A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER FORUTEEN

Fidelma looked thoughtful as Eadulf finished telling her what he had discovered. Gormán had diplomatically left them together in the corner of old Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary to discuss matters in the light of this information.

‘There is no question that Brother Drón’s horse did not have a cracked shoe?’ she asked gently.

‘None,’ replied Eadulf, somewhat bitterly. ‘I should have checked immediately. All four shoes were in good condition. Rónán told us that the horse that was ridden from the scene of the killing had a split horseshoe on his left foreleg. That is a description of Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse.’

‘Well, as I have said, we may trust Rónán;. So from what we now know, the story that Brother Drón told you, that of simply finding Muirchertach’s horse, could be true.’

Eadulf was irritated. ‘Could be true, yes. But it seems odd that the killer should leave the scene of the crime riding his horse and leading Muirchertach’s for quite a way before deciding to abandon it.’

‘I mean it as no insult when I say that you are not much of a horseman, Eadulf.’

‘It is true, I’ll not deny it,’ Eadulf said stiffly. ‘So what have I missed?’

‘That Muirchertach’s horse probably followed the killer’s mount of its own volition. Horses do not have to be led. When the killer found that the king’s horse was trailing him, which would have been a sure accusation, he dismounted and looped the reins into a bush so that the beast was tethered. Then he rode away.’

‘I see the logic of that,’ agreed Eadulf reluctantly. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that a horse would follow a strange animal, though.’

Fidelma smiled. ‘That’s just it. It probably would not. But it would follow a horse that it was familiar with.’

Eadulf’s eyebrows rose in enlightenment. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse and the one belonging to Muirchertach were both out of the same stable. I see. Still, I feel angry that I did not spot the business of the split shoe before.’

‘I share the responsibility. When you told me, I could have said who the beast belonged to. I was in the courtyard when Dúnchad Muirisci returned from the hunt. The gilla scuir mentioned the split shoe on the tánaiste’s horse. Furthermore, his hand was bloody from falling into a thorn bush, or so he said. And he said that he had lost his hunting spear.’

‘Then he is our man! It is obvious!’

Fidelma grimaced wryly.

‘Just as the guilt of Brother Drón was obvious?’ she asked sceptically, shaking her head. ‘Patience. We must go carefully, Eadulf. Especially now that Dúnchad Muirisci succeeds Muirchertach Nár as king of Connacht. We are dealing with men of power in this affair, so we must be sure of our accusations.’

‘But just as Brother Drón had a motive to kill Muirchertach Nár, Dúnchad Muirisci had an equally good motive: that he would succeed to the kingship of Connacht.’

‘But what motive had Dúnchad to kill Abbot Ultán?’

‘Well. . none.’

‘Then you are saying that we have two killers here — the one who killed Ultán and the one who killed Muirchertach Nár.’

‘Why not? Muirchertach could have killed Ultán and Dúnchad could have killed Muirchertach. Two separate murders.’

‘I am not satisfied that Muirchertach Nár killed Ultán. If he had been nursing thoughts of vengeance against the man all these years then he would have invented a better story. He would have had a better plan than he did. The very fact that there was no love lost between Muirchertach and his wife makes me wonder, and not for the first time, why Muirchertach would pursue the matter on behalf of a wife who did not care. There is something here that continues to irritate me.’

‘What should we do now? Release Brother Drón?’

‘We will have to withdraw the guard and release him from confinement,’ Fidelma said after a moment’s reflection. ‘But, for the time being, he is only free within the bounds of the fortress. We must now find out what story Dúnchad Muirisci has to tell us.’

Dúnchad Muirisci, his hand newly bandaged, greeted them with some surprise.

‘I have told you all I can about Abbot Ultán’s death. There is nothing more I can say.’ He seemed slightly flustered and evasive.

‘It is not his death that we have to speak of,’ Fidelma replied. ‘May we enter?’

The tánaiste of Connacht stood indecisively, which allowed the determined Fidelma to brush him aside and enter. She halted abruptly and, for a moment, even she was surprised.

Standing in the chamber looking nervous was Sister Sétach.

‘I am surprised to see you here, sister,’ Fidelma said calmly.

The girl made no reply, seeming to look at Dúnchad Muirisci for some guidance.

Eadulf had followed behind Fidelma and was equally surprised when he saw who the girl was.

Dúnchad Muirisci coughed, his face red with embarrassment. ‘Sister Sétach came to see me to discuss the death of Abbot Ultán.’

Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘What aspect of the death?’ she asked, looking at Sister Sétach.

‘About the death of the girl that this whole matter is supposed to be about. About the death of Searc.’

‘That is interesting,’ Fidelma said pointedly, as if waiting for an explanation.

The two were silent for a moment.

‘We were trying to see, now that Abbot Ultán is dead. .’ Sister Sétach was red in the face and she hunched her shoulders as she spoke.

