A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER THREE

The ominous clouds had departed overnight to the north and a pale blue sky canopied the great plain around Cashel. The sun had risen as a soft pale orb without warmth. To the west, there was what sailors called a ‘mackerel sky’, small cloud globules floating as if in ripples which indicated that there was still unsettled weather to come. The storm had left swollen rivers and areas of sticky mud in the low-lying areas.

Finguine, the tánaiste, had been up since dawn with bands of enthusiastic helpers who would be erecting the canvas pavilions in which those who could not be accommodated in the fortress or the town’s inn and hostel would stay. King Colgú had proclaimed three days of festivities and many people were already pouring into Cashel for the marriage rituals, which would start the next morning. Finguine had ridden through the area, trying to choose high ground that had not been so muddied by the torrent of rain that had fallen on the previous day. He directed his men to mark a spot here and there as it caught his approving eye.

Fidelma and Eadulf had also risen early, spent some time with Alchú, and then breakfasted before going down to the great hall to greet the arriving guests. There were the Eóghanacht princes — Congal of Locha Léin, Per Dá Lethe of Raithlin, and many others whose names simply passed above Eadulf’s head; there was even Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, who had come with his prince, Donennach, the new chief of the former blood enemies of Cashel.

As he moved through the throng of distinguished visitors, Eadulf realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was essentially a shy man. Yet here he was, the centre of attention and subject of scrutiny by what he felt to be the entire population of the five kingdoms of Éireann. For the first time, he wanted to escape from it all. He was but an hereditary gerefa, a magistrate of his own South Folk, the East Angles, who had only turned his back on the gods and goddesses of his people in his teen years. Since the fateful meeting at the great Council of Witebia he had come to realise that his life was inseparably linked with Fidelma of Cashel. However, it had taken some years for them to decide on a trial marriage. Under Irish law they had bound themselves together for a year and a day during which Fidelma had become his ben charrthach, the ‘loved woman’. Eadulf had been happy to be her fer comtha with rights as husband for that period. During that time their son little Alchú, ‘gentle hound’, had been born. Now the trial period was over, and either of them could move on without recrimination or compensation. But they had decided to confirm their marriage vows.

Eadulf had thought it would be as simple and as unremarkable as it had been when exchanging the vows at the trial marriage. But this was becoming an uneasy experience for him. He had not fully taken into account that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, the ruling house of Muman, whose brother Colgú was hailed by the senachaí, the hereditary genealogists, as the eightieth direct generation from Gaedheal Glas, eponymous father of the Gaels, and the fifty-ninth generation since Eibhear Fionn son of Golamh called Míldih, who had brought the children of the Gael to Éireann. Eadulf had heard the genealogies, the forsundud as the bards called them, sung a thousand times. But he had not realised that this official marriage of Fidelma would draw such crowds of kings and nobles and onlookers to Cashel. He felt unsettled. With a feeling of guilt, he made an excuse about going to the chapel for a morning prayer, and left the great hall.

Sitting in the quiet solitude of the chapel, Eadulf was startled to realise that he wanted no part of life in a palace. He frowned as he thought about it. He felt that he wanted to leave Cashel and make his way to some more peaceful spot, away from the crowds, away from the dignitaries and nobles, away from the hustle and bustle. A place of solitude. A place like the glen of Eatharlaí. Brother Berrihert had the right idea. Solitude and peace in a wooded valley.

He suddenly felt pangs of guilt again.

Was he being selfish? Of course, there was no question that he wanted to share his life with Fidelma and little Alchú. He caught himself again. Share his life? That was looking at things from a one-sided viewpoint. Should he not also be thinking of sharing Fidelma’s life, and wasn’t that life part of Cashel and all it stood for? He shook his head in perplexity as he tried to reason things out. Was he simply apprehensive of this large festival? As soon as it was over, as soon as the marriage contracts were agreed, surely life would return to its normal ebb and flow.

When had there been a normal ebb and flow to his life? Ever since he had known Fidelma there had been one adventure after another, one mysterious killing after another to be investigated. He found himself chuckling aloud.

‘You seem amused by something, my friend?’

The hollow voice came from behind him, and Eadulf turned to find the bright blue eyes of Brother Conchobhar regarding him quizzically.

‘Amused?’ Eadulf repeated.

‘You were laughing to yourself.’

Eadulf grimaced.

‘At myself,’ he corrected with a sigh.

Brother Conchobhar smiled knowingly. ‘Yet you do not find yourself an object of humour. There was a bitter quality in your laughter.’

‘I shall not deny it.’

‘You worry about tomorrow. We have an old saying — marry a woman out of the glen and you marry the whole glen.’

Eadulf was astonished.

‘How did you know that I was thinking of that?’

Brother Conchobhar grimaced. ‘It is my nature to know these things. It is difficult for you, Brother Saxon, for you are a stranger in this land. But take comfort, for many who are not would find the path that you are taking difficult. Did you think it would be easy to marry an Eóghanacht of Cashel?’

‘I did not think of it. Certainly, I did not know what it meant.’

