A Prayer for the Damned

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Did Aíbnat know that?’

  Dúnchad Muirisci raised a shoulder and let it fall as an eloquent comment. ‘It was common knowledge for a while. It was after she had come back from Cill Ria, shocked by the death of the boy with whom she had apparently fallen in love. I think Muirchertach tried to press his attentions on Searc, if you know what I mean. There was a problem and Aíbnat was angry for a time. But then the girl committed suicide and that was that. She obviously cared too much for the boy who was drowned, or killed, or whatever it was that happened to him.’

  ‘But then Muirchertach sent Brother Augaire to Abbot Ultán for recompense over the suicide?’

  ‘That is true,’ conceded Dúnchad. ‘Augaire had actually witnessed the suicide, traced the girl’s identity and come to report it to Muirchertach and Aíbnat. Augaire was incensed at her death – a passionate man, Augaire. He saw himself as a vengeful spirit setting out to exact recompense. Muirchertach went along with it. Even appointed him as abbot of Conga. As I said, Muirchertach was full of double standards.’

  ‘So what you are saying is that both Aíbnat and Muirchertach Nár had their individual faults but that they were compatible enough?’ said Fidelma.

  ‘Of course. We all have our faults.’

  ‘But Muirchertach Nár’s faults did not warrant his death,’ Eadulf remarked.

  Dúnchad Muirisci blinked and shook his head. ‘It is obvious why he was killed. I said so at the start, as soon as you told me he had been murdered.’

  ‘Vengeance?’

  ‘Of course vengeance!’ Dúnchad Muirisci was emphatic. ‘That man, Brother Drón . . . he was Abbot Ultán’s comrade, not just a travelling companion. He was steward at Gill Ria. And what of the others Abbot Ultán brought with him? Any one of them could have killed him. Come to think of it, wasn’t Sister Marga riding on the hunt? That is scandalous enough in itself, but maybe it has a deeper significance too.’

  Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘We will finish for the time being, Dúnchad Muirisci, but you, like everyone else, will remain now within these walls until we have done with this investigation.’ Something had been worrying her for some time and now she finally dredged the question from the back of her mind. ‘On the night that Abbot Ultán was killed, you told me that Abbot Augaire and you were playing brandubh.’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘Abbot Augaire left you close to midnight?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Then you said that after you went to bed shouting in the corridor disturbed you. You did not investigate because you had been disturbed already that night. What was the cause of your first disturbance?’

  Dúnchad Muirisci appeared puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. He smiled.

  ‘I had almost forgotten. After Abbot Augaire had left, I was preparing for bed when there was a cry and the sound of someone falling outside my door. I went quickly to it and opened it. I found that weasel Brother Drón picking himself up.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He had tripped and fallen outside my door.’ Dúnchad smiled. ‘I did not ask him how he came to fall but he sheepishly said he had been hurrying after someone and tripped. Easily done, I suppose. Anyway, it was nothing to do with me. That was why I did not respond to the second disturbance, which I later realised must have been the discovery of Ultán’s murder.’

  There was a silence, and then the Connacht noble rose hesitantly.

  ‘So what of Muirchertach Nár?’ he asked. ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘At the moment his body lies in the apothecary of Brother Conchobhar,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It will be washed and prepared ready for burial.’

  ‘He should be taken to the great abbey of Cluain Mic Nois where his forefathers are buried, as are all legitimate kings of Connacht.’

  ‘That may not be possible. Neither you nor Aíbnat, nor even your close personal attendants, may leave here with it until the investigation is over.’

  ‘So you would keep the body here?’ Dúnchad Muirisci was aghast.

  ‘Let us hope that it will not be for long,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

  Eadulf grimaced wryly. ‘We can be thankful that it is the depth of winter and the days are cold,’ he added.

  Outside in the corridor, he turned to Fidelma. ‘It is an unlikely story that he is telling. I think it is not to be believed.’

  ‘Unfortunately it is the unlikely stories that tend to be the truth,’ Fidelma commented. ‘However, I agree that we cannot take it at face value.’

