A Prayer for the Damned

CHAPTER EIGHT

As they left the library to find Abbot Augaire, they were halted in the corridor by an earnest-looking young man. He was well dressed, of average height, with carefully groomed sandy hair and features that, while not of themselves unpleasant to look upon, were formed into an expression which forced the word ‘conceit’ to come to Fidelma’s mind.

‘I believe that you are Sister Fidelma?’ he demanded, the voice inquisitorial as if he were interrogating her.

Fidelma faced him with a grave smile. ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she said gently, reminding him of her other rank. It was a trick of hers that she only used when she felt someone was trying to be overbearing with her. ‘And this is Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

Even had the stranger been sensitive to this warning sign, he chose to ignore it.

‘Just so. When will you be ready with your defence? We cannot delay long and keep the Chief Brehon and the High King waiting.’

Fidelma’s eyebrows arched a little in her surprise at the question and she glanced at Eadulf. He grimaced at her to indicate his amusement at the man’s officiousness. She turned back to him.

‘And you are?’ she asked with icy sweetness and a slight smile.

The man blinked as if astonished that the question should be asked of him. ‘I am Ninnid, of course.’

Fidelma’s smiled broadened.

‘Of course,’ she replied gravely.

‘No need to apologise,’ went on the man in a confident tone.

‘I was not. .’

Ninnid waved his hand in dismissal. ‘We have not met, of course, so I suppose you would not recognise me.’

Eadulf had turned away to hide his face. He seemed to be trying to stifle a cough. Then he turned back, frowning as though trying to remember something.

‘Ninnid? Ninnid? I seem to have heard the name before.’

Fidelma was also trying to keep her face straight.

‘There was a Ninnid Lámhderg who was ode of the disciples of the Blessed Finnian of Clonard,’ she suggested.

‘But this young man is not old enough to have known Finnian, for surely he has been dead a century or more?’ replied Eadulf gravely.

Ninnid was clearly someone without humour for his face was irritated.

‘I am Ninnid the brehon of Laigin,’ he explained.

‘Oh.’ Eadulf put on a patronising smile. ‘You are surely young to be a brehon, even of Laigin.’

The young man looked uncertain yet he seemed not to know that he was being humorously rebuked for his arrogance. Fidelma realised that if he did not understand that, then it was pointless continuing the exercise.

‘What is it you wish, Ninnid?’ she asked seriously.

‘I am ready to prosecute Muirchertach,’ the brehon replied. ‘Are you prepared to defend him?’

‘I shall be ready to do so, but only after I have investigated the circumstances fully.’

‘No need. I have already done so. There is a case for Muirchertach to answer. The facts are clear and there are eyewitnesses. All you have to do is relay to the court what reason in mitigation Muirchertach has to offer.’

Fidelma swallowed hard. ‘Are you telling me what I, as a dálaigh, should do?’

Ninnid did not seem to recognise the warning tone in her voice.

‘I am sure that you would appreciate some advice from someone with experience of these matters,’ he replied calmly.

‘Really?’ Fidelma retained her temper with an obvious effort. ‘With due respect, no witness saw Muirchertach actually stab Abbot Ultán.’

Ninnid made a curious cutting gesture with his hand as if dismissing the protest. ‘The law accepts circumstantial evidence.’

Eadulf frowned at the unfamiliar term. To him the basic word imthoicell was an act of encompassing or encircling. It took him some moments, putting it with the word for evidence, to arrive at the idea of what ‘encircling evidence’ meant.

Ninnid was continuing. ‘If the suspect is seen acting in a manner that appears to incriminate him, this evidence may be acknowledged. Muirchertach was seen fleeing from Abbot Ultán’s room. .’

‘Fleeing?’ snapped Fidelma.

‘That is what the eyewitnesses saw and we have another witness who will say that for many years Muirchertach was in enmity with Abbot Ultán because. .’

Fidelma held up her hand. ‘We know the circumstances.’

