‘The boatman went off happy with his spoils but he did not realise that Gabrán was no easy target. Gabrán followed the man from the inn,
caught up with him down by the quay and killed him. It would have been simple had not Daig been passing in the vicinity at the time. Gabrán had only time to run off and hide before Daig arrived. Daig actually heard his steps receding but chased him in the wrong direction. Daig’s other mistake was not checking the body thoroughly first.
‘When Daig went off chasing shadows, Gabrán returned to the body of his comrade and retrieved his money. He removed the distinctive gold chain that the crewman wore around his neck and returned to the inn where Daig later came to speak with him. I think Daig’s questions may have panicked him. He sought protection for his deed and went off to the abbey to see his employer. He demanded help or threatened to confess everything.
‘I can imagine that this person was not happy with developments. Perhaps the decision for the eventual removal of Gabrán was even made there and then. After all, the whole enterprise was being put in jeopardy by this evil little man.
‘But there was another problem and one which this terrible deed might help to solve. Brother Ibar was also a weak link in the chain. Oh yes,’ she said as a murmur arose, ‘Brother Ibar was part of this trade, but I believe that he was a wholly innocent part of it. He had been ordered to make manacles. He thought that they were shackles for animals. He told Eadulf as much, but he was growing suspicious as to their real purpose. And, of course, Ibar could identify the person who had ordered him to make those manacles. That same person now took the neck chain and money from Gabrán, assuring him of their return if he complied with the scheme.
‘The scheme was simple: they planted these items in Brother Ibar’s cell. The rest was up to Gabrán. He was instructed to tell Daig that Brother Ibar had tried to sell him the gold chain in the market and he had recognised it as the one worn by his crewman. A search was made of Brother Ibar’s cell and the planted evidence was found. That dealt with Brother Ibar.’
She paused, realising that she held all present spellbound by her story. She saw the scribes looking at her wide-eyed.
‘Verba volant, scripta manent
,’ she admonished sharply. ‘Spoken words fly away, written words remain.’ She wanted all this down in writing. It was a complicated tale and she did not want to repeat herself further. The scribes bent industriously to their tasks.
‘We have the saying that one should not count the eggs until one has
purchased the chicken. Perhaps it was something Gabrán said or that Ibar had told him, but Daig became suspicious that he had arrested the wrong man. Unthinking, Daig probably mentioned as much to Gabrán for, shortly afterwards, on a dark night on the same quay, Daig met his own death.’
‘Are you saying that Daig was murdered?’ protested Bishop Forbassach. ‘It is well-known that it was an accident. He fell, hit his head and drowned.’
‘I would argue that Daig was hit on the head, fell and drowned in that order, that is if he was not dead before he hit the water. The motive was to prevent him proceeding further with his suspicions.’
There was a pause while the resultant hubbub of sound rose and was then allowed to die away. The assembly turned almost as one towards Barrán. The chief scribe banged his staff for their attention.
‘Continue with your presentation, Fidelma,’ the Chief Brehon instructed. ‘I remind you that this is still conjecture.’
‘I am aware of it, Barrán, but I am sure that, at the end of my surmise, I shall bring forward those who will give testimony to the various foundations on which I make it. Thus I hope to confirm a picture that leaves no reasonable doubt in our minds.’
Barrán indicated that she should continue.
‘My unexpected arrival put a halt to some of the plans. It was realised that Fial would not stand up to close questioning from a
dálaigh
who was looking for faults in her story and so she was replaced on Gabrán’s boat. She had to be disposed of. However, Gabrán being the licentious man he was, decided to use the poor girl until he had grown tired of her. She was kept like an animal, manacled below deck.’
‘Until Fial killed him?’ interposed Abbot Noé quickly.
‘I have already said that she did not kill him,’ snapped Fidelma.
Barrán was irritated.
‘You should listen carefully to the
dálaigh’s
arguments, Abbot. Fidelma of Cashel has already stated this clearly.’ He turned to Fidelma. ’I have a question.’
Fidelma turned enquiringly.
