‘Augaire, speaking on his behalf, said the king of Connacht deemed Abbot Ultán responsible for separating Brother Senach and this woman Searc, thus bringing about Senach’s death and, consequently, Searc’s suicide. He demanded the compensation and, of course, Abbot Ultán refused to even consider the matter.’
‘On what grounds did the abbot refuse to go to the arbitration of a brehon?’
Brother Drón looked angry for the moment and then abruptly smiled, but without humour.
‘The abbey of Cill Ria, as I have explained, operates under the rules we have accepted from Rome, the chief church of Christendom. The Penitentials, which I am sure you know well, are the rules that have been blessed and approved by the archiepiscopus at Ard Macha.’
‘And these forbade Senach and Searc to be together?’
‘Of course.’
‘There is no “of course” about it. Rome does not forbid marriage among the religious.’
‘Had Bishop Ultán lived he would have brought the truth to you,’ snapped Brother Drón.
‘I do not doubt that he would have tried to put forward his views,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘But those views are not shared by everyone. By the way, are you saying that Senach did not respond to the feelings expressed by Searc?’
Brother Drón hesitated, his tongue passing swiftly over his lips.
Fidelma smiled thinly before he could reply. ‘So he did respond?’
Again anger formed on Brother Drón’s features. ‘He had taken an oath to obey the rules of the community of Cill Ria. The woman was a siren who twisted his mind and seduced him away from his oath.’
‘Is it true, then, that he asked if he could be absolved from his oath?’
‘Once taken, such an oath is impossible to withdraw from.’
‘Impossible? A formula of words in these circumstances is not made of chains and locks. Many have asked to be released from the oaths they took. An oath freely given may be ended if both sides freely consent.’
‘And Abbot Ultán did not freely consent, for if you have made a promise to serve God you cannot break that promise.’
‘As I understand it, Senach was not breaking the promise but asking that he be released from holding to it. And Abbot Ultán refused to consider his request and sent him off on this ship in which he was killed.’
‘It was for the boy’s own good.’
‘Hardly good when it resulted in the death of both the boy and the girl.’
‘That was God’s will. It was obviously God’s punishment on them both.’
Fidelma raised her eyebrows in distaste. ‘It seems that God gets blamed for many things,’ she said quietly.
Eadulf cleared his throat. ‘I am unclear. If Muirchertach summoned Abbot Ultán through a brehon to seek compensation in the courts, how could Abbot Ultán legally refuse to answer the courts of this land, even if his own abbey is ruled by the Penitentials?’
‘I have told you, in this the archiepiscopus supported him.’
‘But the king of Ulaidh knows full well that the Fénechus law is the law of all five kingdoms and the Penitentials are rules within the confines of certain abbeys that have adopted them. It was the king’s duty to obey the law and he should have compelled Ultán to come to account before the brehon,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘A Saxon telling the king of Ulaidh how to obey his own law?’ sneered Brother Drón.
‘A dálaigh asking why the law was not obeyed,’ intervened Fidelma irritably.
‘That is something that the king of Ulaidh may answer and not I. In many places the Penitentials are displacing the old law and bringing our people into a true relationship with God’s holy ordinances.’
Eadulf looked nervously at Fidelma, knowing her fierce commitment to the law. But she said nothing for a moment or two. Then she asked: ‘Just to clarify this matter, Abbot Augaire made various representations to Abbot Ultán on behalf of the king of Connacht? When was the last representation made?’
‘Several years ago. And he was, as I have said, simply Brother Augaire at that time.’
‘And so the matter was forgotten?’
‘So far as we at Cill Ria were concerned.’
‘And is this argument the cause of the animosity shown yesterday between Abbot Augaire and Abbot Ultán?’
‘Being on different sides in an argument did not endear them to one another. Abbot Ultán considered that Augaire used his witnessing of the girl’s death to ingratiate himself with Muirchertach and his wife. Because of this matter he rose to the position of abbot at Conga. Abbot Ultán had two enemies here – Augaire and Muirchertach.’
Fidelma stood up slowly. ‘That will be all for the time being, Brother Drón. I shall probably want to see you later. I may also want to see Sister Marga and Sister Sétach.’
‘Why would you want to see them?’ demanded Brother Drón belligerently.
‘Why would you ask questions of a dálaigh conducting an investigation?’ snapped Fidelma. ‘This is not the first time that I must reprimand you on your attitude. You are in Cashel and we do not operate under your Penitentials.’
Once again Brother Drón swallowed and hesitated, and then he shrugged. After he had gone there was a silence for a few moments and then Fidelma glanced at her companion and smiled.
‘You are exceptionally quiet, Eadulf.’
Eadulf returned her smile and indicated with his head towards the closed door. ‘He is a vain, narrow and prejudiced little man. It is hard to hold a dialogue with such people.’
‘You are doubtless right, Eadulf. But at least we begin to build up a picture of this doughty prelate. It would seem that Brother Drón confirms that he was a bigot who could attract hate.’
‘I still do not understand how Abbot Ultán refused to answer the summons of a brehon. Surely the Penitentials cannot take any preference over the law of the five kingdoms?’
‘You remember what happened to you in Laigin?’ asked Fidelma softly.
Eadulf shuddered and nodded.
‘More and more we find some local chiefs and even provincial kings giving in to abbots who take it on themselves to adopt an alien system of laws that come in from the dregs of what was once the empire of Rome. They are harsh, with often physical punishments. I believe this is what is happening in the northern kingdoms of the island. Certainly, at some time, I will ask to speak to Blathmac of Ulaidh about it.’
She paused for a while, her fingers drumming on the armrest of her chair.
‘What now?’ prompted Eadulf.
‘Now?’ Fidelma paused and regarded him as if with some surprise. ‘I think a word with Abbot Augaire.’ He seems a central figure in the cause of this conflict between Muirchertach and Ultán.’
Eadulf raised his eyebrows for a moment as she moved towards the door. ‘You don’t want him sent for?’
Fidelma glanced back. ‘He is an abbot and is entitled to a little more dignity in treatment than Brother Drón.’
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 glanc
ed 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 s
tirred 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.’
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