Our Lady of Darkness

realising, perhaps, that Abbess Fainder was a short distance behind him.

‘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