Peter Tremayne - A Prayer for the Damned

Abbot Ségdae had listened in polite silence while the northern cleric had put forward his argument, which was delivered in such blunt terms as almost to constitute a demand. When the envoy had sat back, Abbot Ségdae had pointed out, politely but with firmness, that churchmen and scholars from the other kingdoms of Éireann would argue that Patrick the Briton, blessed as he was, was not the first who had preached the New Faith in the land. Many others had come before him and one of these had converted Ailbe, son of Olcnais of Araid Cliach in the north-west of Muman, who had established his seat at Imleach. It was the great abbey in which they were presently gathered that was regarded by all the people of Muman as the chief centre of their faith, and when, in recent times, the abbots and bishops of Ard Macha had begun to assert their claims, they were immediately challenged by Imleach and most of the other churches in each of the five kingdoms of Éireann.

It had been at that point that Abbot Ultán, a vain man of middle age, quite handsome in a dark, saturnine way, had pounded the table with his fist, clearly unused to anyone challenging his authority.

Following Abbot Ségdae’s gentle rebuke, there was silence round the table. All eyes were upon the arrogant envoy of Ard Macha.

Abbot Ultán flushed as he regarded the open hostility on the face of Brother Madagan and the others who sat across the table on either side of his host. Beside him, his scribe, Brother Drón, a thin, elderly man, with sharp features and birdlike movements, bent quickly forward and whispered in his ear, ‘Aurea mediocritas.’ He was urging the abbot to employ moderation: the ‘golden mean’. Attack was no way to win an argument when faced with such opposition.

Abbot Ultán finally shrugged and tried to force a smile.

‘The words were spoken in the zealousness of my cause and intended no threat, physical or otherwise, to you, my dear brother in Christ, or to anyone here,’ he said unctuously. But there was no disguising the falseness of his tone. ‘I would simply ask for a moment more in order to clarify my argument, for I fear that I must have presented it badly.’

‘We have heard Ard Macha’s argument and do not agree with it,’ snapped Brother Madagan.

Again Abbot Ségdae laid a hand on his arm and said, without glancing at him: ‘My steward, too, is zealous for the rights of this abbey. Audi alteram partem — we will hear the other side, for there are two sides to every question. You seem to think, my dear brother in Christ’ — Ultán glanced up sharply: was he being mocked? — ‘you seem to imply that there is more to set before us for our consideration. Is that so?’

Abbot Ultán nodded quickly. ‘My scribe, Brother Drón, will continue for me.’

The sharp-faced scribe, seated at Abbot Ultán’s side, cleared his throat. ‘I beg leave to read from a sacred book of Ard Macha.’ He turned quickly to the fair-faced sister of the Faith at his side. ‘Sister Marga, the book, please.’

Thus addressed, his neighbour reached into a satchel that she was carrying and drew forth a small calf-bound book, which she handed to Brother Dron. The scribe took it and turned to a pre-marked page and began to intone: ‘A celestial messenger appeared before the Blessed Patrick and spoke to him, saying, “The Lord God has given all the territories of the Irish in modum paruchiae to you and to your city, which the Irish call in their language Ard Macha-’ ”

Abbot Ségdae interrupted. ‘Brother Dron, I presume that you are reading from the book that you call Liber Angeli ? It is already known to us; indeed, we have asked Ard Macha for permission to send a scribe to make a copy for our own scriptorium.’

Brother Drón looked up with a frown. ‘I am, indeed, reading from the Book of the Angel . In virtue of this miraculous appearance to the Blessed Patrick, Ard Macha claims to hold supreme authority over the churches and monasteries of the five kingdoms of Éireann. All the houses of the Faith must defer to the authority of Ard Macha and pay tribute to it both spiritual and material.’ Brother Drón tapped the vellum page with his forefinger. ‘That is what is written here, Abbot Ségdae. This is why we have come to ask your obedience to this sacred instruction.’

Abbot Ségdae’s smile seemed to broaden as he shook his head.

‘When I was a young man, I visited your great abbey at Ard Macha.’ He spoke slowly, almost dreamily. ‘I met with its scribes and scholars.’ He paused and for a few moments they waited in silence, but he did not continue. He seemed to have drifted off into his memories.

Brother Drón glanced nervously at Abbot Ultán.

‘What relevance has this?’ he finally demanded.

‘Relevance?’ Abbot Ségdae looked up and frowned as if surprised by the question. Then he smiled again. ‘I was just thinking back to the time before this celestial message was ever known at Ard Macha. This book and its claims appear to have only recently come to light.’

At that moment, Sister Marga, who had been taking notes, snapped her quill. Brother Drón turned to her with a frown, she muttered a hurried apology.

Brother Madagan ignored the interruption and added cuttingly: ‘Not even Muirchú maccu Machtheri, the first great biographer of Patrick, argued that Ard Macha was the place wherein Patrick’s earthly remains repose. It is well known that he was buried at Dun Padraig, and he favoured that place above all others as the centre of his church. If you would venerate the Blessed Patrick, then it is to Dun Padraig you must go.’

There was no mistaking the anger on Abbot Ultán’s face. For a while, he seemed to be physically fighting with himself to prevent a further outburst.

‘Am I to take these words back to the archiepiscopus Ségéne, Comarb of the Blessed Patrick?’ he finally demanded, again making it sound as if the words contained some threat.

Abbot Ségdae inclined his head slightly.

‘You may take these words back to the abbot and bishop of Ard Macha,’ he said shortly. ‘Imleach recognises neither his claims to be archiepiscopus nor the seniority of Ard Macha among the churches of the five kingdoms.’

‘You should think carefully before you send a final refusal,’ snapped Abbot Ultán.

Abbot Ségdae sighed. ‘We keep coming to the same end, my dear brother in Christ. How else can we reply when we of Imleach do not recognise the claims of Ard Macha? It is as simple as that. There are many religious houses even in your own northern kingdoms which refuse to accept that Ard Macha is the centre of the paruchia Patricii . Why, then, should we recognise Ard Macha if the houses of Ulaidh do not?’ He held up his hand as if to stop Abbot Ultán from interrupting. ‘I know this for a fact, my dear brother in Christ.’

‘Name them,’ challenged Brother Drón irritably. ‘Name those religious houses of the north who would deny the right of Ard Macha to hold primacy in the five kingdoms.’

Abbot Ultán’s lips compressed into a thin line and he cast an annoyed glance at his scribe. It seemed that he had already realised that Abbot Ségdae was not one to state something without knowing the facts. Brother Dr6n might have thought he could call the abbot’s bluff, but Ultán suspected that his antagonist did not indulge in bluff.

Again Abbot Ségdae responded with a soft smile.

‘The Abbey of Ard Sratha, in the territory of the Uí Fiachracha, denies your claims. Did not the Blessed Eógan build that stone church with his own hands over a hundred years and more ago creating one of the most important centres of learning in the north?’

Brother Madagan, his steward, was nodding in approval.