Ninnid smiled condescendingly. ‘Then I admire you for agreeing to make a defence. Naturally, should Muirchertach plead provocation, I will consider his arguments. However, I have to tell you that it may be difficult due to the circumstances of the crime. It is clear that Abbot Ultán was violently attacked as he prepared for bed.’

‘There is no reason to suppose that Muirchertach will plead anything but total innocence,’ replied Fidelma firmly.

Ninnid actually chuckled. ‘When you have had more experience in these matters you will come to know that it is sometimes better to make a bargain over one’s degree of guilt. I would suggest as much to Muirchertach if I were in your place.’

‘Thank you for the benefit of your advice,’ Fidelma said coldly.

‘I am always willing to advise,’ replied the other obliviously.

‘It has been instructive speaking to you, Ninnid,’ Eadulf intervened hastily, seeing the fiery glint in Fidelma’s eyes. ‘But you will excuse us. .’

They began to move off but Ninnid stayed them again.

‘You have not answered my question,’ he protested mildly.

Fidelma turned back sharply. ‘What question was that?’

‘Why, when I can instruct the Chief Brehon Barrán to start the trial proceedings.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment but Eadulf made an inarticulate sound that he again covered by a fit of coughing. Then she spoke quietly.

‘You’ll forgive us, Ninnid, but we have many things to do. Have no fear, when I am ready I shall let Barrán be advised and then he can instruct you as to when he will start the proceedings.’

They hurried down the corridor. Eadulf was still chuckling.

‘Beati pauperes spiritu,’ he laughed, quoting the Gospel of Matthew. Blessed are the poor in spirit.

Fidelma indulged in a mischievous grin.

‘Our friend Ninnid is not so blessed,’ she replied. ‘I doubt if I have ever met such a colossal ego.’

‘Perhaps the defence of Muirchertach will not be so difficult after all with such a pompous idiot prosecuting,’ Eadulf suggested.

‘Do not build your sty until the litter is born,’ she replied, quoting an old proverb.

Eadulf shrugged. ‘You think that there is some talent hidden in that pomposity?’

‘You do not become brehon, even of Laigin, without some talent for law and good sense. Remember that Barrán himself recommended Ninnid because of his success as a prosecutor. Perhaps Ninnid merely dons the cloak of someone without humility to force his opponents into a false sense of superiority and then, when they are in such a vulnerable state, he will strike.’

‘Could he be that clever?’

‘We should never take things for granted. That is what I am saying. There is an old saying — things do not always end as we expect.’

From Caol, still looking chagrined at the belief that it was his failure to supply a guard which had led to the murder, they discovered where the guest chamber of Abbot Augaire was situated and made their way there.

The abbot himself opened the door to their discreet knock.

‘Abbot Augaire, I trust we do not disturb you?’

Abbot Augaire greeted them with a smiling countenance. In many ways, he reminded Fidelma of her cousin and mentor Abbot Laisran except that Augaire was physically the opposite of the abbot of Durrow. He was a sturdy man, well muscled, with a tan that bespoke an outdoor life rather than one lived in the shadows of the cloisters. He had deep blue eyes that reminded her of the sea. His hair was of a sand colour, though not exactly golden. His smile was no mere superficial movement of the facial muscles but an expression that seemed to come from deep within him. The hand he held out to greet Fidelma and Eadulf was firm and strong.

‘Fidelma — I have looked forward to our meeting.’ He grimaced wryly. ‘Though perhaps I was not expecting the current reason for it.’

He waved them into his small chamber and was not above pulling forward seats for them both.

‘I have heard of the departure of Abbot Ultán, perhaps to a better world,’ he said, smiling, as he sat on the edge of his bed after they had been seated in the only available wooden chairs.

Fidelma frowned.

‘You speak with some levity, Abbot Augaire,’ she said, making the words sound not a reproof but merely a question.

Again, Abbot Augaire grimaced with the corner of his mouth, and he glanced at Eadulf.