‘Trying to see whether some peace could be declared on this matter between Connacht and Cill Ria,’ ended Dúnchad Muirisci hurriedly.

Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf.

‘So you think that you are now in a position to make such a declaration?’ she asked Dúnchad Muirisci softly.

The heir apparent smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is clear that Sister Sétach could not approach Muirchertach in the current circumstances. As I am tánaiste it is obvious that she would first speak to me. Anyway, the matter is of no consequence. Sister Sétach and I will discuss it later.’ He glanced to the girl with a nod as of dismissal and she took it as such.

Eadulf wondered whether Fidelma was going to hold her back but she allowed the girl to hasten from the room.

‘Now,’ Dúnchad Muirisci said, drawing himself together and trying to regain control of the situation. ‘I have told you all I know about the death of Ultán.’

‘As I have said, it is not his death we came to speak of. This morning, on the boar hunt, Muirchertach Nár was killed.’

If Dúnchad Muirisci was feigning astonishment he was very good, thought Eadulf.

‘But he was a good horseman, an excellent spearshot,’ muttered the tánaiste. ‘How did the boar get him?’ Then he paused. ‘And why has no word of this reached me before now?’

‘You seem to think he was killed in a hunting accident, Dúnchad Muirisci. He was not,’ she replied.

‘He was not?’ The noble looked bemused. ‘Then how?’

‘He was attacked and murdered with his own spear.’

Dúnchad Muirisci took a step back and sat down quickly in a chair.

‘Murdered? Who?’ His eyes cleared. ‘A vengeance killing?’

‘We are investigating that.’

‘That weasel, Brother Drón! Where was he at the time?’

‘As I say, we are investigating.’

Dúnchad Muirisci frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘That means that you are the new king of Connacht, provided your derbhfine is willing.’ The derbhfine was the electoral college of the family, usually consisting of three generations from its last head, who would chose his successor.

‘Of course, of course,’ Dúnchad Muirisci muttered.

‘It also makes you a prime suspect,’ Eadulf added dryly.

‘A suspect?’ Dúnchad Muirisci stared at him stupidly for a moment and then anger began to form on his face.

Before he could frame a rejoinder, Fidelma added: ‘That is absolutely true, Dúnchad; Muirisci. So perhaps you could begin by telling us how you came by that wound on your hand.’

Eadulf wondered why Fidelma was not going straight to the damning evidence of the split horseshoe but decided not to interfere.

Dúnchad; Muirisci hesitated. ‘I told you when I arrived. Down in the courtyard.’

‘Tell me again.’

‘My horse stumbled and I was pushed into a thorn bush. That’s where I scratched my hand.’

‘And you, by all accounts, an excellent rider and hunter,’ murmured Fidelma.

The Connacht noble controlled his obvious resentment at her gentle sarcasm. ‘The truth is that I was caught unawares. The boar came out of nowhere and startled my horse. And if you must know the total truth, my mount reared up and I was taken by surprise and fell off, into a thorn bush. By the time I was on my feet, the horse had galloped off.’ He looked defiant. ‘It can happen to anyone easily enough.’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable. He knew exactly how easily it could happen.

‘So now you say that you fell into a thorn bush and found yourself without your horse,’ Fidelma prompted. ‘What then?’

‘The boar had vanished. I was left on foot. I cursed myself for a fool. I knew that if the others learned of my misfortune, I would be shamed. That is why I did not tell you before. I, Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide, whose bloodline is that of the great High King, Niall Noigiallach! If it was known that I had been unhorsed in a mere hunt, then the satirists of the five kingdoms would claim that Muirchertach Nár had been succeeded by Dúnchad Náire;.’

Despite his concentration on the matter in hand, Eadulf’s attention was caught. He knew that the word nár, which had been the epithet appended to Muirchertach’s name, meant noble, honourable and generous, but now it seemed that a similar word, born of the same root, had come to mean disgraced and shamed.

‘I decided, then, that if I recovered my horse, I would pretend that I had never lost it, in order to preserve my reputation.’ Honour and reputation meant a great deal to the nobles and warriors of Éireann. Dúnchad Muirisci sat back. ‘That’s the truth of it,’ he said simply. ‘I am not proud of it.’

‘But you found your horse again and gave out the story as you told it to me and Finguine when you returned to the fortress,’ Fidelma concluded.

Dúnchad Muirisci looked uncomfortable. He hesitated before replying and Fidelma leaned forward.

‘So you did not recover your horse immediately? You lied. So what is the truth? I want the whole truth now.’

‘The truth?’ he asked. ‘Is it so important? I found the horse again — what does time matter?’

‘The truth is always important,’ she assured him.

‘I did not find my horse for a long time,’ he confessed. ‘I was on foot for what seemed ages. In fact, my long bir became an encumbrance. I finally tossed it aside in the bushes, to be the better able to travel on foot. I wandered about for a long time trying to find the animal. I had almost given up and decided that I would have to face the shame of the loss and come back to Cashel on foot.’

