A Prayer for the Damned sf-17 Page 12

  ‘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 glanced 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 litte
r 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 stirred 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.’

  ‘And when was that?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘Sometime after the evening meal. He had barely entered his room when one of his party brushed by me hurriedly in the corridor in the same direction as I was going. I didn’t hear them before they pushed by. They went straight to his door and entered without knocking. Even as the door was closing, I heard Ultán’s voice raised in a hectoring tone.’

  ‘Which member of his party? Brother Drón?’

  Abbot Augaire shook his head. ‘One of the two women in his party.’

  ‘You did not recognise her, I suppose? Can you describe her?’

  ‘I do not know any of his party except Brother Drón. As for describing her, all I saw was her back as she brushed by. She wore a long cloak with the cabhal pulled up over her head. I recall the odour of some scent. I am not sure what. I am not good on such matters. It was strong. Perhaps honeysuckle. That was early in the evening. I thought Ultán was killed around midnight and I am told that Muirchertach was seen fleeing from his chamber.’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘Much use is made of this word “fleeing”. It is a word that conjures guilt and prevents us from investigating a murder.’

  ‘So far as I am concerned, the person who killed Ultán did a public service,’ Abbot Augaire said firmly.

  ‘Nevertheless, Ultán was murdered, and there is a law to be answered.’

  Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘The irony is that Ultán refused to obey the law when he lived. Now that he is dead, others have to answer to a law that he ignored.’

  Fidelma regarded the man carefully. ‘I would like you to tell me What you know of Ultán and how you came by your views of him.’

  ‘Not much to tell. But let me put this to you. If Muirchertach Nár is to be prosecuted, I would not want my words used to condemn him. If you are gathering evidence against him. .’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘Muirchertach Nár has asked me to stand in his defence. He claims that he is innocent. It is the Brehon Ninnid who prosecutes.’

  Abbot Augaire seemed to relax a little more and he smiled confidently. ‘Then I will tell you plainly what I know of Muirchertach and Ultán. I was sent as Muirchertach’s representative to demand compensation from Ultán for the death of the sister of Muirchertach’s wife. That was the beginning of our animosity.’

  ‘I have heard that you had a more personal interest in the matter?’

  ‘Personal?’ the response came sharply.

  ‘You saw the girl kill herself.’

  ‘I do not deny it.’

  ‘Tell us how that came about.’

  Abbot Augaire sat back. ‘It was about three or four years ago. I was a member of a community on the shores of the southern borders of Connacht. It was a place not far from Muirchertach’s stronghold of Durlas. I was fishing on a small headland when this girl came along. The next thing I knew she had leapt to her death on the rocks. She was a very beautiful young woman. I could not imagine how such a one, so beautiful, so youthful, with so much life in her and before her, could be forced into such a terrible act.’

  ‘You did not know who she was?’ asked Eadulf.

&
nbsp; ‘Not then. I started to make inquiries and these led me to the fortress of our king at Durlas. I found out that the girl’s name was Searc and that she was the younger sister of the king’s wife Aïbnat. I remembered her ethereal beauty that day on the foreshore. To explain my feelings, I suppose that I was moved by her image — the youth, beauty and femininity that she represented, you understand? I pledged my service to that image, to Aíbnat and Muirchertach, swearing that I would discover the reason for her death and punish those responsible.’

  Fidelma was aware that there was a faint mistiness in his eyes as if he were holding back tears.

  ‘It sounds as if this girl, in death, had touched something in you,’ she said.

  The abbot seemed to pull himself together. ‘Her image still does. How many nights have I not been able to sleep as I run the events of that day through my mind, saying “if only”. If only I had not been so blind as to fail to see the tragedy that was about to unfold; if only I. . Ah, well. Sic erat in fatis, to quote Juvenal again.’

  ‘So it was fated,’ Eadulf repeated. ‘So you blamed yourself for her death and that is why you took such trouble. Was her involvement with the religieux from Cill Ria known at that time?’

  ‘It was. She was a poetess. I found out about the gathering at Ard Macha from some who had attended. I began to make inquiries about this boy, Senach, with whom she had fallen in love, and traced him to Cill Ria. I then found out what had happened to the boy.’

  Eadulf was approving. ‘It sounds as though you would make a good investigator, Augaire. So it was you who discovered the details. Searc had not told her sister, or Muirchertach?’

  ‘It seems not.’

  ‘Having discovered this information, what then?’ asked Fidelma.

  He replied with quiet vehemence: ‘I swore vengeance on those who had prevented that young girl from achieving happiness, and in her grief had compelled her to her death. .’

  ‘But what did you do in practical terms?’

  Abbot Augaire seemed to shake himself and resume his normal demeanour. ‘I went to Muirchertach and Aíbnat and told them what I had discovered. Muirchertach was pleased. .’