Read Our Lady of Darkness Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland
Our Lady of Darkness (26 page)
Muirecht was rubbing her wrists and ankles.
‘We need a moment or two,’ she protested. ‘My hands and feet are numb from lack of blood.’
Conna was following her example in an attempt to restore the circulation.
‘But we must hurry,’ Eadulf urged, now that he had realised what dangers were involved.
‘But to go where?’ protested Muirecht. ‘We can’t go back to our fathers … not after what has happened.’
‘No,’ agreed Eadulf, helping them both to their feet. They stood and stamped their feet awhile to restore their circulation. Eadulf’s brows were drawn together in perplexity. He could hardly take the two girls
back with him to Fearna. Then he suddenly remembered that Dalbach had told him of the community on the Yellow Mountain. ‘Do either of you know this area?’ he asked the girls.
back with him to Fearna. Then he suddenly remembered that Dalbach had told him of the community on the Yellow Mountain. ‘Do either of you know this area?’ he asked the girls.
They shook their heads negatively.
‘I have not been so far south ever,’ Muirecht told him.
‘There is a mountain called the Yellow Mountain,’ Eadulf said. ‘It lies to the west of here, overlooking Fearna. I am told that there is a church there dedicated to the Blessed Brigid. You will be given sanctuary there until it is decided what is for the best. Do you agree to accompany me there?’
The two exchanged another glance. Muirecht shrugged almost indifferently.
‘There is nothing else that we can do. We will go with you. What is your name, stranger?’
‘My name is Eadulf. Brother Eadulf.’
‘Then I was right. You
are
a foreigner,’ Muirecht sounded triumphant.
are
a foreigner,’ Muirecht sounded triumphant.
Eadulf smiled wryly. ‘A traveller passing through this kingdom,’ he added with dry humour.
As a flock of rooks began their cacophony in the valley below, Eadulf glanced down anxiously. Something was disturbing the birds; something or someone. It would not do to delay any longer.
‘I think the man whom your captor was waiting for might be approaching. Let us move on as quickly as we can.’
Fidelma had left Abbess Fainder, with Enda in attendance, sitting on the hatch cover of the boat while she returned to Gabrán’s cabin. She took a stand just inside the door, forcing her gaze on the scene of carnage within. The river-boat captain had been stabbed at least half a dozen times in the chest and arms. There was little doubt that it had been a wildly ferocious attack. Trying to avoid getting any blood on her clothing, she picked her way gingerly to the side of the body and began a careful examination.
The worst wound was a tear across the man’s throat, as if his assailant had thrust the knife upwards, ripping it across the throat, using the entire length of the blade. The other wounds over the chest and arms seemed randomly thrust with the point of the knife. There was no pattern to them; they did not seem to have been aimed at any vital spot. The slashing of the throat had, however, been enough to bring about death for the rip was across the jugular vein. Every other blow seemed an expression of angry violence.
Could Abbess Fainder be capable of such an act? Well, everyone was capable of violence given the right circumstances, Fidelma knew that much. But what fury had driven Fainder? It was while she was contemplating this point that she realised she was staring at something without really seeing it. She concentrated. The slash across the throat had not been made by a knife. Certainly not with the same small blade that the abbess had dropped to the floor.
Fidelma forced herself closer. The slash had been made by a sword. She had no doubt of it, for the upward slash had not only ripped the flesh but shattered the jawbone and dislodged some teeth in the lower jaw by the power of its impact. To create such a wound would need a vigorous stroke.
Mentally reproving herself for initially missing the obvious, Fidelma glanced round but could see no weapon that might have made that terrible and mortal wound. She picked up the small knife which the abbess had held and compared its blade to the half dozen puncture
marks over the man’s chest and arms. It needed but a moment to confirm that the weapon could have made the more insignificant wounds but not the fatal one.
marks over the man’s chest and arms. It needed but a moment to confirm that the weapon could have made the more insignificant wounds but not the fatal one.
While she was bending down, another item caught her attention which, had she not bent close, she might have missed. It was a small clump of hairs. She realised that they were hairs from the head of Gabrán, for she compared them. It seemed that someone had grabbed a tuft of his hair and pulled it out by the roots, before dropping it to the floor. There were particles of blood still on the roots.
She replaced the knife and stood up but as she stepped back, her foot knocked against a jangling piece of metal causing it to scrape on the boards. She looked down and her eyes widened. The metal consisted of a pair of manacles. They were small and looked like wrist restraints. They had been lying discarded on the floor. The manacles were open and there was a key still in the lock which secured them.
She was about to turn away when something else caught her eye. There were some strands of material which had been caught on a protruding nail from a leg of a table which was one of the items of cabin furniture. Someone had swept by and the garment had caught against the nail. The strands were of brown dyed woollen homespun of the sort worn by most religious. Thoughtfully, she unhooked the fibres and placed them in her marsupium.