‘But you did find it,’ Fidelma pressed. ‘How was that?’

‘That is curious,’ Dúnchad said. ‘I came through the forest to a place where there was a hilly mound.’

Eadulf now leaned forward eagerly. ‘Describe it,’ he insisted.

The Connacht noble looked surprised at his intervention but then shrugged and gave a quick description.

‘But did you not go up to the mound and look down in the gully beyond?’ Eadulf asked.

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘Is it important?’

‘It is important, because that is where Muirchertach Nár was killed,’ explained Eadulf. ‘His body lay in the gully beyond that mound.’

The Connacht noble appeared shocked. ‘I did not know. I had come to the foot of the mound when I heard the sound of horses nearby.’

‘Horses?’

‘Having given up on saving my reputation, I gave a shout and hurried towards them, thinking that I might be able to get a ride behind one of the other members of the hunt. Distinctly, I heard horses. I thought that I had not been heard. The track these riders had taken led back in the direction of Cashel and so I felt there was nothing for it but to set my footsteps along that path. I had not gone more than a short distance when I came to an area where the path turned rocky and just then I saw my own mount. It was waiting docilely there.’

‘You said this was curious,’ Fidelma said. ‘In what fashion was it so?’

‘My horse was tethered to a bush.’

‘The reins were not simply entangled?’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head quickly. ‘I know the difference between entanglement and the way reins are wrapped over a branch so that the animal does not wander.’

‘There was no one about? Not another horse tethered there?’

‘No one about and no other horse.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I decided to keep to my initial story. I mounted and returned to the fortress. Oh, I forgot. I noticed the horse was limping slightly, so checked and found it had cracked a shoe. It may have been on the rocky area. It was re-shod on my return. Now,’ he looked from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, ‘tell me what this is about. You think that I killed my king?’

‘Tell me, what was your relationship to Muirchertach? I don’t mean your blood relationship.’

‘I am. . was. . his tánaiste,’ replied Dúnchad Muirisci hesitantly.

‘So you were close to him? He was a good friend?’

Dúnchad shook his head immediately. ‘He was of the Uí Fiachracha Aidni. I am of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide. I am five generations in descent from Náth Í, of the senior line, while Muirchertach Nár was eight generations from the second son of Náth Í. We were not even close as cousins, let alone as friends.’

‘But, presumably, you were friendly enough for you to be in accordance in governing the kingdom?’

‘We had an agreement that I would govern the western territories of Connacht and Muirchertach would spend his time in the eastern territories, and it worked well. He was, to be truthful, not a man who was assiduous in his pursuit of government. He preferred the pleasures of kingship to its duties.’

‘Now that he is dead, what will happen to the lady Aíbnat? I believe that she is not grief-stricken at his demise?’

Dúnchad shrugged indifferently. ‘Doubtless she will be disappointed that she no longer has a position of power. But then her family is of the Uí Briúin Aí. Their word is law in northern Connacht and we have little say in the government of their territories. They have long claimed the right to be regarded as kings of Connacht. They descend from Bríon the brother of Niall Noigiallach but only Aíbnat’s father ever became king, and he held the throne for twenty-five years. Aíbnat always thought that her brother Cellach should have been tánaiste if not king. She will doubtless support him when the assembly meets to choose my tánaiste.’

‘Was her position all that she cared about?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I certainly received the impression that she did not think highly of her husband.’

‘I doubt if she felt highly about anyone except herself,’ Dúnchad confirmed. ‘My cousin’s rule was short and not altogether spectacular. His father, Guaire, eclipsed him in deeds and valour and in bestowing lands to the church so that they might flourish. He worked hard to buy people’s loyalty and praise rather than earn it.’

Fidelma looked carefully at Dúnchad. ‘You sound as if you disapproved of him.’

‘Disapproved? A good word. I’ll be honest with you, even if it does endorse your obvious suspicion that I had a role in his death. I did not like my cousin. He was a vain man and he had acquired a reputation. But, on the other hand, I did not hate him to the point that I would kill him.’

‘A reputation?’ Fidelma smiled. ‘A moment ago you were all for reputations and protecting them.’

‘Not the sort of reputation that my cousin had acquired. He had a reputation as a clúanaire.’

Eadulf recognised the word as being concerned with deceit, but he had not come across its use in this fashion before. He asked Fidelma to explain.

‘It means someone who beguiles another, usually a seducer of women.’

Dúnchad nodded in confirmation. ‘That is exact what his reputation was. They said that no noble’s lady was safe in his company.’

‘What did the lady Aíbnat think of that?’

‘I don’t think she was concerned if it didn’t threaten her position at court. She was content to let Muirchertach Nár get on with his own life, provided it did not interfere with hers.’

‘I see. And what were your thoughts on that?’

‘I thought that so long as he did not jeopardise the safety of the kingdom, there was no harm to it.’

‘I presume that none of the ladies involved ever complained?’

