A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER TWELVE

The squeal of a hunting horn came faintly through the gloom of the dark oak trees of the forest and the surrounding thick brush.

Gormán bent forward in his saddle, listening for a moment.

‘The dogs have made contact,’ he announced in satisfaction.

They could hear the hounds taking up the cry and suddenly the noise was joined by the sound of several horns echoing through the forest. The short staccato blasts rose to a volume that left no one in any doubt that the quarry had been sighted.

In front of them, Colgú raised his bir, his hunting spear, and gave a cry, leading the way forward. From almost a standstill, the horses of the hunters sprang into a canter that was soon a gallop.

‘Best take it easy,’ cried Gormán but, undeterred, Eadulf dug his heels into his mount.

‘I don’t want to lose contact with Muirchertach,’ he called.

Although he was the first to proclaim that he had little ability on horseback, he bent forward along his horse’s neck, his thighs tightening against its flanks, hands gripping the reins close into the neck, trying not to yank on the leather leads or hold them so tightly that they restricted the nodding motion of the beast’s great head as it moved forward after the others. He tried to focus on the piebald of Muirchertach but soon his own mount’s flying mane obscured his vision. He clung on and hoped that the horse knew where it was going.

Now and then low branches, and even bushes growing along the side of the track, seemed to rush towards Eadulf as if to strike him from his mount, but the horse seemed to pass them by easily with Eadulf clinging on firmly, almost lying on top of the animal’s broad back. He could just hear the thunder of Gormán’s mount behind him but he dared not raise his head to look back. He was trying to focus on the horses before him.

Soon the crowd of nobles began to draw ahead, in spite of the best efforts of Eadulf’s horse, which seemed aware of its rider’s limitations. At one point the track narrowed so much that the beast itself decided to slow the pace without any help from Eadulf. When it emerged into a clearing, with no sign of the riders ahead, Eadulf finally managed to halt it. Gormán came up behind him in a moment.

‘I’ve lost them,’ Eadulf said in disgust.

Gormán cocked his head to one side, listening. ‘I think that they’ve split up. Some have gone down that path to your left, some to the right.’

There came the sound of staccato calls on the horn to the right. They sounded close by.

‘That way!’ cried Eadulf, turning his mount. It responded immediately, believing another canter was required of it. But this time Eadulf kept to a steady, controlled trot, Gormán at his side.

The trees soon began to thin out and they came to shrubland, then open fields crossing the hills where crops had been planted. Stone hedges bordered some of the fields. Not far ahead of them, he saw some of the hunters on horseback and nearby some of the dog handlers and their hounds. The yelping of the hounds combined with the cries of encouragement from the men. They seemed to be surrounding something.

Then the something suddenly shot out of their encirclement.

A big, dark shape began to race directly towards where Eadulf’s horse was trotting forward. He caught sight of a great muscular animal with heavy shoulders, as tall as a large hound with four times the bulk. He saw sharp white tusks protruding from an open, snorting mouth, and sharp red pinpricks of eyes.

His horse reared back with a whinny of fright.

So suddenly did it happen that Eadulf found himself dislodged from his seat and tumbling back over the rump of his horse, hitting the ground with such force that the breath was knocked from him.

He heard shouts and cries of alarm from all sides.

He blinked, trying to recover his senses, and a strange feral smell assailed his nostrils. It was the fetid breath of a wild beast. He opened his eyes and was aware of the black bulk of something standing almost over him. He registered a red eye, pink gums, sharp yellow teeth and curved tusks.

He shut his eyes quickly and it seemed that his blood froze.

Then came a sound as if a hand was smacking flesh. An appalling squeal in his ear, and he felt the bulk shifting. It moved with astonishing agility. He could hear the grunting and squealing fading rapidly. He opened his eyes and it was gone. Then someone was pulling him upright into a sitting position. It was Gormán.

‘Are you hurt, Brother Eadulf?’

Eadulf, still sitting, examined his extremities carefully before, with Gormán’s help, he climbed slowly to his feet.

‘Bruised and winded,’ he replied in disgust.

He was aware of cries, yells and a band of riders galloping swiftly by. Behind them came running the men on foot with the hounds giving full cry. Then Eadulf and Gormán were alone again.

‘What, by all that is holy, was that?’ Eadulf asked, shaking his head.

Gormán grinned. ‘You have just encountered a wild boar. It nearly did for you.’

