A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER FIVE

Fidelma had imagined that she had only just gone to sleep but here was Muirgen, her attendant, shaking her arm and urging her to wake immediately.

She blinked and yawned.

‘Surely it is not time yet?’ she protested. Then she realised that the room was still shrouded in darkness with only the flickering light of the lamp that Muirgen held at shoulder level to relieve the gloom. Suddenly, she was wide awake and registering the worried tone in Muirgen’s voice. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘It is urgent, lady. Your brother wishes you to attend him at once.’

Fidelma sat up and stared at the woman.

This was to be her wedding day and she had been expecting to lie in until the first light of dawn before rising to toilet and break her fast and begin the rituals for the ceremony. She blinked again. The chill in the room coupled with the darkness told her that it was long before dawn.

‘There is something wrong,’ she said sharply, rising from her bed. ‘What has happened?’

Muirgen shook her head quickly. ‘I know not, lady, but something stirs. Your brother, the king, has sent to ask for your immediate attendance in his private chamber. I have no idea what this portends.’

‘Is Eadulf all right?’ was her next anxious question.

‘He is still sound asleep in his chamber, lady,’ was the reassuring response.

Fidelma was not one to waste time on further questions that could not be answered. She went to the side table and washed her face and hands in the bowl of cold water which already stood in a corner of the room. It was not the custom to bathe in the morning but to wash one’s face and hands, aided by sléic, a soap, and dry them with a linen cloth. Fidelma hurried through this process, known as indlut, while Muirgen sorted out, a dress and then came to hand her a cíor and the small scáth-derc or mirror. Fidelma did not usually use much in the way of make-up or personal ornaments, so her toilet was quickly accomplished.

Because of the cold of the early morning, Muirgen had wisely chosen an undergarment of linen over which was drawn a woollen dress of sober colouring. As Fidelma slipped into her shoes, Muirgen handed her a small bratt which fitted round the shoulders and came down to just below the waistline.

Fidelma left her chamber and hurried quickly along the corridor. She almost hesitated at the door of the room which had been assigned to Eadulf. It was true that during this last year they had been legally married and shared the same chambers but at this time there was a tradition to be upheld. Yesterday they had formerly separated. That marked the end of their trial marriage and they would not be intimately together again until their new formal contract was agreed under the laws of the lánamnus. She wondered if she should wake Eadulf but immediately decided against it. Whatever the problem that caused her brother to rouse her in the middle of the night, it was up to him to decide if it was Eadulf’s concern or not.

She hurriedly made her way along the corridors to her brother’s private apartments. Two warriors stood on guard in the antechamber, as was usual day and night, and, seeing her coming, one of them immediately went to an inner door and knocked once before opening it for her to pass through. The door was closed behind her.

In the chamber, Colgú came to greet her with a worried look. She glanced swiftly to where Brehon Baithen was struggling to rise from his seat and signalled him to remain seated.

‘There has been a murder,’ blurted Colgú as he waved her to a chair near the fire.

Fidelma composed her astonishment.

‘Who has been murdered?’ she asked quietly, as she seated herself.

‘Abbot Ultán.’

A blink of the eyes was the only registration of the information. Fidelma was already working out the consequences. Abbot Ultán murdered; not only an emissary from the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick at Ard Macha but a guest from the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. These were matters of great concern.

Colgú turned to his brehon and gestured towards him. ‘Tell her the details.

Brehon Baithen made a helpless gesture with his hand. ‘It is simple enough. A short time ago, Abbot Ultán was stabbed to death in his chamber.’

‘And the perpetrator of this deed?’ asked Fidelma, her voice calm. ‘Is he or she known?’

Brehon Baithen sighed and nodded. ‘As chance would have it, Caol and I were on our way to speak with Ultán, as had been agreed when we met here. Turning into the corridor that led to his chamber, we saw the culprit leaving it. .’ He paused dramatically.

Fidelma suppressed her impatience and waited.

Realising that she was not going to respond to his pause but was awaiting his announcement, Baithen continued: ‘It was Muirchertach Nár of the Uí Fiachracha.’

At the name a troubled frown crossed Fidelma’s brow.

‘The king of Connacht? Are you sure?’

Brehon Baithen looked pained. ‘My eyesight is not at fault. Neither is that of Caol. It was Muirchertach Nár without a doubt. And after we called old Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary, to come and examine the body, we went straightway to the chambers of the Connacht king.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘And?’

‘We challenged him, said that we had seen him hurrying from the chamber and demanded to know his explanation.’