Fidelma then rose and considered the situation. These were several pieces in a puzzle. Each fitted to form a picture of Gabrán’s last moments. If Abbess Fainder’s denial of the killing was to be believed, especially the claim that she was outside the door when she heard Gabrán’s body fall, it would mean the killer had still been in the cabin. That was patently impossible, otherwise Fainder would have seen the killer and been attacked in turn. Fidelma peered carefully around to see if there was anything else which would account for the sound of something as heavy as a body falling to the deck of the ship. There was nothing else apart from the body of Gabrán.
That meant either Fainder was lying for obvious reasons or that the killer had escaped from the cabin in the moments before the abbess had opened the door. Once more she gave the cabin a careful scrutiny.
The small hatch in the deck was not obvious; it was small and when she raised it and peered down into the darkness below, Fidelma realised that it was too small for her to squeeze through, nor could she see anything below in the darkness.
She took a lamp from a side table and returned to the main deck of the boat.
‘Lift that hatch there, Enda,’ she called as she approached. A quick glance at the abbess revealed that she was not wearing brown homespun but a richly woven black wool robe. Abbess Fainder rose from the hatch cover and moved to one side while the warrior lifted it with ease.
‘What is it, lady?’ Enda asked. ‘Have you found something?’
‘I am just having a look round,’ she explained.
As she climbed down the steps leading from the hatch to the deck below she realised that there was already a lantern glowing there. The steps led into a large cabin which she found was separated from the main cargo hold by a bulkhead and hatchway. She glanced through this and saw that the hold was open to the sky and was devoid of any goods.
Fidelma turned to examine the cabin into which she had descended. It was obvious at first sight that this was where Gabrán’s crew slept when they were on board.
There was another small bulkhead further back where the boat narrowed; this marked the position of Gabrán’s cabin above. The area beyond was undoubtedly the recess into which the small aperture from Gabrán’s cabin gave access. She lit her lamp from the small hanging lantern in the crew’s quarters and opened the small door, noting at the same time that it had a lock on it but the key was on the inside. She noted with curiosity that three other keys of different shapes lay scattered on the floor inside, just by the threshold.
The next thing she noticed was the smell, which was even more vile than that in the crew’s quarters. It contained the acrid stench of urine and the sweat of people living in close confinement. But the area was tiny, no larger than two metres by two-and-a-half metres. The space was devoid of any fixtures except for a couple of straw palliasses and an old leather slop bucket. Fidelma was too large to enter the narrow confines in comfort for the space was considerably less than two metres high. It was made even smaller by the intrusion of a small ladder leading to the hatch above.
She wondered what this space was used for. A punishment cabin? If so, for whom? For the crew who did not perform their duties? Fidelma knew that such punishments happened on seagoing ships but not on river boats where members of the crew could step ashore any time they chose. She raised her lamp high and her eyes fell on some splintered woodwork. Something had been gouged out of one of the thick wooden
ribs of the boat to which it had been attached, and attached quite firmly. Peering down, Fidelma saw a length of chain on the deck and a sharp piece of metal. There was no doubt that the chain and its attachment had been dug from its wooden fixing by someone using the sharp metal. But why? And by whom? She was backing out of the door when she noticed the bloodstains on the inside of the hatchway. Smeared bloody footprints led across the cabin, growing fainter and vanishing before they reached the other side.
ribs of the boat to which it had been attached, and attached quite firmly. Peering down, Fidelma saw a length of chain on the deck and a sharp piece of metal. There was no doubt that the chain and its attachment had been dug from its wooden fixing by someone using the sharp metal. But why? And by whom? She was backing out of the door when she noticed the bloodstains on the inside of the hatchway. Smeared bloody footprints led across the cabin, growing fainter and vanishing before they reached the other side.
Fidelma did not say anything as she climbed back onto the deck and snuffed out her lamp. Enda and the abbess were waiting impatiently for her. She signalled to Enda to replace the hatch cover while she went to the side of the boat and gazed down at the swiftly flowing waters in perplexity. There was no sign of any smeared or bloody footprints on the deck.
Was it conceivable that Abbess Fainder was telling the truth? It did not make sense. Could someone have killed Gabrán and, being alarmed by the arrival of Fainder, retreated down into that gruesome little cabin below decks and then made their way through the larger cabin, up the ladder onto the deck and over the side? No; there was one thing wrong with that. The hatch cover had been closed and it needed someone of strength to pull it aside. It would also have made a noise which the abbess would have heard and commented upon. She turned, still thoughtful, and went to the main cargo hold and peered down. Of course, there was a ladder there. She conceded that someone could have come up on deck through that route.
For the theory to be convincing, the person who killed Gabrán and made their escape in such a manner would have to have been a dwarf, a tiny, slim person, in order to slip through the hatch from Gabrán’s cabin down into the cell-like room below. Fidelma gave a shake of her head and turned back to where the Abbess Fainder had reseated herself on the hatch.