Eadulf shuddered. ‘What distracted it? I thought it had me.’

‘I smacked it across the snout with my sword and it turned off. Then the hunters came up. They have chased it back into the forest. I suspect that if it keeps in the cover of the trees and undergrowth, it will elude them.’

Eadulf rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head this way and that to ensure there was no damage from his fall. Then he remembered what he was there for.

‘Was Muirchertach with them?’ he inquired anxiously.

‘I didn’t see him,’ replied Gormán.

‘Devil’s teeth,’ swore Eadulf, annoyed.

Gormán mounted his animal again and waited while Eadulf clambered back into the saddle of his own horse.

‘Muirchertach may have gone off with the other group, when they divided back at the clearing,’ he suggested.

‘Let’s go and find him, then.’

They retraced their path back to the clearing, and as they reached it they saw a horse and rider coming along the path. It was the slight figure of a woman. She suddenly tugged on the reins of her horse as she noticed them and then, as if wanting to avoid them, plunged off along an adjoining path and quickly vanished.

‘One of the women following the hunt,’ muttered Gormán, ‘but I think she is going in the wrong direction. Shall I go after her?’

‘She is moving pretty rapidly,’ replied Eadulf, adding: ‘Did you notice who she was?’

Gormán shook his head.

‘That was Sister Marga, one of those who came with Abbot Ultán,’ Eadulf said. ‘I thought I recognised the horse. . that is the same horse that Ultán arrived on.’

Gormán pulled a face, expressing his disapproval. ‘Obviously, Sister Marga does not believe in following the proprieties. One would expect a time of mourning after her superior’s death.’

He suddenly glanced up with a frown. There came the sound of laughing and chattering and a band of riders appeared along the track in front of them. They were proceeding at a sedate pace through the forest. It was the rest of the hunt followers and their escort. The attendants carried baskets of food and drink and the ladies rode in a relaxed manner, talking and laughing as if out on some innocent picnic.

One of the attendants called to Gormán and asked him which way the main band of huntsmen had gone, and Gormán pointed along the path where they had last seen them.

‘My lord Colgú, the High King and their party were chasing a tusker in that direction only a short time ago,’ he told them. ‘Be careful, ladies, for the animal is large and strong.’

Little cries of excited horror came from them but it was all done with humour and laughter. The attendant thanked him as the party moved slowly off. Meanwhile, Eadulf had ridden a short distance along the second path to the left. Gormán quickly caught up with him.

‘The ladies seem to think this is an amusement,’ he commented sourly. ‘They don’t realise the dangers.’

‘Nor did I,’ Eadulf observed dryly. ‘I’m sorry. I neglected to thank you for what you did back there. You saved my life.’

Gormán gestured indifferently. ‘Smacking the animal across the snout? That was nothing. It was frightened and wild. It would probably have run off anyway. The hunters were close by.’ He drew rein and looked around, then cursed softly. ‘Begging your pardon, Brother Eadulf, but I think we may have lost the other party. I see no sign of a large body of horsemen passing along here. That is the trouble in these hunts — people often tend to scatter all over the place.’

‘Do you think that we should turn back again?’ Eadulf was beginning to when, once again, the sound of horses came to their ears, but muted this time by the rich tone of a man’s laughter.

‘Hóigh!’ shouted Gormán to attract attention. ‘Hóigh!’

There came an answering call and a few moments later two horses emerged through the woods from their left. One of the riders was the smiling Abbot Augaire and behind him came the sharp-featured lady Aíbnat.

‘Brother Eadulf,’ the abbot said in jovial fashion. ‘Are you lost?’

Gormán immediately answered for him. ‘Not lost, but we have become separated from the main hunt.’

Abbot Augaire shook his head with a smile. ‘Well, my friend, we are definitely lost. I think the main hunt went in that direction.’ He pointed back the way they had come. ‘We were actually thinking of returning to Cashel, if we can find the way.’

Gormán nodded. ‘In that case, if you follow the path along here as far as a fairly large clearing back there and then turn to the west, that track brings you to the main road back to Cashel.’

Abbot Augaire and lady Aíbnat were about to move off when Eadulf stayed them with a sudden thought.

‘Have you seen anything of your husband, lady?’ he asked politely.

She frowned irritably at him. ‘I presume that he is with the main body of the hunt.’

‘I thought that he and another group had moved further that way.’ Eadulf pointed to the direction from which the two had come.

