Peter Tremayne - Penance of the Damned

‘And yet I find it strange not to use that prefix “Sister”. It is the title by which your reputation precedes you throughout the Five Kingdoms.’

‘Nevertheless, it is a designation I no longer have and so, in proof of the one I do have, I present this.’ She produced the hazel wand of office which she carried, bearing the silver mounting of the stag rampant. This was the symbol of her authority as representative of her brother, the King.

‘Your credentials are without question, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Prince Donennach said. ‘Your reputation precedes you under whatever title you use – as, of course, does that of Eadulf your husband. Welcome, friend Eadulf. It has been some years since I was a young visitor to Cashel when we tried to negotiate a peace. I was glad of your healing knowledge then, my friend.’

It was true that Eadulf had taken the arrow from Donennach’s leg during an incident when Fidelma and he were investigating the mystery of a vanished member of the Abbey of Imleach. Eadulf had almost forgotten the event. He inclined his head gravely in acknowledgement. ‘That’s right. You were wounded by an arrow from a would-be assassin.’

‘And was nursed back to life by you,’ Prince Donennach said warmly. ‘Your powers helped me to recover.’ He paused and then continued: ‘Indeed, you are both welcome here, although in the circumstances I had hoped your brother and his Chief Brehon would be represented.’

‘I am here in their place. My brother, the King, whose regrets I bring to you, is detained with pressing matters …’ She noticed Donennach’s mouth lift slightly in a cynical gesture. ‘Aillin, our Chief Brehon, is also on an embassy to the High King in Tara. As this seems a matter of urgency, and one of very serious consequence, I am here to represent both their offices.’

‘One of those offices on your shoulders would be an enormous responsibility,’ said a new voice, ‘but to have to represent both …’

Fidelma turned towards the man who had made the observation.

‘This is my Brehon, Brehon Faolchair,’ the prince said.

‘We have not met.’ Fidelma regarded the man of middling years who took his place at the side of the prince. His hair was an unruly mass of ginger curls, his cheeks bright red above the pale white flesh around his neck. He looked to her as though laughter was more the normal expression on his features than the rather sombre cast of them now. ‘I hope I will be able to demonstrate to you that I am capable of sustaining both such offices,’ she said with dignity.

‘I am sure that you will, lady. I have heard much of you, Fidelma of Cashel, and,’ he gave a slight bow of his head to Eadulf, ‘much of your husband Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Your counsel in the predicament we now find ourselves in will be greatly appreciated.’

There was an ill-concealed snort of disdain from someone within a group of clerics to one side.

Without looking in the direction of the sound, Fidelma observed coldly: ‘Evidently, some do not see this either as a predicament or feel that my counsel should be appreciated.’

Prince Donennach looked at the group of clerics and said with weary resignation: ‘I believe that you have already met Abbot Nannid?’

Fidelma watched as the tall, gaunt figure of the Abbot of Mungairit moved forward. His pale face was unfriendly, the thin red lips twisted in a curious scowl, which suited his demeanour well. The man’s eyebrows met across the brow – a feature which Fidelma had long seen as a sign of a bad temper. His tiny ice-cold eyes bored into her with dislike.

‘We have met,’ Fidelma acknowledged quietly.

‘I see that Brother Eadulf is still your companion.’ The abbot emphasised the term ‘Brother’ as a subtle sneer.

‘As well you know, Abbot, Eadulf is my husband under the law,’ she returned, equally coldly.

‘I also see that Brother Eadulf still wears the tonsure of the Blessed Peter, which proclaims his allegiance to the rules and rituals of Rome. That allegiance seems strange in one who is now an obsequious servant of Cashel.’

Eadulf met the abbot’s mocking tones with an easy smile. ‘And I see that you still wear the tonsure of the Blessed John. Thus you proclaim your allegiance to the churches of the Five Kingdoms and the Faith that exists under the approval of the kings and laws of those Five Kingdoms. I personally find that strange in one who, I hear, is trying to abolish the laws of the Five Kingdoms in obsequious obedience of these curious rules from the east.’

Abbot Nannid’s lips twisted even more angrily. He was about to make some unpleasant rejoinder when another man moved forward to intervene. He walked with a slight limp, and leaned heavily on a blackthorn stick.

‘If there is a predicament here, lady, then let us pray that it is one we may resolve together,’ he said, his tone gentle but firm. Fidelma detected an iron quality in the voice and examined the newcomer with interest.

He was a short man, inclined to be fleshy, with nondescript brown hair and dark eyes. He wore the robes of a churchman and his hair grew in unruly tufts around the tonsure of the Blessed John. In spite of his plump build, his features were long and mournful – like a breed of dog that knew it had done wrong in the eyes of its master and was now waiting for some sign of forgiveness. His appearance was totally at odds with that tone of authority in his voice.

‘I am Cuan, lady,’ the man introduced himself before she could articulate the question. ‘Cuan of Imleach where I serve as airsecnap .’

‘We meet under trying circumstances, Prior Cuan,’ Fidelma greeted the man. He appeared to be half a head shorter than her and had to raise his dark eyes to meet her own. She wondered if the shortness was caused by him leaning so heavily on his stick. The prior saw the direction of her gaze and hastened to explain.

‘This is the result of an argument with a horse, lady,’ he told her. ‘I broke my leg some years ago when I fell from the beast. The break did not heal well and I was left with a limp and this stick as my permanent companion.’

‘I am sorry. Does it give you much discomfort?’

‘No discomfort, lady – just frustration that nowadays I have to limit my travels and confine myself to transport by a mule cart.’

‘Ah, I see. My brother and I were wondering why you had not yet come to visit us at Cashel.’

The prior hunched his shoulders in an expressive gesture.

‘It seems there has not been a suitable opportunity in the short time since I was appointed Abbot Segdae’s deputy.’ He hesitated and then added: ‘I must advise you, lady, that I was only appointed in a temporary capacity. It will be up to the derbhfine of the abbey to approve of me before the king and his council are then asked to endorse their decision.’

‘Of course. Yet you now stand in line to become abbot of the kingdom’s oldest and most influential abbey,’ she said.

Becoming aware of a certain restlessness in the atmosphere as the others waited for greetings to be exchanged, Cuan now turned to the man at his elbow. ‘Let me present the steward of Imleach, Brother Tuaman.’

Conri had called Brother Tuaman vain, Fidelma recalled, and the man who greeted her now was certainly overbearing. He was as tall as Conri and, if anything, of a more muscular build even than the warrior. In fact, his physical presence was enough to cause awe in anyone he met.

‘I think I recently saw you at my brother’s court,’ Fidelma said pleasantly. ‘But we were not formally introduced.’

‘You are most kind in remembering such a fleeting encounter,’ the tall steward said in a deep voice. ‘I attended Abbot Segdae on only one occasion when he visited Cashel.’