‘Not to my knowledge. If they did, he would simply have paid them and their husbands, if husbands there were, whatever their price was for silence.’

‘And yet one would have thought that he was possessed of high morals. He went to such lengths to bring Abbot Ultán to justice over what he considered to be a slight to his wife’s younger sister,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘A man can have double standards,’ said Dúnchad. ‘Or set standards for others that he did not live up to himself. His double standards were somewhat peculiar in respect to the death of Aíbnat’s sister, for the story was that he was attracted to her himself.’

‘Did Aíbnat know that?’

Dúnchad Muirisci raised a shoulder and let it fall as an eloquent comment. ‘It was common knowledge for a while. It was after she had come back from Cill Ria, shocked by the death of the boy with whom she had apparently fallen in love. I think Muirchertach tried to press his attentions on Searc, if you know what I mean. There was a problem and Aíbnat was angry for a time. But then the girl committed suicide and that was that. She obviously cared too much for the boy who was drowned, or killed, or whatever it was that happened to him.’

‘But then Muirchertach sent Brother Augaire to Abbot Ultán for recompense over the suicide?’

‘That is true,’ conceded Dúnchad. ‘Augaire had actually witnessed the suicide, traced the girl’s identity and come to report it to Muirchertach and Aíbnat. Augaire was incensed at her death — a passionate man, Augaire. He saw himself as a vengeful spirit setting out to exact recompense. Muirchertach went along with it. Even appointed him as abbot of Conga. As I said, Muirchertach was full of double standards.’

‘So what you are saying is that both Aíbnat and Muirchertach Nár had their individual faults but that they were compatible enough?’ said Fidelma.

‘Of course. We all have our faults.’

‘But Muirchertach Nár’s faults did not warrant his death,’ Eadulf remarked.

Dúnchad Muirisci blinked and shook his head. ‘It is obvious why he was killed. I said so at the start, as soon as you told me he had been murdered.’

‘Vengeance?’

‘Of course vengeance!’ Dúnchad Muirisci was emphatic. ‘That man, Brother Drón. . he was Abbot Ultán’s comrade, not just a travelling companion. He was steward at Gill Ria. And what of the others Abbot Ultán brought with him? Any one of them could have killed him. Come to think of it, wasn’t Sister Marga riding on the hunt? That is scandalous enough in itself, but maybe it has a deeper significance too.’

Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘We will finish for the time being, Dúnchad Muirisci, but you, like everyone else, will remain now within these walls until we have done with this investigation.’ Something had been worrying her for some time and now she finally dredged the question from the back of her mind. ‘On the night that Abbot Ultán was killed, you told me that Abbot Augaire and you were playing brandubh.’

‘We were.’

‘Abbot Augaire left you close to midnight?’

‘He did.’

‘Then you said that after you went to bed shouting in the corridor disturbed you. You did not investigate because you had been disturbed already that night. What was the cause of your first disturbance?’

Dúnchad Muirisci appeared puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. He smiled.

‘I had almost forgotten. After Abbot Augaire had left, I was preparing for bed when there was a cry and the sound of someone falling outside my door. I went quickly to it and opened it. I found that weasel Brother Drón picking himself up.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He had tripped and fallen outside my door.’ Dúnchad smiled. ‘I did not ask him how he came to fall but he sheepishly said he had been hurrying after someone and tripped. Easily done, I suppose. Anyway, it was nothing to do with me. That was why I did not respond to the second disturbance, which I later realised must have been the discovery of Ultán’s murder.’

There was a silence, and then the Connacht noble rose hesitantly.

‘So what of Muirchertach Nár?’ he asked. ‘What will happen now?’

‘At the moment his body lies in the apothecary of Brother Conchobhar,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It will be washed and prepared ready for burial.’

‘He should be taken to the great abbey of Cluain Mic Nois where his forefathers are buried, as are all legitimate kings of Connacht.’

‘That may not be possible. Neither you nor Aíbnat, nor even your close personal attendants, may leave here with it until the investigation is over.’

‘So you would keep the body here?’ Dúnchad Muirisci was aghast.

‘Let us hope that it will not be for long,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

Eadulf grimaced wryly. ‘We can be thankful that it is the depth of winter and the days are cold,’ he added.

Outside in the corridor, he turned to Fidelma. ‘It is an unlikely story that he is telling. I think it is not to be believed.’

‘Unfortunately it is the unlikely stories that tend to be the truth,’ Fidelma commented. ‘However, I agree that we cannot take it at face value.’

‘Especially the reason given as to why Sister Sétach was visiting. I don’t think that promiscuity had anything to do with it.’

Fidelma smiled briefly. ‘An interesting choice of word, Eadulf.’

‘I merely meant that Sister Sétach would be immoderate in her behaviour if. . well, you know. I believe that she could have only just met Dúnchad Muirisci.’

Fidelma suddenly smiled. ‘Sometimes, Eadulf, you unconsciously put your finger on a point that eludes me.’