‘All the while Brother Eadulf and Brother Ibar were alive they were surely a danger because they might prove their innocence or let out some vital information which might lead a thinking person to investigate. Under our own laws, without a death penalty, it would be worthless
to lay the guilt on another as there would always be a chance that they could demonstrate their innocence …’
‘But who questions the innocence of a dead man?’ queried Fidelma sharply.
‘So, does the fact that Abbess Fainder insisted on punishment by the Penitentials, meaning execution, have anything to do with this matter? Does the fact that Bishop Forbassach, apparently forgetting his oath as a brehon, agreed with the abbess relate to this matter? If so, we must bring into account the fact that Abbot Noé influenced King Fianamail to accept the Penitentials in place of the Law of the Fénechus.’
Fidelma did not bother to look at the opposite benches.
‘It has everything to do with it, Barrán. The plan to lay the blame on Eadulf and Ibar rested on the end result that they would be executed.
Mortui non mordent!
’
Barrán looked grim.
‘Dead men don’t bite,’ he repeated, savouring the phrase.
Before the murmurs of surprise rose, Fidelma continued: ‘The plan might have worked out, in spite of my appearance, had it not been for the
bó-aire
of Cam Eolaing.’
Coba glanced up in surprise. He had been sitting in an attitude of close attention.
‘What had I to do with this?’
‘You are against the use of the Penitentials. But neither Bishop Forbassach nor Abbess Fainder realised just how much against them you were nor how far you would be prepared to go in support of the legal system of this kingdom.’
Coba grimaced ruefully.
‘I am too old to embrace new philosophies. What is it that the Brehons say? The soft twig is more durable than the stubborn tree.’
‘Eadulf owes his life to your stubbornness, Coba. You did the one thing that no one was expecting by rescuing Eadulf and giving him sanctuary.’
‘For which you will be accountable,’ muttered Bishop Forbassach with a sideways glance of anger.
‘Not so,’ Barrán intervened sharply. ‘Defence of the law is no crime.’
Bishop Forbassach glowered with hatred at the Chief Brehon but he wisely said nothing further.
‘However,’ Fidelma went on as if the interruption had not occurred, ‘it made me suspicious of you for a while, Coba. You had given Eadulf
sanctuary and then claimed that he had abused it and escaped. Thus he could be shot down at will. I knew that there was a good reason for Eadulf to leave the confines of the
maighin digona.
He understood the law well. I thought it might have been you who had tricked him into leaving the sanctuary. It was not until I spoke with Eadulf a short while ago that I realised you had no hand in the matter.’
Coba looked uncertain and then shrugged. ‘For that, I am glad.’
‘It was Gabrán again, but this time acting on the orders of his employers who had found out where Eadulf was. Gabrán went to Cam Eolaing. He knew a warrior there called Dau, who was in Coba’s service. Dau could be bought and was. Gabrán killed the guard at the gate, hid the body behind it and then, pretending to be acting for you, Coba, he told Eadulf he was free to go. But things do not always proceed according to plan. When Gabrán and Dau tried to shoot Eadulf down, he eluded them and escaped into the hills. Now things began to get really complicated for the puppet-master.’
‘Puppet-master?’ The Chief Brehon was frowning at the unusual expression.
Fidelma smiled apologetically. ‘You’ll forgive me, Barrán. It refers to an entertainment I saw on pilgrimage to Rome. I mean one who manipulates others but is unseen. We have the old expression
seinm cruitte dara hamarc.
’
The ancient proverbial expression she used related to one playing a harp without being seen.
‘How did this … er, puppet-master, know Eadulf had been given sanctuary in my fortress?’ demanded Coba.
‘You told them.’
‘Told them?
Me?
’
‘You are a careful and moral man, Coba. You obey the Law of the Fénechus. You told me that as soon as you took action and granted Eadulf sanctuary you had sent a messenger to the abbey.’
‘That is correct. He was to tell the abbess that I had granted the Saxon sanctuary.’
