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.’
‘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.’
Colgú looked unhappy. ‘I know you have a hard task. I know it is your wedding, Fidelma. However, I also have to think of the guests. The High King, the kings of the cóicead and their nobles. They cannot stay here indefinitely.’
‘I cannot force the pace of this inquiry,’ replied Fidelma testily. ‘In spite of the pressure from Brehon Ninnid.’
‘I know that,’ replied her brother. ‘But I must think of distracting the High King and nobles for a while. I have an idea. The weather has been brightening and tomorrow morning at first light I thought that I would entertain our noble guests to
a hunt.’
Eadulf looked up in surprise from his mug of cider. ‘A hunt?’
‘A wild boar hunt,’ confirmed the king. ‘There have been reports that a herd of boar are creating havoc in the fields of a farmer about five kilometres east of here. What better way to give some entertainment than to allow our guests to hunt the creatures?’
Fidelma considered the matter. ‘I certainly do not expect the matter to be resolved by tomorrow. Whom do you expect to attend this hunt?’
‘The High King is keen on the idea. In fact, it was he who suggested that something is done to entertain the nobles and their ladies while we wait for a resolution.’
Fidelma pursed her lips.
‘I am sorry that Sechnassach finds this matter of law so tedious,’ she said icily.
‘You cannot ask everyone to be so patient,’ protested Colgú. ‘If you could even give an indication when you might complete this investigation . . . ?’
Fidelma sighed irritably. She could understand her brother’s predicament but it was too early to form opinions. There was no denying her instinct that Muirchertach was innocent of the murder of Ultán, but that feeling was countered by a further suspicion that he was not being entirely truthful with her. There was something that he was holding back.
‘You know that is impossible, Colgú.’
‘Ninnid tells me that he is ready to prosecute and the Chief Brehon says he is prepared to sit in judgement. They simply await your word.’
‘Well, I am not ready. There is more to this than Ninnid will argue.’
‘Ninnid seems a pompous ass,’ muttered Eadulf.
Colgú glanced at him. ‘Pompous he may be, my friend, but I am told that he has an astute legal mind.’
‘Even with this pressure, we need more time,’ insisted Fidelma.
‘If you delay beyond a reasonable period, Ninnid is within his rights to prosecute without further loss of time.’ Colgú reminded her of the law she knew well. ‘Barrán waits only because of who Muirchertach is and out of courtesy to you. If it had been any lesser person than the king of Connacht accused of this crime, then the trial would have been over by now.’
‘Trial?’ Fidelma retorted. ‘And what sort of trial would that be? Is it unreasonable to allow sufficient time for truth to emerge before a person is rushed to judgement.’
Her brother gave an eloquent shrug.
‘Verbum sat sapienti,’ he said simply. ‘A word to the wise. Barrán and the High King will not wait for ever.’
‘I will not take for ever, brother. But I will not be rushed to trial before I have discovered the truth.’
Colgú sighed softly. ‘Anyway, I presume that you have no objection to my distracting our guests?’
‘None,’ she replied, ‘if the guests want to be distracted. Do they include Blathmac, the king of Ulaidh? I would have thought that he at least, among the nobles, would want to mourn one of his kingdom’s abbots.’
‘I do not think Ultán had any friends to mourn him outside his entourage who came here with him. Even Blathmac seemed to share the common dislike of the abbot. And Muirchertach has offered to extend his parole, his gell, so that he may accompany the hunt. I see no objection to that. I shall go ahead with it. The thought of the sport will at least occupy our guests for another day.’
‘Muirchertach wants to join the hunt?’ Fidelma was astonished. ‘He seems very confident in my ability to exonerate him. Ah well, entertain the guests by all means, brother, but in spite of Muirchertach’s parole, I would advise that you keep a close watch on him.’
‘So you do suspect Muirchertach?’ Colgú said quickly.
‘Not at all. But there may be some who do and wish him harm. It would be foolish to let our guests wander too freely.’
Colgú grinned. ‘We can hardly make the High King a suspect.’
‘I would just prefer that a sharp eye was kept on this hunt . . .’ She glanced suddenly at Eadulf, who jerked his head up in dismay. ‘I need to remain here to continue the investigation . . .’
‘I would prefer . . .’ he began to protest.
Colgú caught her thought and clapped Eadulf on the shoulder with a chuckle.
‘An excellent idea. I do not think that you have taken part in one of our boar hunts, have you, Eadulf? You will find it an excellent education.’
Eadulf’s expression was positively woebegone. ‘I am not a good horseman . . .’
‘Nonsense,’ interrupted Colgú. ‘Anyway, the huntsmen lead the way on foot with their dogs. Only the nobles, who are the spearmen, follow on horse. Then behind them come the ladies on horseback. So you have a choice. You can go on foot with the huntsmen, of course.’
