‘He has arrived in Cashel to protest at my wedding,’ said Fidelma softly.
Abbot Laisran did not seem surprised. ‘It is just the sort of thing he would do. He sees himself as a great reformer of our churches here in the five kingdoms. He has become a leading advocate of the Roman rules, of the introduction of the Penitentials, even arguing them to the exclusion of our native laws. He also seeks to get Ard Macha acknowledged as the primatial church in the five kingdoms. Particularly, he believes in celibacy among the religious and abstinence from wine and other intoxicating beverages. He has picked up strange ideas from the eastern churches concerning self-punishment, the use of a flagellum to suppress impure thoughts. Instead of preaching a word of joy, I fear that he would have the world descend into a sad, grey place.’
Eadulf could not suppress his smile at Abbot Laisran’s vivid description of the man. ‘It seems that you know him well enough, then.’
Abbot Laisran nodded solemnly. ‘I shall be doing my best to avoid him while he is in Cashel. He would certainly disapprove of me.’ He paused and looked at Fidelma thoughtfully. ‘Surely you are not worried about Ultán? You have heard the arguments about celibacy a thousand times. You cannot let his prejudices ruin tomorrow. Spoken words vanish in the air.’
‘Though there is no bone in the tongue, it has often broken a person’s head,’ she replied, using an old proverb.
Abbot Laisran grinned and shook his head. ‘When Ultán stands up and speaks, he is recognised for what he is. One should feel sorrow for a person who is so unhappy that he needs must make others join him in that sad world.’
‘There is something else I wish to speak of to you,’ Fidelma said. ‘Indeed, I have been giving it much thought.’ She paused for a moment and Abbot Laisran waited politely for her to continue. ‘As you know, when I left the school of Brehon Morann, I followed your advice to enter into the religious life. Do you recall the reasons why you gave me that advice?’
Abbot Laisran nodded thoughtfully.
‘You wanted independence from your family,’ he replied. ‘Independence to practise law. In these days most of the professions can be found within the abbeys and ecclesiastical schools throughout the land, just as in the old days it was the Druids and their colleges who took over all the professional and intellectual functions of society. I advised that if you entered into the religious it would provide you with security and the base to practise law. I have been proved right.’
‘I do not understand,’ Eadulf said, leaning forward. ‘Why would Fidelma lack security by not entering the religious? She is the daughter of a king and the sister of a king.’
‘And she would have become reliant on the status of her family and, as I understood it, Fidelma wanted to rely on her own talent,’ replied Abbot Laisran. ‘Is that not so?’
Fidelma smiled quickly in response. ‘To enter a religious house in order to pursue a career in law was but a stepping stone for me. I cannot say that I was really an advocate of the Faith.’
‘So what troubles you now?’
‘I find a conflict between my commitment to the law and what many people see as my lack of commitment to the institutions of the religious. In fact, the matter was underscored only a short while ago when Brehon Baithen suggested that a way of dealing with Abbot Ultán’s protests would be to simply disclaim my vow to serve’ the Faith.’
Abbot Laisran’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘But that would mean that Eadulf also would have to disclaim his vow. Is that what you both want?’
Eadulf leaned forward.
‘We have spoken about this, Fidelma and I,’ he said quickly. ‘We feel . . .’
‘Would you advise me to withdraw from the religious?’ Fidelma interrupted.
‘Withdraw?’ echoed Abbot Laisran as if he had not heard aright.
‘Resign from the religious,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘My profession is law, not the propagating of the Faith. There are many others who are better advocates in that field. I have no calling to do so, as you would say.’
Abbot Laisran glanced at Eadulf.
‘And what do you say to this, Brother Eadulf?’ he asked with a slight emphasis on the title Bráthair.
‘It is a choice that Fidelma must make first. I am content as things are at present. There are many religious who live life as we do without being forced to make such decisions. Many an abbot, many a bishop as well, marry and raise children, and pursue their interests in areas where the question of whether they should resign their ecclesiastical offices never occurs.’