Eadulf looked bemused. ‘Something about Sister Sétach? I don’t see what.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Something about Sister Marga. I now want a word with that young woman.’

They were walking to the hostel for the religieuse when, turning a corner, they nearly collided with Abbot Augaire. He halted and frowned at them.

‘How does your investigation proceed, Sister Fidelma?’ he inquired sharply. ‘I have just come from Aíbnat. It is strange that you keep this matter so secret. Anyway, it means that Muirchertach Nár’s body awaits disposal. Can you not conclude this matter so that we may accompany it to Connacht for burial?’

‘Not yet,’ Fidelma said calmly.

‘Rumour has it that Brother Drón was caught with Muirchertach’s horse.’

‘Rumours spread quickly,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘But things must take their course, Augaire. You know that. However, speaking of Brother Drón, I did want to ask you a question. On the night of the murder of Abbot Ultán, did you see Brother Drón in the corridor when you left Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber?’

Abbot Augaire paused for a moment. ‘Was he there?’

‘I am asking you.’

‘So far as I am aware, I left Dúnchad Muirisci, walked to my chamber without seeing anyone and was there for the rest of the night. I shouldn’t think Brother Drón could have been lurking anywhere unless. .’ He paused.

‘Unless?’ pressed Fidelma.

Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘There is a sort of alcove there in the corridor. You must know it. There are several in the corridors here. I was going to say, unless he was lurking there. . but then I walked past it and there was no one to be seen. Of course, he could have been standing on the ledge that runs outside the alcove window.’ He chuckled. ‘But I don’t think Brother Drón is the sort to submit himself to such dangers. The ledge has several loose blocks along it.’

Eadulf smiled grimly.

‘I think that we can discount Brother Drón’s playing such acrobatics,’ he said firmly.

Fidelma and Eadulf found Sister Marga in the women’s hostel. The religieuse had just come from the bathing house, and there was the faint odour of some fragrance. Fidelma sniffed as she entered, for she could smell a combination of scents. She could identify fedlend, the soft smell of honeysuckle, but not the more powerful odour. Sister Sétach was fussing over her companion with some toiletry and looked up in annoyance as Fidelma came in.

‘Are we never to be left alone?’ she snapped.

Sister Marga glanced at her companion in surprise but Fidelma ignored the petulant tone.

‘I am, as I have said, a dálaigh, Sister Sétach,’ she said mildly, ‘and must encroach on you as many times as is necessary for my investigation. However, it is Sister Marga that we have come to see, and I would appreciate it if you could leave us for a minute or two.’

Sister Sétach stood for a few moments, her jaw working slightly, as if she were considering this. Then she looked down at Sister Marga.

‘Do you want me to go?’ she demanded brusquely.

‘I think it is better to do as Sister Fidelma asks,’ Marga replied in an almost apologetic tone.

With a loud sniff of disapproval, Sister Sétach turned and left the room. Sister Marga looked after her with a frown before turning back to Fidelma and Eadulf.

‘She does not sleep well and that makes her irritable. I think she believes it is her duty to protect me,’ she said apologetically. ‘She was at Cill Ria when I joined and considers herself my senior.’

‘Yet it was you, so I understand, who asked her to come on this trip?’

Sister Marga looked startled for a moment. ‘She told you that?’

‘It is not true, then?’

‘Oh, partially true, I suppose. I felt sorry for her, being so upset at not being chosen to accompany this embassy from the Comarb of Patrick. There was space for another one to help keep the records and she kept pressing me about it, so I asked Abbot Ultán if he would consider taking her as well. But Brother Drón, in fact, had already suggested that Seétach should be a member of the embassy and Abbot Ultán had agreed to it even before I asked.’

‘Well, we will return to Sister Sétach in a moment. Let me start with you. You are from Cill Ria, of course. Are you of the Uí Thuirtrí?’

The girl shook her head. ‘I am of the Ciannachta. My clan lands are to the north-west of their country. I went into the religious at Ard Stratha and that is where I learned to write a good hand and to read Latin, Greek and Hebrew. I was good at keeping records and copying texts. I was told that Cill Ria was looking for good scholars and so, a few years ago, I went to the abbey there. At first, the work was good. I was given texts to copy and to compile into books. But we are all allowed to make one mistake in life. The decision to go to Cill Ria was mine,’ she ended ruefully.

‘A mistake?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Did you know how the abbey was run before you went there?’

Sister Marga shook her head.

‘Had you heard about Abbot Ultán?’

She gestured negatively again. ‘I came to hate Cill Ria and the Penitentials. Moreover, I hated Ultán.’

‘If you hated it all so much, why did you not leave?’

Sister Marga simply laughed. There was bitterness in her laugh but she made no reply.

‘Your companion does not share your hate,’ pointed out Fidelma.

‘She is not my companion. She would like to be, if you know what I mean. I feel sorry for her. She is devoted to Cill Ria and appears to believe Abbot Ultán is. . was some kind of saint.’

