‘I went to Bishop Ultán’s chamber late that night . . .’
‘For what reason?’ demanded Eadulf.
Brother Drón blinked at the interruption. ‘Why?’ He hesitated. ‘Because Abbot Ultán was preparing a protest against your wedding on the following day. He needed my advice.’
‘Go on,’ urged Fidelma.
‘He asked me to go to his room about midnight to run through some of the arguments that he was going to put forward. I had just left my room when I saw Abbot Ultán’s door open. His door faces the corridor where my room is. Then Sister Marga emerged. She did not see me and I pressed back into my room, for, at that time, I thought it unseemly that either Abbot Ultán or Sister Marga know that I shared their dark secret.’
‘You display a curious sense of proprieties, Brother Drón,’ Eadulf observed dryly. ‘You knew about his penchant for women, you knew even darker secrets such as his taste for sadism, the beating to death of his victims . . . like the poor Saxon woman at Colmán’s island. You ignored that. Yet you ask us to believe that you were concerned for his sensitivities or Marga’s feelings? Come. What game were you playing?’
Brother Drón coloured hotly. ‘I was not playing a game. I . . .’
‘Perhaps you were thinking of how best to extort something from the situation?’
The barb seemed to strike home for the man flushed and was at a loss to reply.
‘Carry on,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘You say that you saw Marga leave Ultán’s chamber. What happened then?’
‘I decided to remain where I was for a while in order to give Abbot Ultán a little time so that he could be assured that I had not seen anyone exit his room.’
‘For how long?’ At least, she thought, Drón’s story corroborated that of Fergus Fanat.
‘Not long. I doubt my candle had burned down by more than a gráinne.’ He indicated the smallest Irish measurement, meaning the length of a wheat grain.
‘And then you returned to Ultán’s chamber?’
‘The door was closed. I knocked. There was no answer. To my surprise, I found the door unbolted so I entered and saw Abbot Ultán lying on his back on the bed. It was clear what had happened. Sister Marga had stabbed him to death. I exited hastily from the room, closed the door, and started to hurry along the corridor after Sister Marga to confront her.’
‘In your haste you tripped and fell,’ put in Fidelma.
Drón looked at her in astonishment for a moment.
‘How did you know . . . ?’ he began. Then he nodded. ‘Ah, from Dúnchad Muirisci. I fell outside his door and he opened it to find me picking myself up. I explained that I had tripped. The fall brought me to my senses. It was little use accusing Marga of Abbot Ultán’s death. To what end?’
‘Justice?’ put in Eadulf cynically.
Brother Drón ignored him. ‘I realised that we had to get her back to Cill Ria where her fellows in the abbey could be told of what she had done and inflict the punishment in accordance with our rules rather than allow her to go free with a simple fine under the laws of the brehons. So I went back to my chamber to consider the situation.’
‘And when did you find out that Muirchertach Nár had been accused of Abbot Ultán’s murder? Why did you not come forward with your information?’
‘For the same reason. Sister Marga had to be taken back for punishment to Cill Ria.’
‘When did you hear that Muirchertach was accused?’
‘I heard a great fuss in the corridor and overheard a guard saying that Muirchertach Nár had been seen fleeing from Abbot Ultán’s chamber just before he had been found murdered. I realised what had happened. After I had returned, Muirchertach Nár had gone to see Ultán and probably entered as I had. He likely found Ultán dead, turned and fled, but just as Brehon Baithen and one of the palace guards had come along the corridor. They had jumped to the natural conclusion.’
‘So you could have proved Muirchertach Nár’s innocence immediately?’
‘Not without incriminating myself or revealing that Sister Marga was the killer.’
‘When did you tell Sister Sétach about this?’ asked Fidelma. ‘When did you ask her to search the abbot’s chamber?’
Once again, Brother Drón frowned at her apparent knowledge. Fidelma decided to explain.
‘As you know, Sister Sétach came to Ultán’s chamber the day after the murder was discovered. However, the guard refused her entry. She was so desperate in her search for something that she actually climbed on to the ledge that runs along the outside wall and made her way from the corridor window to the window in Ultán’s chamber. I can only surmise that you must have told her about Ultán’s death. What was she looking for?’