Abbot Augaire shook his head. ‘We have seen nothing of anyone there. But I was part of the body separated from the High King’s group. We tried to get round behind the boars but in the excitement we lost each other. I don’t think you’ll see anyone back there.’

Eadulf acknowledged the information and they separated, Abbot Augaire and the lady Aíbnat riding off towards the clearing.

Gormán looked after them with a puzzled expression. ‘I find it strange,’ he muttered.

‘Strange?’ queried Eadulf with a smile. ‘What is strange, my friend?’

‘That people no longer seem to take notice of conventionality in their behaviour.’

‘You mean Sister Marga going on a hunt when her abbot has just been buried after being murdered? Even to the extent of using his horse?’

‘That, and Muirchertach Nár and his wife Aíbnat being part of the hunt when he is charged with murder.’

‘It is a distraction,’ explained Eadulf. ‘No one is going anywhere until this matter is cleared up so why not let them have their diversions? And a king is hardly likely to flee from justice in these circumstances.’

They rode on in silence for a while and then another cry cut through the still forest air.

‘Hóigh! Hóigh!’

This time it sounded like a man shouting for help. Eadulf and Gormán drew rein immediately and peered through the trees, turning in the direction of the sound.

One of the dog handlers emerged from the trees. He was red-faced and breathless but when his eyes alighted on Gormán a look of relief crossed his features. He gave another shout and came running forward, speaking rapidly. Gormán moved towards him, bending down. The man spoke so quickly that Eadulf was unable to hear what was said. Gormán turned in his saddle and waved Eadulf forward. He seemed troubled.

‘What is it?’ Eadulf demanded.

‘Something that I think requires your attention,’ replied the young warrior. He turned to the man on foot. ‘How far?’

The man gestured with his outstretched hand behind him.

‘Not far, through the trees there. There is a clearing beyond called Cúil Rathan — the brook of the ferns. I’ll show you the way. You’ll have to dismount and lead your horses along here for the path is overgrown. The branches are too low for riders.

Eadulf and Gormán slid from their mounts and followed.

The man led them quickly along a narrow winding path through the dark forest of oaks, beeches and chestnuts, through a covert of broom, bramble and ferns dressed in the brown-white sheen of winter. Then they were in open shrubland. There was a small mound ahead and the man trotted up it and pointed downwards without speaking.

Eadulf and Gormán left their horses and scrambled up the mound to join him.

He was pointing down into the gully where the tall figure of a man was sprawled on his back, a rich blue embroidered cloak rumpled from his shoulders.

Eadulf’s mouth went suddenly dry. The blue cloak was familiar.

He moved to the side of the man and knelt down. There was no mistaking the strangely sallow, now deathly pale features, the skin tightly stretching over the bony face, the long dark hair surrounding it. Two things registered with Eadulf immediately. The man was Muirchertach Nár, the king of Connacht, and he was dead.

Deep in thought, Fidelma walked down to the accommodation for male members of the religious that had been set up beyond the town square below the fortress. She found the hostel steward, the brugaid, supervising the delivery of some straw palliasses by two men in a cart. He greeted Fidelma with a sad smile.

‘I am sorry that the ceremony has had to be delayed, lady.’

Fidelma stifled an inward sigh. Everyone was sorry. She was sorry most of all. She had a wild desire to take her horse and ride away across the plains, ride and forget all the sad faces and the anger and confusion.

‘Can I help you, lady?’

She came back to the present quickly. ‘I believe that you have a Saxon named Brother Berrihert lodging here?’

The brugaid nodded confirmation. ‘He and his two brothers — blood brothers, not only brothers in the Faith — and his old father.’

‘I would like to see Brother Berrihert.’

‘Alas, lady, he is not there. He went out before dawn. I know not whither he has gone.’

Fidelma felt disappointed. She had wanted to clear up several things before Eadulf returned. She was about to turn away when the hostel steward went on: ‘But his two brothers are inside, lady. They might know where he went.’

Fidelma turned back with a word of thanks and entered the large tent. There were only two men inside. They were fairly young and both had fair hair. They came to their feet as she entered and crossed to them. She noticed that they wore religious robes and had their hair cut in the tonsure of St John, shaved at the front to a line from ear to ear, with the hair, worn long and flowing at the back.

‘Are you the brothers of Berrihert?’ she asked.

The young men exchanged glances and one of them inclined his head slightly.

‘We are brothers in flesh as well as brothers in Christ, sister,’ he said.

