Our Lady of Darkness

‘My brother. I thought that he might be too grand to think of my business, now that he is commander of the guard at Fianamail’s palace.’

‘Now?’ Fidelma picked up on the slight emphasis. ‘He has only just become commander there?’

‘Oh yes. He has only just been raised to the guard as well as made captain of it.’

Lassar led them up the stairs to the second storey and conducted them to a door, which she flung open with the air of someone about to reveal a priceless treasure beyond. It was a dark, narrow little room, with a tiny window. It looked fairly claustrophobic.

‘There is your room, Sister.’

Fidelma had seen worse and at least it appeared warm and the bed was comfortable.

‘And the room for my companions?’

Lassar pointed along the corridor.

‘There is one they can share down there. Will you want food as well?’

‘Yes, although our plans might change.’

Lassar frowned slightly. ‘Then you plan to be here for some time?’

‘For about a week, probably,’ Fidelma replied. ‘What are your prices?’

‘Since there are three of you, and if you can guarantee me a week,then I will charge you a pinginn each a person. That is a screpall a day. For that you have the freedom of the inn, coming and going as you like and meals as you like. There will be hot water for baths in the evenings. So you see, I am not wrong. You will do better by staying here and not seeking the hospitality of the abbey.’

It was the second time that the woman had referred to the abbey in disparaging tones and it drew Fidelma’s interest. It was true that a travelling religious would normally expect to obtain free lodgings at an abbey. But Lassar’s opinion of the abbey and its hospitality seemed surprisingly low even for an innkeeper who must see the abbey as a rival.

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.

The fleshy-faced woman grimaced defiantly. ‘It is clear that you are a stranger here.’

‘I have not denied it.’

‘Times have changed, Sister. That is all I say. The abbey has turned into a place of misery. Once I was hard pressed to attract travellers to the inn here, for many sought the hospitality of its walls. Now, no one wants to enter. Not since …’ She suddenly paused and shuddered.

‘Not since …?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘I will say no more, Sister. A screpall a day for all three if you want the rooms.’

Fidelma realised that Lassar would not be forced to say anything more about her views on the abbey.

‘A screpall a day is fine,’ she agreed, glancing at Dego and Enda. ‘I will give you three screpalls in advance for the rooms and we would like to wash first and have a meal as soon as possible.’

‘If you wish for a cold wash, then there is no problem. Hot water, as I say, is only provided at night for a bath. I have little help here now that my brother has become so grand a person up at the palace.’

‘There is no problem,’ Fidelma assured her, taking out some coins from her marsupium, the leather purse at her waist, and handing them to her.

The woman paused for a moment as if counting the coins in her hand. Then she smiled in satisfaction.

‘I will send water to your room and you may come down and eat when you like. It will only be cold fare. Hot meals may be had in the evening because …’

Fidelma smiled indulgently. ‘I know. We appreciate your help, Lassar.’

The innkeeper disappeared down the stairs. Dego let out a breath of relief.

‘What now, lady?’ he asked. ‘What shall we do next?’

‘After we have refreshed ourselves, I suggest that you make yourselves inconspicuous around the town and see what gossip you can pick up with regards to the events here. Find out what people feel about the imposition of the Penitentials as law and punishment instead of our native laws.’

‘What will you be doing, lady?’ asked Enda. ‘Should we not go with you?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am going to the abbey. I want to see Eadulf.’

Chapter Four

The Abbey of Fearna seemed even more forbidding close to than it had from a distance. A baleful atmosphere clung to the building, as tangible as cobwebs to its walls. The feeling was insubstantial, almost ethereal, but it was there like a cold mist hanging over everything. There were two great dark oak doors, hinged with iron, which were the main gates. On the right-hand door a large bronze image was fixed. Fidelma realised that this was the famous figure of an angel wrought by Máedóc, for it seemed to have intricately decorated wings and held a sword in its right hand. The face was circular, the eyes wide, round and socketless, giving it an appearance almost of malignancy. She had heard that this image was called ‘Our Lady of Light’ and meant to be a symbol of protection.

Fainder, Abbess of Fearna, was equally impressive and forbidding; that fact Fidelma had to admit, although she took an inexplicable and instant dislike to the woman. From the moment she was shown into the room where the abbess sat, upright in a tall oak-carved chair before a long wooden table which served her as a desk, Fidelma felt the aura of her presence. Haughty and belligerent. Even sitting, she gave the impression of stature, of leanness which added to her height. Yet when she rose to greet Fidelma, the impression was not confirmed. Fidelma, who was considered tall, towered over the woman who was only of medium height. The perception of height was simply one given by her personality, her bearing and nothing else.

The hand that she held out to greet Fidelma was strong, the bones prominent, her skin rough with calluses — these were associated more with those used to working in the fields than with a religieuse. She was dark- haired and Fidelma estimated that she was in her thirties. Her face was symmetrical; however, there was something hard about the features. The black eyes were deepset and one held an odd cast. Yet it was not this that made her appearance sinister, but the fact that she seldom blinked. The dark eyes, even with a cast, seemed to fix on Fidelma like gimlets and did not look away. Had Fidelma been of lesser character she might have dropped her gaze in discomfiture.

When Abbess Fainder spoke her voice was soft, modulated and almost soothing, lulling one into a deceptive feeling of security. Only Fidelma, her sensitivity to people’s personalities developed over many years, was attuned to the strong tones behind the gentle articulation. Fainder would tolerate no disagreement with her opinions; of that, Fidelma was absolutely certain.

From the way the abbess held out her hand, Fidelma realised that she was supposed to bow and kiss her ring of office, Roman style. However, Fidelma took the hand and inclined her head only a fraction in the manner of the Irish Church.

‘Stet fortuna domus,’ she intoned.

Abbess Fainder’s eyes glinted for a moment, the annoyance gone so quickly that only a careful observer might have noticed it.

‘Deo juvante,’ she replied shortly, resuming her position and motioning Fidelma to sit on a chair before the table. Fidelma did so.

‘So, you are Fidelma of Cashel?’ The abbess smiled; it was no more than a parting of her thin, bloodless lips. ‘Your name was spoken of in Rome when I was there.’

Fidelma did not answer. There was no comment she could make. Instead she motioned to the piece of vellum bearing Fianamail’s order and seal.

‘I have come on most urgent business, Mother Abbess.’

The abbess did not acknowledge the vellum placed before her. She was sitting upright in her chair, hands on the table, palm downwards, resuming the same position as when Fidelma had been shown into her room.

‘You have a reputation as a dálaigh, Sister,’ Fainder continued. ‘Yet you are