Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Read online

  ‘But that’s not possible!’ Eadulf objected. ‘When the judgements at the Abbey of Mungairit were announced, Gláed of Sliabh Luchra was given into the keeping of his brother Artgal to be taken back to his people for trial and punishment for murdering their father Fidaig, who had been chieftain of Sliabh Luachra.’

  ‘The merchants told Gormán that Gláed had escaped, murdered his brother Artgal and had declared himself chieftain of Sliabh Luachra.’

  Fidelma sat back, staring at the girl in incredulity. When she had issued her judgements at the Abbey of Mungairit, after her investigation into the attempted assassination of her brother, King Colgú, she had also found that Gláed, son of Fidaig, was involved in conspiracy; the blood of many was on his hands. She had indeed handed him over to his own brother, Artgal, the new chieftain, who had promised to take him back for trial by his own people.

  Eadulf’s features were unusually pale. ‘The fourth shock in two days,’ he said. ‘Ségdae dead, Gormán deemed guilty, Aibell and Gormán married and now Gláed is loose in Sliabh Luachra and claiming to be chieftain of those people.’

  ‘Worse still, the merchants said that Gláed was raising a band to raid the territory of the Uí Fidgente in order to exact revenge.’

  ‘The dwellers of Sliabh Luachra have been thieves and robbers since time began,’ Enda interrupted in disgust. ‘Gláed’s father was a thief and murderer – and now Gláed has excelled him by killing him and now his brother, Artgal. They are all vile murderers and brigands.’

  ‘That is true,’ Eadulf agreed slowly. ‘However, Gláed was in league with Lorcán, the son of Uí Fidgente Prince Eóghanán, who met his death on Cnoc Áine. It was thought Lorcán died alongside his father. He did not. Lorcán was a cruel and ruthless man. He killed his own twin brother, Brother Lugna, to take his place and hide in the Abbey at Mungairit while trying to organise the overthrow and death of his cousin Prince Donennach who brought peace to the Uí Fidgente. Gláed was an essential part of that conspiracy.’

  ‘But didn’t you and the lady Fidelma uncover this Lorcán – and wasn’t he handed over to be incarcerated in Prince Donennach’s fortress to await judgement?’ Enda asked. ‘If Gláed escaped judgement, do not tell me that Lorcán has also escaped!’

  There was some relief when Ciarnat made a negative gesture.

  ‘He did try to escape from the fortress – with the help of sympathisers. But the guards, those loyal to Prince Donennach, were on the alert, and he was mortally wounded in the attempt. He died within a week in spite of the best efforts of our physician.’

  Fidelma was regarding Ciarnat with some concern. ‘What else did Gormán learn about Gláed? Is he really being accepted by the people who once supported his father and brother?’

  ‘Gormán was told by the merchants that many had come to accept Gláed, there being no other leader among them to stand against him. Apart from that, there were rumours going round that Gláed had vowed vengeance against all those who had failed to support him.’

  ‘So, having gained this information, Gormán determined to deliver it to Prince Donennach. What then?’

  ‘As I said, they arrived at Dún Eochair Mháigh.’

  ‘And that was nine days ago?’ Eadulf queried.

  ‘Yes. They had left Marban at his mill and came to the fortress.’

  ‘Nine days …?’ Fidelma was beyond surprise after the many revelations she had heard. ‘That is a long time in the circumstances. So they arrived at the prince’s fortress. How did Prince Donennach react at the news?’

  ‘Apparently, the prince was dismissive. He felt that he could not consider Gláed as a threat, or not as a serious one, and that to him, the people of that mountain fastness were just ill-bred robbers without leadership. He said that if he ever found out they were raiding outside of the mountain lairs, then he would take a band of his warriors and punish them.’

  Enda was nodding his head. ‘I think that was probably a reasonable assessment, lady. Based on all I have heard of them, they have always been thieves and cut-throats and would be no match for even one company of trained warriors.’

  Eadulf did not look convinced. ‘It was a different story when we unravelled the mystery at Mungairit Abbey. Thieves they might be, but they can also supply fighting men,’ he commented dryly.

  ‘So what happened next?’ Fidelma urged.

