A Prayer for the Damned

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Where was the cracked shoe?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘On the left foreleg. Oh, our smith has replaced it now,’ he called as Eadulf made towards the stall. ‘But there’s no doubt about it. The left foreleg. I helped replace it myself.’

  Eadulf turned back eagerly. ‘But whose horse is it?’

  The stable lad rubbed his chin. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci is his name. The noble prince from Connacht.’

  CHAPTER FORUTEEN

  Fidelma looked thoughtful as Eadulf finished telling her what he had discovered. Gormán had diplomatically left them together in the corner of old Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary to discuss matters in the light of this information.

  ‘There is no question that Brother Drón’s horse did not have a cracked shoe?’ she asked gently.

  ‘None,’ replied Eadulf, somewhat bitterly. ‘I should have checked immediately. All four shoes were in good condition. Rónán told us that the horse that was ridden from the scene of the killing had a split horseshoe on his left foreleg. That is a description of Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse.’

  ‘Well, as I have said, we may trust Rónán;. So from what we now know, the story that Brother Drón told you, that of simply finding Muirchertach’s horse, could be true.’

  Eadulf was irritated. ‘Could be true, yes. But it seems odd that the killer should leave the scene of the crime riding his horse and leading Muirchertach’s for quite a way before deciding to abandon it.’

  ‘I mean it as no insult when I say that you are not much of a horseman, Eadulf.’

  ‘It is true, I’ll not deny it,’ Eadulf said stiffly. ‘So what have I missed?’

  ‘That Muirchertach’s horse probably followed the killer’s mount of its own volition. Horses do not have to be led. When the killer found that the king’s horse was trailing him, which would have been a sure accusation, he dismounted and looped the reins into a bush so that the beast was tethered. Then he rode away.’

  ‘I see the logic of that,’ agreed Eadulf reluctantly. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that a horse would follow a strange animal, though.’

  Fidelma smiled. ‘That’s just it. It probably would not. But it would follow a horse that it was familiar with.’

  Eadulf’s eyebrows rose in enlightenment. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse and the one belonging to Muirchertach were both out of the same stable. I see. Still, I feel angry that I did not spot the business of the split shoe before.’

  ‘I share the responsibility. When you told me, I could have said who the beast belonged to. I was in the courtyard when Dúnchad Muirisci returned from the hunt. The gilla scuir mentioned the split shoe on the tánaiste’s horse. Furthermore, his hand was bloody from falling into a thorn bush, or so he said. And he said that he had lost his hunting spear.’

  ‘Then he is our man! It is obvious!’

  Fidelma grimaced wryly.

  ‘Just as the guilt of Brother Drón was obvious?’ she asked sceptically, shaking her head. ‘Patience. We must go carefully, Eadulf. Especially now that Dúnchad Muirisci succeeds Muirchertach Nár as king of Connacht. We are dealing with men of power in this affair, so we must be sure of our accusations.’

  ‘But just as Brother Drón had a motive to kill Muirchertach Nár, Dúnchad Muirisci had an equally good motive: that he would succeed to the kingship of Connacht.’

  ‘But what motive had Dúnchad to kill Abbot Ultán?’

  ‘Well . . . none.’

  ‘Then you are saying that we have two killers here – the one who killed Ultán and the one who killed Muirchertach Nár.’

  ‘Why not? Muirchertach could have killed Ultán and Dúnchad could have killed Muirchertach. Two separate murders.’

  ‘I am not satisfied that Muirchertach Nár killed Ultán. If he had been nursing thoughts of vengeance against the man all these years then he would have invented a better story. He would have had a better plan than he did. The very fact that there was no love lost between Muirchertach and his wife makes me wonder, and not for the first time, why Muirchertach would pursue the matter on behalf of a wife who did not care. There is something here that continues to irritate me.’

  ‘What should we do now? Release Brother Drón?’

  ‘We will have to withdraw the guard and release him from confinement,’ Fidelma said after a moment’s reflection. ‘But, for the time being, he is only free within the bounds of the fortress. We must now find out what story Dúnchad Muirisci has to tell us.’

