‘My men laid no hand on him,’ snapped Garb.
Werferth had dismounted and came with confirmation of the facts.
‘Lord Sigeric,’ he said, ‘we rode after the abbot, who made for the marshlands near here. We had no chance of catching up with him. He came to the marsh, flung himself from his horse and leapt into a bog.’ The man shrugged. ‘He had gone under by the time we reached it. There was nothing we could do.’
Sigeric exhaled in a long, deep sigh.
‘Then Abbot Cild is dead by his own hand?’
‘Sunk into the bog, lord. No other man was involved in his death.’
‘Exactly as Gélgeis met her end,’ said Garb. ‘He has gone to join her in the shifting mud of the marsh.’
‘Hob’s Mire. A fitting end. A fitting end.’ It was the mournful voice of the dominus, Brother Willibrod, who had joined them unnoticed.
‘An end too easy for a murderer,’ replied Garb. ‘I will report this to my father.’
He turned and strode into the chapel, followed by his companions.
Fidelma turned to Werferth.
‘Are you sure that Cild has met his end in the marshlands? There is no possibility that he could have escaped from the bog?’
The warrior glanced nervously at Sigeric, as if waiting for his permission to respond to her. Then he inclined his head.
‘I swear to it. I was a witness. There was nothing that could be done. I saw him jump into the mire and by the time the foreigner and I reached the spot there were but bubbles on the surface.’
‘Very well,’ said Sigeric. ‘You are a good tracker, Werferth. The men will remain here, but see if you can follow the tracks of half a dozen riders who have recently left here. You should pick up their trail from the back of the abbey. They are Mercianwarriors. Higbald leads them. I want to know where they are or in what direction they have gone. Be absolutely vigilant. They might be waiting in ambush or they might be planning an attack on the abbey.’
If Werferth was surprised, he did not show it, but went quickly to his horse and left through the abbey gates.
Aldhere was now standing with a forced smile on his lips. He seemed to have made a quick recovery from the news of his brother’s suicide.
‘So Cild has met a fitting end, eh? In which case, there is no need for my men and me to stay.’
Fidelma eyed him coldly. ‘On the contrary, as I said before, there is every need. We have yet to finish summing up this mystery. Please, go back to the chapel.’
He shrugged but did not argue with her orders.
Fidelma, Eadulf and Sigeric walked slowly after him.
‘Does Cild’s death end the threat of this troscud by Gadra?’ asked Eadulf.
‘No. But the truth must come out even though it is unpalatable to him,’ replied Fidelma inscrutably.
They entered the chapel and took up their positions. There was a restlessness among the assembly that had not been there before. Gadra and his followers were talking among themselves.
‘Gadra!’ cried Fidelma, stilling their murmurs. ‘You have heard that Abbot Cild has taken his own life, plunging into the bog in his insanity. Do you now call off your troscud?’
Gadra stood up. ‘While the news is greeted as a just and fitting end to a base and evil life, I am still left without a daughter. I have told you before that if Cild was unable to compensate me for her honour price then his family, that is this abbey, is responsible. The troscud goes on until I am recompensed for the loss of my daughter.’
Fidelma sighed softly.
‘You are a hard man, Gadra.’
‘I am Gadra of the UíBriúin, chieftain of Maigh Eo!’ he replied with dignity.
‘So be it.’ Fidelma paused. ‘I said, when I started, that I would take matters step by step. Lord Sigeric, will you lead the way tothe crypt where the body of the girl slaughtered by Abbot Cild has been laid out?’
The old man rose, his features expressing his perplexity, but he had long since given up any hope of following Fidelma’s argument.
‘Gadra, Garb — I want you both to accompany us. Also, I want you, Brother Willibrod, and you, Bother Redwald, to come. You all knew Gélgeis and the girl called Lioba.’
Eadulf was instructed to see that no one left the chapel in their absence.
In grim procession they proceeded down the short flight of steps to the crypt. On a stone slab, the girl’s body had been laid out ready for burial.
Gadra and Garb gave a gasp as they saw her red hair and slim pale figure.
‘By the …’ began Gadra, moving quickly forward, and then he sighed, shaking his head. ‘There is a superficial resemblance, Fidelma, but you are wrong if you thought that this was my daughter. I do not know who this poor girl was but I know that it is not Gélgeis.’
Brother Redwald, at Fidelma’s firm prompting, bent forward and his face was crimson.
‘Well?’ she pressed him. ‘What have you to say?’
The boy look anguished.
‘In the shadows, I swore … she does look so like. Maybe I imagined the likeness when she was leaning over you in the chamber.’
‘But this is not Gélgeis as you remember her?’
The boy shook his head.
Fidelma swung round to Brother Willibrod.
‘But you can confirm that it is Lioba, can’t you?’
Brother Willibrod was doing his best to control his features and stop his lips trembling. He nodded. Then he gave a long sob.
‘That is Lioba. There was never any question of its being Gélgeis. I loved Lioba. Now let us be gone from this place and I will tell you what you want to know.’
Back in the chapel, Fidelma explained.
‘The girl is not Gélgeis but a local girl called Lioba who bearsa superficial resemblance to Gélgeis,’ she announced. She turned to Brother Willibrod. ‘Do you confirm this?’
He stood with his head hung low as everyone resumed their seats.
‘Several in this abbey knew Lioba. She was the daughter of a farmer up in the hills behind the abbey while her mother had been a slave taken in a raid on the shores of Éireann.’
‘She spoke both languages?’ queried Eadulf. ‘Irish as well as Saxon?’
Brother Willibrod nodded.
‘And you were her lover? You disobeyed the rule of celibacy that Abbot Cild was trying to enforce?’
Again the dominus hung his head and nodded.
‘How often did Lioba come to the abbey?’ went on Eadulf after Fidelma had indicated that he should continue with his questions.
‘Come to the abbey?’ Brother Willibrod shrugged. ‘Now and again. Not often. But I used to meet her at her father’s hut, some way from here in the woods.’
‘Think about this question carefully, Brother Willibrod,’ Eadulf urged. ‘Let your mind and not your emotions answer it, for I think you had great emotions for this poor girl.’
Willibrod’s eyes flashed a moment.
‘I do,’ he muttered.
‘What sort of things did you discuss with Lioba? Was she interested in events at the abbey? Was she interested in anyone else here?’
‘What are you saying?’ cried Brother Willibrod, suddenly angry.
‘What I am saying,’ Eadulf calmly replied, ‘is that some local people thought that Lioba sold her favours not merely to the brethren but to Aldhere’s men.’
‘It’s a lie! A lie!’ cried the outraged dominus. ‘She loved me. True, I gave her little gifts. She was alone. She had to get the wherewithal to be able to live, but you are suggesting that she was … suggesting that she was a …’ He broke down into outraged sobbing.
Eadulf was not deterred.
‘Come, Brother Willibrod. Isn’t it true that Lioba used toask you many questions about what was happening within the abbey?’
Receiving no reply, Eadulf suddenly turned to Aldhere.