  ‘Abbot Ségdae of Imleach and his party had arrived to take part in some council.’

  ‘Do you know the reason for this council?’ Fidelma asked. It was unusual for the chief religious adviser to the Eóghanacht Kings of Muman to visit Uí Fidgente. The latter did not recognise the Eóghanacht as legitimate Kings of Muman, let alone bow to the authority of the Abbey of Imleach and its abbot.

  Ciarnat shook her head. ‘I know nothing of these matters, lady. All I do know was that some council had been arranged between Abbot Ségdae and Abbot Nannid of Mungairit. I was not interested, but when Gormán learned of the presence of Abbot Ségdae he went to see him.’

  ‘Is our old antagonist, Abbot Nannid, at the fortress?’ Eadulf queried in surprise.

  The girl nodded and went on: ‘They say that Gormán was in an angry mood about the reaction to the news he brought. He arrived at the abbot’s guest-chamber, there was an argument and they say he killed him.’

  ‘You were in the fortress at the time?’

  ‘No, I was in the township with my mother.’

  ‘Then tell the story as it was told to you.’

  ‘I heard it from Aibell a day or two later. She and Gormán had been allocated a room in the hostel for warriors. Gormán had gone to see the abbot, it being evening. Aibell had fallen asleep when suddenly she was aroused by a great disturbance. The door crashed open, men came in shouting. As she struggled awake, the guards started to drag her out of bed. She didn’t know what was happening. They threw her in a cold, dark cell. She was not taken out until morning when the guards manhandled her before Brehon Faolchair, Prince Donennach’s judge, who started to question her. She told me that she did not understand any of his questions at the time. It was only later that she understood, and perhaps she should be thankful because her ignorance and stupidity in answering finally convinced them that she knew nothing of what had happened and was innocent of any complicity.’

  They waited as Ciarnat paused again, glancing from one to another as if seeking permission to continue.

  ‘And did you discover what had happened?’ pressed Fidelma.

  Ciarnat took a deep breath before resuming her story. ‘We knew nothing until Brehon Faolchair convened the hearing and the details were revealed. Aibell had not even been allowed to see Gormán before then.’

  ‘You attended the hearing? So what was the evidence presented?’

  ‘According to the abbot’s steward, Brother Tuamán, Gormán had arrived at the abbot’s chamber in an angry mood. The steward left the chamber, to give the two men some privacy. A little while later, he heard a cry from the abbot’s chamber and some sound of upheaval. He rushed to the door but it had been locked. He called one of the guards and together they broke in and found the abbot lying dead on the floor. He had been stabbed twice in the chest. By the abbot’s side lay his staff of office. Just in front of his body, Gormán also lay on the floor, as if he were just recovering consciousness. There was a knife, still bloodied, in his hand. A point made by Brother Tuamán was that the door of the chamber had been locked on the inside. There was no other entrance or exit than a high window. So the only means of ingress and exit was the door by which the abbot’s steward and the guard had entered. It was immediately concluded that Gormán had attacked and stabbed Abbot Ségdae.’

  ‘I presume that the guard confirmed the steward’s account?’

  ‘He did. It was argued that the abbot, having been stabbed once by Gormán, managed to strike him a blow with his staff, catching him on the side of the head. Gormán was able to stab him again, fatally, before falling unconscious from his own wound. The steward said t
hat only a short space of time had elapsed since the cry, the noise and his trying to force the door.’

  Fidelma exchanged a grim glance with Eadulf. ‘From the account that you give, the matter looks very bad for Gormán. You say that there was no other way in or out of the chamber?’

  ‘That was the telling point. However, Aibell is sure that he could not have murdered the abbot, lady. That is why she instructed me to come and meet you and tell you these things before you reached the prince’s fortress,’ the girl declared fervently.

  Fidelma laid a comforting hand on her arm. ‘If he did not do it, then we shall do everything in our power to discover who did. How did Gormán defend himself before the Brehon?’