‘I am Fidelma. What are your names?’

The younger of the two smiled. ‘We recognise you, sister, for we saw you at the Council of Witebia. I am Naovan. My brother is Pecanum.’

‘Those are not Saxon names.’ She had decided to assume no prior knowledge as a means of clarifying the information she wanted.

Brother Naovan smiled. ‘Since we left our own land to sojourn in foreign fields, lady, we have adopted names in the language of the chief city of the Faith.’

‘Then let us be seated. I am told that your brother, Berrihert, is not here?’

Brother Pecanum shook his head as they sat on the camp beds. ‘He left early this morning. We do not know where he went but he assured us that he would be back this evening. It was some. . some pilgrimage to make reparation, he said.’

Fidelma was puzzled. ‘A pilgrimage of reparation made within a day’s travel from Cashel?’

‘That is what he said,’ affirmed Brother Naovan.

Fidelma shook her head as she thought of the sites around Cashel where one could make what could be described as a pilgrimage.

‘And has your father also gone on this pilgrimage?’

‘He is not of our faith, lady,’ replied Brother Naovan. ‘But he is not here. We are not sure where he has gone.’

She paused a moment and then asked: ‘I presume that you are aware of what happened at the funeral ceremony of Abbot Ultán last night?’

The brothers glanced uneasily at each other.

‘There have been many stories among the people here,’ said Brother Naovan. ‘Many have condemned the curse that our brother put on a fellow religious.’

‘Can you explain why he did so?’

‘Although we would have preferred our brother not to have given way to his anger, there was a reason. But reaction in anger can bring no resolution.’

‘Wise words,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘So, if I have understood right, your mother died as the direct result of some action of Abbot Ultán?’

‘Perhaps you should be speaking to Berrihert,’ Brother Naovan replied hesitantly.

‘You have been in this country since the great Council of Witebia, have you not? That is nearly four years or so.’

‘That is so, Sister Fidelma.’

‘Then you know of our laws, the laws of the Fénechus? You know that I am a dálaigh, qualified to the level of anruth. I have been charged to make an investigation. I require information and you are duty bound to answer my questions.’

The brothers were uncomfortable.

‘We do not wish to go against the laws and customs of the land that has given us refuge, sister,’ Brother Pecanum agreed. ‘We will do our best to answer you.’

‘So tell me exactly what happened to your mother.’

By some silent consent between the two of them it was Brother Naovan who told the story.

‘You know that our family did not accept the decision of Oswy, made at the Council of Witebia, as binding on us? We decided to follow Abbot Colmán to this land and enter a religious community that he had established on Inis Bó Finne, a little island. .’

Fidelma gestured impatiently with her hand. ‘Eadulf has told me the story as he heard it from Berrihert. But he also told me, and you have just confirmed, that your father Ordwulf, who came with you, is not a Christian.’

For a moment the younger brothers’ expressions shared sadness.

‘It is true that our parents came with us, though not of our faith. It was because we were their only means of protection in their old age. We could not abandon them to their certain deaths when they were no longer able to fend for themselves.’

Fidelma was momentarily surprised but then remembered that the Angles and Saxons had different views on age from her own people. The law texts of the Fénechus were absolute. ‘Old age is rewarded by the people.’ When men and women became too elderly or infirm to take care of themselves, the law stipulated the rules by which they were to be taken care of. No elderly person was allowed to become destitute or in need. The legal text of the Crith Gabhlach decreed that a special officer called the úaithne, the name meant a pillar or support of the society, be appointed by every clan to ensure all the elderly were looked after. They were to receive proper allowances and care and were protected from any harm or insults. The Senchus Mór stated, of the elderly, that it was the duty of the clan to support every member.

When the head of a family became too old or infirm to manage his affairs, the laws allowed him to retire and hand over to his next of kin. He and his wife or widow was then to be maintained for the rest of their lives. They could live with their next of kin if that was their desire or, if they wished to live in a separate house, that house, called an inchis, was maintained for them. Even if they had no children or close relatives to help them, this was done under the supervision of the úaithne. The elderly, if infirm, had to be washed a minimum of once a week, especially their hair, and to have a full bath a minimum of every twenty days. Provisions and fuel allowances were also stipulated in law.

Fidelma, widely read and travelled as she was, was sometimes shocked at the lack of provision in other cultures for the sick, the elderly and the poor.