‘You make it clear that you do not,’ Fidelma observed.

‘I not only believe but know he was not. There were two Ultáns. There was the false image of the pious abbot that he presented to the world. Oh, I know all about his miraculous conversion on the seas and what he was before that. However, I knew the second Ultán, the real Ultán.’

‘You must explain.’

‘Ultán had persuaded the Comarb of Patrick at Ard Macha that he was changed, as Paul had changed on the road to Damascus. . that parable was always being spoken of in Cill Ria. Brother Drón was fond of using it to stifle any questions about the sincerity of the abbot. Ultán enforced his Penitentials with such strictness simply to show how pious he was. That was the face he presented to the world. It was not the face I saw.’

‘Which was?’

‘Which was still the thief, the robber, who seized goods when he could maintain they were offerings that must be freely given to the church. He had individuals flogged for what he claimed to be sacrilege. He enjoyed inflicting physical punishment on people. At least one person a day was sentenced to a whipping for what he claimed were impure thoughts. He was even responsible for the death of several.’

‘All this you saw in your time at Cill Ria?’

Sister Marga nodded grimly. ‘And more.’

‘More?’

‘He used some of the girls from the women’s house to satiate his lust.’

‘Sister Sétach?’

‘Never her, but perhaps that is not strange.’

‘Did he use you?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

Sister Marga coloured and then shrugged with a defiant gesture. ‘How can the weak defend themselves from the strong? But all the time I remembered what my father used to say — there is no tide so strong that it doesn’t ebb. I waited and prayed for any opportunity to escape.’

Eadulf leaned forward with a frown. ‘Did you kill Abbot Ultán?’

The girl regarded him with a serious expression. ‘I wish that I had possessed that courage. I did not.’

‘Why did you come on this trip with him, if you so detested him?’

‘Do you think that I had a choice? Besides, I thought there was a possibility that it might offer me an opportunity to escape. But Brother Drón was always keeping a watchful eye on me. And so was Sister Sétach.’

‘You are saying that both Drón and Sétach are watching you?’

‘I think Ultán became suspicious of my motives and ordered them to do so. They still do. This morning was the first time that I was able to escape from them. I think that they did not realise that I would dare seize the opportunity to leave with Ultán newly dead. I managed to persuade the stable lad to saddle up Ultán’s own horse so that I could ride out with the hunt. I had intended to ride east to Laigin.’

Fidelma saw the defiance in the girl’s face. ‘So you intended to flee Cashel entirely, not merely to go on the hunt?’

‘My intention was to rid myself of Drón and Sétach for good, and certainly not return to the squalid halls of Cill Ria.’

‘You managed to elude them this morning. Why did you return?’

The girl shrugged. ‘I lost the opportunity. I was in the forest when I saw Brother Drón riding hard to catch up with me. I panicked and let the horse have its head. Drón chased me through the forest for a while but, thankfully, I proved the better rider. When I finally halted, I listened for his pursuit but could not hear it. I was unsure what to do next. Then Fergus Fanat came along. . well, I found myself confessing all to him. He promised me that he would help me if I returned with him. That he would protect me. That is why I came back.’

She paused and Fidelma prompted her to continue but she shook her head. ‘There is nothing more to be said.’

‘I think there is. What made Brother Drón chase after you? How did he find out that you had fled?’

‘I learned the story from Sétach. Brother Drón was looking for me. He found Sétach after I had left and said he had received a message that I was meeting a lover by the Well of Patrick. He had asked at the gate where this was and been told it was due south. Sétach is clever and she went first to the stable and discovered that I had taken Ultán’s horse. She made inquiries, and the stable lads told her that I had gone off with the other ladies on the hunt. She found Drón in the courtyard about to set off to the Well of Patrick. Sétach advised him to follow the hunt, for she believed it was some ruse of mine to draw him in the wrong direction.’

‘That is curious enough,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Who gave this message to Drón?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that it was certainly untrue.’

‘That you were meeting a lover or that you had a lover?’

The girl flushed. ‘That I was meeting anyone at this well or elsewhere.’

‘Let us return to this meeting with Fergus Fanat,’ Fidelma said. ‘How long have you known him?’

The question seemed to throw Marga off guard for a moment.

‘I presume that you met him in the land of the Uí Thuirtrí? Was that after you had entered Cill Ria?’

‘How did you know that I had met him before?’ she demanded.

‘You were at the game of immán waiting for him, I think. Was your meeting during the hunt by design?’

‘I have told you that it was not.’

‘When you told him about your plan to flee, how did he persuade you to come back here?’

The girl looked unhappy.

‘He is your lover, isn’t he?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘For the love of God, do not tell Brother Drón nor Sister Sétach. They suspect me enough.’

‘Then tell me how you met, and when.’