‘Surely you must know from your companion that Ultán and I were not on the best of terms? I think I saw Brother Eadulf witnessing my last meeting with the northern cleric?’

Eadulf stirred a little.

‘Was that the last time you saw Ultán?’ he asked quickly.

‘It was to speak to. I am not over-burdened with sorrow by that fact, nor, in all honesty, can I say that I mourn deeply, although he was a brother in Christ. Ultán of Cilia Ria was not a man who contributed to making this world a place of joy.’

‘You are honest, Abbot Augaire,’ Fidelma observed.

‘Probitas laudatur et alget,’ replied the abbot.

‘You read Juvenal?’ Fidelma recognised the quotation: honesty is often praised but ignored by most people.

‘I admire his Satires.’

‘Well, I not only praise honesty but will not neglect it in my considerations. But since it is obvious that you did not like the late Abbot Ultán, perhaps we should begin by clarifying where you were last night around midnight?’

Abbot Augaire actually chuckled. ‘I have heard that you are an honest dálaigh, Fidelma of Cashel. That is why it would be pointless for me to pretend that I felt other than I did about Ultán. As to where I was. . I was playing a game of brandubh with Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide until close to midnight.’

‘Dúnchad Muirisci, the heir apparent to Muirchertach Nár?’

Abbot Augaire nodded absently. ‘Then I came directly here to my chamber and fell asleep almost immediately. And,’ he added with a smile, ‘I regret to say that no one saw me do so. So I can only prove my whereabouts until the moment I left Dúnchad Muirisci. Oh, I tell a lie. I passed one of your brother’s bodyguards on my way from Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber to my one. I bade him a peaceful night and he answered me.’

‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber was a short distance along the corridor from Abbot Ultán’s chamber. In which direction were you heading?’ Eadulf asked.

‘My way did not pass Ultán’s chamber, even though you could see the door to it from Dúnchad Muirisci’s doorway.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘How did you know which was Ultán’s chamber?’

Abbot Augaire stared at him for a moment and then his features relaxed in a smile.

‘Simply because, when I was making my way to Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber, where we had agreed to meet and have our game of brandubh, I saw Ultán entering a door in the corner of the corridor where it turns at a right angle. I gather that was his chamber. That was the last time I saw him as opposed to speaking to him.’

‘And when was that?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Sometime after the evening meal. He had barely entered his room when one of his party brushed by me hurriedly in the corridor in the same direction as I was going. I didn’t hear them before they pushed by. They went straight to his door and entered without knocking. Even as the door was closing, I heard Ultán’s voice raised in a hectoring tone.’

‘Which member of his party? Brother Drón?’

Abbot Augaire shook his head. ‘One of the two women in his party.’

‘You did not recognise her, I suppose? Can you describe her?’

‘I do not know any of his party except Brother Drón. As for describing her, all I saw was her back as she brushed by. She wore a long cloak with the cabhal pulled up over her head. I recall the odour of some scent. I am not sure what. I am not good on such matters. It was strong. Perhaps honeysuckle. That was early in the evening. I thought Ultán was killed around midnight and I am told that Muirchertach was seen fleeing from his chamber.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Much use is made of this word “fleeing”. It is a word that conjures guilt and prevents us from investigating a murder.’

‘So far as I am concerned, the person who killed Ultán did a public service,’ Abbot Augaire said firmly.

‘Nevertheless, Ultán was murdered, and there is a law to be answered.’

Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘The irony is that Ultán refused to obey the law when he lived. Now that he is dead, others have to answer to a law that he ignored.’

Fidelma regarded the man carefully. ‘I would like you to tell me What you know of Ultán and how you came by your views of him.’

‘Not much to tell. But let me put this to you. If Muirchertach Nár is to be prosecuted, I would not want my words used to condemn him. If you are gathering evidence against him. .’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Muirchertach Nár has asked me to stand in his defence. He claims that he is innocent. It is the Brehon Ninnid who prosecutes.’