  Dúnchad Muirisci, his hand newly bandaged, greeted them with some surprise.

  ‘I have told you all I can about Abbot Ultán’s death. There is nothing more I can say.’ He seemed slightly flustered and evasive.

  ‘It is not his death that we have to speak of,’ Fidelma replied. ‘May we enter?’

  The tánaiste of Connacht stood indecisively, which allowed the determined Fidelma to brush him aside and enter. She halted abruptly and, for a moment, even she was surprised.

  Standing in the chamber looking nervous was Sister Sétach.

  ‘I am surprised to see you here, sister,’ Fidelma said calmly.

  The girl made no reply, seeming to look at Dúnchad Muirisci for some guidance.

  Eadulf had followed behind Fidelma and was equally surprised when he saw who the girl was.

  Dúnchad Muirisci coughed, his face red with embarrassment. ‘Sister Sétach came to see me to discuss the death of Abbot Ultán.’

  Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘What aspect of the death?’ she asked, looking at Sister Sétach.

  ‘About the death of the girl that this whole matter is supposed to be about. About the death of Searc.’

  ‘That is interesting,’ Fidelma said pointedly, as if waiting for an explanation.

  The two were silent for a moment.

  ‘We were trying to see, now that Abbot Ultán is dead . . .’ Sister Sétach was red in the face and she hunched her shoulders as she spoke.

  ‘Trying to see whether some peace could be declared on this matter between Connacht and Cill Ria,’ ended Dúnchad Muirisci hurriedly.

  Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf.

  ‘So you think that you are now in a position to make such a declaration?’ she asked Dúnchad Muirisci softly.

  The heir apparent smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is clear that Sister Sétach could not approach Muirchertach in the current circumstances. As I am tánaiste it is obvious that she would first speak to me. Anyway, the matter is of no consequence. Sister Sétach and I will discuss it later.’ He glanced to the girl with a nod as of dismissal and she took it as such.

  Eadulf wondered whether Fidelma was going to hold her back but she allowed the girl to hasten from the room.

  ‘Now,’ Dúnchad Muirisci said, drawing himself together and trying to regain control of the situation. ‘I have told you all I know about the death of Ultán.’

  ‘As I have said, it is not his death we came to speak of. This morning, on the boar hunt, Muirchertach Nár was killed.’

  If Dúnchad Muirisci was feigning astonishment he was very good, thought Eadulf.

  ‘But he was a good horseman, an excellent spearshot,’ muttered the tánaiste. ‘How did the boar get him?’ Then he paused. ‘And why has no word of this reached me before now?’

  ‘You seem to think he was killed in a hunting accident, Dúnchad Muirisci. He was not,’ she replied.

  ‘He was not?’ The noble looked bemused. ‘Then how?’

  ‘He was attacked and murdered with his own spear.’

  Dúnchad Muirisci took a step back and sat down quickly in a chair.

  ‘Murdered? Who?’ His eyes cleared. ‘A vengeance killing?’

  ‘We are investigating that.’

  ‘That weasel, Brother Drón! Where was he at the time?’

  ‘As I say, we are investigating.’

  Dúnchad Muirisci frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘That means that you are the new king of Connacht, provided your derbhfine
is willing.’ The derbhfine was the electoral college of the family, usually consisting of three generations from its last head, who would chose his successor.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Dúnchad Muirisci muttered.

  ‘It also makes you a prime suspect,’ Eadulf added dryly.

  ‘A suspect?’ Dúnchad Muirisci stared at him stupidly for a moment and then anger began to form on his face.

  Before he could frame a rejoinder, Fidelma added: ‘That is absolutely true, Dúnchad; Muirisci. So perhaps you could begin by telling us how you came by that wound on your hand.’

  Eadulf wondered why Fidelma was not going straight to the damning evidence of the split horseshoe but decided not to interfere.

  Dúnchad; Muirisci hesitated. ‘I told you when I arrived. Down in the courtyard.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘My horse stumbled and I was pushed into a thorn bush. That’s where I scratched my hand.’