‘What was his response?’

This time Brehon Baithen gave a hint of a shrug. ‘As one would expect from such a noble. He said that he would make no statement nor comment other than that he was not responsible for the death of Abbot Ultán.’

‘This does not bode well, Fidelma,’ Colgú added, his handsome features drawn into a worried frown. ‘An abbot, who is an emissary from Ard Macha, is slain; a king of Connacht is charged, and at the very time when the princes of the five kingdoms are gathered here to witness your wedding. There will be much suspicion among them until this matter is resolved.’

Fidelma did not have to be told why her brother was so concerned but she was not sure why he had summoned her in the middle of the night and said so.

Colgú looked even more uncomfortable. He glanced at Baithen as if imploring his help. The brehon of Muman cleared his throat.

‘As you doubtless know, lady, a king has certain privileges. .’ He hesitated. ‘Muirchertach has. . he has demanded the right to choose his own counsel to prove his innocence.’

Fidelma’s expression was suddenly grimly set. She guessed what was coming.

‘Today is my wedding day,’ she said coldly. She could not feel for the loss of Abbot Ultán; she had never met him, and after what she had heard about him she was not overly concerned about his demise. Her mind only concerned itself with the legal aspect of his death, and the disruption it was causing.

Colgú gestured with his open hands as if in apology. ‘Unless the murder of Abbot Ultán is resolved before the ceremonies, I think our distinguished guests will depart in suspicion and anger. There may even be war among the kingdoms, for many will ask how Ultán came to be slain in Cashel. Why was he not protected by his host?’

Brehon Baithen looked uncomfortable. ‘Caol has admitted that when Abbot Ultán arrived he demanded in front of witnesses that a warrior should be placed at his chamber door. It was not done.’

Fidelma was surprised at that. ‘It is unlike Caol to be irresponsible.’

‘Apparently, he initially asked Dego to fulfil this task, but with so many lords and princes in the fortress there was much to be done, and Dego was needed elsewhere. Besides, very few guests had retired for the night by then. That was why we were on our way to see Abbot Ultán. I have assured Caol that no blame attaches to him,’ the brehon told her.

Colgú’s features were woebegone. ‘This failure of protection lies at my door. Questions will be raised. It will be asked, was there enmity because of my chief bishop, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach? There will be reference to the argument when he refused to comply with Ultán’s demand for recognition of Ard Macha. Was there some conspiracy to silence Ultán because it was known he would raise objections to the wedding of my sister?’

‘That is nonsense!’ exploded Fidelma.

‘You know it,’ conceded Colgú. ‘But will those in the northern kingdoms know it?’

Fidelma lowered her head as she thought through the implications. Colgú was right. Under the laws of hospitality, it was his duty to resolve the matter. All the guests who had come to Cashel, including Abbot Ultán, were under the protection of the king. The death of a guest was the crime of díguin, violation of protection. If the matter was not resolved and the culprit made known, then Colgú himself could lose his honour price, be removed as king and be forced into paying the appropriate fines and compensation. Restitution had to be made. Fidelma realised that the Eóghanacht — indeed, Cashel itself-could become mallachtach — accursed. Colgú must be seen to be beyond reproach in this matter.

‘So Muirchertach has demanded that I should be his advocate?’ she finally asked, her voice resigned. ‘Where is he now?’

‘A king has rights and he has the liberty of Cashel until the hearing is held. As king of Connacht he has given his parole’ — Colgú used the term gell, meaning the ‘word of honour’ usually given by noble prisoners of war and hostages — ‘that he will not leave before the hearing exonerates him, as he says. I am afraid that we are in no position to refuse his request for us to defend him.’

Fidelma smiled faintly at Colgú’s attempt to shoulder responsibility with her by the use of the plural form. ‘I understand. Who will sit in judgement when the hearing is convened?’

‘Who else but Barrán, Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms? I have asked him to attend us and perhaps it is fortunate that he is here with the High King because none of the northern kings or princes will be able to argue with his decisions.’

Fidelma nodded slightly in agreement. ‘If I am to defend the king of Connacht, who will prosecute him?’

At that moment, there was a tap on the door and it was swung open by one of the guards to allow a tall man of indiscernible age, clad in robes that denoted high rank, to pass into the chamber. The man halted in mid-chamber and inclined his head in token deference to Colgú. His bright eyes, unblinking, set close to his prominent nose, gave him a stern expression. But as they alighted on Fidelma, his thin lips parted in a smile of greeting.