‘This is entirely my own idea, Laisran,’ Fidelma added. ‘Even before Brehon Baithen suggested it tonight.’
‘And how did you answer him?’
‘I answered him that to withdraw from the religious simply to stop Abbot Ultán’s protest would be wrong. I should withdraw because it was my wish, and Eadulf’s wish, that I do so.’
Abbot Laisran pouted a little. His usually cherubic face saddened.
‘We must all follow our own path. I do not see that you need take this final step. After all, your current position is more or less that of a lay person. It is well known that you have already left your mother house at Cill Dara and dissociated yourself from it.’
‘Left it but not resigned from the religious,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Marriage and motherhood are difficult at the best of times. I am also a dálaigh, but to be a religieuse as well is too difficult. I need advice, Laisran.’
The Abbot Laisran gazed down at his feet and uttered a deep sigh as if faced by a hopeless situation.
‘It is advice that your husband is now better able to give,’ he said. ‘Brother Eadulf, you have said it is a choice that Fidelma must make. But yours should be the voice that she listens to.’
Eadulf shrugged. ‘My advice is to let things be. I have already said so. There is no reason why she should make any decision. During this last year, the months of our trial marriage and the birth of little Alchú, very few have remonstrated with us about our relationship, and those few are those whose views are not worth listening to.’
Abbot Laisran smiled quickly.
‘And Abbot Ultán falls into that category,’ he said, turning to Fidelma. ‘Is it that you are really concerned about his protest?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘I have said it would be wrong to do something simply to avoid confrontation with such a person as Ultán. I simply think that I need to order my life.’
‘Ah! To order your life?’ Abbot Laisran sat back with eyes half closed. His inflection seemed to imply that he had understood a great deal by her remark. ‘And you seek my advice? So, you feel that Eadulf’s advice is not good enough?’
Fidelma looked disappointed.
‘It sounds as if you agree with Eadulf,’ she said truculently.
Abbot Laisran chuckled. ‘And if I do, does that change your mind? If you feel Eadulf gives you such bad advice, then I fear for your future together.’
Fidelma coloured hotly. ‘That is not what I meant. I fully appreciate what Eadulf’s views are. But, forgive me, he is biased. You have given me good advice in the past, Laisran.’
‘And I shall give it to you in the future,’ assured the abbot. ‘For now, even as you listen to him, also listen to your own heart. You might find that you are hearing the same thing.’
Brehon Baithen, with Caol, the youthful commander of the guard, at his side, was making his way towards the chambers set aside for Abbot Ultán. As befitted his rank, Ultán had been given one of the guest chambers in the palace. While religieux guests of lesser rank were assigned to quarters in the town, Abbot Ultán had created such an altercation that a chamber had been allocated to his steward, Brother Drón, nearby. The females of his entourage had been given places in the hostel set aside for them in another part of the palace.
Baithen himself was very aware that he was ultimately responsible for the security of the many distinguished guests who had gathered at Cashel. He had scarcely settled into his new position as brehon of Muman an
d he realised there were many who resented the fact that he had displaced the old brehon Dathal. But Dathal had needed to be forcibly retired for he had been making too many mistakes in his judgements. It had been hard to allow Dathal to remain in office after the unjustified accusation of the murder of Bisop Petrán against Brother Eadulf.
Bishop Petrán! Brehon Baithen sighed. He had been of the same ilk as Bishop Ultán; firmly set in his beliefs and narrow interpretations, asserting his authority and determined to make people conform without compromise. As a judge of the laws of the Fénechus, Baithen had often come into conflict with Petrán who had wanted to follow the foreign laws and rules of Rome. Baithen could not repress the thought that if he followed the same laws, then he could have had Abbot Ultán thrown out of Cashel immediately without consideration of his rights. The Roman rules, the Penitentials as they were called, which some bishops and abbots wanted to adopt, did not have the same liberality of attitude that the Fénechus law allowed.
It was with these thoughts that Brehon Baithen turned into the quarter where chambers had been assigned for the northern prelate.