Abbot Augaire seemed to relax a little more and he smiled confidently. ‘Then I will tell you plainly what I know of Muirchertach and Ultán. I was sent as Muirchertach’s representative to demand compensation from Ultán for the death of the sister of Muirchertach’s wife. That was the beginning of our animosity.’

‘I have heard that you had a more personal interest in the matter?’

‘Personal?’ the response came sharply.

‘You saw the girl kill herself.’

‘I do not deny it.’

‘Tell us how that came about.’

Abbot Augaire sat back. ‘It was about three or four years ago. I was a member of a community on the shores of the southern borders of Connacht. It was a place not far from Muirchertach’s stronghold of Durlas. I was fishing on a small headland when this girl came along. The next thing I knew she had leapt to her death on the rocks. She was a very beautiful young woman. I could not imagine how such a one, so beautiful, so youthful, with so much life in her and before her, could be forced into such a terrible act.’

‘You did not know who she was?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Not then. I started to make inquiries and these led me to the fortress of our king at Durlas. I found out that the girl’s name was Searc and that she was the younger sister of the king’s wife Aïbnat. I remembered her ethereal beauty that day on the foreshore. To explain my feelings, I suppose that I was moved by her image — the youth, beauty and femininity that she represented, you understand? I pledged my service to that image, to Aíbnat and Muirchertach, swearing that I would discover the reason for her death and punish those responsible.’

Fidelma was aware that there was a faint mistiness in his eyes as if he were holding back tears.

‘It sounds as if this girl, in death, had touched something in you,’ she said.

The abbot seemed to pull himself together. ‘Her image still does. How many nights have I not been able to sleep as I run the events of that day through my mind, saying “if only”. If only I had not been so blind as to fail to see the tragedy that was about to unfold; if only I. . Ah, well. Sic erat in fatis, to quote Juvenal again.’

‘So it was fated,’ Eadulf repeated. ‘So you blamed yourself for her death and that is why you took such trouble. Was her involvement with the religieux from Cill Ria known at that time?’

‘It was. She was a poetess. I found out about the gathering at Ard Macha from some who had attended. I began to make inquiries about this boy, Senach, with whom she had fallen in love, and traced him to Cill Ria. I then found out what had happened to the boy.’

Eadulf was approving. ‘It sounds as though you would make a good investigator, Augaire. So it was you who discovered the details. Searc had not told her sister, or Muirchertach?’

‘It seems not.’

‘Having discovered this information, what then?’ asked Fidelma.

He replied with quiet vehemence: ‘I swore vengeance on those who had prevented that young girl from achieving happiness, and in her grief had compelled her to her death. .’

‘But what did you do in practical terms?’

Abbot Augaire seemed to shake himself and resume his normal demeanour. ‘I went to Muirchertach and Aíbnat and told them what I had discovered. Muirchertach was pleased. .’

‘Pleased? That is an odd way to react to this tragic tale.’

Abbot Augaire thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps I have used the wrong word? He was pleased by the revelation of the truth about Searc. I had resolved the mystery as to why she had killed herself.’

‘Was Aíbnat also, er, pleased?’

Abbot Augaire suddenly grimaced. ‘Aíbnat is a fine noble lady of the Uí Briúin but her main emotions are irritation and anger and those she has in abundance. She made no comment, not even gratitude for the resolution of this mystery. She is a dour, sombre soul.’

‘Perhaps with reason?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Her young sister killed herself. That is reason enough to be sombre.’

Abbot Augaire leaned forward as if confiding something. ‘Truth to tell, Fidelma of Cashel, I do not think that she was overly upset by the death of her sister. I heard rumours during my. . er, investigations. It was said that there was n6 love lost between them. Indeed, I heard that Aíbnat showed some jealousy at her sister’s beauty.’

‘But she was angry enough to start this demand for compensation against Ultán of Cill Ria?’ Eadulf pointed out.

