Our Lady of Darkness

foul injustice,’ Fidelma said.

Dego shook his head sadly. ‘Then there is no hope, lady. It would take at least three more days before young Aidan could find Barrán and bring him here; probably a full week and that if luck were on our side.’

Fidelma rose, trying to regain her composure.

‘I must go back to the abbey and tell Eadulf to prepare for the worst.’

‘Would it not be better to wait until the decision is formerly announced in the morning?’

‘I cannot fool myself, Dego, nor can I fool Eadulf.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Thank you, but no, Dego. This is something I’d best do alone. I think Eadulf will wish to see some friendly faces tomorrow when this terrible thing is done. At least he can die in the company of friends as well as enemies. I will seek permission to attend as soon as the judgment is given. Will you and Enda join me?’

Dego did not hesitate.

‘We will. God forgive them if they do ignore your plea, lady. It is many a brave man that I have seen die in battle: I have killed many myself. But in the fury of the battle, in hot blood, men who were free, with a sword or spear in hand to defend themselves; a fight that was man to man, equal to equal. But this … this is a foul thing, reducing men to the dignity of a poor calf at the slaughterhouse. It leaves one with a sense of shame.’

‘It is not our way of punishment,’ Fidelma conceded. Then she sighed deeply. ‘I suppose one can argue that the person who does murder, who inflicts suffering and death on another, does not need our sympathy, but …’

‘No reason why we should descend to the level of a murderer and enact cold-blooded rituals to disguise our murder,’ Dego interrupted. ‘And, surely, you are not saying that you now accept Brother Eadulf is guilty of this crime?’

Fidelma was trying hard to fight back the emotion she felt and shook her head rapidly. She hoped that her eyes were not too bright.

‘I do not know at this time whether Eadulf is guilty or not. I believehe is innocent. I accept his word. But words are not enough in law. All I say from knowledge is that there are too many questions that should have been answered and now … now it seems too late. Go back to the inn, Dego. I will join you and Enda there soon.’

She walked slowly across the township towards the abbey, her mind oppressed by gloomy thoughts. She did not know what to say to Eadulf, She could only tell him the truth. She felt that she had utterly failed him. She had no doubt in her mind that, in spite of Fianamail’s attempt to play at diplomacy, Bishop Forbassach would deny the appeal. The belligerent way he had countered all her questions indicated that he was intent on carrying through the demands of Abbess Fainder to enact these cruel new punishments.

If only she had more time! There were too many implausible aspects to the evidence. Yet Bishop Forbassach did not seem to care about pursuing them. Time! It all came down to time. And tomorrow, when the sun was at its zenith, her good friend and companion would have his life extinguished because she had not succeeded.

As she approached the gates of the abbey she determined not to let anyone see that she had lost confidence; after all, it only needed something, some little thing, to cause a delay. Her chin came up in a defensive posture.

When Sister Étromma came to the gate, she was looking strangely anxious. She had left the King’s hall and hastened back to the abbey as soon as Bishop Forbassach had announced his opinion.

‘I am sorry, Sister. I could only answer the truth. You did have your back to me when you found those items and I could not truly swear I saw you take them from their hiding place. Bishop Forbassach was so fierce in his questioning that I …’

Fidelma held up a hand to placate the anxious stewardess. She did not blame her. Had she supported Fidelma, Bishop Forbassach would doubtless have found some other means of questioning the evidence.

‘It is not your fault, Sister. Anyway, no decision has been announced as yet,’ Fidelma replied, trying to make her voice as indifferent as possible.

Sister Étromma continued to look distraught.

‘But you must know that it is a foregone conclusion?’ she pressed. ‘Bishop Forbassach has said as much.’

Fidelma tried to appear confident.

‘It is in the hands of the King and his advisers. In spite of Forbassach,I still say that there are questions that should be addressed, and any impartial judge would know that a life could not be taken until those questions are answered.’

Sister Étromma lowered her head. ‘I suppose so. Do you really believe that there might be a delay in the execution of the Saxon?’

Fidelma’s voice was tight. She chose her words carefully.

‘I hope there will be. Yet it is not up to me to predict a judge’s decision.’

‘Just so,’ muttered the rechtaire of the abbey. ‘This is not a happy place now. I look forward to the coming day when I shall go to the Isle of Mannanán Mac Lir and retire from the anxieties of this abbey. But I expect that you will wish to see the Saxon?’

‘I do.’

She turned and let the way through the abbey again and into the main courtyard. The sun was well down now and darkness enshrouded the abbey. However, the courtyard was lit by numerous torches. Two men, watched by two others, one of them a religieux, were cutting down the body of Brother Ibar from the wooden gibbet. They looked up from their gruesome task and one of them grinned at her.

‘Making room for tomorrow,’ he called; a coarse-faced man in working clothing. Nearby was some sacking laid out on the flagstones of the courtyard ready to receive the body. No wooden coffin for Brother Ibar, observed Fidelma, but a sackcloth and probably a swiftly dug hole in the marshland along the riverbank. The two black-clad workmen reminded her of ravens picking over the bones of their victim rather than morticians preparing a corpse for a funeral.

Fidelma hesitated in mid-stride and her gaze fell on the face of the religieux who was acting as an overseer. It was the burly, pugnacious figure of Brother Cett. He stared lopsidedly at her, displaying a row of cracked and blackened teeth. She had rarely seen a man so resembling a brute before. She shivered. Next to him was a small, wiry-framed man whose clothing proclaimed him to be a boatman. His leather trouser and jerkin and linen scarf were commonly worn among the river boatmen. This man did not bother to look up as they crossed the courtyard.

‘We are going to the Saxon’s cell, Cett,’ called Sister Étromma as they passed.

The big man grunted, perhaps signifying agreement but the sound could have meant anything. It seemed that the rechtaire took it forassent for she passed on with Fidelma following swiftly.

She led the way up the stairs to the cell, outside which another religieux was seated on a wooden stool under a flickering brand torch, engaged in contemplation of his crucifix, which he held in both hands before him in his lap. He sprang up as they approached and recognised Sister Étromma immediately. Without a word, he drew back the bolts on the cell door.

Sister Étromma turned to Fidelma. ‘Call when you wish to leave. I have other business to attend to so cannot remain.’

Fidelma passed into the cell. Eadulf rose to greet her. His face was grim.

‘Eadulf …’ she began.

He shook his head swiftly. ‘You do not have to tell me, Fidelma. I saw you and the other Sister crossing the courtyard from the window here and I can guess the outcome. Had the appeal been allowed I would imagine Bishop Forbassach would have come with you and not sent you ahead with such a dismal look on your face.’

‘It is not certain,’ Fidelma said weakly. ‘The result of the appeal will be announced by Forbassach tomorrow morning. There is still some hope.’

Eadulf turned to the window. ‘I doubt it. I told you all along, there is some evil in this place which determines my end.’

‘Nonsense!’ snapped Fidelma. ‘You must not give up.’

Eadulf glanced over his shoulder and smiled bleakly.