A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Abbot Laisran’s cherubic countenance was unusually glum as he welcomed his cousin. ‘I am truly sorry that what should have been a time of happiness for you has been cursed, Fidelma.’

‘Even these days will pass,’ Fidelma said reassuringly. ‘Indeed, by tomorrow evening, it seems that I must have a solution.’

Abbot Laisran waved her to a seat.

‘And are you near one?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Not exactly. I have many questions but cannot find the right people to answer them. That is why I have come to you.’

Abbot Laisran sat back before the fire and folded his hands across his broad stomach. He smiled complacently.

‘As you know, it is my privilege to be abbot at Durrow, whose students not only come from all the corners of the world but, after their training, return to those four corners. There is little gossip that does not eventually reach my ears. How might I be of help? You have doubtless discovered that Ultán of the Uí Thuirtrí was not always the pious religious that he pretended. That surely gives you some scope in your investigation?’

‘It complicates things. I know that many hated him.’

‘Just so. He was not a likeable person.’

‘But that being so, it means that many desired to kill him.’

‘And, from what I hear, many with justification,’ agreed Abbot Laisran. ‘Though I was not surprised when the finger of suspicion fell on Muirchertach Nár.’

Fidelma regarded him with interest. ‘What do you know of Muirchertach Nár?’

‘Ah, poor Muirchertach.’ Laisran shook his head, his features in an expression of mock sorrow. ‘I have heard that he is no longer of this earthly realm. They do say de mortuis nihil nisi bonum. . of the dead speak nothing but good. But, in justice, when good and bad mingle, one should speak truthfully. He was a sad man. Overshadowed by his father, King Guaire. When he became king of Connacht, he tried his best to emulate him. I’ll wager that you have no liking for his wife. . his widow,’ he corrected himself. ‘The lady Aíbnat. Truly, she is a strange lady. There is a saying among her servants that if you put her in an empty chamber, she would pick a fight in it within seconds.’

Fidema chuckled appreciatively. ‘I can agree with that.’

‘I am not sure why she and Muirchertach married. She, of course, is of the Uí Briúin Aí — they are rival families for the kingship of Connacht. I do not think mutual feelings had anything to do with their relationship. Muirchertach found his carnal pleasures elsewhere, by all accounts. I think it was a marriage of convenience. The two families trying to patch up their quarrels. A marriage of politics.’

Fidelma had gathered that much from Dúnchad Muirisci.

‘You have heard of Muirchertach’s clash with Bishop Ultán over Aíbnat’s younger sister Searc? Was that to do with a desire to pacify the Uí Briúin family rather than any regard for his wife?’

‘I have heard about this matter,’ agreed Abbot Laisran. ‘It seems a little out of character for Muirchertach to pursue such a course unless he were doing it for politics rather than out of personal affection. That might make sense.’ He rubbed his chin reflectively and seemed to fall into deep thought.

‘Do you have another conclusion?’ she prompted.

‘I have heard that Searc was a beautiful girl and, as I say, Muirchertach was disposed to forming attachments to young women.’

Fidelma shook her head immediately. ‘But Searc was in love with the young man named Senach of Cill Ria.’

‘Just so. But there were stories that Muirchertach was attracted to her. I understand that she initially went to live at his fortress at Durlas to be companion to her sister Aíbnat.’

‘Before she met Senach?’

‘I don’t know. However, there is certainly no question that the attraction was mutual. She rejected Muirchertach’s advances. At least, that is what I have heard.’

Fidelma looked at the leaping flames in the fire for a few moments. ‘Are you saying that Muirchertach tried to seduce Aíbnat’s sister?’

Abbot Laisran’s chubby face was not exactly serious. ‘It would not be the first time that such a thing has happened. Whether of the nobility or the Faith, men are often led by their desires. Myself now, I am too old to desire anything more than a good jug of wine, a nicely cooked repast and perhaps the entertainment of a good horse race.’

Fidelma broke into a smile. ‘I know your faults only too well, Laisran. You should add to them the fascination of the gaming board.’

‘Ah.’ The abbot nodded reflectively. ‘I had not forgotten. I fail to mention that because I have learned never to challenge you to bran-dubh or fidchell, either board game would spell disaster for me against one of your wit.’

Fidelma suddenly frowned again. ‘Are you saying that Muirchertach had a reputation with women and that his wife Aíbnat knew about it?’

