanded Coba.
‘You told them.’
‘Told them? Me?’
‘You are a careful and moral man, Coba. You obey the Law of the Fénechus. You told me that as soon as you took action and granted Eadulf sanctuary you had sent a messenger to the abbey.’
‘That is correct. He was to tell the abbess that I had granted the Saxon sanctuary.’
‘Lies!’ shouted Abbess Fainder. ‘I received no such message.’
Coba looked at her sorrowfully and shook his head.
‘My messenger returned from the abbey and confirmed that the message had been delivered.’
Every eye in the assembly now turned towards the shaken abbess.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘I knew it,’ stormed Bishop Forbassach, rising in anger from his seat again. ‘This is some plot to attack and slander Abbess Fainder. I will not tolerate it.’
‘I have no plot to involve Abbess Fainder any more than she is involved,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘I did have suspicions, especially when I gathered that, since coming to the abbey, Fainder has acquired much wealth.’
‘Barrán! I accuse this woman of persecution!’ cried Abbot Noé, also rising from his seat. ‘We cannot sit by while she criticises Abbess Fainder in this fashion.’
‘I have said that—’ began Fidelma.
‘Deny it!’ screamed the abbess, suddenly losing control of her temper. ‘You are trying to trap me in your web of lies!’ It was some time before she was persuaded to regain her composure. When calm was restored, Barrán addressed himself to Fidelma.
‘It does sound as though you are leading up to an accusation of Abbess Fainder’s guilt. You point out that it was essential that the punishment of death as prescribed by the Penitentials was enacted. You point out that Abbess Fainder insisted on that and for reasons best known to himself the Brehon Forbassach agreed and persuaded the King to give his approval. You keep mentioning this, this puppet-master – as you call him – as being a member of the abbey community. Who better to be at the centre of the terrible web which you describe than the abbess herself? And now you claim, as if with significance, that she has become wealthy since arriving at the abbey?’
‘Lies! Lies! Lies!’ cried the abbess, banging her fist on the wooden arm of her chair. She had to be calmed again by Bishop Forbassach.
‘Abbess Fainder is indirectly responsible for much of what has happened here and we must now deal with that matter. But I have already shown that she did not kill Gabrán.’
A rumble of noise came from those present. Barrán called immediately for silence.
‘In fact,’ went on Fidelma, ‘it could be said that Abbot Noé was more indirectly responsible than anyone else.’
The abbot shot up from his seat in a belligerent posture.
‘Me? You dare accuse me of being involved in murder and this terrible trade in young girls?’
‘I did not say that. I said you were indirectly responsible for what happened here. For some time now you have been converting to the philosophies of Rome. I realised that your conversion must have occurred when you first met with Fainder in Rome.’
‘I’ll not deny my conversion to the Penitentials,’ muttered Noé, reseating himself but placing himself in a defensive posture.
‘Do you deny that Fainder exercised a strong influence over you, persuaded you to bring her back to Laigin and appoint her abbess while you invited Fianamail to make you his spiritual adviser, thereby giving you a power throughout the whole kingdom?’
‘That is your interpretation.’
‘It is the facts of the matter. You went so far as to overrule the system of appointments in the abbey in order that Fainder could be made abbess. You claimed she was a distant cousin; she was not, but no one seemed to challenge the appointment, not even when they knew that Fainder bore no relationship to you.
Once Fainder was abbess she ruled the community by the Penitentials. You were besotted by her. You started the process, Noé. The ground on which the laws were changed and these events were able to happen was sown by you through your infatuation with this woman.’
‘How do you know that Fainder is not related to Noé?’ asked Barrán quickly. ‘And where does this question of her new wealth come into the story?’
‘Her sister is Deog, widow of the watchman Daig,’ explained Fidelma. ‘Deog told me about her sister’s new-found wealth. Fainder frequently visited Deog but, alas, it was no sisterly love that caused the abbess to ride to her sister’s cabin so regularly, was it, Forbassach?’
Bishop Forbassach’s face crimsoned under her gaze.
‘You also became a very recent convert to the use of the Penitentials, didn’t you?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Do you want to tell us why?’
For the first time in the proceedings, the Brehon of Laigin was silent before her question.
It was Abbess Fainder who answered. She was broken and trying to suppress her sobs.
‘Forbassach’s love for me had nothing to do with his embracing true Christian law,’ she cried defensively. ‘He became an advocate for the Penitentials based on logic, not on our love for one another.’
A cry of outrage rang out and a woman was led outside from the back of the hall by two other women. Forbassach half-rose but Fidelma gestured for him to reseat himself.
‘That is something you will have to sort out with your wife later, Forbassach,’ she said. Fainder’s eyes were fixed with malignance on her but she met their gaze without rancour.
‘The new wealth was merely an over-abundance of gifts from both Forbassach and Noé, isn’t that so? They were showering you with presents in an effort to court you. Amantes sunt amentes. Lovers are lunatics.’
The look on the face of the abbess was enough to frighten a lesser person. Forbassach was clearly embarrassed by the revelations but was not demonstrating guilt. Abbot Noé sat in silence, completely stunned by these revelations. Even Fidelma felt a pang of remorse that she had revealed Fainder’s duplicity to him. He was obviously so intoxicated by the abbess that the idea that Forbassach was also her lover was like a knife-wound.
Our Lady of Darkness Page 30