As he and Caol entered the gloomy corridor, lit by smoky oil lanterns hanging at strategic points along it, the guard commander said: ‘Abbot Ultán’s chamber is the last one along here.’ He indicated a door that was set in the corner where the corridor turned sharply at a right angle. Whilst the door was set in the corridor along which they were preceding, it actually faced towards that part of the corridor that was hidden from them.
It was at that moment that a figure backed out of the very door Caol was indicating. It was a tall man wrapped in a multi-coloured cloak. His hair was long, black and shoulder-length. There was tension in his stance as he took a step backward into the corridor. He seemed to be staring straight into the room from which he had exited. Then, without noticing Brehon Baithen and Caol, the man turned and disappeared into the other section of the corridor.
Baithen and Caol had halted in momentary surprise, exchanging glances. Then they hurried to the open door of Abbot Ultán’s chamber.
A lamp lit the interior. The first impression was of a room that was neat and tidy. But the lamp lit the bed and on it sprawled a figure lying on its back, dressed in the robes of a rich religieux. They were darkly stained. The flesh of the face was white, the eyes wide and staring. The whole expression seemed one of comical surprise but there was nothing comical about the scene. The dark stains were blood and the man was dead. The body was that of Ultán, abbot of Cill Ria and bishop of the Uí Thuirtrí, the emissary from Ard Macha.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fidelma had imagined that she had only just gone to sleep but here was Muirgen, her attendant, shaking her arm and urging her to wake immediately.
She blinked and yawned.
‘Surely it is not time yet?’ she protested. Then she realised that the room was still shrouded in darkness with only the flickering light of the lamp that Muirgen held at shoulder level to relieve the gloom. Suddenly, she was wide awake and registering the worried tone in Muirgen’s voice. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It is urgent, lady. Your brother wishes you to attend him at once.’
Fidelma sat up and stared at the woman.
This was to be her wedding day and she had been expecting to lie in until the first light of dawn before rising to toilet and break her fast and begin the rituals for the ceremony. She blinked again. The chill in the room coupled with the darkness told her that it was long before dawn.
‘There is something wrong,’ she said sharply, rising from her bed. ‘What has happened?’
Muirgen shook her head quickly. ‘I know not, lady, but something stirs. Your brother, the king, has sent to ask for your immediate attendance in his private chamber. I have no idea what this portends.’
‘Is Eadulf all right?’ was her next anxious question.
‘He is still sound asleep in his chamber, lady,’ was the reassuring response.
Fidelma was not one to waste time on further questions that could not be answered. She went to the side table and washed her face and hands in the bowl of cold water which already stood in a corner of the room. It was not the custom to bathe in the morning but to wash one’s face and hands, aided by sléic, a soap, and dry them with a linen cloth. Fidelma hurried through this process, known as indlut, while Muirgen sorted out, a dress and then came to hand her a cíor and the small scáth-derc or mirror. Fidelma did not usually use much in the way of make-up or personal ornaments, so her toilet was quickly accomplished.
Because of the cold of the early morning, Muirgen had wisely chosen an undergarment of linen over which was drawn a woollen dress of sober colouring. As Fidelma slipped into her shoes, Muirgen handed her a small bratt which fitted round the shoulders and came down to just below the waistline.
Fidelma left her chamber and hurried quickly along the corridor. She almost hesitated at the door of the room which had been assigned to Eadulf. It was true that during this last year they had been legally married and shared the same chambers but at this time there was a tradition to be upheld. Yesterday they had formerly separated. That marked the end of their trial marriage and they would not be intimately together again until their new formal contract was agreed under the laws of the lánamnus. She wondered if she should wake Eadulf but immediately decided against it. Whatever the problem that caused her brother to rouse her in the middle of the night, it was up to him to decide if it was Eadulf’s concern or not.
She hurriedly made her way along the corridors to her brother’s private apartments. Two warriors stood on guard in the antechamber, as was usual day and night, and, seeing her coming, one of them immediately went to an inner door and knocked once before opening it for her to pass through. The door was closed behind her.