‘It is what I have heard. I cannot bear witness to it.’

‘But where did you hear this? Durrow is a long way from Muirchertach’s fortress at Durlas.’

‘As Virgil said: fama malum quo non aliud velocius ullum,’ Laisran replied with a wink.

‘It is true that nothing travels faster than scandal,’ Fidelma agreed, ‘but one has to separate mere rumour and mischief-making.’

‘Often there is truth in rumour,’ the abbot replied. ‘Tales told from different sources may be treated with less suspicion than a tale told by a single source. There were several religious arriving at Durrow and each told a similar tale.’

Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘For Virgil I give you Horace — say nothing in case what you say hurt another or bring down on us an unfavourable act of the gods.’

The abbot smiled broadly. ‘You cannot believe that,’ he rebuked humorously. ‘Otherwise, where would you be? You could not function if people obeyed the favete linguis that Horace suggested we obey. Without gossip, without speculation, without people talking to you, your investigations would hardly lead anywhere.’

Fidelma thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘I agree that there is truth in that, Laisran. I suppose the secret is knowing where to look for the nuggets of truth among the silt of hearsay, calumny and defamation.’

‘I am afraid that is your task in life, Fidelma. You chose your profession.’

‘So,’ Fidelma returned to a more practical issue, ‘these rumours that religious wanderers from Connacht brought to you at Durrow had a consistency? They spoke of Muirchertach as a libertine, profligate in his behaviour to women?’

‘They did.’

‘Even in his behaviour to Searc, the sister of his wife Aíbnat?’

‘It is so.’

‘Even if this were just scandal without substantiation, something is strange,’ she said with a shake of her head. Then she rose to her feet. Abbot Laisran looked up with a questioning expression.

‘Have I been of help?’

‘I think so,’ she replied, after a moment’s thought. ‘At least you have prompted an interesting question in my mind. Unfortunately, there are many pieces that seem to form patterns but I am not sure whether they are the right patterns. I don’t think, as yet, that I have all the pieces.’

‘With both Ultán and Muirchertach dead, is there any reason to seek any more pieces?’ queried Abbot Laisran. ‘After all,’ he waved a hand, an odd little gesture as though unsure of himself, ‘it does make a resolution to the matter, doesn’t it? Ultán killed and no great loss to anyone. Muirchertach was blamed and now Muirchertach dead, perhaps in revenge.’

‘But who killed Muirchertach?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘Does it serve anyone to find out?’

‘It serves justice and that is what we are about or we are about nothing at all in life.’

‘I have heard that one learned brehon would prefer not to implicate anyone from Laigin,’ he said softly. Fidelma gazed sharply at him. ‘It is just a thought that I heard expressed.’

‘I think I know where that thought came from. Sometimes I forget that the abbey of Durrow lies across the border in the kingdom of Laigin.’

‘You have a sharp mind, Fidelma,’ sighed Abbot Laisran. ‘I always thought that you were a great lawyer.’

‘When you see Brehon Ninnid of Laigin you might say that you heard that I was as determined to track down whoever killed Muirchertach as I was to clear Muirchertach Nár’s name of the murder of Abbot Ultán by discovering who really killed him.’

‘I shall tell Brehon Ninnid. Perhaps, if I were looking for Muirchertach’s killer, I would be thinking of the type of man that Muirchertach Nár was. If the rumours that he was a libertine are true, who might be the one to suffer from his behaviour?’

‘Aíbnat?’ Fidelma grimaced dismissively. ‘I should not think that she would care one way or another.’

‘Yet with her own sister?’

Fidelma thought a moment and then inclined her head, turning for the door. ‘I will bear in mind what you say, Laisran.’

Fidelma had just finished telling Eadulf the gist of her conversation with Laisran when there was a knocking on their chamber door. Muirgen the nurse hurried across the chamber to open the door, making a disapproving noise as she did so, glancing in young Alchú’s crib as she passed by to ensure that he had not been disturbed. It was Caol, the commander of the guard, on the threshold, looking agitated. He glanced past Muirgen and caught site of Fidelma.

‘Lady, a thousand apologies, but it is Fergus Fanat. .’ he called.

Fidelma rose and hastened to the door to join him, dismissing Muirgen with a motion of her head.

‘What about Fergus Fanat?’ she asked softly.

‘He has been attacked.’

Eadulf now joined them.

‘Is he dead?’ he asked.