Brother Conchobhar inclined his head with a sad smile. ‘Yet you must have learnt something from your trial marriage.’

‘I suppose I did.’

‘Have you lost the feelings that you had for the lady Fidelma?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Have you lost the feelings that you had for Alchú, you son?’

Again, Eadulf’s reply was emphatic.

‘Then,’ smiled Brother Conchobhar, ‘your malady seems a simple one. You are simply fearful of the responsibility that you will take on.’

Eadulf raised his chin pugnaciously. ‘Fearful?’

‘Exactly so. Perhaps you are not ready to be the husband of an Eóghanacht?’

Eadulf snorted indignantly. ‘I have been so this last year.’

Brother Conchobhar pulled a wry face. ‘Then what else can it be?’ he mused. ‘Unless. .’

Eadulf’s brows came together. ‘Unless?’ he demanded irritably.

‘Unless. . it is merely the pomp and circumstance that you are fearful of? The gathering crowd and the nobles and officials who are assembling to see the sister of Colgú wed? Do not forget that her father was the great Fáilbe Flann mac Aedo, one of the greatest kings of Muman. Fáilbe was a man respected among all the kingdoms of this island. And you are fearful of the honour that the people do to the lady Fidelma?’

Eadulf flushed.

‘That is not the way of it,’ he snapped. ‘I am just a plain man and no noble.’

Brother Conchobhar grinned crookedly. ‘You are no common man.’

‘I am but a simple magistrate who decided to choose the way of the religious. .’

‘That is not what I meant. Whatever your birth, you are no common man. No common man would be the choice of the lady Fidelma. She has seen in you something uncommon, something complementary and necessary to her. So, my friend, is it not how she perceives you that is the most important thing? Not your fears of how others perceive you.’

Eadulf was silent as he pondered the old man’s words.

‘Do I judge the basis of your fears correctly, my Saxon friend?’ Brother Conchobhar prompted.

Eadulf stirred uncomfortably.

‘I think. .’ he began, but he was silenced by the blast of a trumpet outside the chapel.

‘That sounds like another distinguished guest arriving,’ sighed Brother Conchobhar, ‘and an important one for a trumpet to be sounded. Let us go and see who it is.’

Unprotesting, Eadulf followed the old man to the doors of the chapel and they halted on the steps overlooking the courtyard.

Two riders followed by a wagon had entered through the gates. To both Brother Conchobhar and Eadulf’s surprise, the wagon contained two religieuse with luggage, while seated on the riding box were two armed men in menial dress, not of the religious. One of them had a small trumpet on his lap and had clearly sounded the announcing blast. However, the two riders caused the observers an even bigger surprise.

The first rider was a tall, middle-aged man, fairly handsome in a dark and saturnine way, who carried himself with an arrogant manner. He was looking round with an expression of disdain. At his side, his companion was elderly and sharp-featured. What was astonishing was that they were clad in monastic robes. True, they were richly embellished, but nevertheless the men were clearly members of the religious.

Brother Conchobhar snorted in disgust.

‘Since when have the religious given themselves airs and graces?’ he muttered to Eadulf. ‘I know not these strangers.’

Caol, the commander of Colgú’s bodyguard, had come hurrying from the stables with Dego, one of his warriors, and halted before the newcomers. Eadulf noticed that Caol looked slightly bewildered and guessed that he had shared their expectation of the trumpet’s announcing the arrival of some noble or even a minor king. He was apparently nonplussed at being confronted by religious.

‘You are welcome to Cashel,’ he said warily. ‘Whom am I addressing?’

It was the elderly, sharp-featured man, who replied in a grand tone, ‘You are in the presence of the abbot of Cill Ria, Bishop Ultán of the Uí Thuirtrí, envoy from the archiepiscopus of Ard Macha.’

Caol continued to frown uncertainly. ‘Dego will see you to your chamber, Abbot Ultán, and then conduct your companions to the hostels set aside for them. The hostel for females is within the fortress but that for males is in the town below.’

The abbot did not move as Dego went forward but the elderly man at his side, glancing uneasily at his master, raised his tone querulously.

‘Does your king not come to the gate to welcome the envoy from the archiepiscopus of Ard Macha?’

Caol had begun to return to the stables but now turned with surprise.

‘My king does not even come to the gate to welcome the Comarb of the Blessed Ailbe who brought the Faith to our kingdom, let alone to welcome an abbot from the north who represents someone with a title that I do not recognise,’ he replied shortly.

Even from where he stood, Eadulf could see the saturnine abbot’s brows drawing together in anger. Beside Eadulf, Brother Conchobhar was stifling a chuckle.

‘Now,’ Caol was continuing, ‘should you wish to be received by Colgú before the ceremonies commence, I will convey your greetings to him. But he is, at this time, welcoming the High King, the provincial kings and the princes of these lands in his private chambers.’

He nodded to Dego to continue and began to turn away again.

‘Young man!’

Abbot Ultán’s sharp tones cut through the courtyard, halting Caol, who again turned questioningly to the newcomer.