‘As you say, it was just after I went to Cill Ria. I went to collect some manuscripts from Ard Stratha and it was on that journey that I met Fergus Fanat. He was young, a warrior, a cousin of the king of Ulaidh, and. .’

Fidelma waved her hand in a swift dismissive gesture. ‘I think you can spare us the description. Sufficient to say that you were attracted to him.’

‘And he to me. We met several times after that. But then the clouds gathered at Cill Ria. I was sent to the bed of Ultán under threat of punishments. I was too ashamed to contact Fergus Fanat any more. He tried to get in touch with me several times without being too obvious and I do not think that either Ultán or Drón knew of my relationship with him. I had not seen him since. Not until we came here and I saw him on the playing field. I was going to speak to him then, but you forestalled me.’

‘Why not contact him later?’

‘Because I was watched closely. I was in despair. And at Ultán’s funeral last night I saw him there with his cousin, the king of Ulaidh. I know he saw me. He saw Sister Sétach embracing me during the funeral. I think she did so on purpose because she saw him watching me and might have guessed there had been something between us. But he made no attempt to contact me. I was in despair. That was when I decided to flee and strike out for Laigin.’

Fidelma sat back regarding her thoughtfully. ‘And you still maintain that meeting Fergus Fanat on the hunt was an accident?’

‘Aren’t our lives full of coincidences?’ the girl demanded. ‘If the coincidence works against us we say “if only. .” If only we had taken a certain path at a certain time we might have changed our lives. If only. When, however, we do take the path where there is a meeting, where our lives are changed, it is hailed as a suspicious act.’

‘I will not disagree with your philosophy. But what I want to know is what Fergus Fanat could say to you, in these circumstances, to prevent your flight to Laigin?’

‘It is what I told him. I told him everything. The truth about my life at Cill Ria, why I felt too ashamed to continue to see him, and my reason for accompanying Abbot Ultán on this embassy to Imleach and Cashel. And he accepted me as I am. We mean to marry. He told me to come here and stand up to Brother Drón and Sister Sétach and that he would support and protect me.’

‘And have you stood up to them?’ Fidelma asked.

Sister Marga shook her head. ‘Not yet. We shall see them together. Then I shall travel back with Fergus Fanat to Ulaidh and be his wife.’

There was no mistaking the happiness in the girl’s features as she said this. Then she glanced nervously round. ‘Do not say anything until Fergus and I have that meeting. We desire to stand up to them together.’

Fidelma was reassuring. ‘Have no fear, I will not speak about this for the time being.’

Eadulf nodded his assent as he saw the girl’s face turned imploringly towards him.

‘When is this confrontation with Drón and Sétach to be?’ he asked.

‘This evening, after the meal.’

It was just before the evening meal when Fidelma and Eadulf received another summons to Colgú’s private chamber. The High King, Sechnassach, sat in the chair usually occupied by Colgú. He wore a worried expression.

Colgú sat beside him, and also present in the chamber were the brehons Barrán, Baithen and Ninnid. As Fidelma and Eadulf entered the room, the High King himself bade Fidelma to be seated. Eadulf, as a foreigner of lower rank who was not entitled to sit in the presence of the High King, stood up in a position behind Fidelma’s chair. Finguine, Colgú’s tánaiste, and Caol, commander of Colgú’s guard, stood at the door.

It was Brehon Barrán who spoke first.

‘Brehon Ninnid informs us that you have released Brother Drón, thus apparently admitting that Ninnid was correct when he told you that a churchman could not have taken part in a vengeance killing. Further, he says that he has found that the obvious suspect is Muirchertach’s heir apparent and that you know this but are delaying the charges to be heard against him.’

Fidelma remained impassive, although Eadulf sensed stiffening in her body.

‘There is no evidence to bring charges,’ she replied tersely.

‘An abbot is murdered and now a king. In each case it seems that the evidence against one person is overwhelming and yet you seem to be delaying a hearing on both matters. We must bring things to a resolution and quickly,’ Brehon Barrán insisted.

‘We have already discussed this. I thought that it had been agreed that more time was needed,’ Fidelma said, speaking directly to Sechnassach. The High King looked uncomfortable.

‘Brehon Ninnid has asked for this meeting to make a plea that, after the unilateral release of Brother Drón and his discovery of the evidence against Dúnchad Muirisici, charges should be brought against Muirchertach’s tánaiste.’

At this, Brehon Ninnid coughed nervously and rose from his seat.

‘With due respect, I think Sister Fidelma is making this matter complicated when it is simple in its resolution,’ he said. ‘Abbot Ultán was slain by Muirchertach Nár.’

‘For what reason?’ demanded the High King.

‘I think that the lady Fidelma will agree with me on the reason. I have learned that he blamed Ultán for the death of his wife’s younger sister and had once sought compensation from him. The compensation was refused. Everything was done within the law, although Muirchertach Nár claimed that it was not so. That gave him a cause for anger and resentment.’

Sechnassach glanced to where Fidelma was seated. Her face was impassive. ‘Do you agree with this?’