Caol shook his head. ‘But he is barely alive.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He has been taken down to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.’

‘Where did the attack take place?’ asked Fidelma, reaching for a cloak, for the hour was nearly midnight and the night was chilly.

‘Outside the guest chambers given over to Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, and his attendants.’

‘Who was responsible?’ demanded Eadulf, as, by common consent, they left Muirgen looking after the still sleeping baby, and followed Caol into the corridor.

‘No one knows.’

‘Were there no witnesses?’

Caol shook his head. ‘None so far as is known.’

‘Tell us what you do know, Caol,’ said Fidelma.

‘The servant of Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh, came to find me a short time ago. He told me that Fergus Fanat, the king’s cousin, had been found badly injured.’

‘Stabbed?’ asked Eadulf quickly.

‘I don’t think so. Brother Conchobhar will know the extent of his injuries, for, having ascertained the man still lived, I had him removed to the care of the good apothecary.’

‘Let us go and see Blathmac immediately, while the events are still fresh in his mind,’ Fidelma suggested.

They found the ruler of Ulaidh in his chamber, looking a little careworn, seated with a flagon of corma at his side. His two personal attendants were standing in the room, wearing their short swords, while outside his chamber were two more warriors of Caol’s guard. Blathmac greeted Fidelma with a wry smile.

‘Until I know whether there is a design to kill me, I am taking no chances,’ he explained, indicating his men. ‘It seems that kings’ and abbots’ lives are not over-valued in Cashel.’

Fidelma did not seem to take offence.

‘I think you may be assured that Fergus Fanat was not attacked in place of yourself, Blathmac,’ she said, seating herself as was her right, while Eadulf stood behind her chair, as custom dictated.

Blathmac grimaced. ‘A king has already been killed. One of my abbots also. How can I be sure that the design is not against me?’

‘There is no surety in this world except that we all die at some time,’ she returned. ‘However, I would not lose sleep over fear that you were the intended victim. Can you tell me what happened?’

Blathmac shrugged indifferently. ‘There is little enough to tell, lady. I was taking supper when I heard a noise outside my chamber door.’

‘A noise?’

‘I suppose you might call it a scuffle. Unsteady footsteps. A cry of pain abruptly cut off and the sound of what, in retrospect, would have been a body falling. Fergus’s body. I grabbed my sword and went to the door and found Fergus lying there in front of the threshold. His head was covered in blood.’

‘Who else was in the corridor?’

‘No one.’

‘No one? Had you heard the sound of any doors along the corridor being shut?’

Blathmac shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘Because it is a long corridor. How long was it from when you heard the sound of the body falling until you opened the door?’

‘Only moments.’

‘In those moments, the attacker had time to vanish. They would have had to go into another chamber.’ Fidelma paused, suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Unless. .’

Blathmac looked at her expectantly. Abruptly, she changed the subject.

‘What did you do next?’

‘I called my servants and sent one of them to raise the commander of the guard. He came, found Fergus still living, thanks be to God, and had him removed to the care of an apothecary. That is all I know.’

‘Fergus Fanat was unconscious all this time?’

‘He was.’

Fidelma stood up.

‘Will you search the corridors — I mean the rooms leading off?’ asked Blathmac as she turned to the door.

Fidelma glanced back with a grimace. ‘In retrospect, I do not think anyone eluded your scrutiny of the corridor by entering one of the chambers. Whoever it was had left by another means. Have no fear, Blathmac, this attacker means no harm to you. But if it makes you feel more secure, I am sure Caol will allow his warriors to maintain a watch for the rest of this night.’

Outside the chamber, Fidelma glanced down. There were bloodstains in front of the threshold. She looked up and down the corridor while Eadulf watched her in perplexity. Then she grunted and walked swiftly a short distance along the corridor to an alcove in which a window was set.

‘Ah.’ Eadulf suddenly understood what she was thinking. ‘You believe that the culprit ran back here into the alcove?’

‘Just so,’ Fidelma muttered, peering at the window which was, of course, unglazed and open to the elements. ‘Bring a lantern here.’

Eadulf turned back into the corridor and took down one of the lanterns that lit it.

‘Hold it higher. . here.’

He did so.

She sighed and pointed down at the sill of the window. Eadulf could see some blood smudges.

‘The hand of our attacker as they climbed out of the window on to the ledge that runs just beneath. A short distance along, they turn the corner and are in a different corridor. It seems these outside ledges have been much in use.’