Abbot Augaire glanced at him and then shook his head. ‘That was Muirchertach’s idea. He said it would please his wife. But the idea was put to me without consultation with Aíbnat. I found out later that she was against the idea.’

‘How did that come about?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Well, at first, as I said, Muirchertach was pleased with what I had done. He wanted to reward me. He had the power to make me abbot in one of the kingdom’s abbeys.’

Fidelma nodded. It was not an unusual matter for kings who had great influence in their territories to offer ecclesiastical rewards.

‘Only a few months before, the Blessed Féchin, the abbot of Conga, just north of Loch Corrib, had succumbed to the Yellow Plague. These events, you understand, happened, in fact, about the same time of the great council at Witebia.’

‘I had heard that Abbot Féchin had fallen sick and died of the Yellow Plague,’ Fidelma affirmed.

‘To be offered such an abbey was a great thing for a poor monk such as I. Truly was the Blessed Féchin and his work renowned through the five kingdoms. Muirchertach’s senior bishop was summoned and I was ordained both bishop and abbot of Conga.’

‘And was this reward because you discovered the reason why Searc took her own life?’ demanded Eadulf cynically.

Abbot Augaire gave a lopsided grin. ‘I think politics played a part.’

‘Politics?’

‘You know that the lady Aíbnat was the daughter of Rogallach mac Uatach of the Uí Briúin Ai, who are rivals to the Uí Fiachracha for the kingship of Connacht?’

Eadulf looked helpless.

‘Rogallach was king of Connacht and died nearly twenty years ago,’ Fidelma explained quickly. ‘But when he died, through the influence of Féchin and other leading churchmen, it was first Laidgnen and then his brother Guaire Aidne of the Uí Fiachracha who became kings. Guaire was Muirchertach’s father.’

Abbot Augaire was nodding. ‘Muirchertach wanted to keep the abbey of Conga in the hands of someone who owed him a debt and therefore allegiance.’

‘Which you do?’ queried Fidelma.

‘I make no secret of it. My father was a huntsman, a tracker. From a humble beginning, now, as abbot and bishop, I control lands that make Ultán’s miserable house at Cill Ria look poverty-stricken. From the river of the Uí Briúin northward to Sliabh Neimhtheann and from the Ford of the Sanctuary west to the great sea coast, these are the lands of the abbey of Conga.’

Abbot Augaire sounded as if he were boasting. Fidelma was looking disapproving.

‘And what did you have to give in return for this?’

‘Loyalty and service to Muirchertach,’ he replied simply.

‘Which included being his envoy to Ultán?’

‘That, indeed, has been the extent of my service. I made the trip to Cill Ria seven times during two years. I was accompanied by a brehon to add to my authority. After which, these last two years, I have not been called upon for any service. I was glad when my journeys to Cill Ria ended. Each trip to Ultán made me want to forget that we both served God and were brothers in Christ. His refusal to concede any wrongdoing and even any involvement in the deaths of Senach and Searc made me, frankly, want to lay hands on him in a physical sense.’

‘When compensation was demanded, he refused?’

Abbot Augaire grimaced irritably. ‘Did that slimy little scribe Drón tell you that? He was usually at our meetings and bleating on about the Penitentials overriding the rule of our law. It became monotonous.’

‘To sum up,’ Fidelma said, ‘Ultán refused to accept judgement by a brehon under our law.’

‘Saying that he ruled by the Penitentials and would hear no more of the laws of the brehons in his abbey,’ agreed Augaire.

Fidelma sat back thoughtfully and folded her hands.

‘There is one thing that puzzles me,’ she said softly.

‘Which is?’

‘The law is plain. There is a course that could have been taken to pressurise Ultán into submitting to the justice of a brehon.’

‘Which is?’

‘If a defendant is of the nemed rank, that is a privileged person or noble — and Ultán certainly came into the class of privilege — then the plaintiff could, if willing, proceed to the troscud, the ritual fast to ensure the defendant accepts judgement. Several times this has been used against the óes ecalso — churchmen of rank — to ensure they accept civil judgement.’