  ‘Especially the reason given as to why Sister Sétach was visiting. I don’t think that promiscuity had anything to do with it.’

  Fidelma smiled briefly. ‘An interesting choice of word, Eadulf.’

  ‘I merely meant that Sister Sétach would be immoderate in her behaviour if . . . well, you know. I believe that she could have only just met Dúnchad Muirisci.’

  Fidelma suddenly smiled. ‘Sometimes, Eadulf, you unconsciously put your finger on a point that eludes me.’

  Eadulf looked bemused. ‘Something about Sister Sétach? I don’t see what.’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘Something about Sister Marga. I now want a word with that young woman.’

  They were walking to the hostel for the religieuse when, turning a corner, they nearly collided with Abbot Augaire. He halted and frowned at them.

  ‘How does your investigation proceed, Sister Fidelma?’ he inquired sharply. ‘I have just come from Aíbnat. It is strange that you keep this matter so secret. Anyway, it means that Muirchertach Nár’s body awaits disposal. Can you not conclude this matter so that we may accompany it to Connacht for burial?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Fidelma said calmly.

  ‘Rumour has it that Brother Drón was caught with Muirchertach’s horse.’

  ‘Rumours spread quickly,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘But things must take their course, Augaire. You know that. However, speaking of Brother Drón, I did want to ask you a question. On the night of the murder of Abbot Ultán, did you see Brother Drón in the corridor when you left Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber?’

  Abbot Augaire paused for a moment. ‘Was he there?’

  ‘I am asking you.’

  ‘So far as I am aware, I left Dúnchad Muirisci, walked to my chamber without seeing anyone and was there for the rest of the night. I shouldn’t think Brother Drón could have been lurking anywhere unless . . .’ He paused.

  ‘Unless?’ pressed Fidelma.

  Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘There is a sort of alcove there in the corridor. You must know it. There are several in the corridors here. I was going to say, unless he was lurking there . . . but then I walked past it and there was no one to be seen. Of course, he could have been standing on the ledge that runs outside the alcove window.’ He chuckled. ‘But I don’t think Brother Drón is the sort to submit himself to such dangers. The ledge has several loose blocks along it.’

  Eadulf smiled grimly.

  ‘I think that we can discount Brother Drón’s playing such acrobatics,’ he said firmly.

  Fidelma and Eadulf found Sister Marga in the women’s hostel. The religieuse had just come from the bathing house, and there was the faint odour of some fragrance. Fidelma sniffed as she entered, for she could smell a combination of scents. She could identify fedlend, the soft smell of honeysuckle, but not the more powerful odour. Sister Sétach was fussing over her companion with some toiletry and looked up in annoyance as Fidelma came in.

  ‘Are we never to be left alone?’ she snapped.

  Sister Marga glanced at her companion in surprise but Fidelma ignored the petulant tone.

  ‘I am, as I have said, a dálaigh, Sister Sétach,’ she said mildly, ‘and must encroach on you as many times as is necessary for my investigation. However, it is Sister Marga that we have come to see, and I would appreciate it if you could leave us for a minute or two.’

  Sister Sétach stood for a few moments, her jaw working slightly, as if she were considering this. Then she loo
ked down at Sister Marga.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ she demanded brusquely.

  ‘I think it is better to do as Sister Fidelma asks,’ Marga replied in an almost apologetic tone.

  With a loud sniff of disapproval, Sister Sétach turned and left the room. Sister Marga looked after her with a frown before turning back to Fidelma and Eadulf.

  ‘She does not sleep well and that makes her irritable. I think she believes it is her duty to protect me,’ she said apologetically. ‘She was at Cill Ria when I joined and considers herself my senior.’

  ‘Yet it was you, so I understand, who asked her to come on this trip?’

  Sister Marga looked startled for a moment. ‘She told you that?’

  ‘It is not true, then?’