Eadulf was staring at the window and the bloodstain. His face suddenly cleared.

‘Do you mean. .?’ he began, but Fidelma had turned away.

‘Put back the lantern and let us go to see how Fergus Fanat fares.’

Brother Conchobhar looked up from his workbench as Fidelma and Eadulf entered and smiled grimly.

‘I thought it would not be long before you came along.’

‘How is he?’

‘At least he is not dead,’ replied the elderly apothecary. ‘However, he remains unconscious.’

‘What are his injuries?’ asked Eadulf, who knew something of the physician’s art.

‘I believe he was struck twice on the back of the head. There are two distinct wounds. The skin is split open but I do not think the bone of the skull is broken. We can only wait and see if he awakes from the darkness into which he has plunged.’

‘Do you know when we are likely to be able to speak to him?’ Fidelma sounded disappointed.

‘Lady, there are limitations to my knowledge. He may wake soon or he may not wake at all. I have known such cases. Unless he wakes, he cannot take food or drink and he will die. That is how it sometimes happens with wounds that cause this lengthy loss of consciousness.’

Fidelma compressed her lips in a thin line for a moment. ‘May we see him?’

‘Little point, but you may,’ the old man replied, sliding from his stool and taking them into the back of his apothecary, which served as a place to treat the wounded and to prepare the dead for burial. Fidelma was reminded that just hours before Muirchertach Nár had rested here, being prepared for his removal to the chapel of Cashel.

Fergus Fanat lay as if he were asleep, his shallow breathing making no noise. Brother Conchobhar had bound the wounds around his head but other than that there was no sign of injuries.

Fidelma stood looking down for a moment and then she shook her head. ‘You are right, Brother Conchobhar. There is little to be done here except wait. But the waiting is for you and not for us. We have other things to do now.’

She turned, and was leaving the apothecary when she paused by his work bench and sniffed. ‘That is a familiar scent. What is it?’

Brother Conchobhar glanced at the mortar and pestle on his bench.

‘I am crushing lavender,’ he said. He used the Irish term lus na túis — the incense herb.

‘It has a comforting fragrance,’ Fidelma observed.

Eadulf agreed. ‘I believe it was brought to Britain by the Romans some centuries ago. They used the flowers to scent their baths, and hence we call it after their word lavare.’

Brother Conchobhar endorsed Eadulf’s knowledge. ‘I grow it in my lúbgort, my herb garden. Some people like to use it as a relaxant, or as cumrae, a fragrance, as the Romans once did. It is very aromatic.’

‘So I notice,’ replied Fidelma, thanking the old apothecary as they went out into the courtyard, where Caol was waiting for them.

‘What news, lady?’ he asked hopefully.

‘None,’ she replied. ‘He is still unconscious. However, we may need you. Come with us.’

She led the way to the hostel for the religieuse. The place was in darkness and it seemed that everyone was asleep. However, as they drew near, the flinty-eyed brusaid, the hostel keeper, challenged her. Fidelma identified herself.

‘I can let you in, lady, but not the men,’ protested the old woman.

‘That’s all right,’ Fidelma replied. ‘They can wait here. I want to see the sisters Sétach and Marga.’

The old woman took a lantern and, while Eadulf and Caol waited outside, Fidelma followed her into the dormitory rooms.

Sister Sétach was in her bed but awake and sat up with a frown as they approached.

‘What is this?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘Do you come to haunt me?’

Fidelma glanced at the neighbouring bed. It was empty.

‘How long have you been here,’ she asked brusquely.

‘Since I came to bed after the communal meal ended.’

‘You have not stirred?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Show me your hands,’ demanded Fidelma.

‘My hands?’ Sister Sétach looked astonished.

‘Show me!’

Reluctantly, the woman held out her hands to Fidelma. Fidelma glanced at them by the light of the lantern. It was obvious that they had been washed recently and in a hurry, for Fidelma noticed that some flecks of soap had dried on them unnoticed. Her features remained impassive.

‘Where is Sister Marga?’ She nodded to the empty bed.

Sister Sétach shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Fidelma felt that her ignorance was feigned. ‘Yet you say that you have been here the whole time?’

‘It is true,’ Sétach insisted. ‘I came here and she was preparing for bed. I fell asleep and awoke only moments before you came in. She was not here then.’

