A Prayer for the Damned (18 page)

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.’

F
idelma and Eadulf walked back to their own apartments in silence. To their surprise, there was no atmosphere of gloom in the halls and corridors of the fortress in spite of the fact that most people had heard the news of Abbot Ultán’s death. Few people seemed to mourn the passing of the abbot. Attendants were moving quickly here and there to serve the wants of the many guests. Most of them greeted Fidelma and Eadulf with a cheerful countenance. Some guests actually commiserated on the delay in the ceremony in a manner that implied that it should not have been deferred simply because of the abbot’s death. A few warriors of the bodyguard, however, saluted them with doleful expressions as they went by.

The door of their chamber was opened by Muirgen, who cast a disapproving look at Eadulf.

‘Lady, the ceremony has not yet taken place and it is not fitting for …’ she jerked her head towards Eadulf, ‘for himself to come to the chamber yet.’

Fidelma smiled broadly. ‘Alas, Muirgen, the ceremony may well be delayed quite a while. So we shall return to what the situation was before until this matter of the abbot’s death is resolved. This murder takes precedence over our affairs.’

Muirgen sniffed in dissatisfaction. ‘Nothing should spoil your great day, lady.’

Fidelma patted her on the arm. ‘It is, we hope, but a short delay. How is little Alchú?’

‘As quiet as a lamb.’ She nodded to a corner where, on a rug, the baby was playing happily with some furry toys. Fidelma crossed to
the baby, who glanced up at her with a gurgling smile and held out his chubby arms towards her. She bent down and swept him up, giving him a hug and a kiss and making some uncharacteristic cooing sounds. Peering across her shoulder, Alchú waved a baby fist towards Eadulf and uttered a series of chuckling noises. Eadulf crossed to join her and, reaching forward, chucked the child under the chin with perhaps a little air of self-consciousness and muttered ‘there, baby, there.’

As Fidelma turned back, with Alchú in her arms, towards Muirgen, the nurse observed: ‘You look very tired, lady.’

Fidelma realised that she had only had an hour or so of sleep during the night. She glanced at Eadulf. He, too, seemed tired.

‘I think that we both need a short rest,’ she said. ‘But first, something to eat and drink. I have not yet broken my fast.

‘Nor I,’ added Eadulf. ‘I did not feel like eating earlier but I could do with something now.’

Muirgen made a clucking sound, like a mother hen rounding up her young chicks. ‘Sit you both by the fire and I will bring something. Then I can take little Alchú into my chamber while you rest.’

She took Alchú from them, replaced him in his play area and left. Fidelma slumped into a chair. Eadulf, yawning, followed her example and then remarked: ‘Abbot Augaire is a curious man.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘More curious than Brother Drón? It seems to me that most people have curiosities in character. We all have our eccentricities.’

‘True, but for an abbot and bishop to openly wish a fellow bishop dead, and then say that he did not accept one of the basic teachings of our Lord Christ, is surely a matter for some surprise.’

‘When it comes down to it, abbots and bishops are human. They are filled with the same qualities that most people have. They can hate and love in equal measure.’

‘And commit murder?’ Eadulf muttered.

‘And commit murder,’ confirmed Fidelma calmly.

‘So he is a suspect?’

‘There is so much more that I want to find out before I even start saying that this or that person is a suspect.’

‘We need to have a word with this noble from the north whom Augaire mentioned. What was his name – Fergus Fanat? You have
already said that the more we can learn about Ultán, the more it might point to his killer.’

‘True enough. We must also confirm Abbot Augaire’s story that he was playing
brandubh
with Dúnchad Muirisci.’

‘You doubt it?’

‘Not at all. But a good
dálaigh
never assumes anything. Also, it might help us with the time that Ultán went to his chamber and was seen by Augaire arguing with one of the two religieuse in his party.’

‘Do we know that it was an argument?’ Eadulf said. ‘The abbot said that when the woman entered, he simply heard Ultán’s voice raised in a hectoring tone. It takes two for an argument.’

Fidelma yawned and nodded.

‘I am tired,’ she said, as if by way of apology for her oversight.

Muirgen returned carrying a large tray laden with bowls of steaming broth, freshly baked bread and a dish of fruit. She set it down on a table and beamed at them both.

‘Get that down, and then get some rest,’ she advised, turning to scoop Alchú up in her broad arms. The child twisted and gurgled happily. Then, with a quick nod at them, Muirgen left them to their meal and rest.

It was two hours later when Muirgen entered to wake them and tell them that Colgú was waiting outside. They straightened their clothes, rubbed the sleep from their eyes and asked Muirgen to show him in. She did so and then diplomatically withdrew.

Colgú looked anxious but was apologetic for disturbing them.

‘I know that you have not had much sleep, but I wondered how things are progressing?’ he said.

‘We need far more time to investigate, brother,’ Fidelma said, while Eadulf poured cider for each of them.

‘Do you believe Muirchertach is innocent or guilty?’

‘I am prepared to defend him,’ she replied cautiously. ‘We both agree that if he is guilty then he is either a fool or extremely clever. Somehow, I do not think he is either. And as for Abbot Ultán, he certainly seems to have created more than his fair share of enemies and many of them are guests here. There is nothing for it but to postpone the ceremony for as long as it takes.’