Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma) Read online

  The column of warriors approached the group easily without any sign of aggressive intent and came to a halt before them.

  ‘Well, well,’ greeted their leader with a loud bellow of laughter as he sprang from his horse. ‘You are once more welcome in my country, lady, and you too, friend Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. I confess though, in all our encounters, I just wish the circumstances were more pleasant but Fate, it seems, always designs our meetings at times of crisis between our peoples.’

  The speaker removed his burnished silver war helmet and gazed at them with a broad smile on his face.

  Fidelma returned the smile of their old acquaintance. ‘I should have known that Conrí, the King of Wolves, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, would be among the first to come and escort us to the fortress of Prince Donennach,’ she greeted him courteously.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The warrior carrying the red silk banner turned out to be Socht, the warlord Conrí’s comrade in arms. After the greetings and introductions, for Enda had encountered neither Conrí nor Socht before, it was decided not to waste any more time but to set off immediately for Prince Donennach’s fortress. Fidelma rode alongside Conrí at the head of the column, with Eadulf and Socht behind them. After them came Enda and one of Conrí’s men, with the rest of the horsemen following two abreast.

  Fidelma immediately began to question the warlord as Conrí obviously expected her to do.

  ‘Do you know any details of this terrible affair?’ she asked.

  ‘None that I was not told, lady,’ he confessed. ‘I was not at the fortress when it happened, so I only know what others have passed on to me. I came to the fortress because I received a message from Prince Donennach to say that Gormán had arrived to warn him about Gláed. It seems that Gláed had somehow escaped from the custody of his brother, Artgal, had killed him and set himself up as head of that band of thieves and cut-throats who dwell in the fastness of Sliabh Luachra.’

  ‘The message did not mention that Gormán was charged with the killing of the Abbot of Imleach?’

  Conrí shook his head. ‘No. I was at my own fortress at the Ford of Oaks and knew nothing of that until the next day when I arrived at Dún Eochair Mháigh. It was then I heard that Abbot Ségdae had been stabbed to death the previous evening and that Gormán stood accused. I found it impossible to believe that he did it! I knew from previous encounters that Gormán honours the warriors’ code. He would never strike down an unarmed man – let alone a churchman. Yet, lady, I sat through the Brehon’s hearing and heard the facts presented. One cannot argue with facts, it seems.

  ‘Although one can argue with the interpretation of the facts,’ Fidelma pointed out swiftly.

  ‘It would take a sharper mind than I possess to see how they could be interpreted in any other way,’ the warlord observed. ‘Anyway, I have tried my best to help in the circumstances. I listened closely to Gormán’s defence. I felt sympathy for his young wife.’

  ‘So there is little that you can tell me from your own knowledge of the details of the killing?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘I gather the murder was uncovered by the abbot’s steward and by a guard of the household. Do you know him? Is he a reliable witness?’

  ‘Certainly. His name is Lachtna, and he has served in Prince Donennach’s personal guard for over a year or so. He is a good man in battle but has to be directed, if you understand my meaning. He is not imaginative and sees everything in terms of black and white. To him, the bottle is half empty. It is not half full.’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘Such people often make the best witnesses for they do not let imagination interfere with what they see, nor do they speculate with interpretation.’

  ‘That makes it more awkward for Gormán,’ Conrí acknowledged.

  ‘The task is to discover the truth, however unpalatable. And what about Abbot Ségdae’s steward, Brother Tuamán? He was newly appointed and I have only seen him at a distance. Did you form an opinion about him?’

  Conrí managed a grin. ‘I saw him at the Brehon’s hearing, and to me, he seems to be following the wrong calling. He is taller than I am and has the build of a warrior, being strong and muscular. However, I would say he possesses the fault of vanity.’

  ‘Vanity?’

  ‘Yes. He is full of his own importance.’

  ‘I suppose a man who becomes steward of the Abbey of Imleach has earned some degree of status,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘So, you have formed no opinion on the abbot’s death other than listening to the facts that were presented to the Brehon?’