  ‘Oh, partially true, I suppose. I felt sorry for her, being so upset at not being chosen to accompany this embassy from the Comarb of Patrick. There was space for another one to help keep the records and she kept pressing me about it, so I asked Abbot Ultán if he would consider taking her as well. But Brother Drón, in fact, had already suggested that Seétach should be a member of the embassy and Abbot Ultán had agreed to it even before I asked.’

  ‘Well, we will return to Sister Sétach in a moment. Let me start with you. You are from Cill Ria, of course. Are you of the Uí Thuirtrí?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I am of the Ciannachta. My clan lands are to the north-west of their country. I went into the religious at Ard Stratha and that is where I learned to write a good hand and to read Latin, Greek and Hebrew. I was good at keeping records and copying texts. I was told that Cill Ria was looking for good scholars and so, a few years ago, I went to the abbey there. At first, the work was good. I was given texts to copy and to compile into books. But we are all allowed to make one mistake in life. The decision to go to Cill Ria was mine,’ she ended ruefully.

  ‘A mistake?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Did you know how the abbey was run before you went there?’

  Sister Marga shook her head.

  ‘Had you heard about Abbot Ultán?’

  She gestured negatively again. ‘I came to hate Cill Ria and the Penitentials. Moreover, I hated Ultán.’

  ‘If you hated it all so much, why did you not leave?’

  Sister Marga simply laughed. There was bitterness in her laugh but she made no reply.

  ‘Your companion does not share your hate,’ pointed out Fidelma.

  ‘She is not my companion. She would like to be, if you know what I mean. I feel sorry for her. She is devoted to Cill Ria and appears to believe Abbot Ultán is . . . was some kind of saint.’

  ‘You make it clear that you do not,’ Fidelma observed.

  ‘I not only believe but know he was not. There were two Ultáns. There was the false image of the pious abbot that he presented to the world. Oh, I know all about his miraculous conversion on the seas and what he was before that. However, I knew the second Ultán, the real Ultán.’

  ‘You must explain.’

  ‘Ultán had persuaded the Comarb of Patrick at Ard Macha that he was changed, as Paul had changed on the road to Damascus . . . that parable was always being spoken of in Cill Ria. Brother Drón was fond of using it to stifle any questions about the sincerity of the abbot. Ultán enforced his Penitentials with such strictness simply to show how pious he was. That was the face he presented to the world. It was not the face I saw.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Which was still the thief, the robber, who seized goods when he could maintain they were offerings that must be freely given to the church. He had individuals flogged for what he claimed to be sacrilege. He enjoyed inflicting physical punishment on people. At least one person a day was sentenced to a whipping for what he claimed were impure thoughts. He was even responsible for the death of several.’

  ‘All this you saw in your time at Cill Ria?’

  Sister Marga nodded grimly. ‘And more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘He used some of the girls from the women’s house to satiate his lust.’

  ‘Sister Sétach?’

  ‘Never her, but perhaps that is not strange.’

  ‘Did he use you?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

  Sister Marga coloured and then shrugged with a defiant gesture. ‘How can the weak defend themselves from the strong? But all the time I remembered what my father used to say – there is no tide so strong that it doesn’t ebb. I waited and prayed for any opportunity to escape.’

  Eadulf leaned forward with a frown. ‘Did you kill Abbot Ultán?’

  The girl regarded him with a serious expression. ‘I wish that I had possessed that courage. I did not.’

  ‘Why did you come on this trip with him, if you so detested him?’

  ‘Do you think that I had a choice? Besides, I thought there was a possibility that it might offer me an opportunity to escape. But Brother Drón was always keeping a watchful eye on me. And so was Sister Sétach.’

  ‘You are saying that both Drón and Sétach are watching you?’

  ‘I think Ultán became suspicious of my motives and ordered them to do so. They still do. This morning was the first time that I was able to escape from them. I think that they did not realise that I would dare seize the opportunity to leave with Ultán newly dead. I managed to persuade the stable lad to saddle up Ultán’s own horse so that I could ride out with the hunt. I had intended to ride east to Laigin.’