‘So your parents would have had no help from their tribe once they became elderly or infirm?’

The two brothers shook their heads.

‘No one respects age. What can the elderly contribute to the good of the people?’

Fidelma made a noise that signified irritation. ‘One can argue that they have already contributed. However, it is surely their wisdom that is their greatest gift. When the old cock crows, the young ones learn,’ she added, using an ancient expression of her people.

Brother Naovan shrugged.

‘We could not abandon them,’ he repeated. ‘So we brought them with us. They were firmly set in their ways, in the ways of the Old Faith, and continued as such.’

‘There are still many in the five kingdoms who have not wholly endorsed the New Faith,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It is of no great consequence.’

‘The consequence was very great,’ muttered Brother Pecanum darkly.

‘As I say, we brought them with us,’ his brother continued. ‘When we settled in the community of Colmán, we built them a small house, the inchis you call it? Yes, we helped them with a small house nearby where they could live out their days in peace. All went well, until, as Berrihert told Brother Eadulf, this arrogant prelate from Cill Ria came to demand that our community recognise Ard Macha as the primatial seat of the churches. What did we Angles and Saxons know of this? Nothing. But Abbot Colmán argued against such recognition, as did most of those men of your country who were in our community. But others argued in favour of the demands of this Abbot Ultán.

‘The arguments were angry. Finally, Brother Gerald left our island and took his followers, who were mainly Saxons, to Maigh Éo on the mainland and formed a new community. That did not stop Abbot Ultán, who came again and provoked further arguments.’

Fidelma was puzzled. ‘How did that affect either your father or your mother? They were not part of the community. They were not even part of the Faith.’

Brother Pecanum suddenly groaned in anguish and Naovan leaned forward and gripped him comfortingly by the arm. He turned to Fidelma. There was pain on his features.

‘It happened when Abbot Ultán, who had been accompanied by Brother Drón and a dozen men, warriors or mercenaries perhaps from his own land whom he had hired as bodyguards on his trip, was leaving our island. I believe he needed those bodyguards otherwise he would not long have been allowed the arrogance with which he conducted himself. They made their way down to the inlet where their boat was waiting to take them back to the mainland. The way lay past the house of our parents. My father was not there, for he was out fishing on the far side of the island.’

He paused for a moment, his hand still gripping his brother’s arm. Pecanum’s eyes were watering.

‘My mother, Aelgifu, was outside, kneeling under a tree. There she had set up an altar to the old gods that she worshipped. Knowing that my father had gone out to sea fishing, she had sacrificed a hare to the goddess Ran, seeking her protection.’

‘Ran?’ queried Fidelma.

‘In the old religion, Ran was wife to Aegir, the god of the sea. When seafarers drowned, she would take them to her palace beneath the waves where her nine daughters would look after them. Ran was protector of those who sacrificed to her.’ The young man hesitated and coloured. ‘That was what was taught in the old religion to which our parents clung steadfastly. There was no harm in them, for they were good people, but just a little old and set in their ways.’

‘I understand,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Continue.’

‘Abbot Ultán came walking by as she was making her sacrifice and demanded to know what she was doing. She did not speak your language well but one of the men with him, one of the warriors, who had been a mercenary among the Saxons, interpreted. Abbot Ultán was beside himself to learn that a foreign woman, in the shadow of a Christian monastery, was carrying out a pagan ceremony. He raged and stormed and told the warrior to beat my mother for her sacrilege.’

There was a silence. Brother Naovan raised his chin defiantly.

‘He ordered an elderly woman to be beaten?’ Fidelma was incredulous.

‘God’s curse on his soul,’ muttered Brother Pecanum. ‘He deserved his death.’

‘What happened then?’

‘They left my mother senseless and smashed her little altar under the tree. They left. We never saw Ultán or Drón again until we heard that they were here at Cashel.’

‘How did you learn what had happened to your mother?’

‘Someone came running to the community to say they had found her. Berrihert, Pecanum and I went down to her. She was still living but her life was ebbing fast with the shock. She told us what had happened as best as she could. She struggled to remain alive until evening so that she could say farewell to my father on his return, but before dusk descended her spirit had fled her body. May she rest with her own gods in peace.’

Fidelma sat regarding the two brothers carefully. ‘Tell me, and tell me truthfully, did Berrihert, your father Ordwulf, and yourselves, come here with the intention of seeking vengeance on Ultán and Drón?’

