Peter Tremayne - A Prayer for the Damned

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘In this case, I do not suspect that. However, how well did you know Abbot Ultán?’

‘Not at all.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows. ‘With all the intercourse between the court of Muirchertach and the abbey of Ultán on behalf of the queen’s sister, Searc, that comes as a surprise.’

‘Yet it is true. The business was between Muirchertach and Aíbnat and later involved Cathal of the Uí Briúin Aí. But I never once laid eyes on Ultán and would have passed him by in the corridor without knowing him. It was Augaire and one of our brehons who conducted the intercourse with Cill Ria.’

‘So what did you think of Muirchertach’s attempt to seek compensation for his wife, Aíbnat, over this matter?’

Dúnchad Muirisci considered for a moment. ‘I will admit that I found it strange. Aíbnat was never really close to her young sister and, in truth, I did not think she was much affected by the poor girl’s death. But the fact that she pressed the claim against Ultán. .’

‘Aíbnat did not insist on seeking compensation, according to Augaire. It was your cousin Muirchertach who was the instigator of the claim.’

Dúnchad Muirisci’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Muirchertach?’ he demanded sharply.

‘You did not know?’

‘I did not. I assumed it was Aíbnat for she was the next of kin.’

‘How well did you know Searc?’

‘Not well at all. I met her only a few times at Durlas. She was a dreamy, romantic young girl. I was not surprised when people started to acclaim her poetry. It was of the dántaigecht grádh variety, love poetry. That is not really my style. You know the sort of thing?’ He screwed up his face and recited in a falsetto voice:

Cold are the nights I cannot sleep,

Thinking of you, my love, my dear. .

‘How well is not well?’ interrupted Fidelma with some irritability in her tone.

‘When she came to stay with her sister Aíbnat at Muirchertach’s fortress at Durlas, I saw her more. . that was in the weeks before her death.’

‘Did she give any indication that she would take her own life when she came back from Cill Ria having found that her love had been sent to his death at sea?’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘In fact, while she was upset, she did not really believe that this lad — what was his name? Senach? — she did not believe that he was really dead. She was determined to pursue him.’

Fidelma exchanged a sharp look with Eadulf. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.

‘When she came back she talked about finding a ship to go to Gaul and to the abbey to which the lad had been sent. She even knew the name of it. She believed that he would be waiting there for her.’

Fidelma leaned forward in surprise. ‘How long was this before she took her life?’

‘I saw her about three days before it happened. Augaire witnessed the event, you know. He didn’t know who it was — it took him a day or so to discover it and so come to Durlas. Muirchertach was called upon to identify the body.’ He paused and rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘It is strange, now I think of it. She was talking about sailing after Senach and then, shortly after, she tosses herself from a cliff.’

‘Strange, indeed,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘Did she tell anyone else about the voyage to Gaul she was planning?’

‘I would have presumed that she told her sister Aíbnat as well as Muirchertach.’

‘It seems strange that it was not mentioned,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘I will see what Muirchertach and his wife have to say later.’

Dúnchad Muirisci smiled knowingly.

‘I am not sure that the truth will come out,’ he said. ‘Muirchertach never did like people knowing what was in his mind. Not even me.’

‘But you are his tánaiste — his heir apparent. Who runs the kingdom if he will not discuss the affairs of the day with you?’ inquired Eadulf.

‘The truth? The tribes of Connacht are descended into anarchy. Muirchertach has brought the line of Fiachra into disrespect. Thank God that I am only a cousin, for I am of the tribe of Muaide.’

‘If this is so, has no one recourse to the law, to declare Muirchertach incapable of his office?’ Fidelma asked.

Dúnchad Muirisci shrugged. ‘The time will come. He has few friends now, not even his own wife.’

‘That is why I am interested in the reason he pursued this affair of compensation with Ultán,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Well, if Aíbnat did not press for it, then I cannot say. Maybe he wanted to impress her by doing so in order to win back her regard?’

‘Perhaps. Yet if Aíbnat was not close to her young sister, as we have been told, it does not appear to be a sufficient reason.’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘That is a matter that you’d best pursue with Muirchertach.’

‘And I shall do so.’

The tánaiste suddenly looked seriously at Fidelma. ‘I said that I would be honest. There is no love lost between Muirchertach and myself. I even avoided him as a child. He had a spiteful nature and later he had a reputation among women. I was surprised when Aíbnat and he were married, but then Aíbnat was of the Uí Briúin Aí and ambitious.’ He stopped speaking when he caught sight of a woman crossing the courtyard. ‘Ah, the lady Fína. You will excuse me? I have promised to go riding with her this afternoon while the light is still with us.’ He hurried after the figure that was disappearing towards the stables.

Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a long face. ‘This is irritating,’ she said. ‘There is something here which does not seem right.’

‘You have said that before,’ commented Eadulf.

‘And I say it again now. Alas, I think we still have much to learn.’

‘And much to do. We’d better go in search of Fergus Fanat.’

It was the commander of the guard who told them that Fergus Fanat was in the town below the fortress playing immán , or driving, with two groups that had been formed from the more active guests. Caol seemed more cheerful now that he had been assured by Colgú that he was not being blamed for removing the guard from Ultán’s chamber.

Although the day continued to be cloudy, at least it was dry and Fidelma suggested they walked down to the playing field, the faithche , a level grassy meadow just beyond the last buildings in the town that was set aside for such games. Eadulf made no objection, so they walked down into the town, aware of some stares as people recognised them. Most were aware that this should be the day of their official wedding and some seemed to wish to commiserate while others were embarrassed as to how to acknowledge them. Fidelma seemed oblivious of the little huddled groups that formed in their wake, the whispered conversations and the looks of sympathy, as if it were some funeral cortége that had passed.

They could hear the game long before they passed the last of the houses and came on the open meadow. The shouts and cheers of the people gathered around the faithche were noisy enough, and the pair moved forward to a point where they could see the action on the field. There were two teams, and the aim was to drive the ball into the opponents’ goal, or berna , with a wooden stick.

Eadulf found the game exciting, for the swinging ash clubs could easily inflict not just bruises and cuts but serious injuries. For the players it was warfare by another means. The shouts of instruction and curses when a strategy went wrong came thick and fast as the young men pushed sometimes one way and sometimes the other. To Eadulf it looked like a mad uproar with few rules, but when he mentioned this to Fidelma she shook her head.