‘I agree that there was an enmity between Muirchertach Nár and Ultán over the death of this girl,’ Fidelma replied.

Brehon Ninnid smiled triumphantly. ‘There is the motive. That makes sense of those distinguished witnesses’ — he inclined his head in swift succession to Brehon Baithen and Caol — ‘who saw Muirchertach Nár flee from the bedchamber at the time of Ultán’s murder.’

‘It makes sense, but it does not prove beyond dispute that Muirchertach Nár was the killer,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘And now Muirchertach Nár is slain himself and cannot make a proper defence.’

‘He was slain by his heir in order to seize the throne of Connacht,’ went on Brehon Ninnid. ‘We have the evidence of Brother Eadulf there, who, with the warrior Gormán, having been called to the scene of the king of Connacht’s death, followed the tracks of two horses from that very spot. One was the riderless mount of Muirchertach Nár found by Brother Drón. The other was the horse that had a split horsehoe and belonged to Dúnchad Muirisci. But now Sister Fidelma, having claimed that Muirchertach Nár was innocent and demanded time to investigate, has released Brother Drón from confinement. Yet she has not put forward charges against Dúnchad Muirisci. I say that she is delaying a hearing unnecessarily.’

‘As a point of correction, tracks of three horses were observed by Rónán the tracker. We have not identified the third set of tracks.’

Sechnassach sighed. ‘Even so, it seems very logical. There is much speculation and unrest among our people, Fidelma. A quick hearing of these facts could stop it.’

‘Except,’ Fidelma’s voice cut in coldly as she rose from her seat, ‘except that it would not be justice. Not justice to Bishop Ultán nor justice to Muirchertach Nár nor even justice to Dúnchad Muirisci or Brother Drón.’

Brehon Ninnid glanced at her, shrugged eloquently and sat down. ‘You have contrary evidence then?’ he said, almost with a smirk.

Fidelma hesitated.

‘Well, Fidelma? Do you?’ prompted Sechnassach gently.

‘I have only inconsistencies to put forward at this time. However, such as they are they do cause concern.’

Sechnassach glanced at Brehon Barrán as if seeking help.

‘We all are aware of Fidelma’s reputation,’ Brehon Barrán said. ‘There is none here who does not respect her knowledge of law and the sharp penetration of her questions. I certainly would not dismiss her arguments lightly without some consideration of them.’

Fidelma bowed slightly towards him. ‘If there is one thing that irritates me about this whole matter it is that we have circumstantial evidence pointing to two people. And in their defence, both of them — I am speaking of Muirchertach Nár and Dúnchad — have put forward curious tales, which seem to confirm some guilt. But, by his own weak tale, even Brother Drón is also a prime suspect.’

‘Why does circumstantial evidence irritate you, Fidelma?’ asked Brehon Barrán. ‘It is still acceptable in law.’

‘Because if any or all of them had really undertaken these acts of murder they would have prepared better stories to elude suspicion. They tell stories that are so impossible to believe that they actually speak of innocence.’

Brehon Ninnid laughed aloud in scepticism, but Brehon Barrán’s face was grave.

‘You have made a point that needs consideration, Fidelma, but it comes back to what the High King Sechnassach says. The people are growing restless. Two deaths in two days — an abbot and a king. We cannot keep everyone confined here for ever during this search for the truth.’

Fidelma’s tone was unemotional. ‘You’ll recall that yesterday was meant to be my wedding celebration. If anyone is suffering by this delay, as Brehon Ninnid calls it, it is Eadulf and I.’

Sechnassach grimaced with a wry expression at Brehon Barrán, who gave a a ghost of a nod in the High King’s direction.

‘I am afraid that a decision has to be made, Fidelma. I thought earlier today that I could allow you what freedom you wanted. But the members of my council have made representations about the growing unrest. So I have decided. One further night and a day can pass. Then we shall meet again. The matter must then be pronounced capable of resolution. Is that clear?’

Brehon Ninnid stood up and both he and Fidelma bowed towards the High King in acquiescence.

Outside the chamber, Eadulf could see that Fidelma was unhappy.

‘Justice is not served by pandering to people because they are restless or want to get home.’ Her voice was quiet but angry as they walked back to their chamber.

‘Or get married.’ Eadulf grinned, trying to introduce some humour into the conversation.

Fidelma’s face softened for a moment. ‘Even brehons seem to forget the purpose of the law — jus est ars boni et aequi.’

‘Law is the art of the good and the just,’ Eadulf translated. ‘I think our friend Ninnid believes it to be the art of gaining reputation. Anyway, what now? It is already dark. There is only this night and tomorrow in which to find a solution.’

‘You go on to our chambers, check to see that all is well with little Alchú and Muirgen. Have something to eat. I will be along shortly. I want to have a word with Abbot Laisran.’

‘Laisran? Why?’

Fidelma smiled. ‘He is often a good counsel in times of stress.’