Our Lady of Darkness

Forbassach.’

‘What shall we do in the meanwhile?’ Dego asked.

‘There is something,’ Fidelma said slowly. ‘I have found that the Abbess Fainder regularly leaves the abbey on horseback each afternoon and apparently goes on mysterious journeys, sometimes returning very late. I’d like to know where she goes and who she sees.’

‘Do you believe that the abbess is involved in this case in some way?’ Enda demanded.

‘Possibly. At the moment, I find that there are so many mysteries in this place that it is probably best to clarify each one in turn. Maybe it is of no importance, maybe it is. It was when she was returning from such a journey, after midnight, that she was seen next to the body of the murdered girl. Was that merely a coincidence?’

‘Enda and I will keep a watch on the fine abbess and her travels then, lady,’ smiled Dego. ‘Leave that to us.’

It was some time before Mel returned to the inn. Fidelma had finished her midday meal and was preparing to go back to the abbey. Dego and Enda had set off on their tasks again. Fidelma had realised, with growing frustration, that she had nothing to do until the Abbess Fainder returned to the abbey or Sister Étromma found Sister Fial. She was restless and annoyed for she was very conscious of the onward rush of time and the fact that Eadulf had so little of it left to spare. She forced herself to sit in the main room of the inn, before the crackling fire, and tried to contain her growing agitation. It was not in her nature to sit still when there was so much to do. The words of her mentor, the Brehon Morann, calmed her: Whoever has no patience has no wisdom.

She also sought refuge in the art of the dercad, the act of meditation by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the state of sitcháin or peace, calming extraneous thought and mental irritations. Fidelma was a regular practitioner of this ancient art in times of stress although several members of the Faith, such as Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, had denounced its usage as a pagan art because it had been practised by the Druids before the coming of the New Faith. Eventhe Blessed Patrick himself, a Briton who had been prominent in establishing the Faith in the five kingdoms two centuries before, had expressly forbidden several of the meditative arts of self-enlightenment. However, the dercad, while frowned upon, was not yet forbidden. It was a means of relaxing and calming the riot of thoughts within a troubled mind. Fidelma used it regularly.

Time passed and finally she heard Mel coming into the inn. She snapped out of her meditation with ease and greeted him as he entered.

‘Was it bad?’ she asked directly.

He looked startled, not immediately observing her sitting in the shadowy corner by the fire. Then he shook his head as he realised to what she was referring.

‘You mean the river boat accident? No lives were lost, thanks be.’

‘And was it Gabrán’s boat?’

The question seemed to have an electrifying effect on Mel. He started back in surprise.

‘What makes you ask that?’ he demanded.

‘Only that Sister Étromma seemed concerned when it was reported that it might have been his boat because the man traded with the abbey.’

‘Oh?’ Mel paused a moment as if to think on the matter and then shook his head. ‘It was some old river barge that should have been broken up for firewood a long time ago. The timbers were rotted. It is reckoned that it will take only a few hours to drag the wreck to the riverbank out of the way of the main passage.’

‘So Sister Étromma’s concern was without foundation?’

‘As I told you, being a river trading post, it is a concern to us all if there is any danger of the river becoming impassable.’

‘I understand.’

Mel was about to continue on his way but she stayed him.

‘A few other questions occur to me, if you don’t mind answering them. I will not keep you long.’

Mel sat down before her. ‘I am happy to help you, lady,’ he smiled. ‘Ask your questions.’

‘What were the circumstances of the drowning of your comrade — the one who was with you on the night of the murder of Gormgilla?’

Mel seemed surprised by the question.

‘Daig? He was on watch on the quays one night, as usual, and it seems that he slipped off the boards of the quay, probably on the wet wood, and struck his head on something, perhaps a timber support. Hewas unconscious in the water and drowned before anyone knew it. His body was found the next day.’

Fidelma considered this for a moment.

‘So his death — his name was Daig, you say? — so Daig’s death was just a tragic accident. There was nothing suspicious about it?’

‘It was an accident right enough, and tragic enough, for Daig was a good member of the watch and knew this river like the back of his hand. He was brought up on the river boats here. But if you think there was some connection with the murder of Gormgilla, I can assure you there was not.’

‘I see.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Do you know if Sister Étromma has returned to the abbey?’

‘I believe so.’ The warrior followed her example, rising slowly.

‘What of Abbess Fainder? Has she also returned?’

Mel shrugged. ‘I don’t know — I doubt it. When she leaves the abbey she is usually gone for some time.’

‘Did the abbess go to see the sunken boat?’

‘I did not see her there. It would be unusual. The abbess regularly goes riding alone during the afternoon. I think she goes up into the hills.’

‘Thank you, Mel. You are most helpful.’

When Fidelma returned to the abbey, she was greeted at the gates by Sister Étromma.

‘Well, Sister,’ Fidelma said, ‘have you any word on the missing girl, Sister Fial?’

Sister Étromma’s face was impassive.

‘I have only just come back to the abbey myself. I will make more enquiries. I did instruct one of our community to make a search through the abbey.’

‘Has Abbess Fainder returned? There are further questions that I need to put to her.’

Sister Étromma was confused. ‘Returned?’

Fidelma nodded patiently. ‘From wherever the abbess goes riding in the afternoon. You do not happen to know where that is, do you?’

The rechtaire of the abbey was dismissive.

‘I would not know about the personal habits of the abbess. Follow me. I believe she is in her chambers.’

She conducted Fidelma once more through the gloomy corridors of the abbey towards the chambers of the abbess. They had to cross asmall cloistered area at the back of the chapel to reach them.

Fidelma heard the raised voices from across the cloisters. She recognised the voice of the abbess, strident in its effort to quell the hard masculine tones which were raised in interrogation. Beside her, Sister Étromma halted and coughed nervously.

‘It seems that the abbess is busy. Perhaps we should return when she is less … preoccupied,’ she muttered.

Fidelma did not pause in her stride.

‘My business will not wait,’ she said firmly. She walked along the cloistered path towards the abbess’s door, with Sister Étromma trotting at her heels, and paused to knock upon it. It was partially open and the voices continued unabated as if the speakers had not heard her knocking.

‘I tell you, Abbess Fainder, it is an outrage!’ The man who was speaking was an elderly man whose clothing distinguished him as someone of rank and influence. He had snow-white hair falling to his shoulders and a silver circlet around his forehead. He wore a long green woven cloak and carried a wand of office.

Abbess Fainder was smiling in spite of her strident tone. On closer inspection it was simply a mask, a taut assembly of her facial muscles. An attempt to demonstrate her superiority.