Our Lady of Darkness (5 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Our Lady of Darkness
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‘A
screpall
a day is fine,’ she agreed, glancing at Dego and Enda. ‘I will give you three
screpalls
in advance for the rooms and we would like to wash first and have a meal as soon as possible.’
‘If you wish for a cold wash, then there is no problem. Hot water, as I say, is only provided at night for a bath. I have little help here now that my brother has become so grand a person up at the palace.’
‘There is no problem,’ Fidelma assured her, taking out some coins from her
marsupium,
the leather purse at her waist, and handing them to her.
The woman paused for a moment as if counting the coins in her hand. Then she smiled in satisfaction.
‘I will send water to your room and you may come down and eat when you like. It will only be cold fare. Hot meals may be had in the evening because …’
Fidelma smiled indulgently. ‘I know. We appreciate your help, Lassar.’
The innkeeper disappeared down the stairs. Dego let out a breath of relief.
‘What now, lady?’ he asked. ‘What shall we do next?’
‘After we have refreshed ourselves, I suggest that you make yourselves inconspicuous around the town and see what gossip you can pick up with regards to the events here. Find out what people feel about the imposition of the Penitentials as law and punishment instead of our native laws.’
‘What will you be doing, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘Should we not go with you?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am going to the abbey. I want to see Eadulf.’
The Abbey of Fearna seemed even more forbidding close to than it had from a distance. A baleful atmosphere clung to the building, as tangible as cobwebs to its walls. The feeling was insubstantial, almost ethereal, but it was there like a cold mist hanging over everything. There were two great dark oak doors, hinged with iron, which were the main gates. On the right-hand door a large bronze image was fixed. Fidelma realised that this was the famous figure of an angel wrought by Máedóc, for it seemed to have intricately decorated wings and held a sword in its right hand. The face was circular, the eyes wide, round and socketless, giving it an appearance almost of malignancy. She had heard that this image was called ‘Our Lady of Light’ and meant to be a symbol of protection.
Fainder, Abbess of Fearna, was equally impressive and forbidding; that fact Fidelma had to admit, although she took an inexplicable and instant dislike to the woman. From the moment she was shown into the room where the abbess sat, upright in a tall oak-carved chair before a long wooden table which served her as a desk, Fidelma felt the aura of her presence. Haughty and belligerent. Even sitting, she gave the impression of stature, of leanness which added to her height. Yet when she rose to greet Fidelma, the impression was not confirmed. Fidelma, who was considered tall, towered over the woman who was only of medium height. The perception of height was simply one given by her personality, her bearing and nothing else.
The hand that she held out to greet Fidelma was strong, the bones prominent, her skin rough with calluses – these were associated more with those used to working in the fields than with a religieuse. She was dark-haired and Fidelma estimated that she was in her thirties. Her face was symmetrical; however, there was something hard about the features. The black eyes were deepset and one held an odd cast. Yet it was not this that made her appearance sinister, but the fact that she seldom blinked. The dark eyes, even with a cast, seemed to fix on Fidelma like gimlets and did not look away. Had Fidelma been of lesser character she might have dropped her gaze in discomfiture.
When Abbess Fainder spoke her voice was soft, modulated and almost soothing, lulling one into a deceptive feeling of security. Only Fidelma, her sensitivity to people’s personalities developed over many years, was attuned to the strong tones behind the gentle articulation. Fainder would tolerate no disagreement with her opinions; of that, Fidelma was absolutely certain.
From the way the abbess held out her hand, Fidelma realised that she was supposed to bow and kiss her ring of office, Roman style. However, Fidelma took the hand and inclined her head only a fraction in the manner of the Irish Church.
‘
Stet fortuna domus,
’ she intoned.
Abbess Fainder’s eyes glinted for a moment, the annoyance gone so quickly that only a careful observer might have noticed it.
‘
Deo juvante,
’ she replied shortly, resuming her position and motioning Fidelma to sit on a chair before the table. Fidelma did so.
‘So, you are Fidelma of Cashel?’ The abbess smiled; it was no more than a parting of her thin, bloodless lips. ‘Your name was spoken of in Rome when I was there.’
Fidelma did not answer. There was no comment she could make. Instead she motioned to the piece of vellum bearing Fianamail’s order and seal.
‘I have come on most urgent business, Mother Abbess.’
