‘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.’
CHAPTER NINE
Fidelma 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.’
A Prayer for the Damned sf-17 Page 13