‘I have heard your reputation has much increased since our last meeting at Ferna, in the kingdom of Laigin, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said.

‘A reputation that is undeserved, Barran,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Only my few successes seem to be talked about and not my many failures.’

The Chief Brehon’s smile broadened. ‘Your success at Ferna and our previous encounter at Ros Alithir was a clear demonstration that your reputation is well deserved. However, I did not expect to meet you before I was due to congratulate you after your wedding.’ He glanced to Colgú and Baithen, whom he had already encountered on his arrival. His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Your messenger has informed me of the matter in hand.’

Colgú waved Barrán to a chair.

‘Have you been told why I have asked you to join us?’ he asked.

Barrán made an affirmative gesture. ‘You wish me to preside at the hearing of Muirchertach Nár for the murder of Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria?’

‘Exactly so.’

‘I accept, of course. As Muirchertach Nár is king of the cóicead of Connacht it is, perhaps, lucky that I am here for reasons that have more to do with politics than with justice.’

Colgú smiled.

‘An observation already made, Barrán,’ he said. ‘Muirchertach Nár has demanded his right to choose his advocate and he has chosen Fidelma.’

Barrán glanced quickly at her. ‘Have you responded to this request?’

‘I have agreed, although Muirchertach Nár is not yet informed of that decision,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Again, that is good from a political viewpoint so far as Connacht is concerned. It is also good for justice so far as Muirchertach Nár is personally concerned, for he is now assured of an able advocate. Now, who is to prosecute this matter?’

‘I asked that same question before you arrived, Barrán,’ Fidelma replied.

Baithen stirred uneasily. ‘The crime was committed here in Cashel and in the palace of the king. Even though I am a witness, it behoves me to prosecute as brehon of Muman.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful.

‘Would you not be excluded from one role or the other?’ she asked mildly. ‘I would have thought the berrad airechta, the law on persons excluded from giving evidence, would be the basis for challenging you on this.’

Baithen was surprised. ‘Are you challenging my right to prosecute? On what point of law?’

‘If you are a witness, it conflicts with your role as prosecutor, for as prosecutor it is to your advantage to secure a conviction. A man cannot give evidence if it could bring advantage to himself. That is the law.’

Baithen shrugged indifferently. ‘Then I shall not stand as witness but rely on the testimony of Caol who saw exactly what I saw. No contradiction in that.’

Barrán sighed and shook his head. ‘I have to rule on this, Baithen, and say that Fidelma’s argument is sound in law. You cannot deny that you are a witness. What you have already seen cannot be unseen and therefore you are prejudiced. As she says, it is a prosecutor’s function to secure a conviction. That may lead a witness to zealousness in his evidence.’

Baithen accepted the point with good grace.

‘But there must be a prosecutor,’ he pointed out. ‘It should be someone of distinction and certainly not a judge from the retinue of the northern kingdoms.’

‘That is agreed,’ replied Barrán. ‘I propose Brehon Ninnid, the new brehon of Laigin. He is of the Uí Dróna of the southern part of that kingdom. Laigin is the only independent voice in these matters. Ninnid has accompanied his king, Fianamail, here for the ceremony. That, again, is most fortunate.’

Fidelma was frowning.

‘I presume that he is better qualified than Bishop Forbassach?’ she asked cynically.

Barrán uttered a brittle laugh. ‘Indeed. Thanks to your case against him at Ferna, Bishop Forbassach was stripped of his rank, retired to some small community and prohibited from the practice of law. King Fianamail had to choose a new brehon and in this matter he sought my advice. I can vouch that young Ninnid is talented and has made a name for himself as an assiduous prosecutor. It is true that with youth comes arrogance but he will grow out of that, I am sure. But now is the time to voice any objections to his appointment, before he is instructed.’

Baithen seemed indifferent while Colgú said: ‘I have no knowledge to make an objection. If you recommend him, then I accept. What do you say, Fidelma?’

‘A brehon of Laigin is a logical choice,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps the only choice, for he represents neither the kingdom of the victim, the kingdom of the accused nor the kingdom in which it happened. Therefore, ideally, he will be an unbiased prosecutor.’ She glanced through the window at the still dark sky and then rose from her seat. ‘I’d better inform Eadulf that the wedding is now delayed. And, of course, I shall ask Eadulf for his assistance in my investigation, if you have no objection, Barrán.’

The Chief Brehon shook his head. ‘I would expect no less. Brother Eadulf’s work is known and his name is now inseparably linked to your own.’