Abbot Augaire smiled sadly. ‘Such a ritual fast was discussed and even attempted.’

‘The apad was properly made?’ Fidelma asked. ‘The notification to all concerned parties?’

‘So far as I know, it was.’

‘Who undertook the troscud? Muirchertach was not blood kin and therefore he was excluded. So was it Aíbnat?’

‘She was not concerned in the matter at all.’

‘Then who?’

‘Muirchertach persuaded a cousin of Searc, a youth named Cathal, to undertake the troscud on behalf of the blood kindred.’

‘So what happened?’

‘An evil sleight of hand, so far as I could see, and this is why I came to hate Ultán so much.’

‘You’d best explain.’

‘Cathal and his brehon went to a small chapel within sight of the walls of Cill Ria. The notices were given and the fast began. You will correct me on the law, Fidelma, but I have been told that if the plaintiff, that is Cathal, persists in his fast even though the defendant, Ultán, has offered to settle the case, the case automatically lapses. The defendant is exonerated and no further action can be taken.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful. “This is true. But are you saying that Ultán offered to settle the matter and this was refused by Cathal who continued the ritual fast?’

Abbot Augaire leaned forward. ‘What I am saying is that was how it was represented.’

‘But the witnesses? There have to been witnesses to the offer and its refusal?’

Abbot Augaire shrugged. ‘Oh yes. The brehon of Ulaidh had been invited to Cill Ria. Ultán said he would pay compensation as a token of goodwill to Muirchertach and his wife even though he still felt he was not responsible. The brehon of Ulaidh agreed that this was a noble thing. So the offer was inscribed on hazel wands and given to Brother Drón to take to the chapel where Cathal was fasting. What happened then is a matter of argument.’

‘What happened according to Cathal and his brehon?’

‘Cathal said that Drón had not come to the chapel. Three days later, as was the required time, the brehon of Ulaidh and Brother Drđn came to the chapel and found Cathal still engaged in his troscud and denounced him, claiming that he had refused to give up his ritual fast even when compensation was offered. Therefore, according to law, he no longer had a claim.

‘Cathal protested that no one had come to him with this offer. Then Brother Drón came forward and swore that he had done so. He said that he had found Cathal alone, and pressed the offer into his hands.’

‘What did Cathal’s brehon say?’ queried Fidelma. ‘As witness, he could not leave the one engaged in the troscud alone so he must have seen what happened.’

‘Under fierce questioning from Brother Drón it was discovered that at dusk on the day Drón claimed to have delivered the offer, the brehon had been persuaded to go to the aid of a girl who had come tearfully to the chapel pleading for help with a sick mother who had collapsed. There was, of course, no sick mother and the girl had disappeared. I suspect it was one of the females at Cill Ria.’

‘That in itself could have been legally challenged as an enticement to pervert the law.’

‘True, but the brehon of Ulaidh — again it seems prompted by Drón — caused the chapel to be searched. .’

‘And the hazel wands were found in Cathal’s belongings?’ guessed Fidelma.

‘Just so.’

Eadulf, who had been quiet for some time, snorted. ‘It is possible that Brother Drón came that day, waited until Cathal’s witness was lured elsewhere, then placed the hazel wands in the chapel and disappeared back to his master with this tale of having delivered the notice. But how can one prove it?’

Abbot Augaire nodded. ‘That is how I would see it. Moreover, I am sure that it was at the specific behest of Ultán, who was not going to pay compensation in any form.’

‘And Cathal? Did he challenge this?’

‘There was no evidence against Drón or Ultán. The girl could not be found. Ultán magnanimously’ — he sneered the word — ‘suggested that Cathal be allowed to return to Connacht and no more need be said. Cathal came back, a broken young man.’

‘So no one has prospered?’

‘Except Ultán.’

‘I do not think he prospered much last night.’