‘You are insolent, young man. Know you that I am. .’

‘An arrogant messenger from an arrogant abbot,’ snapped a new voice.

Eadulf saw another religieux enter the courtyard from one of the buildings and come striding over to stand by Caol. He was broad-shouldered and looked more like a warrior than a leading member of the church, for as such his clothes and accoutrements proclaimed him.

‘That is Augaire, the abbot of Conga,’ whispered Brother Conchobhar. ‘He’s also one of the chief bishops to the king of Connacht.’

Abbot Ultán had turned a venomous gaze on the newcomer.

‘So? You are here too?’ He almost hissed the words.

Abbot Augaire smiled but it was a smile without humour.

‘Oh yes. Everyone who matters is here,’ he replied softly. ‘Even some who do not matter are here.’

‘Including the jumped-up Uí Fiachracha whom some call a king in Connacht?’ sneered Abbot Ultán.

‘Including Muirchertach Nár,’ affirmed the other, calmly. ‘Several of your old friends are gathered here.’

The way the abbot pronounced ‘old friends’ made it clear to Eadulf that the people referred to were anything but friends of Abbot Ultán. He wondered what this exchange really meant.

‘Do not think that they will intimidate me. I shall speak the truth,’ snapped Abbot Ultán.

Abbot Augaire’s smile broadened but it was still without warmth.

‘They would not wish to stop you if ever you decided to speak the truth,’ he replied with acid in his voice.

Abbot Ultán blinked. His expression was suddenly dangerous. He was about to say something but then seemed to change his mind and turned back to Caol.

‘Young man, tell your king that I demand to see him. In the meantime, I also demand that you send a warrior to stand guard at my chamber door to protect me from. .’ he glanced at Abbot Augaire, ‘from anyone who might wish to harm a truth servant of the true Faith.’

Caol looked bewildered for a moment and then he shrugged.

‘As I have said, Dego will take you to your quarters. I will convey your request to Colgú,’ he said, and left.

Dego moved forward to oversee the unloading of the luggage from the wagon and to conduct the abbot to his quarters, while another attendant went to see to the rest of the party.

For a few moments, Abbot Augaire stood in the courtyard looking thoughtfully after Abbot Ultán even when he had vanished through one of the entrances to the main building. He was unaware that Eadulf and Brother Conchobhar were still watching him. The expression on the abbot’s face was not a pleasant one. Then, with a shake of his head, he was gone.

Eadulf turned to Brother Conchobhar. ‘Well, what is to be made of that?’

Brother Conchobhar pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Have you not heard of Abbot Ultán?’

‘I seem to have heard his name recently.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘Ah, he was coming to protest against our wedding.’

‘I have never seen him before but I have heard many stories about him, none of them to his credit. He is not a man whom I would pronounce as fit for the company of saints.’ For once Brother Conchobhar looked serious. ‘Beware of Abbot Ultán. He is full of ambition, and pays homage to nothing save power.’

‘Ultán? Who speaks of Ultán?’

Eadulf swung round and found Brother Berrihert on the steps behind them. He smiled in warm greeting.

‘So you have come to join us? That is good. This is Brother Conchobhar.’

Brother Berrihert nodded curtly at the old man but his eyes did not leave Eadulf’s face. ‘The name of Ultán was spoken. Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria?’

‘The same,’ agreed Eadulf, worried at the intensity in the young Saxon’s voice. Then he remembered that it was Berrihert who had first mentioned the name of the abbot to him.

‘Is he here?’

‘He is. I am told that he has come here to protest against my wedding.’

Berrihert drew in a deep breath as if facing some momentous decision. Then he let it out slowly.

‘Then I give fair warning, Eadulf. Make sure that his path does not cross mine or that of my brothers, for I fear the worst.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘I fear that one of us might kill him,’ replied the young man sharply. He turned and strode off, leaving Eadulf staring in surprise.

Brother Conchobhar stood looking thoughtfully after him.

‘Alas, it seems that Bishop Ultán’s circle of acquaintances ever widens,’ he said.

‘I do not understand it,’ Eadulf replied with a shake of his head. ‘While yesterday Brother Berrihert told me of how this Abbot Ultán split the community in which he and his brothers served on Inis Bó Finne, and how they came south for independence and peace, he mentioned nothing that would give rise to some mortal hatred of Ultán. Certainly he gave no indication of animosity to the extent that his death might be encompassed.’

‘The emotions of mankind are strange, my Saxon friend. You should know that above all people. You have seen enough violence in your investigations with our lady Fidelma. What angers one person, amuses another. What causes harm to one, causes benefit to someone else. Whatever slight your friend believes he has suffered might not seem much to you but will mean the world to him.’ Brother Conchobhar clapped Eadulf on the shoulder and chuckled. ‘At least you may give thanks to the arrival of Abbot Ultán for one thing.’

Eadulf did not understand.

‘His arrival has caused you to forget your personal concerns about your fitness to go through with the ceremony tomorrow. You will be too preoccupied with watching Abbot Ultán and waiting for the trouble that he will undoubtedly cause.’