  ‘As I said, lady, the facts were such that I could not see a way of contending with them. Even Gormán offered no real defence or explanation other than stating that he did not do it. If I had not known Gormán before this, I would have said that there was no question of his guilt.’

  ‘But you are uneasy?’

  ‘It is not only because the man I knew would not be capable of such a crime against an unarmed cleric. There is something else.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something that you taught me, lady. You once said, find a motive and you will usually find a culprit. There seems no motive here.’

  ‘Cui bono?’ Fidelma mused.

  ‘Pardon, lady?’

  ‘It is something a Roman lawyer named Cicero once said. “To whom is the benefit?” And you are right. What gain was there for Gormán in killing the abbot? Abbot Ségdae was known to him as a friend and mentor, as he was a friend and mentor for many of us at Cashel. Also, Gormán had come there by chance to warn the prince about Gláed.’

  ‘I heard that he was in an ill temper when he went to see the abbot.’

  ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘There was some gossip suggesting that his warning about Gláed was not taken seriously by Prince Donennach, and that Gormán went to complain about this to the abbot. It was strange, because the prince had already sent for me.’

  ‘So Prince Donennach did take the warning seriously … What has been done about Gláed?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘Prince Donennach’s intention was for me to lead a punitive raid into Sliabh Luachra to see if we could capture Gláed and discourage his followers. My opinion was that Gláed, having killed his own father, Fidaig, and then his own brother, Artgal, would be at the mercy of many of his own people who would be inclined to join us against him. They might be concerned about who Gláed would turn on next.’

  ‘What happened about this raid?’

  ‘That matter was delayed while Donennach deals with this greater threat and attempts to resolve it. I merely posted sentinels along the western routes to ensure we had warning of any hostile movement from Gláed.’

  ‘You call it the “greater threat”?’ Eadulf put in.

  ‘The growing insistence of the Uí Fidgente clerics, led by our old acquaintance, Abbot Nannid, demands that Gormán should be punished by execution under their Penitential rules,’ the warlord told him bleakly.

  ‘But Gormán was not tried by an ecclesiastical court of the abbot and bishops of the Uí Fidgente,’ Fidelma objected. ‘And the crime actually happened in the fortress of the prince whose Brehon has heard the matter. Irrespective of guilt or innocence, the Brehon and the prince are representatives of the law of this kingdom, of all the Five Kingdoms, and the law of the Brehons is still the law.’

  ‘That is true,’ nodded Conrí, ‘but Nannid has many followers and he is now a great advocate of the Penitentials.’

  ‘Are you saying that he is powerful enough to even dictate law to the prince’s Brehon?’ Fidelma asked, shocked. ‘Surely Donennach supports his Brehon? The judgements and punishments given by him must be in obedience to the Council of Brehons of Muman, submissive to the kingdom and also to the entire Five Kingdoms under the Chief Brehon of the High King.’

  Conrí’s expression was one of resignation. ‘When I said the “greater threat”, I meant it. You know our diverging history, lady. The Eóghanacht of Cashel and the Uí Fidgente do
not always see the world from the same mountain top.’

  ‘We have recently concluded a peace between us – an amicable peace – and have re-entered a community of spirit in one ancient kingdom,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Except that such a matter as this may well turn into another crossroads where our paths may once more diverge.’

  ‘That they must not do,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘I’ll put it bluntly, lady,’ returned Conrí. ‘Our clergy knows your brother vehemently opposes the growing influence of these Pententials. That is the very reason why Abbot Nannid is demanding these ecclesiastical punishments.’

  ‘But Abbot Ségdae was a foremost advocate for keeping to our native laws. He would never have condoned the use of these Penitentials to replace the laws of our kingdom!’

  ‘That is not Abbot Nannid’s logic,’ Conrí said. ‘The situation is thus: Prince Donennach finds himself sitting on a knife-edge. You, above all people, will know just how fragile is the peace between our people. A word out of place, a jibe, a threat – and all may be blown away like a house of straw. If Donennach defies his clergy he may face another attempt to oust him as ruler of the Uí Fidgente or, at best, face an internal war among us. If he accepts the demands of Abbot Nannid, then he risks war with Cashel and even retribution from the High King. Either way, there will be bloodshed.’