  Fidelma saw the defiance in the girl’s face. ‘So you intended to flee Cashel entirely, not merely to go on the hunt?’

  ‘My intention was to rid myself of Drón and Sétach for good, and certainly not return to the squalid halls of Cill Ria.’

  ‘You managed to elude them this morning. Why did you return?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I lost the opportunity. I was in the forest when I saw Brother Drón riding hard to catch up with me. I panicked and let the horse have its head. Drón chased me through the forest for a while but, thankfully, I proved the better rider. When I finally halted, I listened for his pursuit but could not hear it. I was unsure what to do next. Then Fergus Fanat came along . . . well, I found myself confessing all to him. He promised me that he would help me if I returned with him. That he would protect me. That is why I came back.’

  She paused and Fidelma prompted her to continue but she shook her head. ‘There is nothing more to be said.’

  ‘I think there is. What made Brother Drón chase after you? How did he find out that you had fled?’

  ‘I learned the story from Sétach. Brother Drón was looking for me. He found Sétach after I had left and said he had received a message that I was meeting a lover by the Well of Patrick. He had asked at the gate where this was and been told it was due south. Sétach is clever and she went first to the stable and discovered that I had taken Ultán’s horse. She made inquiries, and the stable lads told her that I had gone off with the other ladies on the hunt. She found Drón in the courtyard about to set off to the Well of Patrick. Sétach advised him to follow the hunt, for she believed it was some ruse of mine to draw him in the wrong direction.’

  ‘That is curious enough,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Who gave this message to Drón?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is that it was certainly untrue.’

  ‘That you were meeting a lover or that you had a lover?’

  The girl flushed. ‘That I was meeting anyone at this well or elsewhere.’

  ‘Let us return to this meeting with Fergus Fanat,’ Fidelma said. ‘How long have you known him?’

  The question seemed to throw Marga off guard for a moment.

  ‘I presume that you met him in the land of the Uí Thuirtrí? Was that after you had entered Cill Ria?’

  ‘How did you know that I had met him before?’ she demanded.

  ‘You were at the game of immán waiting for him, I think. Was your meeting during the hunt by design?’

  ‘I have told you that it was not.’

  ‘When you told him about your plan to flee, ho
w did he persuade you to come back here?’

  The girl looked unhappy.

  ‘He is your lover, isn’t he?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘For the love of God, do not tell Brother Drón nor Sister Sétach. They suspect me enough.’

  ‘Then tell me how you met, and when.’

  ‘As you say, it was just after I went to Cill Ria. I went to collect some manuscripts from Ard Stratha and it was on that journey that I met Fergus Fanat. He was young, a warrior, a cousin of the king of Ulaidh, and . . .’

  Fidelma waved her hand in a swift dismissive gesture. ‘I think you can spare us the description. Sufficient to say that you were attracted to him.’

  ‘And he to me. We met several times after that. But then the clouds gathered at Cill Ria. I was sent to the bed of Ultán under threat of punishments. I was too ashamed to contact Fergus Fanat any more. He tried to get in touch with me several times without being too obvious and I do not think that either Ultán or Drón knew of my relationship with him. I had not seen him since. Not until we came here and I saw him on the playing field. I was going to speak to him then, but you forestalled me.’

  ‘Why not contact him later?’

  ‘Because I was watched closely. I was in despair. And at Ultán’s funeral last night I saw him there with his cousin, the king of Ulaidh. I know he saw me. He saw Sister Sétach embracing me during the funeral. I think she did so on purpose because she saw him watching me and might have guessed there had been something between us. But he made no attempt to contact me. I was in despair. That was when I decided to flee and strike out for Laigin.’

  Fidelma sat back regarding her thoughtfully. ‘And you still maintain that meeting Fergus Fanat on the hunt was an accident?’

  ‘Aren’t our lives full of coincidences?’ the girl demanded. ‘If the coincidence works against us we say “if only . . .” If only we had taken a certain path at a certain time we might have changed our lives. If only. When, however, we do take the path where there is a meeting, where our lives are changed, it is hailed as a suspicious act.’