The abbess did not acknowledge the vellum placed before her. She was sitting upright in her chair, hands on the table, palm downwards, resuming the same position as when Fidelma had been shown into her room.
‘You have a reputation as a
dálaigh,
Sister,’ Fainder continued. ‘Yet you are a religieuse; I am told that you took it upon yourself to leave the Abbey of Kildare because you disagreed with its abbess, Abbess Ita.’
She paused in expectation of a reply but the comment had been phrased as a statement. Fidelma gave no response.
‘When one becomes a religieuse, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the abbess laid an emphasis on the title which acknowledged that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, ‘one’s first duty is obedience to the Order, to the Rule of Saints. Obedience is the first rule for it is the duty of the religieuse not to disagree in mind, not to speak as one pleases and not to travel anywhere with entire freedom. Attention to the Rule is the manifestation of a Godly life.’
Fidelma waited patiently until the abbess had ended her homily before speaking clearly and deliberately.
‘I am here in my capacity as
dálaigh,
Mother Abbess, and with the authority of my brother, Colgú, King of Cashel. That which I have placed before you is an authority of Fianamail, King of Laigin.’
Abbess Fainder’s voice hardened and still she did not glance at the vellum.
‘You are now a religieuse in the abbey of Fearna —
my
abbey – and all religieuse have a duty to obedience, Sister.’
‘This is not Rome, Mother Abbess,’ replied Fidelma with a voice that was quiet yet betrayed a sharpness that gave clear warning. ‘I understand that you have only recently returned from there and may be forgiven for a lapse of memory as to the laws of this land. I am here as a
dálaigh
of the level of
anruth.
Surely I do not have to remind you of the law of rank and privileges?’
Holding a degree which was only one lower than the highest that the secular and ecclesiastical colleges could bestow, Fidelma, in law as well as her position as sister to a king, outranked an abbess.
Fainder blinked for the first time. It was an oddly menacing movement, like a snake that hoods its eyes for a fraction of a second.
‘In this abbey,’ Fainder spoke softly, ‘the rules of the Penitential govern our life. Thanks be to God that we also have a progressive King in Fianamail who has seen the wisdom of extending the Rule of the Penitentials to all his people as the Christian Duty of Life.’
Fidelma stood up, leaning forward and deliberately retrieving the unread vellum from Abbess Fainder’s desk. Her patience was exhausted.
‘Very well. I take it that this is a refusal to obey the authority of the Council of the Chief Brehon and of the High King. You bring a disservice on your abbey, Fainder. I am surprised that you wish to incite the wrath of a judicial enquiry by disregarding my authority and the warrant of your King, Fianamail.’
Fidelma had turned to the door when Abbess Fainder’s voice, an odd-sounding staccato, stayed her.
‘Stop!’
The abbess was still sitting in the same position, hands palm downward on the table. It seemed to Fidelma that her face had become like a mask; every line sharp and graven.
Fidelma waited at the door.
‘Perhaps,’ the abbess seemed to struggle for a formula of words to
escape from the corner in which she found herself by Fidelma’s refusal to be intimidated, ‘perhaps I did not choose my words as well as I might have. Let me see the authority of Fianamail.’
Fidelma returned to the desk and placed it once more before the austere woman. She said nothing. Fainder read it quickly, a frown momentarily passing over her features. Then she looked up at Fidelma.
‘I can raise no objections to the authority of the King. I only inform you of the way this abbey is governed and my aspiration to keep it governed by the Penitentials.’
Having found a formula of words which suited her, Fainder’s voice was now back to its gentle reassuring level. Fidelma distrusted the tone immediately.
‘Then I have your leave to see Brother Eadulf and conduct my enquiry?’
Abbess Fainder waved to the seat which Fidelma had recently vacated.
‘Reseat yourself, Sister, and let us discuss the matter of this Saxon. Why does he concern you?’
‘Justice concerns me,’ replied Fidelma, hoping that the hotness she felt in her cheeks was not mirrored by a flush of embarrassment at the question.
‘So you know this Saxon? Of course,’ again came the parting of the lips in a smile. ‘I heard that in Rome you were in the company of a Saxon Brother. Ah, perhaps he was the same person?’
Fidelma reseated herself and regarded the abbess with an even gaze.