  ‘And you, by all accounts, an excellent rider and hunter,’ murmured Fidelma.

  The Connacht noble controlled his obvious resentment at her gentle sarcasm. ‘The truth is that I was caught unawares. The boar came out of nowhere and startled my horse. And if you must know the total truth, my mount reared up and I was taken by surprise and fell off, into a thorn bush. By the time I was on my feet, the horse had galloped off.’ He looked defiant. ‘It can happen to anyone easily enough.’

  Eadulf looked uncomfortable. He knew exactly how easily it could happen.

  ‘So now you say that you fell into a thorn bush and found yourself without your horse,’ Fidelma prompted. ‘What then?’

  ‘The boar had vanished. I was left on foot. I cursed myself for a fool. I knew that if the others learned of my misfortune, I would be shamed. That is why I did not tell you before. I, Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide, whose bloodline is that of the great High King, Niall Noigiallach! If it was known that I had been unhorsed in a mere hunt, then the satirists of the five kingdoms would claim that Muirchertach Nár had been succeeded by Dúnchad Náire;.’

  Despite his concentration on the matter in hand, Eadulf’s attention was caught. He knew that the word nár, which had been the epithet appended to Muirchertach’s name, meant noble, honourable and generous, but now it seemed that a similar word, born of the same root, had come to mean disgraced and shamed.

  ‘I decided, then, that if I recovered my horse, I would pretend that I had never lost it, in order to preserve my reputation.’ Honour and reputation meant a great deal to the nobles and warriors of Éireann. Dúnchad Muirisci sat back. ‘That’s the truth of it,’ he said simply. ‘I am not proud of it.’

  ‘But you found your horse again and gave out the story as you told it to me and Finguine when you returned to the fortress,’ Fidelma concluded.

  Dúnchad Muirisci looked uncomfortable. He hesitated before replying and Fidelma leaned forward.

  ‘So you did not recover your horse immediately? You lied. So what is the truth? I want the whole truth now.’

  ‘The truth?’ he asked. ‘Is it so important? I found the horse again – what does time matter?’

  ‘The truth is always important,’ she assured him.

  ‘I did not find my horse for a long time,’ he confessed. ‘I was on foot for what seemed ages. In fact, my long bir became an encumbrance. I finally tossed it aside in the bushes, to be the better able to travel on foot. I wandered about for a long time trying to find the animal. I had almost given up and decided that I would have to face the shame of the loss and come back to Cashel on foot.’

  ‘But you did find it,’ Fidelma pressed. ‘How was that?’

  ‘That is curious,’ Dúnchad said. ‘I came through the forest to a place where there was a hilly mound.’

  Eadulf now leaned forward eagerly. ‘Describe it,’ he insisted.

  The Connacht noble looked surprised at his intervention but then shrugged and gave a quick description.

  ‘But did you not go up to the mound and look down in the gully beyond?’ Eadulf asked.

  Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘It is important, because that is where Muirchertach Nár was killed,’ explained Eadulf. ‘His body lay in the gully beyond that mound.’

  The Connacht noble appeared shocked. ‘I did not know. I had come to the foot of the mound when I heard the sound of horses nearby.’

  ‘Horses?’

  ‘Having given up on saving my reputation, I gave a shout and hurried towards them, thinking that I might be able to get a ride behind one of the other members of the hunt. Distinctly, I heard horses. I thought that I had not been heard. The track these riders had taken led back in the direction of Cashel and so I felt there was nothing for it but to set my footsteps along that path. I had not gone more than a short distance when I came to an area where the path turned rocky and just then I saw my own mount. It was waiting docilely there.’

  ‘You said this was curious,’ Fidelma said. ‘In what fashion was it so?’

  ‘My horse was tethered to a bush.’

  ‘The reins were not simply entangled?’

  Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head quickly. ‘I know the difference between entanglement and the way reins are wrapped over a branch so that the animal does not wander.’

  ‘There was no one about? Not another horse tethered there?’

