Fidelma found compassion welling for the young woman as the memories of her own youth drifted through her mind again.
‘Cian loves only Cian, Gorman,’ she said sternly. ‘He is incapable of loving anyone else. As for you, Cian, you may claim that you are not responsible for these atrocities, and you are correct so faras the law goes. However, the law is not always justice. You cannot neglect that moral responsibility which you bear. Your selfishness, your manipulation of people’s emotions, especially the emotions of young women, are your responsibility. You must answer for it eventually, if not soon then at some later stage in your life.’
Cian flushed in annoyance.
‘What is wrong with grasping at pleasure in this life? Have we all to become Roman ascetics and go into the desert as hermits? Why can’t we continue to live our lives filled with enjoyment?’
Brother Tola’s face mirrored his anger.
‘Thou shalt not kill, is the Commandment of the Lord. The woman is condemned but you, Cian, you have been the cause of this madness and you must stand condemned alongside her.’
Cian turned to him with derision.
‘Under whose law? Don’t dictate your narrow morals to me. They do not apply.’
Gorman stood with hunched shoulders, like a whipped dog; her arms wrapped round her body as if they gave her some comfort. She was rocking back and forth on her heels, sobbing.
‘I did this for you, Cian,’ she crooned softly. ‘Muirgel … Canair … I even killed Toca Nia to protect you from his wicked accusations. I would have killed her — Fidelma — and then Crella. They both meant you harm. You had to be protected. Without them we could have been together. They interfered with our happiness.’
Fidelma spoke softly, almost kindly, to her.
‘Perhaps you will tell us how you killed Sister Canair. I know part of the story from Guss; I would like to know the other part. Can you tell us?’
Gorman giggled. It was a chilling sound for it was the giggle of an innocent young girl.
‘He loved me. Cian loved me — I know it. “I will betroth you to me for ever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness …”!’
Fidelma dimly recalled the words. She thought they came from the Book of Hosea. There had been many quotations from Hosea.
‘Even if he denies it now, he loved me as I loved him. We would have married if … if these others had not ensnared him with their lust, and … and …’
Cian shrugged diffidently.
‘She is clearly demented,’ he muttered. ‘I wash my hands of this matter.’
‘Gorman!’ Fidelma turned sharply to the girl. ‘Tell us of the fate of Canair. When did you kill her?’
Somehow Fidelma’s coaxing tone pulled Gorman back from whatever darkness she was descending into and there came a few moments approaching sanity.
‘The night before we sailed, I killed her in the tavern at Ardmore.’
She gave the statement coldly, without emotion now, standing quite still, her eyes suddenly devoid of feeling as they stared at Cian.
‘All because Canair was having an affair with Cian?’ interposed Brother Tola.
The girl had a curious smile on her face.
‘Persuasively she led him on,
She pressed him with seductive words.
Like a simple fool he followed her,
Like an ox on its way to the slaughterhouse,
Like an antelope bounding into the noose,
Like a bird hurrying into the trap,
He did not know that he was risking his life …’
‘Stop that rubbish!’ Cian cried. ‘I have had enough of these nonsensical ramblings.’
Sister Ainder bent forward and chided him with a frosty look.
‘The Book of Proverbs is not rubbish, Brother Cian. You are unworthy to hear those words and not fit to wear the habit of a religieux.’
‘Do you think I ever wanted to wear these stupid rags?’ Cian shot back at her.
‘What I have heard today is disgusting,’ replied Sister Ainder. ‘If nothing else, I shall give all the details to the Abbot of Bangor. When you return to your Abbey, you will suffer by bell, book and candle, if I have anything to do with it.’
‘If I ever return to Bangor,’ sneered Cian.
Sister Gorman, in the meantime, was continuing to speak as if she had become oblivious to her surroundings.
Fidelma bent forward and spoke to her slowly and clearly.
‘Why did you kill Sister Canair?’ she demanded.
‘Canair seduced him, lured him away from me,’ she replied diffidently. ‘She had to die.’
Cian opened his mouth to protest but Fidelma waved him to silence and addressed the girl.
‘How did it happen? From what I know, Canair had left yourcompany before you reached Ardmore. The group all went on to the Abbey of St Declan to stay the night. You went with them, didn’t you?’
‘I overheard Canair arranging with Cian to meet him in the tavern later.’
Fidelma glanced back to Cian who simply shrugged.
‘It is true,’ he admitted. ‘Canair said she would be at the tavern after midnight, after she had seen her friend. That was the principal reason why she did not come to the Abbey. She went to see a friend who dwelt nearby. It was as an afterthought that we made arrangements to meet.’
‘Did you go to the tavern, Cian?’
There was a silence.
‘Did you go to meet Canair?’ pressed Fidelma.
Cian sullenly nodded as if reluctant to admit the fact.
‘What then?’
‘I reached the tavern when there were still people about. I wasn’t sure whether Canair had arrived and while I was hesitating outside I saw Muirgel and Guss arrive. From the way they were behaving, it seemed they had the same intention as Canair and me.’ Cian sniffed. ‘It was no business of mine. As I said, my affair with Muirgel was long over.’
‘Go on,’ Fidelma pressed when he paused.
‘I waited. The hour was late and Canair had not turned up. I decided to go back to the Abbey. That’s all.’
Fidelma waited expectantly.
Cian sat back and folded his arms with an air of finality.
‘You say that is all?’ asked Fidelma, slightly incredulously.
‘I went back to the Abbey,’ repeated Cian. ‘What else would I do?’
‘You weren’t worried when Canair did not turn up at your rendezvous?’
‘She was no child. She could make her own decisions as to whether or not she turned up.’
‘Didn’t you think it strange when Canair did not appear at the quay either, to take the boat the next morning? Why didn’t you raise an alarm?’
‘What alarm should I raise?’ he asked defensively. ‘Canair did not turn up, either at the rendezvous or at the quay, so what was I to do about that? It was her decision. I had no idea that she had been killed.’
‘But …’ For once Fidelma was left without words at the self centred attitude of Cian.
‘Anyway, what alarm was there to raise and with whom?’ he added.
Fidelma turned back to Gorman.
‘Can you tell us what happened at the tavern?’
Gorman looked at her with dull, unseeing eyes.
‘I was there as the right hand of God’s vengeance. Vengeance is-’
‘Did you go there to kill Canair?’ Fidelma interrupted her firmly.
‘Canair came to the inn. I was hiding in the shadows. She stood in the doorway for a while, looking about. She was waiting for Cian but he had already gone back to the Abbey. I watched him go. Then Canair seemed to make up her mind and she went in. I heard her ask in the tavern if anyone had asked for her, or if a religieux had taken a room. She was told that a male and female religieux had taken a room but when she was given a description, she lost interest. I stayed in the shadows listening. Eventually she took a room and went to it. I stood in the inn yard, wondering what to do. Then I saw a light at an upstairs window. There was Canair looking out, still hoping that Cian would turn up. I slid back into the shadows. She did not see me.’