A Prayer for the Damned Read online

  Colgú’s features were woebegone. ‘This failure of protection lies at my door. Questions will be raised. It will be asked, was there enmity because of my chief bishop, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach? There will be reference to the argument when he refused to comply with Ultán’s demand for recognition of Ard Macha. Was there some conspiracy to silence Ultán because it was known he would raise objections to the wedding of my sister?’

  ‘That is nonsense!’ exploded Fidelma.

  ‘You know it,’ conceded Colgú. ‘But will those in the northern kingdoms know it?’

  Fidelma lowered her head as she thought through the implications. Colgú was right. Under the laws of hospitality, it was his duty to resolve the matter. All the guests who had come to Cashel, including Abbot Ultán, were under the protection of the king. The death of a guest was the crime of díguin, violation of protection. If the matter was not resolved and the culprit made known, then Colgú himself could lose his honour price, be removed as king and be forced into paying the appropriate fines and compensation. Restitution had to be made. Fidelma realised that the Eóghanacht – indeed, Cashel itself-could become mallachtach – accursed. Colgú must be seen to be beyond reproach in this matter.

  ‘So Muirchertach has demanded that I should be his advocate?’ she finally asked, her voice resigned. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘A king has rights and he has the liberty of Cashel until the hearing is held. As king of Connacht he has given his parole’ – Colgú used the term gell, meaning the ‘word of honour’ usually given by noble prisoners of war and hostages – ‘that he will not leave before the hearing exonerates him, as he says. I am afraid that we are in no position to refuse his request for us to defend him.’

  Fidelma smiled faintly at Colgú’s attempt to shoulder responsibility with her by the use of the plural form. ‘I understand. Who will sit in judgement when the hearing is convened?’

  ‘Who else but Barrán, Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms? I have asked him to attend us and perhaps it is fortunate that he is here with the High King because none of the northern kings or princes will be able to argue with his decisions.’

  Fidelma nodded slightly in agreement. ‘If I am to defend the king of Connacht, who will prosecute him?’

  At that moment, there was a tap on the door and it was swung open by one of the guards to allow a tall man of indiscernible age, clad in robes that denoted high rank, to pass into the chamber. The man halted in mid-chamber and inclined his head in token deference to Colgú. His bright eyes, unblinking, set close to his prominent nose, gave him a stern expression. But as they alighted on Fidelma, his thin lips parted in a smile of greeting.

  ‘I have heard your reputation has much increased since our last meeting at Ferna, in the kingdom of Laigin, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said.

  ‘A reputation that is undeserved, Barran,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Only my few successes seem to be talked about and not my many failures.’

  The Chief Brehon’s smile broadened. ‘Your success at Ferna and our previous encounter at Ros Alithir was a clear demonstration that your reputation is well deserved. However, I did not expect to meet you before I was due to congratulate you after your wedding.’ He glanced to Colgú and Baithen, whom he had already encountered on his arrival. His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Your messenger has informed me of the matter in hand.’

  Colgú waved Barrán to a chair.

  ‘Have you been told why I have asked you to join us?’ he asked.

  Barrán made an affirmative gesture. ‘You wish me to preside at the hearing of Muirchertach Nár for the murder of Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria?’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘I accept, of course. As Muirchertach Nár is king of the cóicead of Connacht it is, perhaps, lucky that I am here for reasons that have more to do with politics than with justice.’

  Colgú smiled.

  ‘An observation already made, Barrán,’ he said. ‘Muirchertach Nár has demanded his right to choose his advocate and he has chosen Fidelma.’

  Barrán glanced quickly at her. ‘Have you responded to this request?’

  ‘I have agreed, although Muirchertach Nár is not yet informed of that decision,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘Again, that is good from a political viewpoint so far as Connacht is concerned. It is also good for justice so far as Muirchertach Nár is personally concerned, for he is now assured of an able advocate. Now, who is to prosecute this matter?’

  ‘I asked that same question before you arrived, Barrán,’ Fidelma replied.