  ‘No one about and no other horse.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I decided to keep to my initial story. I mounted and returned to the fortress. Oh, I forgot. I noticed the horse was limping slightly, so checked and found it had cracked a shoe. It may have been on the rocky area. It was re-shod on my return. Now,’ he looked from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, ‘tell me what this is about. You think that I killed my king?’

  ‘Tell me, what was your relationship to Muirchertach? I don’t mean your blood relationship.’

  ‘I am . . . was . . . his tánaiste,’ replied Dúnchad Muirisci hesitantly.

  ‘So you were close to him? He was a good friend?’

  Dúnchad shook his head immediately. ‘He was of the Uí Fiachracha Aidni. I am of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide. I am five generations in descent from Náth Í, of the senior line, while Muirchertach Nár was eight generations from the second son of Náth Í. We were not even close as cousins, let alone as friends.’

  ‘But, presumably, you were friendly enough for you to be in accordance in governing the kingdom?’

  ‘We had an agreement that I would govern the western territories of Connacht and Muirchertach would spend his time in the eastern territories, and it worked well. He was, to be truthful, not a man who was assiduous in his pursuit of government. He preferred the pleasures of kingship to its duties.’

  ‘Now that he is dead, what will happen to the lady Aíbnat? I believe that she is not grief-stricken at his demise?’

  Dúnchad shrugged indifferently. ‘Doubtless she will be disappointed that she no longer has a position of power. But then her family is of the Uí Briúin Aí. Their word is law in northern Connacht and we have little say in the government of their territories. They have long claimed the right to be regarded as kings of Connacht. They descend from Bríon the brother of Niall Noigiallach but only Aíbnat’s father ever became king, and he held the throne for twenty-five years. Aíbnat always thought that her brother Cellach should have been tánaiste if not king. She will doubtless support him when the assembly meets to choose my tánaiste.’

  ‘Was her position all that she cared about?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I certainly received the impression that she did not think highly of her husband.’

  ‘I doubt if she felt highly about anyone except herself,’ Dúnchad confirmed. ‘My cousin’s rule was short and not altogether spectacular. His father, Guaire, eclipsed him in deeds and valour and in bestowing lands to the church so that they might flourish. He worked hard to buy people’s loyalty and praise rather than earn it.’

  Fidelma looked carefully at D
únchad. ‘You sound as if you disapproved of him.’

  ‘Disapproved? A good word. I’ll be honest with you, even if it does endorse your obvious suspicion that I had a role in his death. I did not like my cousin. He was a vain man and he had acquired a reputation. But, on the other hand, I did not hate him to the point that I would kill him.’

  ‘A reputation?’ Fidelma smiled. ‘A moment ago you were all for reputations and protecting them.’

  ‘Not the sort of reputation that my cousin had acquired. He had a reputation as a clúanaire.’

  Eadulf recognised the word as being concerned with deceit, but he had not come across its use in this fashion before. He asked Fidelma to explain.

  ‘It means someone who beguiles another, usually a seducer of women.’

  Dúnchad nodded in confirmation. ‘That is exact what his reputation was. They said that no noble’s lady was safe in his company.’

  ‘What did the lady Aíbnat think of that?’

  ‘I don’t think she was concerned if it didn’t threaten her position at court. She was content to let Muirchertach Nár get on with his own life, provided it did not interfere with hers.’

  ‘I see. And what were your thoughts on that?’

  ‘I thought that so long as he did not jeopardise the safety of the kingdom, there was no harm to it.’

  ‘I presume that none of the ladies involved ever complained?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. If they did, he would simply have paid them and their husbands, if husbands there were, whatever their price was for silence.’

  ‘And yet one would have thought that he was possessed of high morals. He went to such lengths to bring Abbot Ultán to justice over what he considered to be a slight to his wife’s younger sister,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘A man can have double standards,’ said Dúnchad. ‘Or set standards for others that he did not live up to himself. His double standards were somewhat peculiar in respect to the death of Aíbnat’s sister, for the story was that he was attracted to her himself.’