Our Lady of Darkness

Fidelma looked at the man reprovingly. ‘How do you know that he is a murdering dog, as you put it, unless you know the details? Sapiens nihil affirmat quod non probat.’

The shepherd was bewildered. She apologised at once for her arrogance in quoting Latin at him.

‘“A wise man states as true nothing that he does not prove”. Surely you would do better to await the pronouncement of the judge?’

‘Why, the facts are already known. Not even the religious are attempting to defend him. It is said that the Saxon was a religieux and being one of their own, they might well be expected to attempt to conceal his depravity. He deserves his punishment.’

Fidelma stared at the man, irritated by his attitude.

‘That is not justice,’ she breathed. ‘A man must be tried before he is condemned and punished. One cannot punish a person before they are judged by the Brehons.’

‘But the man has already been tried, Sister. Tried and condemned.’

‘Already tried?’ Fidelma could not hide her shock.

‘The word from Fearna is that he has been tried and found guilty. The King’s Brehon is already satisfied as to his guilt.’

‘The King’s Brehon? His Chief Judge? Do you mean Bishop Forbassach?’ Fidelma was struggling to keep calm.

‘That is the man. Do you know of him?’

‘That I do.’

Fidelma reflected bitterly. Bishop Forbassach was an old adversary of hers. She might have known that he would be involved.

‘If the Saxon is guilty, is there talk about his punishment? What would be the honour price? What compensation is demanded from the Saxon?’

Under the law, anyone judged guilty of the crime of homicide, as with all other crimes, had to pay compensation. It was called the eric fine. Each person in the community had an honour price according to their rank and station. The perpetrator had to pay the compensation to the victim or, in the case of homicide, to the relatives of the victim. In addition there were the court costs. Sometimes, depending on the seriousness of the crime, the culprit lost all their civil rights and had to work within the community to rehabilitate themselves. If they did not, they could be reduced to the rank of little more than itinerant workers, scarcely better than a slave. They were called daer-fudir. However, the law wisely said that ‘every dead man kills his liabilities’. Children of the culprits were placed back into society at the same honour price which their father or their mother had enjoyed prior to being found guilty of the crime.

The shepherd was staring at Fidelma as if the question surprised him.

‘There is no eric fine asked for,’ he said finally.

Fidelma did not understand and said so.

‘Then what punishment is being talked of?’

The shepherd put down his empty mug and stood up, preparing to leave, wiping the back of his mouth on his sleeve.

‘The King has declared that the judgment should be made under the new Christian Penitentials, this new system of laws they say comesfrom Rome. The Saxon has been sentenced to death. I think he has already been hanged.’

Chapter Two

The slow procession of religious emerged from the brass-studded oak doors of the chapel and into the cold, grey light of the central courtyard of the abbey. It was a large courtyard, flagged in dark granite stone, yet on all four sides there towered the cheerless stone walls of the abbey buildings, giving the illusion that the central space was smaller than it actually was.

The line of cowled monks, preceded by a single Brother of the community bearing an ornate metal cross, moved slowly, sedately, heads bowed, hands hidden in the folds of their robes, chanting a psalm in Latin. Behind them, at a short distance, came a similar number of cowled nuns, also with heads bowed and joining in the chant though accompanying the male voices on a higher note and harmonising with the air so as to make a descant. The effect was an eerie echoing in the confined space.

They moved to take positions on either side of the courtyard, standing facing a wooden platform on which stood a strange construction of three upright poles supporting a triangle of beams. A single rope hung from one of the beams, knotted into a noose. Just below the noose, a three-legged stool had been placed. Next to this grim apparatus, feet splayed apart, stood a tall man. He was stripped to the waist, his heavy, muscular arms folded across a broad, hairy chest. He stared without emotion at the religious procession; unmoved and unashamed of the task he was to perform on that macabre platform.

From the chapel doors came two more religious, a man and a woman, moving with easy strides towards the platform. The woman’s lean form gave the impression of height which, close up, proved illusory, for she was only of medium stature, although her dark, slightly arrogant features gave her a commanding presence. Her habit and ornate crucifix, which was suspended from a chain around her neck, proclaimed her a religieuse of rank. By her side was a short man, with grim and grey visage. He, too, was dressed in a manner which proclaimed him to be of rank within the Faith.

They halted between the two rows of religious, just in front of the platform. The chanting died away at the imperceptible lift of the woman’s hand.

One of the Sisters came hurrying forward and halted before her, inclining her head in respect.

‘Are we ready to proceed, Sister?’ asked the richly dressed religieuse.

‘Everything is arranged, Mother Abbess.’

‘Then let us proceed with God’s grace.’

The Sister glanced towards an open door on the far side of the courtyard and raised a hand.

Almost at once it was opened and two stocky men, religieux by their robes, came forward dragging a young man between them. He was also wearing a religious habit, but this was torn and stained. His face was white and his lips trembled in fear. Sobs racked his frame as he was dragged across the flagstones of the courtyard towards the waiting group. The trio came to a halt before the abbess and her companion.

There was a silence for a moment which only the young man’s distressed sobbing disturbed.

‘Well, Brother Ibar,’ the woman’s voice was harsh and unforgiving, ‘will you now confess your guilt since you stand on the threshold of your journey into the Otherworld?’

The young man began to make sounds, but they did not mean anything. He was too frightened to issue anything more articulate.

The abbess’s male companion leaned forward.

‘Confess, Brother Ibar.’ His voice was sibilant and persuasive. ‘Confess and avoid the pain of suffering in purgatory. Go to your God with the guilt removed from your soul and He will welcome you with joy.’

At last some recognisable words began to issue from the young man’s throat.

‘Father Abbot … Mother Abbess … I am innocent. As God is my witness, I am innocent.’

The woman’s expression deepened into lines of disapproval.

‘Do you know the words of Deuteronomy? Listen to them, Brother Ibar: “ … after careful examination by the judges, if he be proved to be a false witness giving false evidence … you shall show no mercy; life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot”. That is the word of the law of the Faith. Abhor your sins even now, Brother. Go to God cleansed of your sins.’

‘I have not sinned, Mother Abbess,’ cried the young man desperately. ‘I cannot recant what I have not done.’

‘Then know the inevitable outcome of your folly, for it is written: “I could see the dead, great and small, standing before the throne; and the books were opened. Then another book was opened, the roll of the living. From what was written in these books, the dead were judged upon the record of their deeds. The sea gave up its