A Prayer for the Damned sf-17

by Peter Tremayne

  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 inner 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 begin, 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.’

  Brother Berrihert rose quickly from his place. ‘I protest. My father is dead and cannot defend himself. So I must answer in his place. I admit that he did try to kill the creature called Dron. But I know from his own lips that he did not kill Ultán. If he had, he would have been proud of the act and willingly acknowledged it. Such people as Ultán do not have the right to shelter under the name of the Faith. My father, indeed, my brothers and I, rejoice in Ultán’s death. But we did not kill him.’

  Brother Berrihert sat down abruptly. Fidelma continued as if ignoring the interruption.

  ‘Ultán and Drón had gone to Inis Bó Finne to the community of Colmán the former abbot of Lindisfarne who, after Witebia, had brought his like-minded brethren to that place. Ultán demanded that Colmán, so much respected for his adherence to the church of Colmcille, make obeisance to Ard Macha. Colmaán sent him away. But as he was leaving the island, he saw the wife of Ordwulf, the mother of those three brothers — Berrihert, Pecanum and Naovan — making some token veneration to the old gods to whom both she and Ordwulf had clung despite the conversion of their sons. Ultán had this defenceless old woman scourged and whipped to death. The sons of Ordwulf tried to forgive him as the New Faith teaches and came south. But when Ordwulf heard that Ultán and Dron were here, the old creed of blood vengeance stirred that old warrior.’

  ‘He did not do it!’ cried Brother Berrihert again.

  Fidelma turned calmly to him.

  ‘I did not say that he did. He wanted to, as you admit, but he had no opportunity, for he could not enter the fortress that night and when he entered the next morning he found the deed already done. He admitted as much to Eadulf. However, he conspired to kill Drón. He lured him to a spot not far from here in order to slay him, to complete that vengeance. But his frail body failed him before that act of vengeance and, as you see,’ she pointed to where Brother Drón was seated between the warriors Dega and Enda, ‘Drón still lives, whereas old Ordwulf now feasts with his gods.’

  ‘So Ordwulf is in no way suspect of killing Abbot Ultán?’ demanded Brehon Barrán, bending forward from his chair in order to clarify matters.

  ‘Even had he been able to gain entrance to the fortress that night, I would have to have eliminated him because the murders of Muirchertach Nár and Ultán are inseparably linked. Ordwulf had no opportunity to kill either. When the king of Connacht was murdered, Ordwulf was waiting in vain for Drón at the Well of Patrick almost in the opposite direction. That was the first time he had tried to lure Drón there, but Drón was pursuing Sister Marga, who was at the hunt.’

  Brehon Barrán stirred a little impatiently.

  ‘So we have eliminated Ordwulf. Do you point the accusation at his sons? They would have equal cause for blood vengeance.’

  ‘On Ultán and Drón but not on Muirchertach Nár. There was no motive to kill the king of Connacht.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Let us come back to Brother Drón, for it is Brother Drón’s actions on the night of Abbot Ultán’s death that are the most important.’

  ‘Brother Drón?’ Blathmac had stood up suddenly. ‘It would be logical if he had killed Ultin. He would succeed as abbot, then. He is ambitious. It would follow.’

  Brother Drón struggled to his feet but was held back by Dego and Enda.

  ‘I see it! This has already been decided to salve your consciences. I refuse to be judged by you, for I am ordained in the Faith and answer to no man but only to my God. I will not recognise this court.’

  ‘Sit down, Drón!’ instructed the Chief Brehon. ‘You will observe the law and respect it.’

  Brother Drón took no notice of him. His voice rose in strident tones. ‘Beware you who call yourselves kings or place yourself under their authority! There are two powers by which this world is ruled the sacred authority of the priesthood and the authority of kings. But of these, the authority of the priest carries the most weight and is superior to that of the king. It is the priest who render
s the accounts of kings before the tribunal of God. It is the priest who stands superior to the king for the priest intercedes with God on behalf of the king. So beware in judging me lest I judge you.’

  Brother Drón turned to Fidelma with his anger and fanaticism still distorting his features. ‘You beware, woman. Your days of lording it over men are numbered. I echo the words of Timothy and Titus. I permit no woman to teach or have authority over men. She is to keep silent. That is what is written in Scripture. So it is written, so let it be done!’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘I would advise you to return to the original text and amend your translation, Brother Drón. The word epitrepsecin, which means “not to permit”, is used for a specific permission in a specific context. When translated correctly in Timothy and Titus, it means that Timothy is not presently allowing women to teach until they have studied and learned in silence.’

  Brother Drón stared at her for a moment, trying to follow her argument. ‘Then do you deny that our beloved Apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians that women are not permitted to speak but should be subordinate, as the law says, to men. If there is anything they should desire to know, he says let them ask their husbands at home because it is shameful for a woman to speak in a church.’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘I cannot believe that they have such poor Greek scholars in Rome as to misinterpret the nuances of these texts. Perhaps those that render these texts into the language by which others may teach are scared of women? Perhaps it is men who find misinterpretations an easy way of denying women their just role in life? What was once a normal practice has now become abnormal — women can no longer be allowed to be ordained and officiate over the divine offices. What sort of loving religion is it that teaches the subjugation of one sex by another? Is it the fault of the religion? Or is it the fault of the prejudiced men who have risen to high office in the services of that religion, seeking to protect their petty authority?’