A Prayer for the Damned

only concerned itself with the legal aspect of his death, and the disruption it was causing.

Colgú gestured with his open hands as if in apology. ‘Unless the murder of Abbot Ultán is resolved before the ceremonies, I think our distinguished guests will depart in suspicion and anger. There may even be war among the kingdoms, for many will ask how Ultán came to be slain in Cashel. Why was he not protected by his host?’

Brehon Baithen looked uncomfortable. ‘Caol has admitted that when Abbot Ultán arrived he demanded in front of witnesses that a warrior should be placed at his chamber door. It was not done.’

Fidelma was surprised at that. ‘It is unlike Caol to be irresponsible.’

‘Apparently, he initially asked Dego to fulfil this task, but with so many lords and princes in the fortress there was much to be done, and Dego was needed elsewhere. Besides, very few guests had retired for the night by then. That was why we were on our way to see Abbot Ultán. I have assured Caol that no blame attaches to him,’ the brehon told her.

Colgú’s features were woebegone. ‘This failure of protection lies at my door. Questions will be raised. It will be asked, was there enmity because of my chief bishop, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach? There will be reference to the argument when he refused to comply with Ultán’s demand for recognition of Ard Macha. Was there some conspiracy to silence Ultán because it was known he would raise objections to the wedding of my sister?’

‘That is nonsense!’ exploded Fidelma.

‘You know it,’ conceded Colgú. ‘But will those in the northern kingdoms know it?’

Fidelma lowered her head as she thought through the implications. Colgú was right. Under the laws of hospitality, it was his duty to resolve the matter. All the guests who had come to Cashel, including Abbot Ultán, were under the protection of the king. The death of a guest was the crime of díguin, violation of protection. If the matter was not resolved and the culprit made known, then Colgú himself could lose his honour price, be removed as king and be forced into paying the appropriate fines and compensation. Restitution had to be made. Fidelma realised that the Eóghanacht — indeed, Cashel itself-could become mallachtach — accursed. Colgú must be seen to be beyond reproach in this matter.

‘So Muirchertach has demanded that I should be his advocate?’ she finally asked, her voice resigned. ‘Where is he now?’

‘A king has rights and he has the liberty of Cashel until the hearing is held. As king of Connacht he has given his parole’ — Colgú used the term gell, meaning the ‘word of honour’ usually given by noble prisoners of war and hostages — ‘that he will not leave before the hearing exonerates him, as he says. I am afraid that we are in no position to refuse his request for us to defend him.’

Fidelma smiled faintly at Colgú’s attempt to shoulder responsibility with her by the use of the plural form. ‘I understand. Who will sit in judgement when the hearing is convened?’

‘Who else but Barrán, Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms? I have asked him to attend us and perhaps it is fortunate that he is here with the High King because none of the northern kings or princes will be able to argue with his decisions.’

Fidelma nodded slightly in agreement. ‘If I am to defend the king of Connacht, who will prosecute him?’

At that moment, there was a tap on the door and it was swung open by one of the guards to allow a tall man of indiscernible age, clad in robes that denoted high rank, to pass into the chamber. The man halted in mid- chamber and inclined his head in token deference to Colgú. His bright eyes, unblinking, set close to his prominent nose, gave him a stern expression. But as they alighted on Fidelma, his thin lips parted in a smile of greeting.

‘I have heard your reputation has much increased since our last meeting at Ferna, in the kingdom of Laigin, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said.

‘A reputation that is undeserved, Barran,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Only my few successes seem to be talked about and not my many failures.’

The Chief Brehon’s smile broadened. ‘Your success at Ferna and our previous encounter at Ros Alithir was a clear demonstration that your reputation is well deserved. However, I did not expect to meet you before I was due to congratulate you after your wedding.’ He glanced to Colgú and Baithen, whom he had already encountered on his arrival. His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Your messenger has informed me of the matter in hand.’

Colgú waved Barrán to a chair.

‘Have you been told why I have asked you to join us?’ he asked.

Barrán made an affirmative gesture. ‘You wish me to preside at the hearing of Muirchertach Nár for the murder of Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria?’

‘Exactly so.’

‘I accept, of course. As Muirchertach Nár is king of the cóicead of Connacht it is, perhaps, lucky that I am here for reasons that have more to do with politics than with justice.’

Colgú smiled.

‘An observation already made, Barrán,’ he said. ‘Muirchertach Nár has demanded his right to choose his advocate and he has chosen Fidelma.’

Barrán glanced quickly at her. ‘Have you responded to this request?’

‘I have agreed, although Muirchertach Nár is not yet informed of that decision,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Again, that is good from a political viewpoint so far as Connacht is concerned. It is also good for justice so far as Muirchertach Nár is personally concerned, for he is now assured of an able advocate. Now, who is to prosecute this matter?’

‘I asked that same question before you arrived, Barrán,’ Fidelma replied.

Baithen stirred uneasily. ‘The crime was committed here in Cashel and in the palace of the king. Even though I am a witness, it behoves me to prosecute as brehon of Muman.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful.

‘Would you not be excluded from one role or the other?’ she asked mildly. ‘I would have thought the berrad airechta, the law on persons excluded from giving evidence, would be the basis for challenging you on this.’

Baithen was surprised. ‘Are you challenging my right to prosecute? On what point of law?’

‘If you are a witness, it conflicts with your role as prosecutor, for as prosecutor it is to your advantage to secure a conviction. A man cannot give evidence if it could bring advantage to himself. That is the law.’

Baithen shrugged indifferently. ‘Then I shall not stand as witness but rely on the testimony of Caol who saw exactly what I saw. No contradiction in that.’

Barrán sighed and shook his head. ‘I have to rule on this, Baithen, and say that Fidelma’s argument is sound in law. You cannot deny that you are a witness. What you have already seen cannot be unseen and therefore you are prejudiced. As she says, it is a prosecutor’s function to secure a conviction. That may lead a witness to zealousness in his evidence.’

Baithen accepted the point with good grace.

‘But there must be a prosecutor,’ he pointed out. ‘It should be someone of distinction and certainly not a judge from the retinue of the northern kingdoms.’

‘That is agreed,’ replied Barrán. ‘I propose Brehon Ninnid, the new brehon of Laigin. He is of the Uí Dróna of the southern part of that kingdom. Laigin is the only independent voice in these matters. Ninnid has accompanied his king, Fianamail, here for the ceremony. That, again, is most fortunate.’

Fidelma was frowning.

‘I presume that he is better qualified than Bishop Forbassach?’ she asked cynically.

Barrán uttered a brittle laugh. ‘Indeed. Thanks to your case against him at Ferna, Bishop Forbassach was stripped of his rank, retired to some small community and prohibited from the practice of law. King Fianamail had to choose a new brehon and in this matter he sought my advice. I can vouch that young Ninnid is talented and has made a name for himself as an assiduous prosecutor. It is true that with youth comes arrogance but he will grow out of that, I am sure. But now is the time to voice any objections to his appointment, before he is instructed.’

Baithen seemed indifferent while Colgú said: ‘I have no knowledge to make an objection. If you