Brother Pecanum raised his head and met her gaze. ‘At first we did not know they were here. But when we found out, my father grew angry. Yesterday, at dawn, he went to the fortress, when the gates opened, and his intention was to seek out Ultán.’

‘And kill him?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘And kill him,’ confirmed Brother Pecanum.

Fidelma had been expecting a denial. She was surprised at the frankness of the young man.

‘Since you have been so honest, let me ask you whether your family were involved in the death of Abbot Ultán?’

This time Brother Naovan replied.

‘We were not. I speak only for Pecanum and me. I cannot say anything else. Our father raged against us for not being warriors, for not avenging our mother’s death, but we are committed to the New Faith and vengeance is not ours to take. We did not know our father had gone up to the fortress until he returned to say that he had been thwarted and that Ultán was already slain by the hand of the king of Connacht.’

‘So you are saying that Ordwulf and Berrihert were not involved in his death?’

‘We heard that it was the king of Connacht who killed him. Why do you question us in this fashion?’

‘Because I do not believe that the king of Connacht did kill the abbot.’

The brother exchanged a glance of surprise. ‘Then you suspect. .?’ began Brother Naovan.

Fidelma interrupted with a sad shake of her head. ‘Do not think that I have no sympathy for you in this tragic tale. However, I must attend to the law. You will have to remain within this town until such time as the matter has been resolved.’

‘We understand, sister. But it is hard for us to carry suspicion in our hearts against our brother and our father. God grant that they are not involved, and that you are wrong in your belief that the king of Connacht did not strike down Ultán.’

‘There is going to be a price to pay for this!’

Gormán was peering over Eadulf’s shoulder and was shaking his head in disbelief.

Eadulf made no comment. He was examining the king’s body for the cause of death. In fact, it was fairly obvious. The killing blow had left a wound just above the heart, although Eadulf had noticed three more such wounds in the neck: deep, plunging, tearing cuts which, of themselves, would not have caused death. These wounds could have been made by sword or knife or. .

He was about to rise when he noticed a piece of paper tucked into a fold of Muirchertach Nár’s hunting cloak. He reached forward, extracted it and then unfolded it. He drew his breath sharply as he saw what it was. A poem. He knew the words.

Cold the nights I cannot sleep,

Thinking of my love, my dear one. .

He did not know what it could mean but he folded it and put it in his purse. Then he rose to his feet and glanced round.

A short distance away he saw a discarded hunting spear, Muirchertach’s bir. He moved towards it and looked down at the sharp honed point. It was blood-stained. He picked it up and returned to the body. Then he bent down again and let out a sigh as he measured the wound with the point of the spear.

‘He has been stabbed with his own hunting spear,’ he announced. Then, straightening, he added: ‘There is no sign of his horse.’

Gormán beckoned the dog handler to come forward. ‘Was there any sign of Muirchertach’s horse when you came here?’

‘There was not.’

Eadulf turned to the man. ‘How did you make this discovery. . what is your name?’

‘My name is Rónán. I am one of the trackers at Cashel.’

‘So, tell me how you came here.’

‘We were driving the boars through the forest. I was on the far left of the line. One of the hounds, again to my left, starting giving cry and so I moved towards it through the forest, thinking it had a boar at bay. I was still in the forest when I heard the sound of a frightened horse, then the thud of hooves at a gallop. By the time I came through the undergrowth just there, there was no sign of anything. No horse and no hound.’ The man paused and Eadulf waited patiently. ‘I came to the mound here, it being high ground, to see if I could see anything.’

‘And that is when you saw the body?’ Gormán cut in.

‘I did so.’

‘Then what?’

‘Recognising the body as that of Muirchertach Nár, I knew I had to tell someone immediately. I ran back to the main track hoping that someone would be passing and, thanks be, I saw you both immediately. That is all I know.’

‘You say that you heard the sound of a horse?’ Gormán asked. ‘The ground is soft here. There should be tracks.’

‘There are,’ replied the man. ‘Come with me.’

They followed him to a place beyond the body.

‘Can you read the signs?’ Eadulf asked.

The man crouched down to point at the hoofprints.

‘So far as I can see, two riders came to this spot here by different paths.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘A third horse was here, with a split shoe. It went off in that direction.’ He pointed. ‘The other two horses followed it, but neither appears to have had a rider. The one with the split shoe seems to be the only one that was ridden away.

Eadulf smiled a little sceptically. ‘Is that guesswork?’