  Fidelma’s mouth tightened at his words. ‘I am well aware of what is at stake here,’ she said. ‘Abbot Nannid doubtless still chafes at being rebuked for the conspiracy we discovered at his Abbey of Mungairit, even though he was not directly involved.’

  ‘He may well feel resentment, but proving that is his sole purpose in demanding the death of Gormán would be difficult. Even before this happened he has spoken out in support of these new rules of the Faith.’

  ‘It might be difficult to demonstrate any personal vengeance in him but he certainly would not be squeamish about applying the new rules of punishment on one he sees as an enemy, if it furthers his cause.’

  ‘There is also a whisper among Abbot Nannid’s followers that Abbot Ségdae’s successor, at Imleach may not be too rigorous a supporter of the old laws,’ Conrí added.

  ‘Have you met the Prior of Imleach?’

  ‘I have. I suppose you would describe him as a scholarly man of middling years. He does not appear to be a strong man, either physically or in personality. Frankly, he did not make much of an impression on me. But then, who am I to judge?’

  ‘I wondered if you had discovered anything about his background. He is newly appointed to office and I do not know him,’ Fidelma explained.

  Conrí shook his head. ‘Like you, lady, I know little of him and you will have to judge for yourself. Doubtless you will meet him tonight as the prince expects everyone to attend the traditional welcome feast. You have accommodation in the personal guestrooms of the prince as befits your rank.’

  ‘Where is the delegation from Imleach accommodated then?’

  ‘They are in a guest-house within the fortress grounds. It was where the murder took place.’

  ‘And Abbot Nannid and his party?’

  ‘Abbot Nannid has decided to quarter himself in the Abbey of Nechta.’

  ‘Where is that?’ Fidelma had not heard of such an abbey before.

  Conrí actually smiled. ‘There was a small religious community in the township. It was part of the township but is now enclosed behind newly erected walls. Abbey Nannid has used his authority to call it an abbey.’

  Fidelma let out a long breath. ‘Often, Conrí, I feel that life is just one long game of fidchell in which we are forced to move our pieces on the boardgame of life – not as we would wish to, but only as is dictated to us by the events.’

  ‘That may well be, lady. But you must admit that there is only one important event which dictates this particular game.’

  ‘The murder of Abbot Ségdae?’

  ‘Indeed. However we come to that event, come to it we must,’ the warlord said solemnly.

  They rode on in silence, crossing a few hills before coming into more gently sloping lands, descending towards the river plain. There were cultivated fields with crops of barley not quite ripe for harvesting next to fenced fields in which rusty red and white cows were grazing – long-backed ‘bald cows’ as they were called because of the distinctive mound on the head. Such cows did not grow horns like other breeds. Conrí noticed her looking at them.

  ‘That’s part of Prince Donennach’s own herd,’ he told her. ‘Good for beef as well as milking.’

  They skirted an area of stony ground, identified by Conrí as An Clocher, the Place of Stone. On some of the heights Fidelma could glimpse the dark figures of sentinels keeping watch on the approaches to the fortress. The road led over a small rise and below them lay the river’s bend, along which the principal trading settlement of the Uí Fidgente stretched. Dominating all, set atop a prominent hill above the river, stood Dún Eochair Mháigh – the Fortress at the Bend of the River.

  Once again, Fidelma found herself thinking, as she had when she had first seen it, that the fortress of Prince Donennach of the Uí Fidgente was surprisingly small and drab for a ruler who claimed an ancestry greater and richer than the Eóghanacht. There was nothing particularly awe-inspiring about the dreary, grey stone stronghold towering above the eastern bank of the river. Fidelma had seen better hill forts raised by local chieftains guarding many small farming communities. However, the buildings were spread in fairly extensive grounds and fortifications.

