A Prayer for the Damned sf-17

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Ah, you mean Brother Drón?’

  Fidelma would not comment but made her excuses and left. Colgú stood up, moved to a side table and waved the Chief Brehon to a chair near the fire.

  ‘A goblet of wine, Barrán?’

  The Chief Brehon smiled. ‘Corma would be better still,’ he said.

  Colgú poured the drinks and settled in a chair opposite Barrán. They both sipped appreciatively for a moment.

  ‘I hope my sister will be able to sort out this puzzle,’ Colgú finally commented. ‘It is a bad business, with everyone ready to condemn Cashel if there is no resolution.’

  ‘I have confidence in Fidelma.’ The Chief Brehon was reassuring. ‘Her reputation has not been won merely by luck. If I had influence with her, I would try to persuade her to separate entirely from the religious and become a brehon instead of just a dálaigh. She has the ability to make such sound judgements that she is often wasted in pleading cases before others. . especially when they are so inferior in judgement as Ninnid.’

  ‘I know that she has been considering her position in the religious,’ Colgú confided. ‘However, she feels uncomfortable about it because she places such reliance on our cousin’s advice. .’

  ‘Abbot Laisran of Durrow?’

  Colgú nodded. ‘He was the one who persuaded her to enter the religious in the first place. He argued that it would make her independent of a reliance on her work in law. But monastic life was not to her taste. Her first interest and commitment is to the law and, as you know, for the last few years now she has been her own mistress. However, I know that she feels that any severance from the religious will be a betrayal of Laisran.’

  ‘Do you think her marriage to the Saxon will alter her attitudes?’

  ‘I think Eadulf is a good man. A stable man. I would, of course, have preferred her to wed one of our own, but he shares her enthusiasm for her work. He is not qualified in our laws, but he seems to have a natural aptitude in helping her to solve these conundrums. I have often suggested that he should study our law, for he was an hereditary. . gerefa, I think is the word. It means a magistrate of his own people in the Saxon lands.’

  Barrán sighed deeply. ‘I share your view of Eadulf. A good man, even though he is a Saxon. Perhaps you are right, Colgú. Maybe he will help steer her away from the stormy waters that this new faith is bringing with it. The debates between our native forms and these foreign ways that emanate from Rome are becoming more vicious. Truly, I do fear for the future.’

  Fergus Fanat was sitting up with a bandage round his head and looking rueful as Fidelma entered the little room where old Brother Conchobhar nursed his patients. Fidelma had been informed that the warrior had recovered consciousness as she was about to leave the fortress with Caol and Rónán. She told them to continue down to the town to begin the search for Brother Drón and that she would catch up with them later.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked as she dropped into a seat beside his bed.

  The warrior managed a brief smile. ‘As if someone has hit me over the head with a cudgel.’

  ‘At least they have not repressed your humour,’ she commented. She paused and then went on: ‘You know that Sister Marga has left the fortress? And Drón, in spite of our best efforts, has escaped and we think he is in pursuit of her.’

  Fergus Fanat sighed deeply but said nothing.

  ‘You do not appear surprised?’

  He glanced up at her and then shrugged. ‘I am not exactly surprised,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Sister Marga when I first questioned you after the game of immán?’

  ‘You did not ask me,’ he countered.

  ‘That is true,’ she agreed. ‘But you did not volunteer the information even though she was standing on the field waiting to speak to you.’

  ‘At that time, our last parting had not been in the best spirit. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to speak to her anyway.’

  ‘When did you first meet Sister Marga?’

  Fergus Fanat frowned. The contraction of his muscles resonated on his injury and he winced, raising a hand to his bandaged forehead.

  ‘She must have told you,’ he said.

  ‘I am asking you to tell me,’ Fidelma said firmly.

  He made a resigned gesture with his shoulders. ‘I was visiting the abbey of Ard Stratha on behalf of Blathmac and Sister Marga had come there to investigate some old manuscripts. . I cannot remember precisely. The story is not complicated. I fell in love; she said that she reciprocated my feelings. When she went back to her own abbey at Cill Ria, I contrived to meet her many times. .’

