Our Lady of Darkness by Peter Tremayne

Fianamail.’
    Fidelma had turned to the door when Abbess Fainder’s voice, an odd-sounding staccato, stayed her.
    ‘Stop!’
    The abbess was still sitting in the same position, hands palm downward on the table. It seemed to Fidelma that her face had become like a mask; every line sharp and graven.
    Fidelma waited at the door.
    ‘Perhaps,’ the abbess seemed to struggle for a formula of words to
escape from the corner in which she found herself by Fidelma’s refusal to be intimidated, ‘perhaps I did not choose my words as well as I might have. Let me see the authority of Fianamail.’
    Fidelma returned to the desk and placed it once more before the austere woman. She said nothing. Fainder read it quickly, a frown momentarily passing over her features. Then she looked up at Fidelma.
    ‘I can raise no objections to the authority of the King. I only inform you of the way this abbey is governed and my aspiration to keep it governed by the Penitentials.’
    Having found a formula of words which suited her, Fainder’s voice was now back to its gentle reassuring level. Fidelma distrusted the tone immediately.
    ‘Then I have your leave to see Brother Eadulf and conduct my enquiry?’
    Abbess Fainder waved to the seat which Fidelma had recently vacated.
    ‘Reseat yourself, Sister, and let us discuss the matter of this Saxon. Why does he concern you?’
    ‘Justice concerns me,’ replied Fidelma, hoping that the hotness she felt in her cheeks was not mirrored by a flush of embarrassment at the question.
    ‘So you know this Saxon? Of course,’ again came the parting of the lips in a smile. ‘I heard that in Rome you were in the company of a Saxon Brother. Ah, perhaps he was the same person?’
    Fidelma reseated herself and regarded the abbess with an even gaze.
    ‘I have known Brother Eadulf since the conference at the Abbey of Whitby. This last year he has served as an emissary from Theodore of Tarsus, the Archbishop of Canterbury in the land of the Saxons, to my brother, the King of Cashel. I was sent by my brother to conduct his defence.’
    ‘Defence?’ Abbess Fainder sniffed. ‘You must have been informed that he has been found guilty and will be punished under the retribution laid down for his crime? The Penitentials prescribe execution which will be at noon tomorrow.’
    Fidelma leaned forward a little.
    ‘As he was an emissary of a King and a Bishop, he has rights under our laws which may not be violated. I have been given leave to investigate the case against him to see if there are grounds for appeal
in law, although obviously no appeal can be made against the desire I seem to feel in this place for vengeance.’
    Again Abbess Fainder’s face was set, controlling any reaction she might have had to Fidelma’s thrust.
    ‘Perhaps you do not know the nature of the terrible crime of which this Saxon has been found guilty?’
    ‘I have been told, Mother Abbess. The Brother Eadulf that I know could not have done the thing of which he has been accused.’
    ‘No?’ The dark face of Abbess Fainder was mocking. ‘How many mothers, sisters … lovers … of murderers have said as much before now?’
    Fidelma stirred uncomfortably. ‘I am not …’ she began. Then she raised her chin defiantly, determined not to be provoked. ‘I would like to start my enquiry as soon as possible.’
    ‘Very well. Sister Étromma is the stewardess of the abbey and she will assist you.’
    She reached out towards a hand-bell. Its clamour had scarcely died away when a religieuse entered. She was a short, fair-haired woman who was pleasantly featured but moved with quick, bird-like motions. She scurried rather than walked, hands concealed in the folds of her robes. It was the same woman who had greeted Fidelma at the abbey doors and conducted her to the Abbess Fainder’s chambers. Abbess Fainder addressed her.
    ‘Sister, you have already made the acquaintance of our … our distinguished visitor,’ Only the momentary hesitation