  On the previous occasion of her visit with Eadulf, they had approached the fortress from the western bank and crossed over by a newly constructed wooden bridge. The township, which lay before the main gates, had been busy then as it was now. Many boats were moored along the River Maigh. The township was a trading centre for the merchants who plied their boats along the river. The waters rose in the hills to the south then pushed their way northwards, passing the Ford of the Oaks where they became tidal yet continued to drive on towards the great sea inlet not far from the Abbey of Mungairit.

  Now, approaching from the east, the party followed the path down the hill into the sprawl of buildings surrounding the market square. The banks of the river were edged with wooden quays a-throng with wagons filled with produce brought by the river vessels. These would eventually be driven to other inland settlements. There were several blacksmiths at work; the stables were full and business was good. The township was crowded but, if Fidelma’s memory was correct, not unduly so. Most people did not give them a second glance although one or two – and she noticed that these were mainly in the robes of religious – did halt and stare at them as they rode by.

  What caught her particular attention was the newly constructed wooden walls erected along the southern side of the market square – almost as if in confrontation with the fortress on the hill opposite. She frowned. The last time they were in this township, this area had just consisted of a number of homesteads built close to the local chapel.

  The inhabitants of these homesteads were all devoted followers of the New Faith and had formed their own small community. These men and women, with their children, worked at their own trades but supported the chapel that was regarded as their centre. The area had once been an integral part of the township itself, but now, as Conrí had said, they were separated by walls rising to the height of two tall men standing upon each other’s shoulders.

  ‘Is this what you meant by the Abbey of Nechta?’ Fidelma commented to Conrí.

  The warlord glanced at the wooden walls and closed central gate before saying, ‘It is, lady. The walls have been set up in recent months, at the order of Abbot Nannid. The community takes the name of Nechta as she was the mother of the Blessed Ita, who had brought the New Faith to this area a century ago.’

  ‘He ordered them to build the walls? I suppose Abbot Nannid has jurisdiction over the people of the Faith in this area?’

  ‘That he does, but he is not a person who endears himself to th
e local people – religious or otherwise.’

  Without further comment, Conrí led the way from the square up the broad sloping track in the direction of the fortress gates, which now stood wide open. Just before the gates, on the left-hand side of the track, loomed a tall pillar stone on which some writing in the ancient form of Ogham was inscribed. It was a simple text announcing the place to be ‘the king’s house’ – and Fidelma was again reminded of the Uí Fidgente’s long claim to the kingship of Muman. As in her previous visit, she was aware of the watchful sentinels on the walls, and she also noticed two warriors on guard at the gate. Conrí’s red silk standard brought a respectful salute, and the warriors moved aside as they entered. Stable lads were already running forward to take their horses as they halted in the main courtyard.

  Conrí dismissed his men to the charge of Socht as two male servants approached to take the setan or saddlebags from Fidelma and Eadulf and, of course, the lés, or medicine bag, that Eadulf had become accustomed to carrying with him everywhere he went.

  ‘Prince Donennach will officially greet you at the evening meal,’ Conrí explained. ‘The fothrucad, the baths, will be prepared, and you must rest from your wearisome journey. These attendants will conduct you to your chambers. We shall all gather in the great hall when you hear the striking of four bells.’

  Eadulf had learned by now that it was customary for people to bathe daily and generally in the evening. Cleansing was a ritual, and even for travellers arriving in such extreme circumstances, it was against all protocol not to go through the ritual before meeting the prince. There were baths for visitors in every guest-house of a palace, abbey or even a tavern.

  Conrí turned with a friendly smile to Enda. ‘I will show you to the laochtech, the house of the warriors, where we have our quarters. There you may also refresh yourself and rest.’

  But Fidelma was still lingering. ‘It might be advisable for me to speak immediately with Gormán, before I go to my chamber,’ she said.

  Conrí glanced at her in disapproval. ‘Lady, even in these circumstances, the protocols must be observed and respected. Having arrived in the prince’s palace as his guest, you and Eadulf must first bathe and then meet with him to discuss matters. Afterwards, Gormán may have your full attention.’