  ‘You contrived?’ Fidelma emphasised the word.

  ‘You will recall that I knew all about Abbot Ultán, his background and his pious prejudices. He had already separated what used to be a conhospitae into separate houses for the males and females. He did not sanction any fraternisation between the sexes and our meetings were very difficult to arrange. Then she stopped meeting me at all, and through an intermediary she told me that the relationship was over and that she no longer wanted to see me.’

  Fidelma raised her head with interest. ‘Who was the intermediary?’

  ‘The same woman who is her companion now.’

  ‘Sister Sétach?’

  Fergus Fanat nodded. ‘I was forced to accept it, though I could not understand it. I saw no more of Marga until the very day you mention, in the township here when I was playing immán.’

  ‘And when was the first time that you spoke to her after that?’

  ‘In the woods, during the hunt.’

  ‘Tell me about that,’ Fidelma said, sitting back.

  Once more Fergus Fanat gave her a quick examination from under lowered brows. ‘I suppose you know that she was running away from Cashel?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, we had encountered the boars, a whole pride of them with a large male tusker who had already caught one of the hounds and injured it badly. Then this boar espied us and did it run off? It did not, but came and charged our horses. Boars are fighting animals and do not searc easily — but to charge at the spearmen? Incredible. That was when I managed to prick it with my bir. Anyway, some of the horses were frightened. Some took off. I was separated in that charge and started looking for the main body. It was then that I came across Marga.’

  Fidelma leaned forward. ‘So your meeting was not prearranged?’

  He shook his head quickly, confirming the story that Marga had told Fidelma. ‘I knew that she was a good horsewoman. She told me her family bred horses up on the Sperrins. Those are the mountains in Uí Thuirtrí country. So I was not surprised when I found her.’

  ‘You had not known that she was in the party of women following the hunt?’

  ‘Not until then.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘She halted and we exchanged a few awkward words. Then she began to cry and we dismounted and began to talk. She told me why she had decided that we should stop seeing each other.’

  ‘Which was to do with the way she had been treated by Abbot Ultán?’

  Fergus looked shocked. ‘You know that?’

  ‘She told me. Go on. What was your response?’

  ‘The response of any man who loves a woman,’ he replied vehemently. ‘I said that it was of no consequence to me. I loved her still and wanted her to be my wife.’

  ‘In spite of what she had been made to suffer?’

  ‘In spite of it and because of it. It was not her fault. She told me that she was on her way to Laigin. She had wanted to escape from Ultán for a long time. She had come on this trip with Ultán only as a means of finding the right opportunity. She was afraid that even with Ultán dead, Brother Drón, who was Ultán’s friend and the heir apparent to the abbacy, would force her to go back to Cill Ria.’

  Fidelma had not realised that Drón would be the successor to Ultán, but she supposed it made sense. The heads of the abbeys and religious houses of Éirea
nn were elected in the same way as the clan chiefs, nobles and kings: by the derbhfine. In the case of the abbeys and monastic houses, the derbhfine consisted of the familia or the religious.

  ‘So why did you prevent her going to Laigin? Why bring her back? It seems illogical behaviour if you were concerned for her welfare.’

  Fergus Fanat was silent for a moment. ‘Not so illogical. I understood why she wanted to escape from Brother Drón and Cill Ria and she had seized the first opportunity. But I realised that it would do her no good in the long run.’

  Fidelma put her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘Why not?’

  The young warrior smiled without humour. ‘I do not need to tell you that.’

  ‘I think you do. Whatever I know or can guess, I need you to tell me what thoughts are in your mind.’

  ‘As I say, it is obvious. Ultán is murdered. Marga hated him and had every reason to hate him. She takes Ultán’s own horse and flees from Cashel. It takes no great leap of the imagination to guess what people would think. They would believe that she was the killer and she would soon be overtaken and tried for his murder.’