‘Lies!’ shouted Abbess Fainder. ‘I received no such message.’
Coba looked at her sorrowfully and shook his head.
‘My messenger returned from the abbey and confirmed that the message had been delivered.’
Every eye in the assembly now turned towards the shaken abbess.
‘I knew it,’ stormed Bishop Forbassach, rising in anger from his seat again. ‘This is some plot to attack and slander Abbess Fainder. I will not tolerate it.’
‘I have no plot to involve Abbess Fainder any more than she is involved,’ replied Fidelma quietly. ‘I did have suspicions, especially when I gathered that, since coming to the abbey, Fainder has acquired much wealth.’
‘Barrán! I accuse this woman of persecution!’ cried Abbot Noé, also rising from his seat. ‘We cannot sit by while she criticises Abbess Fainder in this fashion.’
‘I have said that—’ began Fidelma.
‘Deny it!’ screamed the abbess, suddenly losing control of her temper. ‘You are trying to trap me in your web of lies!’ It was some time before she was persuaded to regain her composure. When calm was restored, Barrán addressed himself to Fidelma.
‘It does sound as though you are leading up to an accusation of Abbess Fainder’s guilt. You point out that it was essential that the punishment of death as prescribed by the Penitentials was enacted. You point out that Abbess Fainder insisted on that and for reasons best known to himself the Brehon Forbassach agreed and persuaded the King to give his approval. You keep mentioning this, this puppet-master – as you call him – as being a member of the abbey community. Who better to be at the centre of the terrible web which you describe than the abbess herself? And now you claim, as if with significance, that she has become wealthy since arriving at the abbey?’
‘Lies! Lies! Lies!’ cried the abbess, banging her fist on the wooden arm of her chair. She had to be calmed again by Bishop Forbassach.
‘Abbess Fainder is indirectly responsible for much of what has happened here and we must now deal with that matter. But I have already shown that she did not kill Gabrán.’
A rumble of noise came from those present. Barrán called immediately for silence.
‘In fact,’ went on Fidelma, ‘it could be said that Abbot Noé was more indirectly responsible than anyone else.’
The abbot shot up from his seat in a belligerent posture.
‘Me? You dare accuse me of being involved in murder and this terrible trade in young girls?’
‘I did not say that. I said you were
indirectly
responsible for what happened here. For some time now you have been converting to the philosophies of Rome. I realised that your conversion must have occurred when you first met with Fainder in Rome.’
‘I’ll not deny my conversion to the Penitentials,’ muttered Noé, reseating himself but placing himself in a defensive posture.
‘Do you deny that Fainder exercised a strong influence over you, persuaded you to bring her back to Laigin and appoint her abbess while you invited Fianamail to make you his spiritual adviser, thereby giving you a power throughout the whole kingdom?’
‘That is your interpretation.’
‘It is the facts of the matter. You went so far as to overrule the system of appointments in the abbey in order that Fainder could be made abbess. You claimed she was a distant cousin; she was not, but no one seemed to challenge the appointment, not even when they knew that Fainder bore no relationship to you. Once Fainder was abbess she ruled the community by the Penitentials. You were besotted by her.
You
started the process, Noé. The ground on which the laws were changed and these events were able to happen was sown by you through your infatuation with this woman.’
‘How do you know that Fainder is not related to Noé?’ asked Barrán quickly. ‘And where does this question of her new wealth come into the story?’
‘Her sister is Deog, widow of the watchman Daig,’ explained Fidelma. ‘Deog told me about her sister’s new-found wealth. Fainder frequently visited Deog but, alas, it was no sisterly love that caused the abbess to ride to her sister’s cabin so regularly, was it, Forbassach?’
Bishop Forbassach’s face crimsoned under her gaze.
‘You also became a very recent convert to the use of the Penitentials, didn’t you?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Do you want to tell us why?’
For the first time in the proceedings, the Brehon of Laigin was silent before her question.
It was Abbess Fainder who answered. She was broken and trying to suppress her sobs.