  ‘He told Brehon Faolchair that he had been in the abbot’s chamber, speaking normally with him, when he felt a blow on the back of his head. It is true that his head had a bruise and some swelling on the right side. When he recovered consciousness, the abbot’s steward and one of the prince’s guards were bending over him. The abbot was dead and Gormán was being accused of killing him. He could not explain the bloody knife in his hand.’

  ‘Let me be clear,’ Fidelma said. ‘You say Gormán had a bruise and a cut on the right side of his head and yet he claimed he was struck from behind, on the back of the head. Is that so?’

  Ciarnat nodded quickly. ‘Brehon Faolchair made much of that. The blow, he argued, was consistent with the abbot striking him as he was attacked. It was not consistent with some unknown assailant having hidden himself in the chamber, creeping up behind him and knocking Gormán unconscious before killing the abbot. Ségdae would surely have warned Gormán if someone was behind him before the blow was struck.’

  ‘It is a logical argument,’ Fidelma conceded.

  ‘But he is innocent,’ the girl replied doggedly.

  ‘Belief is not evidence,’ Fidelma told her.

  ‘I was denied the chance to give evidence on his behalf.’

  ‘What evidence would you have given?’ Fidelma wanted to know ‘You were not a witness.’

  ‘The guard who took food to Gormán’s cell passed on a message from him to Aibell. The message said he was innocent and that he was knocked unconscious and only came to his senses after the murder. He did say one thing which was curious. Apparently, while he was talking to the abbot, the abbot suddenly looked at the table where there were some papers and said, “Oh yes, you will be wanting these.” It was at that moment that he felt the blow on his head.’

  ‘That is not evidence,’ Fidelma said after a moment’s thought. ‘I am afraid Brehon Faolchair was quite right. That is merely repeating what Gormán told someone, who then told you. Anyway, the Berrad Airechta states that reporting something which is heard from someone else is automatically excluded from evidence. Did Gormán state this at the hearing?’

  ‘He did – but said he had no idea what the abbot meant. Brehon Faolchair didn’t let Aibell and me testify for Gormán at all,’ protested the girl.

  ‘I am afraid that is also right, for Aibell’s relationship to Gormán, and the fact that you are her friend, places you both as an anteist or untrustworthy witnesses,’ Fidelma explained. ‘As a wife it would be seen that Aibell would naturally wish to protect her husband. You are her friend. Therefore, neither of you could be trusted to be impartial when giving evidence. In addition, your “evidence” would merely be repetition, since the facts had already been made known.’ Almost as an afterthought, she added: ‘Gormán said he did not know what the abbot meant about wanting something among his papers?’

  ‘That’s right. He had no idea what it was that the abbot felt he should want. There were some papers on the desk but they had not been referred to before.’

  Fidelma thought for a moment and then said, ‘Brehon Faolchair found Gormán guilty of the killing?’

  ‘Both the steward and the guard had taken oath that there was no way anyone else could have entered or left the room. Brehon Faolchair pronounced, on the evidence that he had heard, there was no other explanation than that Gormán was guilty of the crime.’

  ‘What was suggested as to a motive?’ asked Eadulf, winning a quick glance of approval from Fidelma.

  Ciarnat shook her head. ‘No one could supply a reason why Gormán should attack and kill the abbot. According to Brother Tuamán, the abbot’s steward, Gormán had arrived in a bad mood – but that is no motive for murder.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘That certainly is the weak point in this matter. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘They will not dare to execute him, will they, lady?’ The girl began to sob, overcome by emotion again.

  Fidelma compressed her lips into a thin line. She was determined to prevent this; it was all she had been thinking about since she had heard of the situation from this young woman.

  ‘Do you know how the threat of execution arose?’ she asked.

  The girl tried to explain between sniffs. ‘Abbot Nannid, who is the senior abbot and bishop of the Uí Fidgente, as you know, is the main advocate of these new rules of the Faith. Now many of our bishops and abbots have adopted them.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid of Mungairit!’ Eadulf exclaimed the name bitterly. ‘He must have changed his views since last we parted from him. I did not think he was so strong an advocate for these new so-called Penitential rules.’

  The girl looked puzzled but Fidelma felt that now was not the time to explain.

  ‘Do you know why Abbot Nannid is arguing for punishment under the Penitentials and not under the law of the Brehons?’ she asked.