‘So she left after you fell asleep? You seem to have slept well. I thought that you had difficulty sleeping?’

‘I fell asleep,’ snapped Sister Sétach.

Fidelma hesitated a moment. ‘At what time was your meeting with Sister Marga, Fergus Fanat and Brother Drón this evening?’

This time, the expression of incomprehension on the woman’s face did not seem to be feigned.

‘Our meeting?’ she repeated, puzzled.

‘Did Sister Marga and Fergus Fanat meet you and Brother Drón this evening?’ Fidelma said slowly.

Sister Sétach shook her head in bewilderment. ‘We had no meeting.’

‘Was such a meeting discussed?’

‘What purpose could such a meeting have?’ countered the woman.

Fidelma’s breath came out in an exasperated sigh. ‘Was such a meeting mentioned or arranged?’

‘Of course not. Why should such a meeting be arranged?’

‘Very well. If or when Sister Marga returns, the hostel keeper is to be informed and she must inform me. Is that understood?’

Fidelma hurried to rejoin Eadulf and Caol.

‘I thought our attacker might have been Sétach,’ she muttered, a little disappointed that her suspicion seemed to have been unfounded.

Eadulf was not surprised. ‘Because of her ability to climb along narrow ledges? That occurred to me.’

‘Her hands were unmarked. Yet there was a bloodstained hand print on the sill of the window where the attacker had climbed out. Of course, that is not conclusive. However, Marga is missing. Significantly, according to Sétach, neither she nor Fergus Fanat made any arrangement to see her and Brother Drón this evening. Sister Marga did not tell us the truth.’

‘Sister Sétach could be lying,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘She could,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Alas, we cannot ask Fergus Fanat and get to the truth that way. But we can ask Brother Drón.’

They came to Brother Drón’s chamber and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and, when a further knocking did not elicit a response, Fidelma impatiently opened it and entered. Caol came behind her holding the lantern high. The chamber was empty. The bed had not been slept in. There was no sign of Brother Drón.

‘It still lacks a few hours until dawn,’ Caol pointed out. ‘Drón must be still in the fortress, for the gates will still be closed, and in any case, no one would go out into an unfamiliar countryside in the dead of night.’

‘We must check,’ replied Fidelma, leading the way down to the main courtyard.

The guard at the gate looked sheepish.

‘Brother Drón, the hawk-faced man from Cill Ria? A boy came with a message for him and he took his horse and left about an hour ago. There was no instruction to detain him. He told me that he had to be at some place by first light. Some religious place, I think it was.’

‘You let a stranger out into the countryside in the middle of the night?’ thundered Caol.

‘But I had no orders not to. I did seek the advice of the noble Finguine when one of the religieuse earlier sought permission to leave to go to visit someone in the township. But that was before the gates were closed for the night.’

Fidelma stared at him. ‘A religieuse? Do you know her name?’

‘She gave it as Sister Marga, lady,’ replied the unhappy man.

Fidelma stifled a groan. ‘Was she on horseback?’

‘I don’t think so, lady.’

Fidelma was already hurrying across the cobbled patch to the stables.

The gilla scuir was seated on a hay bale with another of the guards and a fidchell board between them. They rose guiltily as Fidelma entered.

‘Is Abbot Ultán’s horse still here?’ she asked.

The stable lad nodded immediately and pointed.

‘Still here, lady,’ he confirmed.

‘Is there any other horse missing?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘Any other horse?’ The stable lad was bemused for a moment and then shook his head. ‘They are all accounted for with the exception of Brother Drón’s horse. He rode off on it some time ago. Is there something wrong?’

But Fidelma was frowning. ‘So Marga is on foot and Drón on horseback.’

‘Do you think it was Marga who attacked Fergus?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Do we go after them?’

Fidelma was about to reply when there was shouting from outside the gates. The guard said something in response, then swung the gate open a fraction to let a figure enter. To their surprise, Brother Berrihert pushed his way in, halted, saw them by the stables in the light of the lanterns and came hurrying across. He barely acknowledged Fidelma but let forth a flood of Saxon to Eadulf, speaking quickly and with emphasis. Fidelma had a working knowledge but could not follow all that was said by the intense, pale-faced religieux.

‘Eadulf, I need your help. My father is missing.’

‘Ordwulf?’