Abbot Augaire shrugged. ‘It was not before time that his sins caught up with him.’

‘Even so. .’ protested Eadulf. ‘An abbot has been murdered.’

‘You condemn me for not following the teaching of our Faith and forgiving and loving Ultán?’ the abbot asked in amusement.

‘It is not my place to condemn you,’ replied Eadulf, ‘but isn’t it the cornerstone of our Faith to love one’s enemies?. . diligite inimicos vestros benefacite his qui vos oderunt. .’

‘I am well acquainted with the words of Luke,’ snapped Abbot Augaire.

‘Reporting the instructions of Christ,’ Eadulf reminded him.

‘Sometimes I am led to wonder whether his words were reported and translated correctly.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘You doubt it?’

‘When men like Ultán rise up and we are told we must all respect and obey him, then I believe we should rebel at such a teaching. When we are oppressed, it is our duty to deal with the oppressor. Was that not the faith of our forefathers?’

‘That was before the Word reached us and told us to tread a different path.’

‘Beati pauperes spiritu quoniam ipsorum est regnum caelorum,’ Abbot Augaire quoted, unconsciously echoing Eadulf. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘It sounds as if you do not believe in those words,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘I am no longer young and idealistic,’ replied Abbot Augaire. ‘I have seen man’s evil nature. Why should poverty of spirit be the great virtue of the Faith? Indeed, I doubt it is a virtue at all. I believe poverty of spirit is a crime.’

Eadulf exhaled deeply. This was an argument against all that he had been taught of the Faith.

Fidelma was considering the abbot thoughtfully. ‘A crime? Perhaps you will explain that reasoning.’

‘When people are poor in spirit, do not the proud and haughty in spirit emerge to dominate them and oppress them? If you do not resist evil, if you do not resist wrong, then you encourage further evil and injury at the hands of those who have the other cheek turned to them. Ego autem dico vobis non resistere malo sed so quis te percusserit in dextera maxilla tua praebe illi et alterant. As Matthew reports the words of Christ — “I say to you, resist not evil and who strikes you on the right cheek, offer him the other.” But to do what? To strike you a second time? Better, should he strike you on the right cheek, that you firmly prevent him from being able to inflict that hurt a second time.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment and then she sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right in what you are saying, Abbot Augaire. I remember the words of my mentor, the Brehon Morann. He would often point out an ancient saying: “He who encourages the oppressor shares the crime.” I can understand your fear that poverty of spirit can lead people into bondage. But the New Faith makes demands and we must do the best we can.’

Abbot Augaire smiled wanly. ‘You are a logical person, Fidelma. I have heard of your reputation. You understand the arguments and are not afraid to engage in them. I rushed to the Faith because of my emotions and now my emotions have become numb and logic has taken over. As an abbot and bishop, I find myself plagued with guilt. But I shall not add to my guilt by pretending that I can love and forgive someone who is evil.’

Fidelma nodded slowly.

‘We thank you for your time, Abbot Augaire,’ she said, rising as if she would end the discussion.

Abbot Augaire rose with them but he seemed preoccupied for a moment. ‘Can it be that Muirchertach may well be guilty of this deed?’

‘Do you doubt his innocence?’ Fidelma demanded. ‘I thought that you did not want to say a word against him lest it harm his defence.’

Abbot Augaire considered for a moment and then shook his head slowly.

‘I would not like to see Muirchertach or anyone blamed for ridding us of a man like Ultán,’ he said. ‘If you would know more of Ultán, speak to Fergus Fanat, a warrior prince of the Uí Néill, who is with the entourage of Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh. As for Muirchertach, he is a man who has secrets. I have observed that there is little love between his wife and himself. So I wonder why he should go to such extremes to seek compensation for the death of his wife’s sister?’

‘And have you come to a conclusion?’ asked Eadulf.

‘It remains a mystery, Brother Eadulf.’ The abbot smiled. ‘It is like some itch that I need to scratch but can’t locate the source of.’