‘Forbassach’s love for me had nothing to do with his embracing true Christian law,’ she cried defensively. ‘He became an advocate for the Penitentials based on logic, not on our love for one another.’
A cry of outrage rang out and a woman was led outside from the back of the hall by two other women. Forbassach half-rose but Fidelma gestured for him to reseat himself.
‘That is something you will have to sort out with your wife later, Forbassach,’ she said. Fainder’s eyes were fixed with malignance on her but she met their gaze without rancour.
‘The new wealth was merely an over-abundance of gifts from both Forbassach and Noé, isn’t that so? They were showering you with presents in an effort to court you.
Amantes sunt amentes.
Lovers are lunatics.’
The look on the face of the abbess was enough to frighten a lesser person. Forbassach was clearly embarrassed by the revelations but was not demonstrating guilt. Abbot Noé sat in silence, completely stunned by these revelations. Even Fidelma felt a pang of remorse that she had revealed Fainder’s duplicity to him. He was obviously so intoxicated by the abbess that the idea that Forbassach was also her lover was like a knife-wound.
‘At least my deduction that you were not guilty, Fainder, was confirmed when you fainted at Cam Eolaing when I pointed out that the person behind this evil was someone with a high rank at the abbey. You fainted because you thought that I was referring to one of your lovers.
But which
?’
Abbess Fainder’s face was red with mortification.
‘If I follow your reasoning, Fidelma,’ interrupted Barrán, ‘you are saying that Abbess Fainder did not kill Gabrán. Yet you also say that Fial did not kill Gabrán. Who did, then – and was it by Abbess Fainder’s orders?’
‘Let me lead to it in my own way,’ Fidelma pleaded, ‘for I have never come across such a complicated conspiracy. Our puppet-master was beginning to panic at the increasing number of deaths that were occurring following in the wake of Gabrán’s first crime. Things were not working out as expected. Each attempt to cover up the guilty led to an even worse disaster. As I said, it was decided that Gabrán had to be silenced and the trade ended – for a while at least. The person designated to kill Gabrán was due to leave the abbey to visit a relative who lived nearby where Gabrán’s boat had been moored. Gabrán was waiting for
his new cargo. Two girls were to be picked up that morning. The killer set off to find Gabrán’s boat not realising, perhaps, that Abbess Fainder was a short distance behind him.
‘He arrived at the boat and found Gabrán having sent one of his men into the hills to collect his merchandise. The arrival of the girls on the boat always took place in a secluded spot. Most of Gabrán’s crew were given money and told to take the asses, which drew the boat along the river to this point, and not return until the next day. While they were away, the girls would arrive and only one or two of the crew would know of their existence.
‘Our killer found Gabrán apparently alone. He killed him with the powerful stroke of a sword on his neck. The killer then had to wait, presumably to kill the other man when he arrived with the young girls. He would probably have killed them as well so that all the mouths were shut. However, the killer then saw the abbess approaching along the bank. There was no alternative but to leave hurriedly. He went into the hills. Perhaps he thought that Gabrán’s man and the girls might be encountered on the road and the murders completed. When he could not find the man and the girls, the killer continued on to the relative that they had promised to visit.
‘Back on Gabrán’s boat, unbeknown to anyone, in the tiny cabin where she had been a prisoner for several days, poor little Fial had freed herself from her foot constraints. Not knowing what had happened, she climbed up into Gabrán’s cabin and saw him lying dead on the floor. Her first thought was to break for freedom and she grabbed the key that she knew opened her wrist manacles.
‘Then she paused as a great rage welled up in her. She seized a knife and dragged Gabrán’s head up by the hair and plunged the little knife into his chest and arms in a frenzy of anger. He was already dead and no mortal wounds were struck. It was an expression of rage only for all the harm and hurt he had done to her. Then there came a knock at the cabin door. The abbess had by this time come aboard. Startled, Fial dropped both Gabrán and the knife, and fled back into her hole, grabbing a handful of keys as she did so. The abbess entered.