‘Then it is agreed.’ Colgú sighed. ‘There is nothing left but to announce this sad news to our guests. The ceremonies must be postponed until this matter is resolved.’ Colgú paused and smiled in sympathy at Fidelma. ‘Let us hope that it will be but a short delay.’

Barrán was sympathetic. ‘This is hard on you, Fidelma, but I know that you will bring this matter to a quick conclusion. We cannot allow all these distinguished guests to linger in Cashel for more than a few days.’

‘Law and justice move along in their own time,’ Fidelma rebuked him softly. ‘I, above all our distinguished guests, regret the delay, but I am the first to argue that no man should be exonerated or condemned simply because it interferes with our plans.’

With a quick nod to encompass them all, Fidelma turned and left the chamber.

‘I am beginning to believe that there is some truth in old Brother Conchobhar’s prognostications,’ Eadulf finally said, after Fidelma had explained everything. She had gone to his chamber and woken him, making sure he was fully awake before explaining the events of recent hours.

‘He was claiming that the portents were not good for our marriage this day,’ she agreed.

There was a silence between them and faintly came the sound of the chapel bell calling the religious to the first prayers of the day. Fidelma smiled wanly, glanced into a mirror and adjusted her hair with an automatic gesture.

‘Well, from what we have heard about Abbot Ultán, it did not need any divination to know that there was going to be trouble in the offing.’

‘True,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘It is a pity that Caol took Dego away from his sentinel duties. I can understand it but I hope it does not mean that Caol will be in trouble.’

‘My brother has taken full responsibility.’

‘I told you that Brother Berrihert uttered a threat against Ultán’s life in front of Brother Conchobhar and me?’

‘I have not forgotten. But do not forget that the murder happened after the gates of the fortress were closed for the night. That much Caol told me. Your Saxon friends have accommodation in one of the hostels in the town, so they would not have been admitted here after the gates were closed.’

There was another awkward pause.

‘So everything is put into abeyance until the matter is resolved?’

Fidelma nodded, moving to the window and glancing down in the direction of the few lanterns and lights that could be seen in the town below.

‘I feel sorry for the people who have gathered down there for the aenach,’ she remarked.

‘Surely the fair can go ahead?’ Eadulf said. ‘It could amuse people and will not interfere with us in the fortress.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Abbot Ségdae would doubtless say that it would not be seemly while an abbot and bishop of the Faith lies murdered and that death remains unexplained.’

Eadulf pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. Although it is not as if many here will mourn his passing. Everyone seemed to hate him.’

‘Well, though I shall not hurry this matter, the sooner we begin the sooner we can come to an end,’ she said.

Eadulf had finished dressing and asked: ‘What do you mean to do first?’

‘As always, we will start with the body and the cause of death. Brother Conchobhar was called to examine it. After that, we shall see what Muirchertach Nár has to say.’ She paused at the door and frowned, glancing back to Eadulf. ‘As Muirchertach Nár is a king. .’

Eadulf interrupted, as if reading her thoughts.

‘It would be better if you saw him alone. It might not be. .’ He spent a few moments trying to think of the right word and settled on cubaid. ‘It might not be seemly if I were to be present unless he wished it.’

Fidelma cast him a smile of thanks for his perception and diplomacy.

It was still dark but there was a light burning in the apothecary shop as they crossed the cobbled courtyard. Fidelma tapped softly on the door before reaching to the handle and swinging it open. At once the pungent smell of herbs and dried flowers assailed her nostrils and she was hard pressed not to sneeze.

In the gloom, Brother Conchobhar glanced up from his workbench where he had been mixing something in a bowl by the light of a lantern and smiled a welcome.

‘I was expecting you,’ he said simply, as they entered. ‘Do you prosecute or do you judge, lady?’

‘Neither,’ Fidelma responded. ‘The Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms, Barrán himself, will be judge. But the accused has requested that I should defend him.’

‘It is a difficult path, lady.’ Brother Conchobhar pulled a comical face. ‘Thank God I do not have to be involved in such deliberations. Surely it is hard to defend someone when there are eyewitnesses to the deed?’

‘My mentor Brehon Morann once said, do not give your judgement on hearing the first story until the other side is brought before you,’ she replied.

‘A good philosophy,’ agreed the apothecary. He glanced at Eadulf. ‘So, are you both working on this matter?’

‘We are,’ Eadulf replied. ‘We are told that you were asked to examine the body of Abbot Ultán?’