Brother Drón hesitated. ‘The next day everyone knew about the murder and that Muirchertach Nár was suspect. That morning in the chapel, I took Sister Sétach aside and told her what I knew – that Sister Marga had killed Abbot Ultán. I told her that my intention was to get her back to Cill Ria as soon as it was possible to leave. As I say, in her own community, among her fellow religious, we could punish her under the full rigours of the Penitentials.’
‘Leaving Muirchertach Nár to take the blame for the murder?’ Fidelma was aghast at the admission.
Brother Drón shrugged. ‘It was God’s justice on the man. He was no friend to Cill Ria or to what we stand for. I rejoice at his death.’
‘I find it hard to believe that you could ignore both the law and your self-proclaimed charity of the Faith. So what made Sister Sétach go to Abbot Ultán’s chamber that evening?’
‘Our duty was to ensure that there was no evidence left which would implicate Abbot Ultán with Sister Marga. I feared that there might be some incriminating evidence left in Ultán’s belongings which, having been discovered, might lead to Sister Marga. Sister Sétach offered to go, but unfortunately she had barely begun her search when you and the Saxon brother entered. At first she did not know what to do but she thought that she had finally diverted your suspicions by telling you what was an approximation of the truth.’
Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘In fact, she merely enhanced the suspicion. But, in all of this, Brother Drón, I find it hard to believe that you as a religieux would allow an innocent man to be blamed, that you would conspire to aid someone whom you thought was guilty of murder to escape the law . . .’
‘Not escape the law,’ intervened Brother Drón. ‘To answer to a higher law, to suffer all the agonies that are due to a witch and murderess.’
Brother Drón’s features were alight with fanatic zeal and Fidelma realised that he truly believed in his cause.
‘Thank God it is not the Penitentials that rule this land, Brother Drón. At least you will now have to answer to the laws that do govern us,’ Fidelma said firmly as she stood up.
Brother Drón was undaunted. ‘You may shelter in your man-made rules, Sister Fidelma. Remember you will, yourself, finally have to answer to the rules of the Faith.’
‘And what rules are they?’ Fidelma asked sharply. ‘These Penitentials? Who set them down? Are they not also man-made?’
‘They are the law! The law of the Faith!’ Brother Drón replied vehemently.
‘I would have a care in your interpretation of the word “law”.’
‘Christ said that he came to fulfil the law, that the law was permanent and that people should obey it,’ grated Brother Drón.
‘And that law was Mosaic law, the ten commandments, not your Penitentials that have been devised to inflict suffering on mankind. Christ kept the commandments but he did not keep the law as made by men. Did he not set aside the understanding of his own people on issues like ritual cleansing, food laws and other matters – even the very understanding of the Sabbath day? Attend to your Scriptures and mark well, before you quote the words of Christ on law to me. If Scripture teaches anything, it is that it is not the appearance of law, the external appearance of purity and obedience, but its reality that should be obeyed. Christ’s concern was for in
ner purity, for the ethic of the principle of truth rather than the ethic of rules for the sake of rules. You may claim to support the ethic of punishment of the transgressor in Cill Ria but I would hope that the true Faith teaches you the principle of charity.’
Brother Drón swallowed at her emotional rebuke. For the first time, he saw the anger and passion in her usually composed features and found no answer for her.
Fidelma paused at the door and glanced back at him. ‘Does not Paul speak of the law written on the heart? Give me a pagan with a moral conscience rather than a man who proclaims the Faith in all outward appearances and yet denies that inner morality. The sooner that your type of faith is eliminated, Drón, the better will be the world.’
Silently, Fidelma and Eadulf made their way to the chamber where Sister Marga had been temporarily confined.
Enda was standing outside as they approached. He stood aside and rapped on the chamber door. Muirgen opened it.
‘Sister Marga is bathed and dressed, lady,’ she reported, with a salutation to Fidelma.
‘Excellent. And you ensured that she lack for nothing in her toiletry?’
