Our Lady of Darkness

Abbess Fainder blinked rapidly. ‘Are you saying that Ibar was innocent?’

‘That is exactly what I am saying. Ibar the blacksmith was a convenient scapegoat and perhaps a necessary one. The day before he was killed, he had been complaining that all he was being employed to do at the abbey was to make animal shackles. Perhaps he did not realise, or perhaps he realised too late, that the shackles for animals were being used on human beings?

‘Brother Eadulf told me that he heard Ibar crying, when he was being led to the gibbet, about manacles. “Ask about the manacles!” he called.’

‘I would like to know, as Coba has already asked you, where you are leading us, Sister,’ demanded the abbess. Her voice was suddenly tremulous and she seemed to have lost her strength.

Fidelma faced the abbess squarely.

‘I would have thought that it was obvious, Mother Abbess,’ she said quietly. ‘This trade in young girls, selling them off to foreign slave ships, is being run by someone in Fearna, someone in the abbey — and that someone is a religious who bears a high rank there.’

Abbess Fainder’s hand came up to clutch her throat, her face pale.

‘No! No! she cried and then, without warning, she collapsed to the floor in a swoon.

Fidelma moved swiftly to her side and bent down, feeling for the pulse in her neck.

At that moment, one of Coba’s warriors came bursting into the hall in a state of excitement.

‘Bishop Forbassach has returned. He is outside with a large band of the King’s warriors. He demands the release of the abbess and the warrior, Mel, and the surrender of the rest of us. What is the word, Chieftain? Do we surrender or do we fight?’

Chapter Nineteen

Eadulf awakened with a start as the door of his small chamber crashed open. He blinked in confusion at the figures crowding in the doorway. One of them was holding a lamp. His figure was very familiar. It was with a sickening sense of despair that Eadulf recognised Brother Cett. By his side stood the young, animated Fianamail. Eadulf was dimly aware of the anguished features of Brother Martan behind them.

Fianamail’s features twisted into a smile of satisfaction as he gazed down at Eadulf.

‘That is the man,’ he affirmed. ‘Well done, Brother Cett.’

Eadulf was dragged from the bed by Brother Cett and hauled upright. With expert ease, he found himself forced round; his hands were twisted behind him and he was bound. The hemp rope cut deeply into his wrists.

‘Well, Saxon,’ Brother Cett leered at him as he spun him back to face the young King. ‘You thought that you had made your escape. Not so.’

He punctuated his sentences with a short, sharp rabbit punch which made Eadulf double over and retch at the pain.

‘Brother!’ cried Brother Martan in disgust. ‘Forbear to use violence on a bound man, a man of the Faith at that!’

It was then that Eadulf heard a familiar voice.

‘The Saxon has lost whatever Faith he adheres to, Father Martan. However, you are right to admonish Brother Cett. You need not treat a dying man so harshly, Brother. God will punish him before the day is out.’

Eadulf twisted round to see the sallow face of Abbot Noé swim into view. Realising the futility of his position, Eadulf forced a pain-racked grin at the dour religieux.

‘Your Christian charity does you credit,’ he gasped, trying to recover his breath.

Abbot Noé took a step forward and examined him carefully but his thin features were expressionless.

‘There is no escape from the fires of hell, Saxon.’ His voice was solemn.

‘So I am told. We all eventually have to answer for our misdeeds; kings and bishops … even abbots.’

Abbot Noé simply smiled, turned and left the cell.

The young King Fianamail was impatient. He looked across the cell to the window and saw the diminishing darkness. It would be dawn within the hour. Brother Martan observed his restless glance.

‘Will you leave at once for Fearna?’ he asked. ‘Or return first to your hunting lodge?’

‘We will wait here until dawn and then ride directly for Fearna,’ the King replied.

‘Regretfully, we have no extra horse for your prisoner,’ apologised the Father Superior.

Fianamail looked grim.

‘The Saxon will not need one. There is a good strong tree outside the gates here. He has escaped our justice twice. He will not escape a third time. We will hang him before we depart.’

Eadulf felt a cold sensation in his stomach but he did his best not to show his feelings to those around him. He forced a smile. After all, death had to come to everyone, did it not? He had been facing death these last few weeks, although he had hoped that, with Fidelma’s arrival, there might be some chance that the truth would be discovered. Fidelma! Where was she? He wished he could see her one more time in this world.

‘Can that be within the law?’ Brother Martan was staring askance at his King.

Fianamail turned on the man with a frown of displeasure.

‘The law?’ His voice was threatening. ‘The man has had his trial. He was about to be hanged when he escaped. Of course it is legal! I act as representative of that law. Brother Cett will see to the arrangements and if you have moral qualms, Brother Martan, I suggest you consult the abbot.’

Brother Cett grinned sourly at Eadulf as Brother Martan left the cell.

‘Now,’ continued Fianamail, ‘let me breakfast for the day is chill and I am hungry. To be awakened before dawn and have to come chasing outlaws is a tiring business.’ He hesitated as if he had just thought of something. ‘By the way, we will also take the two young girls with us to Fearna. In the circumstances, they will have a better chance of life inthe abbey there than returning home or wandering the countryside.’

Brother Cett’s sadistic expression broadened. ‘It shall be as you say.’

The cell door slammed as Fianamail and the burly Brother Cett left Eadulf alone to watch the arrival of his last dawn.

The horses were trotting in a column, two abreast, towards Fearna. Dego was riding beside Fidelma while behind them rode Coba and Enda and behind them came Fial mounted on the same horse as Mel who, in turn, rode with Abbess Fainder. Bishop Forbassach was behind. In the front and at the rear came warriors of King Fianamail’s guard. It was cold and dark but the leading horsemen seemed to know the road from Cam Eolaing to Fearna well and did not hesitate in keeping up a steady pace.

Dego finally glanced at Fidelma.

‘Why did you persuade Coba to surrender, lady?’ He demanded. His tone was slightly querulous. The question had been on his mind since Fidelma had urged the bó-aire not to resist the warriors whom Forbassach had brought with him. It was the first time since those hectic moments that Dego had been able to pose the question and he did so in a low voice, not wishing to be heard by the guards. ‘We could have fought this bishop and his men.’

Fidelma returned his look in the gloom.

‘And then what?’ she asked gently. ‘Taken satisfaction in making a futile stand or, had we been lucky enough to drive off Bishop Forbassach, the Brehon of Laigin and the King’s warriors, would we have had satisfaction in bringing down a bloody conflict on both kingdoms in which truth and justice would have been entirely forgotten?’

‘I don’t understand, lady.’

‘Say that Coba had refused to surrender? Bishop Forbassach is Brehon of this kingdom and has a legitimate right to demand the surrender of people held against their will.’

Dego remained silent.

‘On what legal grounds did we have the right to refuse to surrender to the Brehon of this kingdom?’

‘I thought that we were about to discover the reason. You had already proved that Brother Eadulf had been