Rónán was not offended.

‘It is observation, Brother Eadulf. I am a tracker. I can see when horses bear the weight of riders and when they don’t. The hooves do not sink so deeply into the mud as when they have the added weight of their riders. Therefore, you can see those horses were carrying less weight when they left than when they came.’ He shrugged and added: ‘A hunter has to be observant. It is often a matter of eating or starving or, indeed, of life or death.’

Eadulf inclined his head in apology. ‘So Muirchertach rode to this spot. Why? This was on the far left of the hunt. And how did he come to be on his own?’

Rónán shrugged slightly. ‘Perhaps they wanted to circle the main body of the hunt, thinking that the boars would break through the undergrowth in this direction.’

‘It can happen,’ agreed Gormán. ‘The boar is a clever animal. With the hunt moving over there, to the right, and the drivers and their hounds trying to push the boars towards the spears, a clever tusker can decide to break left and escape the encirclement. It has been known many times.’

‘Say that you are right. Muirchertach has decided to move in this direction to outsmart the boar. Then he meets someone else, riding from which direction?’

Rónán pointed back to the forest. ‘Muirchertach came through the forest more or less in the direction from which we came. The other rider — presumably his killer — came from the far left, round the edge of the forest,’ he said. ‘The horse with the split shoe seems to have been following the second horse, but the tracks are rather muddled there and it is difficult to tell.’

Eadulf was puzzled. ‘From the left? Not from the right where the main body of hunters were?’

Rónán shook his head.

‘Then we are developing a mystery,’ Eadulf sighed.

It was Gormán’s turn to frown. ‘A mystery?’

‘How did the person who met Muirchertach Nár know that he would be here?’

‘A chance meeting?’

‘Perhaps. But why would Muirchertach allow this stranger to take his hunting spear and kill him?’

‘A fight? Perhaps he was overpowered?’ suggested Gormán.

‘There is no sign of that. If he had been knocked down from his horse, or set upon and disarmed with physical violence, there would have been some evidence of it. Bruises, torn or disarranged clothing. Look at the way he lies. It is as if he just fell back, arms slightly outstretched. Also,’ he instructed, ‘examine the expression on his face.’

‘People in their death throes often show distortions of the face,’ Gormán pointed out.

‘That is true. Yet very rarely is the expression fixed as one of apparent surprise or even shock. That seems to be the last reaction he registered in life. And then there is the mystery of the third horse.’

There was something reminiscent of Abbot Ultán about the manner of the king’s death. Eadulf turned to Rónán who was standing awaiting instruction.

‘You’d better find some others and have the king’s body removed to Cashel. Take it to Brother Conchobhar the apothecary. Wait!’ he called as the other turned. ‘Get some cloth and make sure the body is covered before you transport it. The more discreetly it is done the better.’

‘It shall be as you say, Brother Eadulf.’

Eadulf turned to Gormán. ‘We shall try to follow the horses’ tracks and see where they lead.’

‘The one with the rider should not be hard to follow,’ Rónán called, overhearing. ‘Look for an imprint of an uneven shoe. I think the metal was badly cast and has split. The left foreleg will be the one to look for.’

Eadulf raised his hand in acknowledgement, and then turned to where Gormán was examining the hoofprints.

‘They seem to be leading through those woods to the north-west,’ the warrior called, mounting his horse.

‘That would bring them back to Cashel, surely.’ Eadulf frowned as he climbed back on his mount.

‘Unless whoever it is turns off the track.’

‘I don’t think they will do so,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I have a feeling we shall find that whoever killed Muirchertach Nár is heading back to Cashel.’

Fidelma had left the two brothers in the hostel and returned to the main gates of the fortress in search of her cousin Finguine. He was crossing the courtyard to the stables when she caught up with him.

‘Apart from the nobles, do you know who else went out on the hunt this morning?’ she asked without preamble.

Finguine shrugged. ‘Practically everyone who is anyone,’ he replied, then added with a grin: ‘With the exception of myself.’

Fidelma was in no mood for his humour. ‘I was thinking of Brother Berrihert?’

Finguine considered for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Apart from Eadulf, the only religious on the hunt were Abbot Augaire, Sister Marga and Brother Drón.’

‘Brother Drón?’ snapped Fidelma in surprise. ‘He went on this hunt?’

‘Brother Drón,’ confirmed Finguine. ‘That unpleasant man who came with Abbot Ultán.’