‘I did everything as you asked, lady.’
‘Then I shall not detain you any longer. You may return to little Alchú.’
Muirgen hurried off, and Fidelma and Eadulf entered the room. Sister Marga rose uncertainly.
‘I shall not go back to Cill Ria, even if I am forced,’ she declared fiercely.
Fidelma moved forward with a smile. ‘No one will force you to go back,’ she said. ‘Be seated.’ Then she sniffed the air. ‘A nice fragrance,’ she observed.
‘I have just bathed. Your attendant was most helpful,’ replied the girl stiffly.
‘Excellent. You were able to ask for whatever perfumed sleic or fragrances our apothecaries could provide?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have my own, which I always carry in my cíorbholg.’
Fidelma sniffed again and said approvingly: ‘A good choice. Eadulf tells me that you were shocked to hear of the assault on Fergus Fanat?’
Sister Marga’s face was set in stone. ‘I did not attack him.’
‘You have to admit that it was an unfortunate coincidence that you fled from Cashel at the time he was attacked?’
‘It was nothing more than a coincidence. I had to get away, that is all. I did not know Fergus Fanat had been attacked.’
‘Life is so full of coincidences,’ Fidelma observed with a sigh. ‘In fact, the one constant factor in all our lives is that when events do become intertwined there does seem to be a fated eventuality to them. We believe that coincidence is an unusual occurrence instead of its being a normal one.’
Sister Marga stared at her, trying to understand. ‘Since you have brought me forcibly back here, I demand to be protected from Brother Drón. I demand sanctuary. I will not go back to the Abbey of Cill Ria.’
‘Fergus Fanat offered you protection,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘You did not appear to want that.’
The girl coloured hotly. ‘I trusted Fergus . . .’ she said brokenly. ‘But he did not trust me. Now I cannot trust him further. After he told me that he had seen me come from Ultán’s chamber that night, I told him that Ultán had summoned me there and why. But I also told him that I was innocent of his death. He was alive when I left the chamber. But I am sorry that he has been attacked. I am glad he is recovering. Muirgen told me,’ she added. ‘I wish him no harm at all. I believed that I loved him, but love means knowing and trusting someone and he showed that he neither knew nor trusted me. Even he thought me guilty of . . .’
Fidelma smiled sympathetically. ‘Even the person you loved thought you guilty of murder. Well, the blindness of a lover often distorts things through the fear it arouses. It is easy to swing from love to jealousy and into a total distortion of reality.’
Sister Marga was trying to follow what Fidelma was saying. Then she repeated: ‘My fear is of Brother Drón. I will kill myself rather than be taken back to Cill Ria.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘There is no need to fear Brother Drón. I can assure you that you will not be forced back to the Abbey of Cill Ria. We will meet again in a little while.’
Fidelma, followed by Eadulf, left the girl sitting with a bewildered expression on her features.
Outside, Eadulf was equally bewildered.
‘Did you learn anything?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, I did.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Now I must spend a short time with that trunk we found in Ultán’s room. It is still under lock and key in my brother’s strongroom.’
‘But there was nothing of interest there. Clothes, papers, the records of Ultán’s embassy on behalf of Ard Macha . . . just papers.’
‘Exactly so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Once I have seen those we can set up our brandubh board.’
Eadulf looked startled, not being privy to her discussion with Abbot Laisran. She chuckled and took his arm.
‘The great hall is to become the brandubh board for this game in which we will find the centre piece. The centre piece is the murderer and we will now trap it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
The great hall of Cashel was not filled to capacity. It had been agreed that only the most distinguished guests and those directly involved in the matter would witness the resolution to the murders of Abbot Ultán and Muirchertach Nár. These were the kings, their leading nobles, their brehons and the leading churchmen. The princes and chiefs of the Eóghanacht, the Déisi and the Uí Fidgente were all gathered there. Barrán, the Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms, sat in judgement with the High King Sechnassach on his left side and Colgú, king of Muman, on his right. A chagrined and silent Brehon Ninnid had taken his place behind King Fianamail of Laigin, among the seated nobles and other dignitaries. Fidelma and Eadulf sat slightly to the right in front of the judges, and Caol, as guard commander, stood close by, having placed his men at strategic points about the hall.