Brother Conchobhar nodded absently. ‘To play the dálaigh, I should strictly say that I was called upon to examine a body. I recognised it to be Abbot Ultán only when I saw it. I was not told who it was before then.’

Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘You are developing a legal mind, my old friend. Where is the body now?’

‘The body is still in the chamber where it happened. Brehon Baithen ordered it to remain so until you came to conduct your examination. Baithen is a careful judge, unlike. .’ Brother Conchobhar stopped short and glanced at Eadulf in embarrassment. No need to remind Eadulf how Baithen’s predecessor was so careless that he had accused the Saxon of murder. ‘And you doubtless want me to come and point out the salient features?’ the apothecary went on hurriedly.

‘Even so,’ agreed Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar put aside the mixture that he had been working on and wiped his hands on a linen cloth. ‘Then come with me. I shall show you what I can.’

They followed him to the main guests’ quarters of the palace. Enda, another of Caol’s warriors, was standing outside the chamber that had been allotted to Abbot Ultán. He let them pass inside with a deferential nod of his head.

Inside the room, which was still lit by tallow candles, the body of the abbot lay sprawled on its back on the bed. The blood had soaked his clothing and the surrounding bedclothes, staining them. Fidelma glanced quickly round. Apart from the way the corpse lay, the bedchamber was fairly tidy. There were no signs of any disorder.

‘Has anything been moved?’ she asked.

Brother Conchobhar shook his head.

‘The abbot was obviously an orderly man,’ he said. ‘The room was perfectly tidy when I came here. Baithen told me to leave everything exactly as I found it.’

‘So, there was no indication of a struggle,’ observed Fidelma.

‘None,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar.

‘That means that he probably knew his killer,’ Eadulf pointed out softly.

‘And the body was found as we see it now?’ Fidelma pressed the apothecary.

‘Exactly as I have said. I had no cause to touch or move it. It was obvious what the cause of death was.’

Fidelma peered down distastefully at the congealing blood. ‘Which appears to have been a sharp dagger.’

‘Just so,’ agreed the old man.

‘Then we can also be assured that the abbot had no suspicion of the impending attack.’ Eadulf was examining the position of the body.

‘How so?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘From the way the body has fallen back on the bed. He was sitting on it at the time. The legs still dangle over the side of the bed touching the floor and one foot is bare. . the sandal came off as he fell or was pushed backwards by the force of the attack. That means that the straps were loose. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with unloosed sandals, in a relaxed state. He did not seem the type of man, especially in his office of abbot, who would relax in such a manner in front of a stranger.’

Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘Excellently observed, Eadulf.’

She bent down and examined the man’s feet. Then she glanced round and with a grunt of satisfaction reached forward under a side table. Indeed, one sandal had been hidden under it, reinforcing the idea that it had been kicked off while the other was still on the foot. Fidelma rose satisfied.

Eadulf was now looking at the wounds on the man’s chest.

‘I presume that you agree that he was stabbed to death?’ he asked Brother Conchobhar.

The old apothecary nodded. ‘I am reminded, Brother Eadulf, that you studied for a while in one of our great schools of medicine. . Tuam Brecain, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

‘Examining the stab wounds, can you deduce anything else?’

Eadulf peered at the wounds, frowning before straightening up. ‘The abbot was stabbed half a dozen times.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows momentarily in surprise. She moved to Eadulf’s shoulder and glanced down at the body once more.

‘Half a dozen?’ There was so much blood staining the clothes and surrounding areas that she had not counted the wounds.

‘You remark on that?’ Brother Conchobhar’s tone was approving. ‘It is not my place to draw conclusions but, nevertheless, there is a conclusion to be drawn.’

‘The conclusion that here is a killing that was filled with emotion?’ Fidelma said at once.

‘One of the stab wounds would be fatal in itself,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar. ‘That one entered the body between the ribs.’ He indicated. ‘The rest were more or less superficial wounds that caused much blood to flow. They seem to have been struck at haphazard as if someone had thrown himself on the abbot with sudden fury. Eadulf rightly says that he fell backwards upon the assault but once that one blow, was struck there would have been no defence. You will perceive the superficial nature of those other wounds. . you see that they were not struck deeply. That means the hand that delivered these blows did not have strength behind it. . probably surprise more than anything caused the abbot to be thrown backwards on the bed.’

Fidelma was nodding slowly. ‘In other words, you are saying that we should take notice that the killer was physically weak?’