‘I fear my father plans to kill Brother Drón. When I found him gone tonight I came here to warn you. The guard has just told me that Brother Drón has already left the fortress. I should have told you before that Ordwulf has thought of nothing else but vengeance killing. But he is my father, you understand. I cannot tell you the full story but he blamed Abbot Ultán and still blames Brother Drón for the death of my mother. I need your help, and. .’

Fidelma interrupted. ‘You mention Drón and death. What do you mean? My Saxon is not good enough to understand everything you say. Speak in Latin if it is more comfortable than Irish.’

Berrihert frowned in annoyance. ‘We have no time. .’he began.

‘There is always time for a clear explanation,’ snapped Fidelma.

Brother Berrihert took a deep breath. ‘My father says that Ultán and Drón were responsible for my mother’s death, his wife’s death. It is. .’

Fidelma made a gesture with her hand. ‘I have heard the story from your brothers. I understand it. You say that your father is about to kill Drón? Where are they?’

Brother Berrihert lifted his arms helplessly. ‘I do not know, lady. I had a feeling that my father had something planned yesterday, but it seemed that Drón went off with the hunt. I heard my father cursing to himself about Drón going in the wrong direction and thwarting him.’

‘The wrong direction?’ Fidelma frowned.

‘I did not understand what he meant. But now I think that my father sent a message to Drón asking him to go to some spot where my father planned to kill him.’

Fidelma turned and beckoned the guard to join them. ‘You said that Brother Drón mentioned some place where he was going? A religious place? Can you remember anything else?’

‘I cannot remember, lady. It was some place of pilgrimage, I think.’

Fidelma closed her eyes and groaned. ‘Fool!’

The guard looked shocked. She opened her eyes.

‘Not you. Me!’ She turned to Eadulf. ‘It’s the Well of Patrick, just south of here. Marga told me that Sétach had told her that Drón had received a message before he set out on the hunt, telling him that Marga was meeting her lover at this place. He was about to ride there when Sétach told him Marga was following the hunt in the other direction. That message came from Ordwulf, I’ll wager it.’ She turned to Brother Berrihert. ‘Would your father know about the Well of Patrick?’

Brother Berrihert closed his eyes in agony. ‘On our journey here, my brothers and I went there because it was blessed by the great apostle of the Faith. We went to sip the sacred water from the well and seek a blessing on our new life here in your land. We took our father.’ He suddenly let out a low moan. ‘My father seemed impressed by the isolation of the glade and apparently noted its location in his mind. He knows it is not far away from here.’

‘The Well of Patrick,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘By the honey fields. An ideal spot for a murder. Once it was a sacred place for the Druids and then Patrick visited it when he baptised my ancestors here on the Rock of Cashel. Patrick went south to purify the well in the name of the New Faith.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘An hour or two before dawn. Get our horses ready, Caol. You will have to come with us.’

‘I must come too,’ declared Brother Berrihert.

Caol looked questioningly at Fidelma for guidance and she nodded. ‘He can mount up behind you.’

Caol went off shouting instructions to the gilla scuir to saddle their horses.

In a short time, the four of them, on three horses, were heading south-east from Cashel along the road towards the field of honey, a small settlement that lay on the banks of the river Siúr. Initially, in the darkness, Caol led the way with a sure determination. It was not long before the grey of the oncoming day lit their path. It was fully light long before they skirted the western bank of the smaller river Mael and then crossed a marshy stream passing below a hill on which stood an ancient pillar stone, rising higher than any man on the hilltop. Eadulf knew it was ancient and that local clerics had carved crosses on both its south and north faces to expunge any pagan spirits that remained there. But some of the ancient customs remained, for Fidelma had told him that it was the habit of the chief of the Déisi to bring his warriors to the spot before they embarked on any hosting against an enemy and to lead them sun-wise round the ancient stone.

Just south of this ancient landmark was the little vale that Fidelma had once told him of, a place where she used to play as a child, and where a spring rose, once sacred to the old religion, but converted by the Blessed Patrick to a Christian Holy Well.

They rode on in grim silence for a while, and when Fidelma judged that they were close enough to the glade she raised a hand and halted.

‘Best to leave the horses here and go on on foot,’ she said quietly. ‘A path leads through those trees there and down into the small dale. Let us hope that Brother Drón is not here before us.’

They tethered their horses and moved off quietly, with Fidelma leading them for she knew the way well. They were just starting down the path into the small hollow when a plaintive cry came to their ears.

‘For the love of God, stranger, spare me. It was not I. Not I!’