Peter Tremayne - A Prayer for the Damned

‘It was just gossip at the time,’ replied Fergus Fanat with a shake of his head. ‘But given his past record, it fits in with his ambition and ruthlessness. A wolf in lamb’s clothing is still a wolf,’ he added, resorting to an old saying. ‘There were many stories that he had not really departed from his old ways.’

‘Are you claiming that Ultán — we will stick to the name by which he is now accepted — was still a thief and murderer?’

Fergus Fanat shrugged indifferently. ‘Obviously, he did not need to be the type of thief that he once was. Cill Ria is a wealthy community. Once he had control of it he did not need to take to the highways. But as for the rest, his women and. .’

‘I thought he didn’t believe in mixed houses, or relationships among the religious?’ Fidelma said quickly. ‘He was supposed to be a strict follower of the Penitentials.’

‘That!’ Fergus Fanat grimaced. ‘What he says, he does for show. Cill Ria was a conhospitae . Then he divided it into separate buildings, a community for males and one for females a short distance away. He claims the community of Cill Ria is a community of celibates. I doubt it.’

Fidelma was looking troubled. ‘These are very grave charges that you bring against Ultán. I have to ask you, are you alone in holding these views, or do they have some currency with your cousin the king, Blathmac? Presumably the abbot of Ard Macha does not believe in them, otherwise Ultán would not have been his emissary.’

‘You will have to ask them,’ Fergus Fanat said dismissively. ‘I merely give my own views, which are based on what I know.’

‘What you are saying is that Ultán was a fraud and liar. That these reforms and demands from the Comarb of Ard Macha meant nothing to him except as a means to reinforce his position of power.’

The northern warrior smiled quickly. ‘I would say, lady, that is a fair summary. Now, if you will excuse me, the game has been hard and dirty and I would go and bathe.’

Fidelma made a little gesture that gave him permission to hurry on to the fortress, leaving them to follow at a more leisurely pace.

‘I am more confused than ever,’ complained Eadulf. ‘It seems that many people had cause to hate Bishop Ultán. But when it comes down to it, Muirchertach was the only one who was seen leaving his chamber at the time he was found dead. He did not report the matter until Caol and Brehon Baithen went to question him. He alone had the opportunity and the motive.’

Fidelma grimaced wryly. ‘I want to learn still more about Ultán. We must talk more to our northern friends and to Brother Drón. We must decide whether Ultán was saint or sinner of the worst order.’

‘How can we judge?’

‘Ex pede Herculem,’ quoted Fidelma.

‘I do not understand,’ replied Eadulf, trying to figure out what ‘From the foot, a Hercules’ meant.

‘From the sample of stories, we may judge the whole,’ explained Fidelma.

‘I have never heard that expression.’

‘There was a Greek mathematician and philosopher named Pythagoras to whom the investigators of crime owe much. Knowing that a person’s height is proportional to the length of their foot, he deduced the height of Hercules from the length of his foot.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘How would he be able to know the length of Hercules’ foot?’ he demanded.

‘He did it by measuring and comparing the length of several stadia in Greece. Since Hercules’ stadium at Olympia was the longest of them all, Pythagoras argued that his foot was longer than those of lesser men.’

Eadulf pulled a sceptical face as he seriously considered the matter. ‘That argument cannot be without flaws.’

Fidelma laughed, and took Eadulf’s arm. ‘It is meant as a concept, not as a concrete fact. By a sample we can see the whole. Let us test a few more sample attitudes to Ultán. But first I think I would like to have another look at the chamber where Ultán was murdered.’

There was still a guard in the corridor outside Ultán’s chamber. It was Enda again, of Colgú’s bodyguard. He greeted them with a weary smile, and Fidelma took pity on him.

‘I do not think that there will be any need for you to remain here after I have made this examination, Enda,’ she told him.

‘The Brehon Barrán told me that I should await your instruction, lady. However, there have been some who have tried to get access here.’

‘Such as?’

‘Two of the late Bishop Ultán’s entourage. The man, Brother Drón, and one of the women who travel with him. Sister Sétach I think her name is.’

‘Did they give a reason why they needed to enter?’

‘Simply to take charge of his personal belongings.’

‘And you refused them entry?’

‘Of course, lady. Those were my instructions.’ He sounded slightly offended at being asked the question.

‘Of course,’ she said approvingly.

‘Abbot Augaire also came by. He said he was wondering if there was anything he could do. Curiosity was his motive, I think, more than anything else.’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf but kept her expression impassive. ‘Were there any others?’

‘Brehon Ninnid, of course. Obviously, I allowed him entrance. But there was a strange Saxon. . begging your pardon, Brother Eadulf. He said his name was Ord. . Ordwool. .?’

‘Ordwulf?’ supplied Eadulf.

‘That’s it. Ordwulf, an elderly man. I think he is a little crazy.’

‘What makes you say that?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘He was saying that he wanted to see where the tyrant died and to make sure that he would not rise again as he had from the sea. I didn’t know what to make of it. I told him that the body had been removed and that Abbot Ultán was clearly dead.’

‘What did he do then?’

‘He wanted to know where the body was. I told him that Brother Conchobhar had removed it to the chapel and that it would be taken at midnight tonight and buried in the graveyard of ecclesiastics as was the custom here. The Saxon’s behaviour was most curious. He did not speak our language well and was difficult to understand.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Perhaps you would wait here until we have finished, Enda. We will not be long.’

They entered the chamber, which was in darkness. The early dusk had already crept over Cashel and there was a curtain hanging across the window obscuring what little light might have seeped in. A faint, acrid scent came to Fidelma’s nostrils which she could not momentarily identify. She saw the shadow of Eadulf feeling for a candle and reached out to seize his wrist, preventing him from action.

Eadulf too became aware of the pungent odour from smoke arising from a newly snuffed out candle. Then there was a slight movement, and a shadow moved towards the window.

Fidelma gave a backward kick at the door behind her so that the light from the corridor would throw some illumination into the chamber. At the same time, she shouted for Enda’s help.

Eadulf, however, had thrown himself across the room at the shadow that seemed to be trying to escape through the window. He threw his arms round what he perceived to be the waist of the figure and heaved back with all his might. He realised that it was a slight female form even as his weight caused him and his captive to tumble back into the room, where he measured his length on the floor with the figure on top of him, scratching, kicking and sobbing.

Enda entered, drawn sword in one hand and a lantern from the corridor in the other.

‘Stop or feel the point of my blade!’ he shouted, moving forward.

The figure went limp and Eadulf extracted himself from it and rose to his feet. Enda held up his lamp. The figure rose to its knees. It was a woman in the robes of a religieuse.