Peter Tremayne - Penance of the Damned

‘A gloomy night,’ he greeted – but it was not to the weather that he was referring.

‘Melancholy enough,’ Fidelma replied, making her voice sound despondent.

‘Is Eadulf not with you?’

‘He has already gone to our chamber with some disturbance of the stomach. Probably something he ate earlier,’ she lied. She hoped the warlord could not read her expression in the fading light. Then, sensing that Conri wanted to say something more but seemed inhibited, she said to Aibell, ‘Perhaps you could go to our chamber to see how Eadulf is feeling? And ask if he intends to join us in the hall before we retire.’

The girl nodded and they watched her scurrying away across the courtyard. Then Conri turned to Fidelma.

‘My rider has returned from Mungairit,’ he announced quietly. ‘He is accompanied by someone he met who had just fled from the Hill of Truth. You will meet them both tomorrow. I think you’ll find his news interesting.’

‘You had best tell me now the essence of that news,’ Fidelma instructed him, excited in spite of herself.

‘In short, Nannid is no longer the Abbot of Mungairit. Neither is Brother Cuineain his steward there. They left the abbey six or more months ago having been dismissed by the derbhfine . After the conspiracy that you uncovered, the abbey council decided that they could not place their trust in Nannid or his steward.’

Fidelma felt a growing relief. ‘I had begun to suspect as much since Nannid has spent so many months here trying to create a new community in the township. But this does not help us in the current matter. Nannid is an astute debater. He will doubtless argue that he is now Abbot of Nechta and can still claim entitlement to demand punishment under these Penitentials. Don’t let your rider relay this news to anyone else, not even Prince Donennach or Brehon Faolchair. I will know when the time is right.’

Conri said in surprise, ‘Don’t you think it might help at all? You realise that Gorman’s death is inevitable at noon tomorrow?’

‘Even if Nannid can only call himself Abbot of Nechta, he still has enough influence among the Ui Fidgente to stir them up against Prince Donennach. I think that has been his intention all along.’

‘But surely this might make some difference?’

‘No, not of itself. You mentioned that your messenger encountered someone on his return – someone from the Hill of Truth?’

The warlord nodded grimly. ‘It was the religieux, Brother Feradach. He confirms that he had gone there on behalf of Mungairit to meet with Nannid. However, he saw the encampment of the men from Sliabh Luachra and fled.’

Fidelma said thoughtfully, ‘That just supports Nannid’s version of why he went to the Hill of Truth. Again, it does not help the situation with Gorman.’

‘I know, I know.’ Conri hunched his shoulders in a despairing gesture. ‘There must be some way to help him!’

‘I wish there was.’

‘Perhaps there is. I mean …’ Conri spoke awkwardly. ‘Well, when Gorman escaped from here, I had my duty to fulfil, my allegiance to Prince Donennach to try to recapture him. When Gorman continued to evade us, I began to realise that it was probably the best solution to this problem.’

‘But it was not a permanent solution. The dilemma would still face Prince Donennach.’

‘I mean, what I am trying to say is that if Gorman could escape again and go back to Cashel, it would be better than being killed here. I do not think Prince Donennach would insist that his warriors should pursue him too diligently.’

‘It would still be a problem.’

The warlord looked anxious. ‘This evening I have been speaking with Prince Donennach. If Gorman does hang tomorrow, I don’t want there to be another war between us.’

‘That prospect is one that must be avoided,’ she agreed.

‘Yet I am warlord of the Ui Fidgente and must make preparations for that very prospect. I do not want to send out my riders bearing the fiery cross to summon the clans to the service of Donennach. But once the news of Gorman’s death spreads to Cashel, your brother will have no option but to gather his fighting men. Then he will march on our borders.’

‘My brother is no hothead, Conri,’ Fidelma replied. ‘He would be open to reasonable negotiation – but he would want restitution under the law, and I mean the laws of the Five Kingdoms. I think we both know well that someone is trying to provoke a war here, and it is not the Eoghanacht. However, I have understood what you have said.’

‘Very well, lady. I shall say no more about the news from Mungairit until you tell me that I may do so.’

‘For that, I am grateful. But I fear things will not end until we have resolved this matter under law and discovered the causes behind it.’

Conri raised a hand to his forehead in farewell as she continued on her way to the great hall. There, she rejoined Aibell.

The only other people in the hall were Prior Cuan and Brother Mac Raith; while in one corner sat Airmed, the physician, with Brother Tuaman, the steward of Imleach. Between them was a fidchell board, the popular game of wooden wisdom, which needed a sharp eye and plenty of concentration. They were sipping at drinks as they played. Fidelma crossed to examine the arrangement of pieces on their board; she was particularly adept at the game.

‘Have a care, Brother Tuaman,’ she warned, seeing the alignment of the pieces. ‘You will be in danger soon from Airmid’s defence.’

They looked up and acknowledged Fidelma. Then, with a frown, Brother Tuaman peered closely at his opponent’s pieces and spotted the danger that Fidelma had observed. ‘Airmid was always good at defensive play even when she a student,’ he beamed.

Airmid stood up abruptly. ‘Enough of the game,’ she said, glancing to the door. ‘Where is Brother Eadulf?’

‘He has retired early to our chamber. Something he ate earlier disagreed with him,’ responded Fidelma.

‘Do you want me to attend him?’ Airmid asked at once.

‘I think Eadulf has enough healing knowledge to deal with his condition,’ Fidelma said to deflect Airmid’s concern. ‘He always says that water is a great purge but sleep is a greater healer.’

‘The girl also seems unwell,’ Airmid said, casting a glance to where Aibell fidgeted restlessly at one side of the hall. Fidelma was concerned. It was a matter of Gorman’s life or death. If his young wife remained in the hall, she would certainly draw more attention to herself.

‘No doubt she is feeling the strain of her husband’s fate,’ Fidelma said carefully. Then, going over to Aibell, she said in a carrying voice, ‘You look tired, Aibell. We don’t want you going down with an illness like Eadulf. I suggest you withdraw to our chamber and try to rest. You can do no good here.’

The girl muttered something inaudible and stumbled off towards the stairway to the guests’ rooms.

Fidelma was aware of Airmid standing at her side. ‘She is young,’ Fidelma said, ‘and these despondent days will gradually fade. It is often said that the passing of time is a great help.’

‘Such advice is difficult to accept when your husband is about to be executed.’ The dry comment was made by Brother Mac Raith, who had moved to warm himself by the fire.

‘I agree,’ Airmid said. ‘It is sad that such things have come to pass.’

‘Your brother could intervene,’ observed Prior Cuan a little sourly, entering the conversation. He had been sitting before the fire, absorbed in watching the dancing flames.

‘I will not argue with you on that,’ agreed Prince Donennach’s sister. ‘If it is worth anything, I did advise him to take a stronger stand on the matter. He seems fearful of another effusion of blood, given that too much of ours has been shed over the years of the conflict with the Eoghanacht.’