  ‘Two questions then,’ Fidelma rejoined. ‘First, how did you know it was Ultán’s horse she was riding?’

  Fergus Fanat smiled briefly. ‘Simple enough. She told me.’

  ‘Second, why would you think that once it was known that Marga had fled from Cashel a hue and cry would be raised and she would be soon overtaken and the murder of Ultán laid at her feet?’

  ‘Because. .’ began Fergus Fanat confidently, and then he paused, staring at her.

  ‘Exactly,’ murmured Fidelma. ‘So far as you would have known at the time you met her in the forest, Muirchertach was still alive and Muirchertach was the person charged with the murder of Ultán. Even though you knew I was defending him, there was no reason to think that Marga was under any suspicion.’

  Fergus met her penetrating blue-green eyes with his black defiant ones.

  ‘You were trying to be protective?’ she suggested, when he failed to reply.

  ‘Of course I was.’

  ‘But only because you believed that she had killed Abbot Ultán. You believed that Marga had killed Ultán and that she was probably justified. But you feared that if she continued her flight to Laigin, then I — who did not believe Muirchertach Nár was guilty — would immediately be suspicious about her; that I would raise that hue and cry. That is why you persuaded her to come back to Cashel.’

  Fergus thrust out his jaw pugnaciously.

  ‘She had every right to kill that swine,’ he said stubbornly. ‘She is a poor frightened girl, trying desperately to survive. That beast has made her change from a beautiful, intelligent young woman into someone who can only act out of instinct and who thinks the entire world is against her.’

  ‘Does she know that you believe she killed Ultán? When I spoke to her before she disappeared this time, she thought that you supported her.’

  ‘I would have done so,’ Fergus said, suddenly avoiding her eyes.

  ‘Even though you believe she killed Ultán? What makes you so certain that she killed him?’

  Fergus Fanat raised a hand slowly to his bandaged skull. ‘Because on the night that Ultán was killed, I was passing along the corridor and saw Marga entering his chamber. .’

  ‘When was this?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.

  ‘Close to midnight, I suppose.’

  ‘Think carefully, man,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘Describe the scene. Where were you?’

  ‘I didn’t see her face,’ he admitted. ‘I was coming up the corridor which faces Ultán’s door. In fact, Brother Drón had just come out of his chamber a little way in front of me just as Marga came out of Ultán’s chamber. .’

  ‘How did you know it was Ultán’s chamber?’

  ‘It was pointed out to me earlier. All the representatives of Ulaidh were placed in apartments close together.’

  ‘Go on. Did Brother Drón say anything to you?’

  ‘He did not see me. He was too busy looking at Marga and then he went back into his room. Marga did not glance in our direction but went directly along the other corridor. I went on to my own chamber which was close by that of Brother Drón.’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘So you saw her leaving Ultán’s chamber. I still do not understand what makes you so sure it was Marga who killed him.’

  Fergus Fanat stared at her for a few moments and then shrugged with a sad expression.

  ‘I am sure because. . Marga tried to kill me,’ he said simply.

  The rain was cold and blustery but very fine as the group of horsemen approached the Lake of Pigs on their way to cross the river Siúr. It was a small lake standing just south of the Ford of the Ass which Eadulf knew well. Gormán, however, insisted that due south from this little lake was a shallow crossing which could be negotiated over the broad river and that would be a shorter route into the great glen which was their destination.

  All four men had heavy woollen cloaks to protect them against the fine but penetrating rain. The route lay over the plains where there were numerous little homesteads and prosperous farming lands.

  Gormán was leading the way confidently and setting a good pace. Eadulf came next and behind him the two Saxon brothers, Pecanum and Naovan.

  ‘We should be at Ardane just after nightfall,’ called Gormán. He pointed one hand to the sky. ‘The clouds are breaking up in the west. The rain will cease soon. We can let the horses water at the lake.’