‘Fial eventually found the right key among the four she had taken, escaped through the length of the ship into the hold, climbed up onto the deck and jumped into the water. She was swept away downriver until she was able to climb out, but then found herself pursued by Forbassach and Mel.’
‘It is a good reconstruction, Fidelma,’ observed Barrán. ‘Do we come near to proving any of it? Some of it I can see has the weight of evidence from Fial and the abbess, but what of this mysterious killer? And how do you know about the relative in the hills?’
‘It is not so mysterious. Thanks to what Brother Eadulf has told me of his adventures, we can identify this man.’
‘The Saxon? How can he identify the killer? He was already a fugitive,’ asked Barrán.
‘Brother Eadulf found hospitality with a blind recluse named Dalbach.’
Fianamail stirred for the first time since the proceedings began. He sat up suddenly.
‘Dalbach? But he is a cousin of mine! He is my relative!’
Barrán smiled thinly at him before turning to Fidelma.
‘Are you saying that it was the King of Laigin himself who was visiting his cousin that day?’
Fidelma sighed impatiently.
‘Dalbach told Eadulf that his relative was one of the religious at the abbey of Fearna. The identity was obvious.’
When no one responded and made what seemed to Fidelma the obvious identification she continued testily.
‘Very well, let me lead you further. Dalbach obviously made the mistake of confiding to his cousin that he had given Eadulf hospitality. Willingly or unwillingly, he told that cousin that he had recommended that Eadulf should seek sanctuary that night on the Yellow Mountain. This relative of Dalbach’s, realising that Eadulf’s death was vital to the plan to hide the traces of this conspiracy, rode for the Yellow Mountain.’ She paused and looked at Fianamail. ‘You were at your hunting lodge which was close by the community of the Blessed Brigid, where Eadulf had taken the two girls. In the middle of the night, someone arrived to inform you where Eadulf might be.’
Many eyes had fallen on Abbot Noé but Fianamail was looking askance.
‘It was my cousin, my cousin …’
Brother Cett had made a curious animal cry and was trying to fight his way out of the hall. It took four of Barrán’s guards to restrain the big, powerful man.
Fidelma spread her hands.
‘Quod erat demonstrandum.
It was Brother Cett. I knew he was your
cousin, Fianamail, and when Eadulf told me only Dalbach had known where he was hiding last night and that Dalbach was also related to the royal family of the Uí Cheinnselaig and further, has a cousin who was a religieux at Fearna, I simply put two and two together. For further proof, if you examine Brother Cett’s robe, you will probably find that it has a tear and is frayed at a point about fifty centimeters from the hem.’
A warrior bent to examine the area and sprang up to give confirmation to Barrán.
Fidelma took out some frayed strands of wool from her
marsupium
. ‘I think these will match his garment. Cett caught his robe on a nail in Gabrán’s cabin.’
It was confirmed in a few moments.
‘Only a strong man like Cett could deliver that upward blow that killed Gabrán, not a weak girl like Fial nor even the abbess.’
There was a murmur of applause among those in the hall. It was interrupted by Bishop Forbassach’s cynical tones. He had recovered something of his old aplomb and he was looking for revenge. He was actually chuckling.
‘You are doubtless very clever, Fidelma, but not that clever. The religious who was aboard the boat when Fial was instructed to lie was not Brother Cett, otherwise the girl would have remarked on the burly build of the man. In fact, she denied it was the same person.’
There was a moment of silent anticipation while everyone looked towards Fidelma.
‘Let me congratulate you on your perception, Forbassach,’ she acknowledged. ‘It is a shame that such close scrutiny of evidence was singularly lacking when you made your examinations of Eadulf and Ibar before you sentenced them to death.’
Bishop Forbassach let out a bark of angry laughter.
‘Insult does not disguise the fact that your story does not scan. Fianamail will forgive me when I observe that Cett is not the brightest member of his family. Apart from the difference in description, the very idea of Cett being able to be the … what did you call it? … the puppet-master – that is blatant nonsense!’ And Forbassach sat back with a satisfied smirk.