Fidelma took pity on Eadulf’s alarmed expression.
‘Let young Gormán ride with you to assist you in the task. He can also explain what is happening during the hunt. But keep close to Muirchertach.’
Eadulf was resigned. ‘What will you be doing?’ he asked moodily.
‘We will not be able to speak to everyone today. There are several people that I still need to question, such as the two young religious who accompanied Ultán. They might be able to give more details of the man and his enemies. I also want to speak with Fergus Fanat of Ulaidh and Dúnchad Muirisci before the end of today.’
Colgú was surprised. ‘What is their involvement?’ he demanded.
‘Perhaps none, but their word is needed as witnesses in clarifying some matters.’
‘Then be as diplomatic as you can, sister,’ Colgú advised her. ‘These are nobles with much power.’
‘And you are not?’ she asked mockingly.
Colgú shook his head. ‘The art of kingship is to maintain the peace but not to stir up antagonisms.’
‘Do not fear, my brother. My intention is merely to search for the truth.’
Colgú grimaced wryly. ‘There was a line in that play by Terence that was performed here last year – The Girl from Andros – what was it now?’
‘Veritas odium parit’ muttered Eadulf.
‘Exactly. Truth breeds hate. Be careful when you search for truth that you do not stir up hate.’
‘While I am asked to function as a dálaigh, I cannot be stopped from that search,’ Fidelma said firmly.
Colgú turned for the door, saying over his shoulder: ‘I will go to draw up the list of those who will attend the hunt tomorrow. I’ll let you have it later.’
Fidelma had decided that they should first follow up the intriguing reference that Abbot Augaire had made to Fergus Fanat of Ulaidh but, by chance, they encountered Dúnchad Muirisci, the tánaiste to the king of Connacht, as they were crossing one of the courtyards. He was young, sandy-haired and handsome, with a ready smile and large blue eyes. He carried himself with the bearing of a warrior.
‘Abbot Augaire? Indeed he was with me last evening for some time. He left late. We were playing brandubh. He is a very determined player. Eventually I had to accept the loss of the High King.’
Brandubh, black raven, was one of the most popular board games in the five kingdoms. The board was divided into forty-nine squares, the centre square symbolising Tara, the centre of the cosmos, and the four squares round it the capitals of the provincial kings. Here the four defending kings had to keep the invading force at bay without leaving the High King on the centre square unprotected. Eadulf found it too slow and cerebral for his taste.
‘So Abbot Augaire won the game?’ he said. ‘Do you know, roughly, when the abbot came to your chambers?’
‘Not long after the evening meal. Many of the nobles continued to drink and listen to the bards and storytellers. But Augaire and I had agreed to match our minds across the gaming board. Indeed, we had a wager on it, and’ – he shrugged ruefully – ‘I confess I lost and he has my silver piece to prove it.’
‘When did he leave?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Towards midnight, I think. I know that I had retired to bed sometime after he left but was disturbed by shouting in the corridor. I had al
ready been disturbed once that evening so I ignored it. It was only this morning that I realised that it must have been when the body of Ultán was discovered.’
‘What did you think when your king, Muirchertach, was accused?’
‘Shall I be honest?’
Fidelma gazed at him with steely eyes.
‘That is the purpose of my questioning,’ she said sharply.
‘I was excited. I am his heir apparent and if he were to be guilty of this murder, then I would automatically succeed and be king of Connacht.’
‘That is being honest indeed,’ muttered Eadulf.
Dúnchad Muirisci laughed as if it were a joke.
‘You cannot make emotions illegal,’ he said.
Fidelma’s lips thinned for a moment. ‘So long as they remain emotions and hidden rather than being given physical substance.’
Dúnchad Muirisci continued to smile. ‘Come, lady, you do not suspect that I slunk into Abbot Ultán’s chamber to kill him, then put the blame on Muirchertach in order that I could succeed as king?’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘In this case, I do not suspect that. However, how well did you know Abbot Ultán?’
‘Not at all.’
Fidelma raised her eyebrows. ‘With all the intercourse between the court of Muirchertach and the abbey of Ultán on behalf of the queen’s sister, Searc, that comes as a surprise.’
‘Yet it is true. The business was between Muirchertach and Aíbnat and later involved Cathal of the Uí Briúin Aí. But I never once laid eyes on Ultán and would have passed him by in the corridor without knowing him. It was Augaire and one of our brehons who conducted the intercourse with Cill Ria.’
‘So what did you think of Muirchertach’s attempt to seek compensation for his wife, Aíbnat, over this matter?’
Dúnchad Muirisci considered for a moment. ‘I will admit that I found it strange. Aíbnat was never really close to her young sister and, in truth, I did not think she was much affected by the poor girl’s death. But the fact that she pressed the claim against Ultán . . .’
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