Brother Drón was seated with Sister Sétach under guard. Sister Marga was seated with those who had been requested to attend in the role of witnesses, ranging from Aíbnat and Abbot Augaire and Dúnchad Muirisci, to Rónán the tracker, Delia, Brother Berrihert with his two brothers, Brehon Baithen and Brother Conchobhar. Even so, the spacious hall was only half filled.
Colgú’s steward, having been given a signal from the Brehon Barrán, moved forward and turned to the assembly. He banged his staff on the floor three times to call them to order. Then Brehon Barrán turned to Fidelma.
‘Are you ready to present your resolution to the matters that have been placed before us?’
‘I am,’ she responded, rising from her seat.
‘Proceed,’ instructed the Chief Brehon.
‘The matters before us are the murders of two men. First, the murder of Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria, the emissary of the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick. Second, the murder of King Muirchertach Nár of Connacht . . .’
‘I would like to make a protest,’ cut in a voice.
To her surprise it was Brehon Ninnid who had risen. Even Brehon Barrán seemed astonished.
‘A protest? About what?’ he demanded.
‘The learned brehon presents the slaying of Ultán, an abbot, to be considered before the murder of a king, Muirchertach. That is not socially just.’
For a moment Fidelma did not understand the meaning of the intervention. Then she realised. There was no humour in her smile.
‘I present these murders in order of their chronological precedence rather than that of their social precedence,’ she replied dryly.
Brehon Barrán was frowning at Ninnid. He, too, had realised as Fidelma had that Ninnid, having been admonished by Barrán over the release of Brother Drón, was now trying to ingratiate himself by attempting to show off points of law. He was trying to present a good figure in front of his king.
‘I will not accept frivolous interruptions in this court,’ Brehon Barrán snapped and, flushing, the petulant Ninnid sat down.
‘Let us be
gin, as we should,’ Fidelma said with emphasis, ‘with the first murder. It should not fall to a mere advocate such as I to judge a man when he is dead but the judgement is necessary to an understanding of this death. Everyone here had cause to dislike Abbot Ultán, even his close associates – or should I say especially his close associates? He was not a likeable man. He pretended to have been converted to the Faith even as the Apostle Paul had been when he saw the blinding light on the road to Damascus, as the Scriptures tell us. But I believe that Ultán’s conversion was false. He used his rescue from the judgement of the sea, to which he had been condemned as an unrepentant criminal, in order to seize a path that would lead him to power. He was persuasive. He was even appointed by the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick as his emissary to attempt to persuade all the abbots and bishops of the five kingdoms that Ard Macha should be the primatial seat of the Faith in these lands.’
She paused and looked round the hall until her eyes alighted on Abbot Ségdae, who was seated with his steward, Brother Madagan.
‘The Comarb of the Blessed Ailbe had cause to dislike the arrogance of Abbot Ultán when he arrived at the abbey of Imleach. Ultán attempted to make him acknowledge subservience to Ard Macha. And Abbot Ségdae was not alone in that dislike of this emissary. Many of the abbeys and churches of the five kingdoms had already stood up to Abbot Ultán’s blustering and bullying.
‘Hatred walked hand in hand with Ultán and that was the cause of his death. His murder was the ultimate act of vengeance. Muirchertach Nár had cause to dislike Ultán. Did his feelings reach the degree of hatred that was needed to kill him? Some thought so. But then Muirchertach Nár was killed. That, too, was an act of vengeance. The two murders were linked. But was it, as some thought, that Muirchertach Nár killed Ultán in vengeance and was then killed, also in vengeance, by someone who had admired Ultán?’
She paused and glanced to where Brother Berrihert and his brothers were seated.
‘There was, of course, one person who came to Cashel with the open intention of killing not only Abbot Ultán but also Brother Drón. That was the Saxon warrior Ordwulf.’
A Prayer for the Damned Page 32