In the chamber, Colgú came to greet her with a worried look. She glanced swiftly to where Brehon Baithen was struggling to rise from his seat and signalled him to remain seated.
‘There has been a murder,’ blurted Colgú as he waved her to a chair near the fire.
Fidelma composed her astonishment.
‘Who has been murdered?’ she asked quietly, as she seated herself.
‘Abbot Ultán.’
A blink of the eyes was the only registration of the information. Fidelma was already working out the consequences. Abbot Ultán murdered; not only an emissary from the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick at Ard Macha but a guest from the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. These were matters of great concern.
Colgú turned to his brehon and gestured towards him. ‘Tell her the details.
Brehon Baithen made a helpless gesture with his hand. ‘It is simple enough. A short time ago, Abbot Ultán was stabbed to death in his chamber.’
‘And the perpetrator of this deed?’ asked Fidelma, her voice calm. ‘Is he or she known?’
Brehon Baithen sighed and nodded. ‘As chance would have it, Caol and I were on our way to speak with Ultán, as had been agreed when we met here. Turning into the corridor that led to his chamber, we saw the culprit leaving it . . .’ He paused dramatically.
Fidelma suppressed her impatience and waited.
Realising that she was not going to respond to his pause but was awaiting his announcement, Baithen continued: ‘It was Muirchertach Nár of the Uí Fiachracha.’
At the name a troubled frown crossed Fidelma’s brow.
‘The king of Connacht? Are you sure?’
Brehon Baithen looked pained. ‘My eyesight is not at fault. Neither is that of Caol. It was Muirchertach Nár without a doubt. And after we called old Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary, to come and examine the body, we went straightway to the chambers of the Connacht king.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘And?’
‘We challenged him, said that we had seen him hurrying from the chamber and demanded to know his explanation.’
‘What was his response?’
This time Brehon Baithen gave a hint of a shrug. ‘As one would expect from such a
noble. He said that he would make no statement nor comment other than that he was not responsible for the death of Abbot Ultán.’
‘This does not bode well, Fidelma,’ Colgú added, his handsome features drawn into a worried frown. ‘An abbot, who is an emissary from Ard Macha, is slain; a king of Connacht is charged, and at the very time when the princes of the five kingdoms are gathered here to witness your wedding. There will be much suspicion among them until this matter is resolved.’
Fidelma did not have to be told why her brother was so concerned but she was not sure why he had summoned her in the middle of the night and said so.
Colgú looked even more uncomfortable. He glanced at Baithen as if imploring his help. The brehon of Muman cleared his throat.
‘As you doubtless know, lady, a king has certain privileges . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Muirchertach has . . . he has demanded the right to choose his own counsel to prove his innocence.’
Fidelma’s expression was suddenly grimly set. She guessed what was coming.
‘Today is my wedding day,’ she said coldly. She could not feel for the loss of Abbot Ultán; she had never met him, and after what she had heard about him she was not overly concerned about his demise. Her mind only concerned itself with the legal aspect of his death, and the disruption it was causing.
Colgú gestured with his open hands as if in apology. ‘Unless the murder of Abbot Ultán is resolved before the ceremonies, I think our distinguished guests will depart in suspicion and anger. There may even be war among the kingdoms, for many will ask how Ultán came to be slain in Cashel. Why was he not protected by his host?’
Brehon Baithen looked uncomfortable. ‘Caol has admitted that when Abbot Ultán arrived he demanded in front of witnesses that a warrior should be placed at his chamber door. It was not done.’
Fidelma was surprised at that. ‘It is unlike Caol to be irresponsible.’
‘Apparently, he initially asked Dego to fulfil this task, but with so many lords and princes in the fortress there was much to be done, and Dego was needed elsewhere. Besides, very few guests had retired for the night by then. That was why we were on our way to see Abbot Ultán. I have assured Caol that no blame attaches to him,’ the brehon told her.
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