Brother Conchobhar pursed his lips in a cynical expression. ‘I am thinking that a strong man would not have struck so many blows which made superficial wounds.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘But emotion could explain the weakness,’ he observed quickly. ‘Rage can often reduce even the strongest men to momentary inability and render them weak with the emotion.’

‘Has a knife been recovered?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Whoever killed the abbot took the weapon with him.’

Fidelma was examining the coverlet on the bed and she pointed at a spot near the body. ‘Indeed, after having wiped the blade clean on the coverlet.’

It was true that there were signs that something broad and bloody had been wiped on the cloth by the side of the body.

‘That contradicts the idea of an emotional killer, Fidelma,’ Eadulf muttered. ‘That shows the action of someone in control and thinking. Yet why the number of wounds?’

Fidelma did not reply immediately. She cast another look over the body. Then she moved forward and carefully lifted aside part of the abbot’s robe.

‘There seems to be a piece of paper under the robe. .’ she began, as she bent down and extracted a small piece of folded paper smudged with blood. She unfolded it, glanced at it and handed it to Eadulf. He took it, read it and then chuckled.

‘Well, well, perhaps Abbot Ultán was not the unfeeling and arrogant person we hear about after all. This seems to be a piece of poetry. Love poetry at that.’

He scanned it once more, reading aloud.

Cold the nights I cannot sleep,

Thinking of my love, my dear one,

Of the nights we spent together,

Myself and my love from Cill Ria.

‘It shows that Ultán was not without some softness if he could write such poetry,’ offered Brother Conchobhar.

Fidelma refolded the paper and placed it in her marsupium before glancing back to the body. ‘At least, we can rule out robbery for financial gain. He still wears his necklet of semi-precious stone, and his bishop’s ring of gold.’

Brother Conchobhar pointed to a small chest standing on a table to one side. It was half open.

‘It was open when I was here. The chest is full of precious baubles. Perhaps the bishop was going to dispense them as gifts.’

Fidelma glanced in the small chest for confirmation. It was certainly full of valuable stones. But she had heard the inflection in Brother Conchobhar’s voice and turned to him.

‘Do you imply another meaning?’

Brother Conchobhar shrugged indifferently. ‘I had heard that the abbot’s mission here was not merely to attend your wedding, lady, but to persuade others to support the claims of Ard Macha as primatial seat of Christendom in the five kingdoms. If argument could not do so, perhaps the abbot’s thinking was that financial tokens might help change people’s minds.’

‘And where did this story come from?’ queried Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar hesitated and then said: ‘Abbot Augaire of Conga. I was speaking to him last night. He was telling me that such financial tokens have been distributed to the prelates of some of the northern abbeys to get their support.’

‘Tokens? The term is a bribe, old friend.’ Fidelma used the term duais do chionn chomaine, which literally meant ‘a gift in return for kindness’ but generally carried the connotation of an enticement — something for something.

‘Well, that is what he told me,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar gravely.

‘And is there anything else you noticed or heard in connection with the abbot’s death?’

Brother Conchobhar paused for a moment. ‘It is not up to me to form deductions. But if it is observations you want. . well, I can say that Abbot Ultán liked comfort.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Eadulf.

‘For one thing, he wore silk next to his skin under the rough woollen robes of his calling.’

‘Many do so who can afford it,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Yet I have heard it said of this Abbot Ultán, that he claimed to live according to rules of austerity, chastity and poverty of spirit. He advocated the rule of the Penitentials.’

‘You hear a lot in your apothecary, my friend,’ observed Eadulf wryly.

Brother Conchobhar was complacent.

‘I do,’ he acknowledged lightly. ‘But then I am old and find myself predisposed to listen to gossip whereas younger people rush hither and thither lest they miss a moment of time. By doing so they often find that the important things in life have passed them by altogether.’

Fidelma sighed and gave a final glance around the room. ‘I think we have seen enough. We will have to speak to the abbot’s entourage later. There is no more to be done here. The body can be taken and prepared for burial after Brehon Ninnid makes his investigation.’

Brother Conchobhar inclined his head.

Outside, Fidelma paused to say to Enda, ‘I do not want any member of the abbot’s entourage to enter the room without my personal approval.’

‘Very well, my lady.’

‘What now?’ asked Eadulf, as he followed her along the passage.

‘Now I must discuss matters with Muirchertach Nár,’ she replied. ‘I would get some rest now, Eadulf, or break your fast. I will return and tell you all that Muirchertach has to say. . that I promise.’