  Baithen stirred uneasily. ‘The crime was committed here in Cashel and in the palace of the king. Even though I am a witness, it behoves me to prosecute as brehon of Muman.’

  Fidelma looked thoughtful.

  ‘Would you not be excluded from one role or the other?’ she asked mildly. ‘I would have thought the berrad airechta, the law on persons excluded from giving evidence, would be the basis for challenging you on this.’

  Baithen was surprised. ‘Are you challenging my right to prosecute? On what point of law?’

  ‘If you are a witness, it conflicts with your role as prosecutor, for as prosecutor it is to your advantage to secure a conviction. A man cannot give evidence if it could bring advantage to himself. That is the law.’

  Baithen shrugged indifferently. ‘Then I shall not stand as witness but rely on the testimony of Caol who saw exactly what I saw. No contradiction in that.’

  Barrán sighed and shook his head. ‘I have to rule on this, Baithen, and say that Fidelma’s argument is sound in law. You cannot deny that you are a witness. What you have already seen cannot be unseen and therefore you are prejudiced. As she says, it is a prosecutor’s function to secure a conviction. That may lead a witness to zealousness in his evidence.’

  Baithen accepted the point with good grace.

  ‘But there must be a prosecutor,’ he pointed out. ‘It should be someone of distinction and certainly not a judge from the retinue of the northern kingdoms.’

  ‘That is agreed,’ replied Barrán. ‘I propose Brehon Ninnid, the new brehon of Laigin. He is of the Uí Dróna of the southern part of that kingdom. Laigin is the only independent voice in these matters. Ninnid has accompanied his king, Fianamail, here for the ceremony. That, again, is most fortunate.’

  Fidelma was frowning.

  ‘I presume that he is better qualified than Bishop Forbassach?’ she asked cynically.

  Barrán uttered a brittle laugh. ‘Indeed. Thanks to your case against him at Ferna, Bishop Forbassach was stripped of his rank, retired to some small community and prohibited from the practice of law. King Fianamail had to choose a new brehon and in this matter he sought my advice. I can vouch that young Ninnid is talented and has made a name for himself as an assiduous prosecutor. It is true that with youth comes arrogance but he will grow out of that, I am sure. But now is the time to voice any objections to his appointment, before he is instructed.’

  Baithen seemed indifferent while Colgú said: ‘I have no knowledge to make an objection. If you recommend him, then I accept. What do you say, Fidelma?’

  ‘A brehon of Laigin is a logical choice,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps the only choice, for he represents neither the kingdom of the victim, the kingdom of the accused nor the kingdom in which it happened. Therefore, ideally, he will be an unbiased prosecutor.’ She glanced through the window at the still dark sky and then rose from her seat. ‘I’d better inform Eadulf that the wedding is now delayed. And, of course, I shall ask Eadulf for his assistance in my investigation, if you have no objection, Barrán.’

  The Chief Brehon shook his head. ‘I would expect no less. Brother Eadulf’s work is known and his name is now inseparably linked to your own.’

  ‘Then it is agreed.’ Colgú sighed. ‘There is nothing left but to announce this sad news to our guests. The ceremonies must be postponed until this matter is resolved.’ Colgú paused and smiled in sympathy at Fidelma. ‘Let us hope that it will be but a short delay
.’

  Barrán was sympathetic. ‘This is hard on you, Fidelma, but I know that you will bring this matter to a quick conclusion. We cannot allow all these distinguished guests to linger in Cashel for more than a few days.’

  ‘Law and justice move along in their own time,’ Fidelma rebuked him softly. ‘I, above all our distinguished guests, regret the delay, but I am the first to argue that no man should be exonerated or condemned simply because it interferes with our plans.’

  With a quick nod to encompass them all, Fidelma turned and left the chamber.

  ‘I am beginning to believe that there is some truth in old Brother Conchobhar’s prognostications,’ Eadulf finally said, after Fidelma had explained everything. She had gone to his chamber and woken him, making sure he was fully awake before explaining the events of recent hours.

