Peter Tremayne - A Prayer for the Damned

Fidelma pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘A poor piece of advice, for it merely endorses the suspicion that your husband was involved in the matter. It was counsel, Muirchertach, that you would have done better to ignore. But the milk has been spilt and there is no mopping it up now. We must proceed. So you and the lady Aíbnat were here, hoping that someone else would find the body and raise the alarm and that you would not be involved.’

Lady Aíbnat’s expression was one of malignant dislike but Fidelma simply ignored her.

‘I do not understand?’ Muirchertach frowned.

‘No matter. What happened next?’

‘Brehon Baithen and the commander of Colgú’s guard came here soon after. Baithen told me that I had been seen fleeing from Abbot Ultán’s chamber moments before they had discovered his body. He accused me of the murder and of fleeing from the scene.’

Fidelma’s expression did not change. ‘Did Baithen claim that he had witnessed the murder?’

Muirchertach gave her a hard look. ‘How could he?’ he demanded. ‘I did not do it.’

‘So you would argue that all he saw was you leaving the chamber?’

‘I do not dispute that he saw me leave the abbot’s chamber. What I do dispute is the claim that I killed Ultán.’

‘And all you know of the circumstances of the death of Abbot Ultán is that you went to his chamber and found him dead and left?’

‘That is all I know,’ agreed Muirchertach.

Fidelma eyed him thoughtfully. ‘There is surely something more to tell me?’

Muirchertach looked uncertain.

‘The most important thing,’ prompted Fidelma. ‘Why did you go to see Abbot Ultán in his chamber at that time? It was close to midnight.’

‘Why?’ Muirchertach blinked as if he had not expected the question.

‘You must have had a reason,’ she pointed out.

Once again Fidelma saw the king glance helplessly towards his wife. It was as if he was seeking her permission to speak. Fidelma swung round to the woman, meeting her hostile gaze levelly.

‘Was it a matter that concerned you, lady Aíbnat?’ Her tone was abrupt.

Aíbnat’s expression told her that her guess had hit home. Muirchertach’s wife made no reply. The corners of her mouth tightened in defiance.

Fidelma heaved a sigh. ‘This matter can be dealt between us in a sympathetic way now or it can be extracted in the legal proceedings before the Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms. .’

Muirchertach frowned and broke in: ‘What has Brehon Barrán to do with this matter?’

‘Have you not been told?’ Fidelma asked softly. ‘When it comes to a hearing, then it is Brehon Barrán who will sit in judgement and the High King himself will sit with him.’

‘When it comes to a hearing?’ snapped Aíbnat. ‘You mean if !’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Unless you can provide me with evidence of facts to counter the accusation, it is definitely when.’

Muirchertach looked confused for a moment or two before his shoulders slumped and he nodded.

‘I suppose that is logical,’ he commented in a low voice. Once more he gave his wife an almost pleading look.

Aíbnat suddenly said, ‘Does that mean that there is a chance that it will not come to a public hearing?’

Fidelma glanced at her. ‘There is always a chance in these matters. If I am told the truth and can persuade both the prosecutor and the Chief Brehon that this truth is such that the guilt must lie elsewhere, then there is no need for a hearing before the courts. It depends on your husband and yourself, as a witness to his defence, as to how I am to proceed.’

Aíbnat’s thin lips compressed into a line for a moment before she turned to glance at Muirchertach and nodded slightly.

Her husband cleared his throat softly. ‘I fear the truth will do me no good, Fidelma of Cashel.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because I went to Ultán’s chamber to kill him.’

Eadulf was too restless to go back to his chamber and rest and he was not hungry enough to enjoy the first meal of the day. Instead, he put on his cloak of beaver skins and went out on the walkway round the great walls of the fortress. Below he could see the town stirring, thin wisps of smoke from many fires rising into the turbulent air. He could hear the distant noise of people unaware of the drama of the night, making their preparations for the great fair and entertainment that was due to be held later that day. Surrounding the wood and stone structures of the town were many pavilions and tents that were housing the visitors who had come to witness and join the celebrations.

Eadulf walked slowly round the walls. The cloudy sky was lowering again and there was the promise of more rain in the air. The wind was cold but not as chilly as it had been in previous days. It seemed to be blowing from the south. There was a shimmer of white across the plain that showed a frost was still lying on the ground. He could see sheep flocks moving across the plain with their shepherds, dark shapes against the flat whiteness.

Along the walkway a sentinel raised a hand in greeting with a smile. Eadulf acknowledged the salutation and walked on, breathing deeply in the cold morning air. He found it helped to clear the fuzziness of his mind. Lack of sleep was debilitating, and when it reached the state when the mind was too tired to rest it caused an additional sense of frustration.

He suddenly became aware of another figure at the corner of the walkway: an elderly man in a short woollen cloak with rabbit fur trimming. The long hair was white and tied back with a leather thong. The figure seemed familiar, but it took a moment for Eadulf to recognise him.

‘Give you a good day, Ordwulf,’ he called, reverting to his Saxon speech.

The old man turned, startled, the eyes wide like those of someone caught at some illegal enterprise. Then he frowned as if trying to recall who Eadulf was. Eadulf realised that at their previous encounter Ordwulf had seemed to live in his own world, and he wondered whether the father of Berrihert was senile.

‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the land of the South Folk,’ he said gently. ‘We met two days ago when. .’

Ordwulf made a thrusting gesture with his hand. ‘I know, I know. Do you take me for an imbecile?’

Eadulf was a little puzzled at the angry retort. ‘Of course not.’ Then a thought came to him. ‘I understood that you and your sons had accommodation in the town? I did not realise that you were staying in the fortress.’

‘We are in some place set aside for religious in the town,’ muttered the old man. ‘But I came here at first light, when they opened the gates. There was someone I wanted to see.’ He turned back to gaze across the battlement towards the distant mountains in the north. ‘It is a pleasant enough land, but it is not Deira,’ he said.

Eadulf knew that Berrihert and his brothers had come from the southern area of Northumbria, the old independent kingdom of Deira which Athelfrith of Bernicia had conquered, uniting the two kingdoms as the land north of the River Humber — Northumbria. That had been within the living memory of some.

Ordwulf grimaced at the distant mountains. ‘There is no sea coast here. My tun , my fortress, stood on the coast. I was once lord as far as I could see along the sea’s low dim level. From north to south along the shoreline, I was lord. Now I am an exile in this strange land.’

‘Are you homesick for Deira?’ Eadulf enquired politely.

‘Homesick?’ The old man seemed to contemplate the question for a while. ‘I do not long for places. I long for my dead wife and for comrades who once peopled those places.’

Eadulf stood feeling uncomfortable for a moment.