‘Enda,’ she addressed the warrior, ‘will you check on the horses?’
He looked bewildered. ‘They are safe enough, lady, and—’ Then he saw the steely look in her eyes and realised that she wanted to be alone with the abbess. ‘Very well,’ he said, and moved off with a self-conscious air.
Fidelma stood before the abbess.
‘I think that we should talk seriously, Mother Abbess, and leave
aside any notions of arrogant pretensions of rank and duty. It will make my task easier.’
aside any notions of arrogant pretensions of rank and duty. It will make my task easier.’
The abbess blinked up at her in surprise at her direct approach.
‘I thought that we
had
been speaking seriously,’ she countered, with a flash of irritation.
had
been speaking seriously,’ she countered, with a flash of irritation.
‘Not seriously enough, it seems. Of course, you will wish to be represented by a
dálaigh
of your own choice …’
dálaigh
of your own choice …’
A look of concern crossed the abbess’s features once again.
‘I tell you that I am
not
involved in this death! You cannot believe that I will be charged with a murder that I did not commit?’
not
involved in this death! You cannot believe that I will be charged with a murder that I did not commit?’
‘Why not? Other people have been,’ Fidelma replied with equanimity. ‘However, I do not wish to know how you mean to instruct the
dálaigh
you choose but I now want you to answer some questions which I think are pertinent to the things which have been happening here during recent weeks.’
dálaigh
you choose but I now want you to answer some questions which I think are pertinent to the things which have been happening here during recent weeks.’
‘If I refuse?’
‘I am a witness, along with my men, to discovering you bending over the body of Gabrán with a knife,’ Fidelma pointed out brutally.
‘I have told you everything that you need to know,’ the abbess fretted.
‘Everything? I have talked with Deog, your sister.’
The effect on the abbess was startling. She paled and her lips parted in alarm.
‘She has nothing to do with—’ she began to protest, but Fidelma cut her short.
‘Let me be the judge of the information necessary to my enquiries. Let us stop prevarications and let me, at last, have some answers!’
A sigh shook Abbess Fainder’s shoulders and she bowed her head as if in submission.
‘I know you came from a poor family at Raheen: your sister told me. And I believe that you were a novitiate at the abbey of Taghmon.’
‘You have been busy,’ the abbess replied bitterly.
‘Then you decided to go to Bobbio?’
‘I was sent on a mission there to Columbanus’s foundation. I took some books as a gift to the library of Bobbio.’
‘What persuaded you to support the Roman Rule?’
Abbess Fainder’s voice momentarily took on the tone of a fanatic.
‘When I reached Bobbio it was scarcely forty years since the death of Columbanus. Many of the religious there believed that the rules that he drew up, based on the rules of the Irish houses, were misguided.
Columbanus, as blessed as the man was, argued with many of his followers. The Blessed Gall left his service to set up his own foundation even before Columbanus crossed the Alps to Bobbio. I became one of the party which, having seen how communities of the Western church were governed, came to believe that we should give up the Irish Rule and adopt the rule of the saintly Benedict of Noricum.’
Columbanus, as blessed as the man was, argued with many of his followers. The Blessed Gall left his service to set up his own foundation even before Columbanus crossed the Alps to Bobbio. I became one of the party which, having seen how communities of the Western church were governed, came to believe that we should give up the Irish Rule and adopt the rule of the saintly Benedict of Noricum.’
‘So it was out of conviction that you did so?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you went on to Rome?’
‘The Abbot of Bobbio asked me to undertake a mission to Rome, to support a sub-house that we ran there as a hostel for pilgrims.’
‘It sounds as though you did not go willingly?’
‘At first I did not. I felt it was a way for the abbot to rid himself of the opposition to his administration. He was against the Rule of Benedict.’
‘But you went?’
‘I did. In fact, on a personal level, it was a time of happiness for me. I ran the hostel by the Rule of Benedict and lived and worked in the very centre of Christendom. It was there I came to study the benefits of the Penitentials.’
‘How did you meet with Abbot Noé?’
‘Easily enough. He stayed at my hostel while he was on a pilgrimage to Rome last summer.’
‘You had not met him before nor were related to him?’
‘No.’
‘And yet he persuaded you to return with him to Laigin and become Abbess at Fearna?’
‘He talked about Fearna,’ The abbess was complacent. ‘It was I who persuaded him to take me there.’
‘How did that come about?’
‘I suppose he appreciated the way I ran my house in Rome.’ The abbess was guarded again.
Other books
Searching For Captain Wentworth by Jane Odiwe
A History of Britain, Volume 2 by Simon Schama
Veiled Freedom by Jeanette Windle
FireDrake by Bianca D'Arc
Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson
Deadly Valentine by Jenna Harte
The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare
Soul Seers Complete Set by Rene Folsom
Flaunt It: Paolo's Playhouse by Natasha Moore
Puppet Wrangler by Vicki Grant