  ‘I heard him say that it is because Ségdae was an abbot and bishop of the Faith. Abbot Nannid claims that the murderer must suffer punishment as prescribed by the Faith.’

  ‘You say these events happened about nine days ago, so why was there such a delay between the killing of Abbot Ségdae and Prince Donennach informing us at Cashel?’

  The girl did not understand, so Eadulf rephrased the question. ‘Many days have passed between the murder and Cashel being informed of the death of the abbot,’ he said.

  Ciarnat gave an expressive gesture with one shoulder, letting it rise and fall. ‘I assume that Prince Donennach waited until the hearing was conducted by Brehon Faolchair and the confirmation of his decision that Gormán was responsible. That was four days ago. Then a messenger was immediately sent to Imleach and then to Cashel. As I said, Aibell knew of your reputation and we were hoping Cashel would send you to save Gormán.’

  ‘The verdict has already been pronounced,’ Fidelma said sombrely.

  ‘But not the sentence,’ replied Ciarnat, wiping her eyes. ‘Aibell and Gormán believe that you can prevent this as it is our laws which must judge him, not these new foreign ideas.’

  ‘And you have been waiting on this road hoping to intercept us?’ Eadulf was curious. ‘That was taking a chance.’

  The girl shrugged again. ‘Aibell and I reasoned that if you rode from Cashel soon after the prince’s messenger reached there, it would likely be some time this morning that you would be coming along this road. There is no other direct route from Cashel. Therefore, this morning, one of the fortress guards showed me the signal fire and what it meant, and I rode out to wait for you.’

  ‘What was the meaning of the signal fire?’ queried Eadulf.

  In response, the girl pointed to a distant hill behind them. Wisps of smoke still hung over it. Before she could speak, Enda gave a groan of self-recrimination.

  ‘Of course! The signal fire was lit to announce our entry into the Uí Fidgente territory. I should have realised that.’

  Eadulf glanced to where the smoke was still drifting on the high wind. ‘It is slightly unnerving to know that we are being watched from afar.’

  ‘The teine caismberta, or signal fires, are as old as the time people first sought to defend themselves,’ Enda told them, standing up and collecting the remains of the meal and the utensils. ‘Since the fortress knows of our approach, perhaps we should move on now?’


  The hint was not lost on Fidelma. ‘I am surprised that no warriors have already come to escort us to the prince’s fortress,’ she said.

  ‘You are right – and I have tarried long enough,’ the girl muttered, getting hurriedly to her feet and moving towards her horse. ‘Do not say I have met with you, lady. There is much evil at Dún Eochair Mháigh. I will make my way back by another route. All Aibell wanted, without being overheard, was to warn you of this evil. Look for untruth in the answers to your questions, believe only what you see … or perhaps it is better to believe only half of what you see.’

  Then she had mounted and moving off at a rapid trot through the trees at right angles to the track.

  Eadulf gave a cynical laugh. ‘Curious, eh? A warning of what we shall encounter.’

  Enda had become suddenly still, looking down the sloping track into the valley, towards the hills beyond which was their destination.

  ‘What we are about to encounter is half-a-dozen warriors,’ he said without raising his voice.

  They looked at him in astonishment for a moment before turning to follow the direction of his gaze.

  Coming along the track from the direction of Dún Eochair Mháigh was a group of six horsemen, riding two abreast, their shields and armaments not only proclaiming them as warriors but bearing the wolf insignia of the Uí Fidgente. One of the two leading riders carried aloft a banner of red silk with the image of a ravening wolf on it.

  Enda started to move towards his horse, his hand slipping to his sword hilt and easing it to ensure it was loose.

  ‘Remember, these are not hostile warriors, Enda,’ Fidelma said hurriedly. ‘From that insignia they wear, they are warriors of Prince Donennach’s household. We are in their territory by invitation of their prince. So let us show no signs of hostility or reveal our anxiety.’

  Enda stopped still. ‘As you please, lady,’ he said almost sulkily.

  ‘I would continue to pack away the remains of our midday meal and behave as naturally as you would when strangers meet on the highway,’ Fidelma added.