Our Lady of Darkness

‘I think that I have known you too long, Fidelma, for you to keep secrets from me. I can tell it from your eyes. You are already mourning my death.’

She quickly reached out a hand and touched his. ‘Don’t say that!’

For the first time he heard the brittleness in her voice and knew she was close to tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, feeling awkward. ‘A stupid thing to say.’ He realised she needed as much support as he did to face the coming ordeal. Eadulf was not an emotionally selfish man. ‘So, Bishop Forbassach will pronounce on your appeal tomorrow morning?’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Good. Then we will take it as it comes. In the meanwhile, could you ask Sister Étromma to ensure that I have soap and water? I would like to look my best for whatever the morning brings.’

Fidelma felt the tears stinging her eyes. Suddenly Eadulf reachedforward and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing hard and then thrusting her away almost brutally.

‘There! Off you go, Fidelma. Leave me to my meditations. I will see you in the morning.’

She took the cue; there was too much between them for her to remain. Another few seconds and they both would be without any control of their emotions. She turned and called harshly for the Brother. A moment later the bolts rasped and the door swung open. She did not look back into the cell as she left.

‘Until tomorrow, Eadulf,’ she muttered.

Brother Eadulf made no reply as the cell door slammed shut behind her.

Fidelma did not return to the inn immediately but went for a walk along the riverside, finding a deserted corner at the end of the quays and a log to sit on in the gloom. The moon was brilliant white, casting its eerie dancing lights on the waters. She sat quietly, her cheeks wet with hot tears. She had not cried since she was a young girl. She did not even attempt the meditation technique of the dercad to quell the raging emotion within her. She had tried to keep her emotions in check ever since she had learnt of Eadulf’s peril. She could not help him by giving way to sentiment. She had to be strong; divorced from emotion so that she could see logically.

Yet she felt torn between a terrible sense of despair and an explosive feeling of outrage. Since she had known Eadulf she had tried to keep her feelings hidden, even from herself. She had been oppressed by a sense of duty; duty to the Faith, to the law, to the five kingdoms and her own brother. Now, just as she had finally ceased to deny her feelings and had begun to admit just how much Eadulf meant to her, he stood in danger of being taken away from her for ever. It was … so unfair. She realise how banal the phrase was, but could think of no other expression for all her reading of the ancient philosophers. The old philosophers would excuse such outrageous fortune by saying that the gods willed otherwise. She could not accept that. Virgil wrote: Fata viam invenient — the gods will find a way. She had to find a way. She had to.

Chapter Nine

Fidelma stirred in her uneasy sleep.

She was dreaming; dreaming of the corpse of the religieux swinging at the end of the taut rope from the wooden gibbet. Behind the corpse were gathered a group of cowled figures, laughing and jeering at the dead man. She was trying to reach forward, hands outstretched, towards the hanging form, but something was pressing her back. Hands were holding her. She turned to see who it was and the face of her old mentor and tutor — the Brehon Morann — appeared behind her.

‘Why?’ she screamed at him. ‘Why?’

‘The eye hides what it does not wish to see,’ the old man smiled enigmatically.

She pulled away and turned back to the hanging male form.

There was a crashing noise. At first she thought that it was the gibbet breaking up, the wood splintering and scattering.

Then she realised that she had been awakened and the crashing noise was a reality outside her room; heavy footsteps were pounding up the stairs of the Inn of the Yellow Mountain. She had barely time to sit up in the bed before the door was smashed open without any further warning.

Bishop Forbassach pushed through the door, a lantern in his hand. Behind him, with drawn swords, came half a dozen men, among them a large, burly figure which was familiar to her. It was Brother Cett.

Before she could fully recover her wits, Bishop Forbassach, holding the lantern high, had begun to search her small room, dropping to his knees and peering under her bed.

One of the men stood with a drawn sword pointing at her chest in silent menace.

Fidelma was shocked. She gazed at them firstly in bewilderment and then with a sense of growing outrage.

‘What does this mean?’ she began.

There came another interruption, the sound of a scuffle beyond the door. Some of the men turned to help their comrades behind them andthen Dego and Enda were dragged into the room, arms pinioned behind them. They had apparently come running, swords in hand, at the sound of the disturbance. They were overwhelmed by numbers and disarmed, their arms twisted unmercifully high behind their backs so that they were almost bent double between Forbassach’s men.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage, Forbassach?’ Fidelma demanded coldly, the icy tone disguising her seething fury. She ignored the menacing sword that was held against her. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

The bishop, having examined the corners of the room, turned back to her, lantern still in hand. His face was a mask of threatening animosity.

‘Where is he?’ he snarled.

Fidelma stared back at him with equal dislike.

‘Where is who? You have much to explain for this unwarranted intrusion, Brehon of Laigin. Do you know what you are doing? You have transgressed all laws of-’

‘Silence, woman!’ muttered the man who held the sword at her chest, giving it a jab to emphasise his order.

Fidelma felt the pinprick. She did not even glance at the warrior but remained with her gaze fixed on Forbassach.

‘Tell your bully who I am, Forbassach, and do you remember it also. If blood is drawn from the sister of the King of Colgú who is a dálaigh of the courts then blood will answer for blood. You know the law. There are some things that no allowances can be made for. You have passed beyond my patience.’

Bishop Forbassach hesitated at the ice-cold rage in her voice. Yet he had difficulty in controlling his own temper and stood for what seemed a long time before he succeeded.

‘You may put your sword down,’ he said in clipped tones to the man. Then he turned back to Fidelma. ‘I ask you again, where is he?’

Fidelma regarded the intimidating figure of the Brehon of Laigin with cold curiosity.

‘And I ask you again, who is it to whom you refer?’

‘You know well enough that I am referring to the Saxon.’

Fidelma blinked rapidly in astonishment as she realised the implication of his question but forced herself not to show her feelings.

Bishop Forbassach grimaced with irritability.

‘Don’t pretend that you have no knowledge of Brother Eadulf’s escape.’

Fidelma’s eyes did not leave his.

‘I do not pretend. I have no idea what you are talking about.’

The bishop turned to his little army.

‘You men remain,’ he gestured to those holding Fidelma’s companions. ‘Keep hold of those two. The rest of you will search this inn and search it thoroughly, outbuildings as well. Check to see if any horses are missing.’

Fidelma was aware of Lassar appearing behind the men looking terrified. She wished that she could