  ‘He was claiming that the portents were not good for our marriage this day,’ she agreed.

  There was a silence between them and faintly came the sound of the chapel bell calling the religious to the first prayers of the day. Fidelma smiled wanly, glanced into a mirror and adjusted her hair with an automatic gesture.

  ‘Well, from what we have heard about Abbot Ultán, it did not need any divination to know that there was going to be trouble in the offing.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘It is a pity that Caol took Dego away from his sentinel duties. I can understand it but I hope it does not mean that Caol will be in trouble.’

  ‘My brother has taken full responsibility.’

  ‘I told you that Brother Berrihert uttered a threat against Ultán’s life in front of Brother Conchobhar and me?’

  ‘I have not forgotten. But do not forget that the murder happened after the gates of the fortress were closed for the night. That much Caol told me. Your Saxon friends have accommodation in one of the hostels in the town, so they would not have been admitted here after the gates were closed.’

  There was another awkward pause.

  ‘So everything is put into abeyance until the matter is resolved?’

  Fidelma nodded, moving to the window and glancing down in the direction of the few lanterns and lights that could be seen in the town below.

  ‘I feel sorry for the people who have gathered down there for the aenach,’ she remarked.

  ‘Surely the fair can go ahead?’ Eadulf said. ‘It could amuse people and will not interfere with us in the fortress.’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘Abbot Ségdae would doubtless say that it would not be seemly while an abbot and bishop of the Faith lies murdered and that death remains unexplained.’

  Eadulf pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. Although it is not as if many here will mourn his passing. Everyone seemed to hate him.’

  ‘Well, though I shall not hurry this matter, the sooner we begin the sooner we can come to an end,’ she said.

  Eadulf had finished dressing and asked: ‘What do you mean to do first?’

  ‘As always, we will start with the body and the cause of death. Brother Conchobhar was called to examine it. After that, we shall see what Muirchertach Nár has to say.’ She paused at the door and frowned, glancing back to Eadulf. ‘As Muirchertach Nár is a king . . .’

  Eadulf interrupted, as if reading her thoughts.

  ‘It would be better if you saw him alone. It might not be . . .’ He spent a few moments trying to think of the right word and settled on cubaid. ‘It might not be seemly if I were to be present unless he wished it.’

  Fidelma cast him a smile of thanks for his perception and diplomacy.

  It was still dark but there was a light burning in the apothecary shop as they crossed the cobbled courtyard. Fidelma tapped softly on the door before reaching to the handle and swinging it open. At once the pungent smell of herbs and dried flowers assailed her nostrils and she was hard pressed not to sneeze.

  In the gloom, Brother Conchobhar glanced up from his workbench where he had been mixing something in a bowl by the light of a lantern and smiled a welcome.

  ‘I was expecting you,’ he said simply, as they entered. ‘Do you prosecute or do you judge, lady?’

  ‘Neither,’ Fidelma responded. ‘The Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms, Barrán himself, will be judge. But the accused has requested that I should defend him.’

  ‘It is a difficult path, lady.’ Brother Conchobhar pulled a comical face. ‘Thank God I do not have to be involved in such deliberations. Surely it is hard to defend someone when there are eyewitnesses to the deed?’

  ‘My mentor Brehon Morann once said, do not give your judgement on hearing the first story until the other side is brought before you,’ she replied.

  ‘A good philosophy,’ agreed the apothecary. He glanced at Eadulf. ‘So, are you both working on this matter?’

  ‘We are,’ Eadulf replied. ‘We are told that you were asked to examine the body of Abbot Ultán?’

  Brother Conchobhar nodded absently. ‘To play the dálaigh, I should strictly say that I was called upon to examine a body. I recognised it to be Abbot Ultán only when I saw it. I was not told who it was before then.’

  Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘You are developing a legal mind, my old friend. Where is the body now?’