‘I have known Brother Eadulf since the conference at the Abbey of Whitby. This last year he has served as an emissary from Theodore of Tarsus, the Archbishop of Canterbury in the land of the Saxons, to my brother, the King of Cashel. I was sent by my brother to conduct his defence.’
‘Defence?’ Abbess Fainder sniffed. ‘You must have been informed that he has been found guilty and will be punished under the retribution laid down for his crime? The Penitentials prescribe execution which will be at noon tomorrow.’
Fidelma leaned forward a little.
‘As he was an emissary of a King and a Bishop, he has rights under our laws which may not be violated. I have been given leave to investigate the case against him to see if there are grounds for appeal
in law, although obviously no appeal can be made against the desire I seem to feel in this place for vengeance.’
Again Abbess Fainder’s face was set, controlling any reaction she might have had to Fidelma’s thrust.
‘Perhaps you do not know the nature of the terrible crime of which this Saxon has been found guilty?’
‘I have been told, Mother Abbess. The Brother Eadulf that I know could not have done the thing of which he has been accused.’
‘No?’ The dark face of Abbess Fainder was mocking. ‘How many mothers, sisters …
lovers …
of murderers have said as much before now?’
Fidelma stirred uncomfortably. ‘I am not …’ she began. Then she raised her chin defiantly, determined not to be provoked. ‘I would like to start my enquiry as soon as possible.’
‘Very well. Sister Étromma is the stewardess of the abbey and she will assist you.’
She reached out towards a hand-bell. Its clamour had scarcely died away when a religieuse entered. She was a short, fair-haired woman who was pleasantly featured but moved with quick, bird-like motions. She scurried rather than walked, hands concealed in the folds of her robes. It was the same woman who had greeted Fidelma at the abbey doors and conducted her to the Abbess Fainder’s chambers. Abbess Fainder addressed her.
‘Sister, you have already made the acquaintance of our … our distinguished visitor,’ Only the momentary hesitation indicated the irony in the abbess’s voice. ‘She is to be given all the assistance she needs in these next twenty-four hours. She is investigating the crimes of the Saxon to make sure that we have not transgressed any laws.’
Sister Étromma glanced at Fidelma with wide-eyed surprise and then turned back to the abbess with a swift jerk of her head.
‘I shall see to it, Mother Abbess,’ she muttered. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added: ‘It is unusual, isn’t it? The Saxon has already been judged.’
‘You will see to it, Sister Étromma,’ snapped the abbess, ‘for she bears an authority from Fianamail which, it seems, we are obliged to obey.’
The little stewardess lowered her head. ‘
Fiat voluntas tua,
Mother Abbess.’
‘I will doubtless see you later, Sister Fidelma; perhaps in the chapel for devotions?’
Fidelma inclined her head to the abbess but ignored the question.
Sister Étromma hastened from the room before her. Outside the abbess’s chamber the stewardess seemed to relax visibly.
‘How may I serve you, Sister Fidelma?’ she asked in a less breathless voice than the one she used to address her superior.
‘I would like to see Brother Eadulf immediately.’
Sister Étromma’s eyes widened. ‘The Saxon? You want to see him?’
‘Is there a problem? The abbess has said that I am to be given all assistance.’
‘Of course.’ Sister Étromma looked confused. ‘I was not thinking. Come, I will show you the way.’
‘Have you been stewardess here long?’ asked Fidelma as the religieuse began to lead her through the gloomy vaulted corridors of the abbey.
‘I have been
rechtaire
here for ten years. I came to this abbey when I was a child, along with my brother.’
‘Ten years as
rechtaire,
’ Fidelma reflected. ‘That is a goodly time. Have you known Abbess Fainder long? I know she has but recently returned from Rome, but did you know her before she went there?’
‘When she came to the abbey three months ago,’ Sister Étromma said, ‘she was a stranger to most of us here. Noé was our abbot before her. We are a mixed house, you see. Like Kildare.’
Fidelma smiled a brief acknowledgement.
‘I know. Why did Abbot Noé decide to resign as abbot here?’
‘It was the King himself who required Noé to be his spiritual adviser, or so we were told. He still has chambers in the abbey but stays mainly in the King’s palace. The running of the abbey has passed to Fainder who was then appointed as our abbess.’
Did Fidelma detect a slight bitterness in her tone?
‘Why was Fainder appointed if she was not formerly of this community?’

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