  By the time they reached the Lake of Pigs, as Gormán had foretold, the rain had stopped and a pale winter sun had even appeared between the drifting, dark clouds. But it was not warm enough to remove their heavy cloaks, and Gormán suggested they have a swallow of corma to keep out the chills.

  The lake lay surrounded by oaks and yews that seemed to vie with one another for predominance.

  They had let the horses water themselves, though not too much, and having taken their drink of fiery spirit were about to mount up when Eadulf saw a movement among the trees at the far end of the lake.

  ‘Another traveller,’ he observed to Gormán, nodding in the direction of the movement, as he mounted his horse.

  Gormán, already seated in the saddle, squinted in the direction Eadulf had indicated. There was a glimpse of a rider moving swiftly through the trees.

  ‘A religious,’ Gormán observed. ‘In a hurry. . a female at that.’

  The thought struck Eadulf immediately. Could it be Sister Marga? She had disappeared from Cashel before midnight. But she had been on foot, not on horseback — and had she had a horse she would have surely been able to travel farther than this? Nevertheless, some instinct pricked his curiosity.

  ‘Can we catch up with her? It may be the missing woman from Cill Ria.’

  ‘Keep straight on this path with the others, for this is the path she will join further along,’ replied Gormán, pointing. ‘I think I may be able to halt her long enough for you to catch up with her.’ The young warrior turned, nudged his horse forward into the shallows of the lake and swam it across.

  Eadulf waved his companions, Pecanum and Naovan, to follow him. He did not pretend to be a good horseman but he nudged his horse into a swift trot that soon became a canter. He hung on grimly, thankful that his mount seemed to sense, as intelligent horses do, what was wanted of it. He had no idea where Gormán was going, though he presumed that the young warrior knew a short cut over the small lake that would bring him round to cut off the figure in front. It was now that Eadulf began to have second thoughts. Why would the lonely figure be the missing Sister Marga? What made him think it was? The girl, if running away from Cashel, would surely not head in this direction but east towards Laigin as she had done before? Yet the instinct that made him act was strong.

  He felt as if the canter would never end. In reality it was a short time indeed before he saw the figure of the religieuse on the road ahead, riding at a steady pace and apparently unaware of pursuit. The thudding of their
hooves, however, eventually came to her ears and she glanced back. Even so, Eadulf was unable to identify her. Her action denoted panic for she turned and kicked her beast forward, but at that very moment Gormán appeared, bursting through the woods on to the track just in front of her.

  Her horse, startled first by her vicious kick and then by the appearance of another horse and rider blocking its path, reared up. The slight figure fought to maintain her balance, lost hold and rolled off its back. Gormán grabbed the beast’s reins and brought it under control just as Eadulf and the others came up.

  Eadulf slid from his horse’s back and bent down to the girl. She lay on her back winded.

  He felt a strange combination of relief and concern.

  It was Sister Marga.

  Sister Fidelma’s face was impassive as she regarded Fergus Fanat as he lay stretched on his bed.

  ‘Tell me, Fergus, what happened when you were attacked?’

  ‘I didn’t see. I was hit from behind.’

  ‘Yet you say that you are sure it was Sister Marga.’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to Marga before that?’

  ‘After we came back I promised her that I would try to resolve the problem. It was some time before I came up with an idea. The resolution was simple. I would go to my cousin, Blathmac the king, who, like me, knew of Abbot Ultán’s unsavoury reputation. I would tell him the story and ask for his intervention. At least he could prevent Marga’s being sent back to Cill Ria.’

  ‘There is one thing that puzzles me.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘If you thought Marga had killed Abbot Ultán, did you believe that she had also killed Muirchertach Nár?’

  He hesitated and then nodded. ‘When I asked her about Muirchertach, she became very angry. She denied it, of course. But I wondered if she had killed him because Muirchertach had seen her on that night of Ultán’s killing just as I had and was trying to use it as a weapon over her. He wanted a weapon against Cill Ria.’

  ‘That sounds very far-fetched. From what I know, Marga would have been happy to join with anyone who wanted to bring Cill Ria into disrepute.’