Our Lady of Darkness

narrow track that snaked in and out of shrubland and open spaces, across marshland and up small hills. It was a dizzy, whirling ride, and then they went through a cleared area of land to a peak on which an old earthwork fortress rose; its ditches and ramparts must have been dug in ancient times. On top of the ramparts rose walls of great wooden logs. The gates stood open and, without even pausing, the body of horsemen thundered in, across a wooden bridge stretching through the ramparts.

They came to a halt so swiftly that some of the horses reared and kicked out in protest. Then the men were sliding from their mounts and figures with torches were rushing out to take charge of the lathered animals, leading them away to stables.

For a moment Eadulf stood, breathless, regarding his companions in curiosity.

They had now dropped their cowls and in the light of the torches and lamps Eadulf realised that none of them were religious. They all had the look of warriors.

‘Are you warriors of Cashel?’ he asked after he had recovered sufficient breath. This drew forth laughter and they all drifted off into the darkness leaving Eadulf alone with their leader.

In the light of a nearby brand torch, Eadulf saw that he was an elderly man, with long flowing silver locks. He took a step forward with a smile and shook his head.

‘We are not from Cashel, Saxon. We are men of Laigin.’

Eadulf frowned in total bewilderment now. ‘I don’t understand. Why have you brought me here? Indeed, where is here? Was it not at the instructions of Fidelma of Cashel?’

The elderly man chuckled softly. ‘Do you think a dálaigh would disobey the law to the extent that they would snatch you from the jaws of hell, Saxon?’ he asked in amusement.

‘Then you are not from Fidelma? I am at a loss … Are you letting me free to continue my journey home?’

The elderly man came forward and pointed to the walls of the fortress, for such was the place to which Eadulf had been brought.

‘These walls are the boundaries of your new prison, Saxon. While I do not agree with the idea of taking life for life, I believe that our native laws must be upheld. I will not submit to the Penitentials of Rome but I will uphold the laws of the Brehons.’

Eadulf was more confused than ever. ‘Then who are you and what is this place?’

‘My name is Coba, bó-aire of Cam Eolaing. See the walls? These are the walls of my fortress. These are now boundaries of your maighin digona.’

Eadulf had never heard the term before and said so.

‘The maighin digona is the precinct of sanctuary allowed by the law. Within these walls I am empowered to extend my protection to any stranger flying from unjust punishment, flying from a hue and cry. I have effectively saved you from the violent hands of your pursuers.’

Eadulf took a deep breath. ‘I think I understand.’

The old man glanced keenly at him. ‘I hope that you do. I have only extended this sanctuary to you until such time as you are summoned before a senior judge and given justice under our native law. Let me warn you, this sanctuary is not inviolate, for if you are guilty under our law you will not escape that justice. If you escape from here before you are judged again then I myself would incur your punishment. I am allowed to avert violence but not to defeat justice. Only death will await you outside these walls if you attempt to leave before further legal judgment.’

‘For that I am grateful,’ Eadulf sighed. ‘For I am truly innocent and I hope my innocence can be proved.’

‘Whether you are innocent or not, that is no concern to me, Saxon,’ the old man said sternly. ‘I simply believe in our law and shall ensure that you will answer to our law. If you escape, then the law holds me, as being the one extending sanctuary to you, responsible for your original offence and I must take your punishment upon myself. Therefore, I shall not let you escape the law. Do you understand what I say, Saxon?’

‘I do,’ Eadulf agreed quietly. ‘You make it very clear.’

‘Then praise God that this dawn,’ the old man pointed to thereddening eastern sky, ‘will not be your last but merely heralding the first day of the rest of your life.’

Chapter Ten

‘Are you the woman who was in trouble with the Brehon of Laigin, Bishop Forbassach, eh?’

The thin, reedy voice seemed vaguely familiar.

Fidelma glanced up from her breakfast to see a scrawny-looking individual leaning over her. There was no one else in the main room of the inn for she had come down to an early breakfast.

She frowned at the man’s unprepossessing appearance. He was clad in the garb of a boatman. It was a moment or two before she recognised him as the little man who had been drinking and had started to complain at having his sleep disturbed when Forbassach had burst into the inn. Yet anyone so untypical of the usual idea of a boatman she had yet to see. He was a wisp of a man, angular with long, lank brown hair. In spite of his beak of a nose, thin red lips and dark, almost fathomless eyes, it was clear that in his youth he might have been handsome; now, however, his weatherbeaten features were moulded not so much by age but by dissolute experience.

‘As you see, I am in no trouble,’ Fidelma replied shortly, returning her attention to her plate.

The boatman sat down without invitation, seemingly unabashed at her unfriendly response.

‘Don’t give me that,’ he sneered. ‘I saw what I saw last night. A Brehon does not come out in the middle of the night with a half-a-dozen warriors if there is no cause. What did you do?’ He smirked, showing a line of blackened teeth. ‘Come on, you can tell me. Why, I might even be able to help you. I have quite a lot of contacts in Fearna — influential contacts-and if you make it worth my while …’

The boatman suddenly let out a sharp exclamation, and the next moment it seemed that he was rising unwillingly from his seat, his head bent to one side. Holding him by the ear was Dego whose tight grasp was expertly applied.

‘I believe that you are annoying this lady.’ Dego’s voice was soft but menacing. ‘Perhaps you would like to move on?’

The man twisted and attempted to struggle before realising that his antagonist was a muscular young warrior. His reed-like voice rose to a wail in protest.

‘I was not insulting her. I was offering my help and-’

Fidelma waved her hand casually.

‘Let him go, Dego,’ she sighed, adding firmly to the boatman: ‘I do not want your help. Certainly, I do not wish to pay for any help that you might be offering. Now, I suggest that you follow the advice of my comrade and move on.’

Dego let go of the man’s ear and the boatman, clutching it, staggered back a step or two.

‘I will not forget this,’ he whined, keeping out of reach of Dego. ‘I have friends and you will pay for this. You think that you can get the better of me? Others have tried. They have learnt better.’

Lassar had entered to attend to Fidelma’s wants and heard the man’s complaint.

‘What has happened?’ she demanded.

Dego smiled vindictively and seated himself in the chair which the boatman had just vacated.

‘It was my mistake,’ he told Lassar with a smile. ‘I had the impression that this little man,’ he jerked at thumb at the boatman, ‘was pressing his unwanted attentions on Sister Fidelma. I have apologised for misunderstanding.’

The man had been standing rubbing his ear. He stopped when he heard her name, clearly recognising it. Fidelma wondered why.

‘I am sure this fellow accepts your apology, Dego, and has no wish to cause any more trouble,’ Fidelma said firmly.

The boatman hesitated for a moment and then jerkily inclined his head.

‘A person is entitled to make a mistake. Isn’t that the truth?’ he muttered.

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed suddenly as a memory came to her.