Peter Tremayne - Our Lady of Darkness

She sighed. Now she really hoped that Eadulf had absconded from the kingdom. Had he been wise, he would have made for the coast and picked up a ship to escape back to his homeland. Had he not done so, she shivered slightly at the thought of what might be his fate.

Dawn heralded a bright, chill morning. Brother Martan and two of his community stood with arms folded in their robes, and heads bowed under their cowls, at the gates of the tiny church and community of the Blessed Brigid, on the broad frost-covered slopes of the Yellow Mountain. The white frost stretched away like snow, southward towards the distant valley where the river swept around the principal town of the Laigin kingdom, around the place of the great alder trees, Fearna.

Standing in front of the monks were the two young girls, Muirecht and Conna. They were shivering in the frigid early morning air in spite of the woollen cloaks given them by the kindly Brother Martan. They were bewildered and scared by the developments. Brother Martan looked on unhappily as he viewed the unfolding scene from beneath his cowl.

One of Fianamail’s warriors was standing with the horses of the company, holding them with the reins drawn loosely into one hand. Abbot Noé stood slightly to one side of Brother Martan’s group, seemingly disinterested by the proceedings. Only the young King Fianamail, already seated on horseback, appeared impatient.

Outside the gate were several trees but one tree caught the attention immediately; a twisted black oak that seemed as old as Time itself. From a low branch, the burly Brother Cett had secured a hemp rope which he had expertly fashioned into a noose. He had placed a three-legged stool, borrowed from the community, underneath it. Now he looked questioningly towards Fianamail, indicating that he was ready.

Fianamail glanced up at the bright sky and smiled, a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ he called harshly.

Three of his warriors emerged from the gates, propelling Eadulf before them.

Eadulf was no longer frightened of death. He would have admitted that he was fearful of being hurt, but not of death itself. He walked with a firm step. He felt sad at the unjust manner of his death as it seemed to him to serve no useful purpose. But he was resigned to it and the quicker it was over the sooner his fear of pain would be gone. He even stepped up on the stool without being asked. He found his thoughts were filled by images of Fidelma. He tried to keep her face before him as he felt the noose being secured around his neck by Brother Cett.

‘Well, Saxon, do you confess your sins?’ cried Fianamail. Eadulf did not bother to answer him and the young King turned impatiently to Abbot Noé. ‘You are his religious superior, Noé. It is your task to take his confession.’

Abbot Noé smiled thinly. ‘Perhaps he does not believe in the Roman form of public confession and would prefer to whisper his sins into the ears of a soul friend in the manner of our church?’

‘You will not be interested in my confession for I am innocent of the crimes laid against me,’ Eadulf replied, irritated by their delay. ‘Get on with this murderous business.’

Yet Fianamail appeared conscious that the law should be assuaged by a confession.

‘Do you refuse to admit your guilt even at this moment? You are about to come face to face with the Almighty God to answer for that guilt.’

Eadulf found himself smiling in spite of the imminence of death. It was an automatic reaction.

‘Then He will know that I am not guilty. Remember, Fianamail, King of Laigin, that Morann, a Brehon and philosopher of your country, said that death cancels everything — except the truth.’

He heard Fianamail’s exasperated sigh and then he felt the noose tighten as the stool was kicked from under him.

Bishop Forbassach and his prisoners had arrived back at Fearna. They were led directly into the abbey courtyard, ordered to dismount and ushered into the chapel of the abbey under guard. Sister Étromma had greeted the appearance of Fial with some degree of astonishment. Theabbess took personal charge of the young girl and led her away, presumably to be cared for.

Fidelma, Coba, Dego and Enda were left facing Bishop Forbassach, who examined them truculently.

‘Well, Forbassach?’ Fidelma asked. ‘Will you hear me out? Will you allow me to continue the arguments that I was making in the hall of Coba?’

A look of satisfaction spread over his features.

‘You are as wily as a fox, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said. ‘No, I will not let you spread your lies any further. Abbess Fainder explained to me on the journey what you are trying to do. You are trying to defame this abbey, the abbess, the religious and law of Laigin. It will not work.’

‘You are either foolish or culpable of these crimes, Forbassach,’ Fidelma replied in an even tone. ‘You are either compounding them after the event or are guilty of involvement in them. There is no other explanation for your stupidity.’

The bishop’s eyes narrowed belligerently.

‘I am minded to bring charges against you and your companions, Fidelma. I know well enough that you are sister to the King of Cashel but even the threat of incurring his displeasure does not make me flinch now. You have gone too far. Your brother’s influence will no longer safeguard you. I will discuss this matter with Fianamail before I reach a decision and, in the meantime, you will be imprisoned with your companions here in the abbey.’

Dego stepped forward.

‘You will regret this, Bishop,’ he said quietly. ‘Lay hands on Fidelma and you will find the army of Muman marching on your borders. You are twice condemned by threatening my lady. You are condemned that you dare threaten a dálaigh of the courts and you are condemned because you dare threaten the sister of our King.’

Bishop Forbassach appeared unimpressed by the young warrior’s bombast.

‘ Your King, not my King, young man. And your threat to me has also been noted. You will have plenty of time to contemplate that threat and how such a threat is punished in this land.’

Dego was about to make a move when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm. She had seen Forbassach’s warriors ready with their swords.

‘Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem, ’ she mutteredquoting one of Horace’s Odes, to remind Dego to maintain a clear head when attempting difficult tasks.

‘Wise advice, if you want to live,’ smirked the bishop. Then turning to his warriors: ‘Take them away!’

‘One moment,’ Fidelma commanded, her forceful tone causing them to hesitate. ‘What do you plan to do with Coba?’

Bishop Forbassach glanced towards the bó-aire of Cam Eolaing. Then he turned back to Fidelma with a malicious grin.

‘What would your brother do to a traitor who has gone against the law and rebelled against his authority? He will die.’

Brother Eadulf heard the sound of the shout and he closed his eyes. Then he experienced the sensation of falling and felt a hard thump as his body hit the ground. He lay for a moment, gasping for breath and puzzled until he realised that he had, indeed, fallen on the ground. The rope must have broken as the stool was kicked from under him. His immediate thought was the anguished one that he would have to go through the process all over again. He opened his eyes and peered up.

His first sight was of Brother Cett, standing with an expression of amazement on his features; his arms were spread, almost in a position of surrender. Then he was aware of more shouting. Another figure was bending forward and hauling him to his feet. He saw a young, vaguely familiar face whose features wore a grin.

‘Brother Eadulf! Are you all right?’