‘I know Brother Drón well enough,’ she said irritably. ‘Did he and Sister Marga ride off together?’

‘They did not. Sister Marga, as I told you earlier, went off with the ladies. It was some time after that that Brother Drón went after them. . I don’t think he intended to go on the hunt at first.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, he came hurrying to the gate with his horse and asked one of the warriors where some place was and how long would it take him to get there. The guard told me afterwards. I forget where it was, a ride to the south, anyway. He kept looking at some paper in his hand. Then, as he was mounting his horse, the other girl who was in his party came hurrying up. She said something and pointed eastward. That was the direction in which the hunt had gone. I was told that Brother Drón looked really angry, mounted his horse and rode off in that direction at a gallop. Unseemly for a religious,’ her cousin added.

A guard at the gates suddenly called a challenge to someone outside and then a solitary rider came through into the courtyard. Fidelma recognised him as Dúnchad Muirisci, the heir apparent to Muirchertach, King of Connacht.

Finguine had called an order and a gilla scuir, a stable boy, hurried forward to help the man from his horse. Fidelma moved leisurely to greet him.

‘You are back early from the hunt, Dúnchad Muirisci.’

The noble glanced moodily at her. His features showed none of the humour they had displayed when she had questioned him the previous day.

‘You are perceptive, lady,’ he replied sarcastically, automatically reaching with his left hand to hold his right. Fidelma saw that the latter was splashed with blood.

‘I am sorry. You are hurt, Dúnchad Muirisci.’

The man grimaced in annoyance. ‘It is nothing, just a scratch.’

‘A scratch does not bleed with such profusion,’ she reproved him. ‘You had best let someone see it. Brother Conchobhar’s shop is just behind that building there. He is our best apothecary.’

Dúnchad Muirisci grunted and began to move off, holding his arm.

She fell in step with him. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘A stupid accident. A boar charged my horse and it moved to avoid it. It pushed into a thorn bush and I reached out my hand to protect myself and the thorns scratched it. That is all.’

‘You rode back alone, bleeding?’

‘There was no one else about. I was on my own and the boar came out of nowhere.’

‘Then you were lucky that a worse injury did not befall you, Dúnchad Muirisci. Do you know how the rest of the hunt is faring?’

The tánaiste shook his head. ‘I told you that I was on my own. I became separated from the main body once the hue and cry was raised.’

Finguine caught them up. ‘There is no sign of your bir, Dúnchad Muirisci.’

‘I dropped it when the thorns dug into my flesh. It hurt so much that I forgot to pick it up. It must be still lying where it fell.’

‘The boy tells me that one of your horse’s shoes seems to have been badly miscast and has cracked. He will take it to our blacksmith’s forge and get it replaced for you.’

Dúnchad Muirisci frowned and seemed about to refuse, and then nodded. ‘I should be grateful for it.’

He turned and hurried off towards the apothecary. Fidelma and Finguine did not bother to follow.

‘He seems slightly agitated,’ remarked Fidelma.

Finguine smiled knowingly. ‘He has good reason to be so. The heir presumptive of Connacht is out hunting- and he winds up in a thorn bush, cuts his hand badly on the thorns, loses his hunting spear, and, in addition, one of the shoes on his horse cracks. . wouldn’t you be agitated in his place? Imagine what a satirist would do with that information. It is a question of protecting one’s honour.’

Fidelma laughed. ‘Thankfully I do not have to protect this strange male honour that you speak of, Finguine.’

Her cousin chuckled. ‘Even so, it is enough to put Dúnchad Muirisci in a bad humour.’

Fidelma glanced up at the sky. It was nearly midday. ‘I suppose the hunt should be returning soon?’

Finguine pursed his lips. ‘If it has gone well,’ he replied. ‘At least it was a distraction for the guests while they are waiting for a resolution.’ He glanced quickly at Fidelma. ‘I presume your inquiry has not gone well this morning?’

‘You are correct in your presumption,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘I should have drawn up a list of those I wanted to see and ensured that they remained here in the fortress. But that would have given them warning of the intended interrogation. I’d much sooner question people when they are taken off guard.’

Finguine looked thoughtful. ‘Then you have other suspects for the slaying of Abbot Ultán, and not only the king of Connacht?’

‘Suspects?’ Fidelma gave a wry smile. ‘That is the one thing I am not short of, cousin, for it seems that everyone hated the man and everyone wished him dead.’