  ‘The body is still in the chamber where it happened. Brehon Baithen ordered it to remain so until you came to conduct your examination. Baithen is a careful judge, unlike . . .’ Brother Conchobhar stopped short and glanced at Eadulf in embarrassment. No need to remind Eadulf how Baithen’s predecessor was so careless that he had accused the Saxon of murder. ‘And you doubtless want me to come and point out the salient features?’ the apothecary went on hurriedly.

  ‘Even so,’ agreed Fidelma.

  Brother Conchobhar put aside the mixture that he had been working on and wiped his hands on a linen cloth. ‘Then come with me. I shall show you what I can.’

  They followed him to the main guests’ quarters of the palace. Enda, another of Caol’s warriors, was standing outside the chamber that had been allotted to Abbot Ultán. He let them pass inside with a deferential nod of his head.

  Inside the room, which was still lit by tallow candles, the body of the abbot lay sprawled on its back on the bed. The blood had soaked his clothing and the surrounding bedclothes, staining them. Fidelma glanced quickly round. Apart from the way the corpse lay, the bedchamber was fairly tidy. There were no signs of any disorder.

  ‘Has anything been moved?’ she asked.

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head.

  ‘The abbot was obviously an orderly man,’ he said. ‘The room was perfectly tidy when I came here. Baithen told me to leave everything exactly as I found it.’

  ‘So, there was no indication of a struggle,’ observed Fidelma.

  ‘None,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar.

  ‘That means that he probably knew his killer,’ Eadulf pointed out softly.

  ‘And the body was found as we see it now?’ Fidelma pressed the apothecary.

  ‘Exactly as I have said. I had no cause to touch or move it. It was obvious what the cause of death was.’

  Fidelma peered down distastefully at the congealing blood. ‘Which appears to have been a sharp dagger.’

  ‘Just so,’ agreed the old man.

  ‘Then we can also be assured that the abbot had no suspicion of the impending attack.’ Eadulf was examining the position of the body.

  ‘How so?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘From the way the body has fallen back on the bed. He was sitting on it at the time. The legs still dangle over the side of the bed touching the floor and one foot is bare . . . the sandal came off as he fell or was pushed backwards by the force of the attack. That means that the straps were loose. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with unloosed sandals, in a relaxed state. He did not seem the type of man, especially in his office of abbot, who would relax in such a manner in front of a stranger.’

  Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘Excellently observed, Eadulf.’

  She bent down and examined the man’s fe
et. Then she glanced round and with a grunt of satisfaction reached forward under a side table. Indeed, one sandal had been hidden under it, reinforcing the idea that it had been kicked off while the other was still on the foot. Fidelma rose satisfied.

  Eadulf was now looking at the wounds on the man’s chest.

  ‘I presume that you agree that he was stabbed to death?’ he asked Brother Conchobhar.

  The old apothecary nodded. ‘I am reminded, Brother Eadulf, that you studied for a while in one of our great schools of medicine . . . Tuam Brecain, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Examining the stab wounds, can you deduce anything else?’

  Eadulf peered at the wounds, frowning before straightening up. ‘The abbot was stabbed half a dozen times.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows momentarily in surprise. She moved to Eadulf’s shoulder and glanced down at the body once more.

  ‘Half a dozen?’ There was so much blood staining the clothes and surrounding areas that she had not counted the wounds.

  ‘You remark on that?’ Brother Conchobhar’s tone was approving. ‘It is not my place to draw conclusions but, nevertheless, there is a conclusion to be drawn.’

  ‘The conclusion that here is a killing that was filled with emotion?’ Fidelma said at once.

  ‘One of the stab wounds would be fatal in itself,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar. ‘That one entered the body between the ribs.’ He indicated. ‘The rest were more or less superficial wounds that caused much blood to flow. They seem to have been struck at haphazard as if someone had thrown himself on the abbot with sudden fury. Eadulf rightly says that he fell backwards upon the assault but once that one blow, was struck there would have been no defence. You will perceive the superficial nature of those other wounds . . . you see that they were not struck deeply. That means the hand that delivered these blows did not have strength behind it . . . probably surprise more than anything caused the abbot to be thrown backwards on the bed.’