Peter Tremayne - A Prayer for the Damned

‘I never said he or his family were friends,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘I said that I knew them. I studied with Berrihert and later met his brothers at the great Council of Witebia.’

‘Did you not persuade Miach of the Uí Cuileann to give them asylum in his territory?’

‘I did not,’ replied Eadulf with irritation. ‘Miach made up his own mind.’

Fidelma made a clucking noise of disapproval.

‘What are you implying, Baithen?’ she admonished. ‘Eadulf admits to knowing Berrihert but that does not make him responsible for his actions or those of his relatives. In our lives we rub shoulders with many who turn out to be beyond redemption. Does that mean that we ourselves are beyond redemption?’

Brehon Baithen took refuge in silence. Brehon Barrán’s face was impassive in the gloom.

‘You do not have long, Fidelma,’ he reminded her. ‘I have to return to Tara within the week.’

After they had bidden a good night to the brehons at the gates of the fortress, Eadulf asked: ‘Shall I attempt to find Brother Berrihert and ask the meaning of that scene in the graveyard?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘The hour is late, the gates will be closed soon and, besides, you have the boar hunt to contend with first thing tomorrow.’

‘I have been thinking,’ Eadulf said slowly, ‘there really is no need for me to attend it. I am sure Muirchertach will keep to his word of honour. Our time may be more usefully spent here questioning witnesses.’

‘Many people will be attending the hunt tomorrow,’ Fidelma replied patiently. ‘Even the ladies will follow it. I want someone I can trust watching our guests.’

‘Are you telling me all you know?’ Eadulf asked accusingly.

Fidelma laughed. ‘What I know is very little, unfortunately. What I suspect is beyond the counting. Now, let us retire, for you especially need to be refreshed for the morning.’.

The day was bright. There were no clouds in the sky and a white veil of frost shrouded the landscape. The sun was already a pale golden slash over the eastern hills but it promised no future warmth. In the courtyard the gathered hunters with the pack of hunting hounds, and the spearmen on their horses, seemed to exist in a cloud of rising steam, but it was merely their collective breath vaporising as it encountered the cold morning air.

Eadulf came into the yard to find that Gormán, who was to ride with him, had already saddled his horse and was holding it ready. The hunters, holding the long leashes of a dozen yelping hounds, were already moving off through the gates. It had been explained to Eadulf that their function was to spread out through the dark forests to the east of the town and drive the wild pigs into open country beyond. It would take them an hour or so to reach the point where it was thought the herd was to be found, and then the mounted nobles would be waiting with their spears.

In the meanwhile, attendants were handing round goblets of corma to the gathered nobles as they waited for the hunters and their dogs to reach their positions. Eadulf reflected that a similar custom prevailed among his own people where the stirrup cup, what the Irish called deog an dorais , a drink for the gate, was enjoyed before the start of the hunt. Gormán was handing him a goblet. ‘Milsem cacha corma a cétdeog,’ he said, grinning. It was a moment before Eadulf had translated the ancient proverb — the sweetest of all ales is the first drink.

He took a sip of the fiery spirit and glanced round. Colgú was chatting with Sechnassach, the High King, and there were many other nobles and chiefs about. He immediately spotted the king of Connacht, Muirchertach Nár, clad in a royal blue woollen hunting cloak, among the group. The king looked unconcerned and was speaking to Dúnchad Muirisci, his heir apparent. They seemed to be sharing a joke. Eadulf was surprised when another familiar figure joined them on horseback, also prepared for the hunt. It was Abbot Augaire. His surprise lasted but a few moments before he realised that there was no reason why Augaire or any other religious should not be attending. The Faith did not forbid its members to desist from the chase and he knew many prelates boasted of their prowess in the hunt.

At the far end of the courtyard Eadulf saw some of the wives of the nobles gathering ready to mount their horses. He scanned their faces quickly, recognising few of them. There was the lady Gormflaith, wife to the High King, surrounded by her entourage, and many other finely dressed ladies. As his gaze swept over them, he realised with momentary surprise, that Aibnat, the wife of Muirchertach Nar, was among them. But then, if her husband was attending the hunt, why should Eadulf be surprised if she was there?

‘The ladies will follow the hunt after we have moved off,’ Gormán explained, as if guessing his thoughts. ‘Have you been on a boar hunt before, brother?’

Eadulf shook his head. Herds of wild pigs roamed his own land but he was not particularly fond of hunting. It had to be done because people had to eat but he was prepared to leave it to others to bring the food to his table unless it became a necessity.

‘I have heard that boars can be very aggressive and dangerous,’ he ventured mildly.

Gormán chuckled. ‘There is an old saying here that the boar can send you home in a handcart but it is only the stag who will despatch you to your home in a coffin. A tenacious boar can wound but you need to be unlucky or lacking skill to be killed by one. However, it does happen. A friend of mine was killed by a boar. They are very strong and possessed of great courage. When they are cornered they will put up an heroic defence, but that does not often happen for they are very mobile and you need great skill in the chase to trap them. They are as tall, fast and strong as any hunting hound.’

‘So the idea is for those on foot with the hounds to drive them into an open space where they can be killed by the nobles with spears?’

Gormán gave an affirmative gesture. ‘Today’s chase should be a good one. We have heard stories of a torc eochraide , a tusked boar, which is damaging the crops of a farmer on hills beyond the forest to the east. Our hounds will drive it and its pride through the forest and into the open.’

One of the men abruptly raised a horn to his lips and blew a short blast. At once the attendants came forward to take the swiftly drained goblets and help the nobles to their horses. They were all mounting now, laughing, and several boasting that it would be they who would encounter the wild boar first. Attendants handed each hunter his spear, the special sharp-bladed hunting spear called a bir . Colgú, at the side of the High King Sechnassach, began to lead the column of riders out of the courtyard of the great fortress and down the slope towards the track that led eastward towards the wooded hills. Muirchertach Nár was mounted on a distinctive-looking piebald mare, its irregularly shaped black and white patterning singling him out from the mass of his fellow riders. At least, thought Eadulf, it would not be easy to lose sight of the man.

Eadulf swung up on his horse with an ease that surprised even himself.

‘Come,’ he told Gormán, ‘I don’t want to be too far away from Muirchertach Nár.’

Gormán joined him and they set off through the gate, attaching themselves to the end of the column of mounted spearmen.

‘We’ll keep our eyes on Muirchertach,’ Gormán said, ‘but I think we should stay behind the main body of spearmen. You have experience neither as a horseman nor as a hunter to be in the midst of a chase, Brother Eadulf.’

At another time, Eadulf might have been irritated, knowing that the young man was right. Now, however, he was merely determined not to lose sight of the king of Connacht.