A Prayer for the Damned

advocates celibacy among the religious. He made all the members of his abbey swear an oath that they would shun the company of the opposite sex. Cill Ria was once a mixed house, a conhospitae. He divided it into two separate communities. Apparently Senach approached Abbot Ultán wishing to be absolved from his oath to the abbey so that he might transfer to a conhospitae which did not adhere to the rules of celibacy. Ultán refused outright. He went further and had Senach locked in his cell, and when Searc came looking for the boy he had her driven from the locality by monks wielding birch sticks.’

‘Such an act is unlawful,’ protested Fidelma, in horror. ‘No one can physically attack a woman with impunity.’

‘Abbot Ultán claimed refuge in the Penitentials,’ Muirchertach explained. ‘It was not the first time that he ordered his followers to beat a woman whom he claimed had transgressed against the rules of the Faith. . or his version of them, anyway. I have heard that there were even some who did not recover from the beatings that he had ordered.’

Fidelma grimaced in disapproval. ‘If this is true, then how could this man survive among his fellow religious? Indeed, how could he become an emissary of the Comarb of Patrick?’

‘He had friends in high places. A friend can be more powerful than an army in some respects. He has been protected.’

‘Are we to yield our law to these foreign ideas from Rome without protest?’ muttered Aíbnat.

‘We do not know exactly what happened,’ went on Muirchertach, not answering her protest. ‘According to one story, Abbot Ultán had Senach escorted against his will to a pilgrim ship which set out for Abbot Ronan’s monastery at Mazerolles in Gaul. The ship never reached Gaul and there was talk of its having been attacked by Frankish pirates and those on board killed. Such stories reached Searc, who believed them and. . He glanced at Aíbnat.

‘My sister killed herself,’ Aíbnat’s voice was harsh.

Muirchertach compressed his lips for a moment.

‘In her desperation, she threw herself from a cliff,’ he added.

‘If this action was caused by Abbot Ultán, did you not take action through the law?’ asked Fidelma, trying to examine the matter logically. ‘Your brehon would surely have advised you on that account.’

Aíbnat laughed harshly. ‘How can one bring another before the law when only one of them recognises it? Ultán prated about the laws of God and quoted strange texts that we had no knowledge of.’

‘But you did try to claim compensation from Abbot Ultán?’

‘As we have said,’ Muirchertach answered, ‘my emissary and my brehon made the proper applications but Abbot Ultán took refuge in the Penitentials. We protested to the Comarb of Patrick, the abbot and bishop of Armagh. But he would do nothing for he, too, supports the ideas that Abbot Ultán propagates.’

Fidelma remained silent for a while, then finally said: ‘So last night you went to see Abbot Ultán with the intention of killing him?’

Muirchertach shrugged eloquently.

‘I suppose that was my intention,’ he admitted. ‘Having discovered that Abbot Ultán was here, I went in anger to his chamber, determined to make him pay for what he had done. He had destroyed the lives of two young people.’

Fidelma looked thoughtfully at Aíbnat. ‘Did you know what your husband intended when he left this chamber last night?’

‘My actions have nothing to do with Aíbnat,’ Muirchertach said hurriedly.

Fidelma ignored him.

‘Did you know that your husband was going to see Ultán and that he went in anger to seek recompense for the death of your sister?’ she insisted again.

The wife of Muirchertach returned her scrutiny with the old belligerent fire in her eyes. ‘My husband is king of Connacht. He should have led a raid against the Uí Thuirtrí and burnt down Abbot Ultán’s abbey many months ago.’

Fidelma smiled tightly. ‘I will take it that you have answered in the affirmative. Were you and Muirchertach here together in the hour or so before he left to see Abbot Ultán?’

Aíbnat frowned. ‘I suppose so. Why?’

‘I need to understand exactly what happened. You were both here and presumably talking over the fact that Abbot Ultán was here also. How did you find out that he was present?’

‘Abbot Augaire of Conga told us.’

‘Augaire?’

‘He is my chief abbot and bishop.’

‘I have heard that he exchanged some angry words with Ultán when he arrived.’

‘So he told us,’ Muirchertach agreed.

‘Was Abbot Augaire here when you left to see Ultán?’

‘He was not. He had retired to his chamber long before.’

Fidelma made a mental note to find out where all the guests’ chambers were in relation to Abbot Ultán’s room.

‘So he left you and the lady Aíbnat alone and you talked of Ultán and your anger increased and you left to confront him?’ she summed up.

‘But I did not kill him. As God is my witness, I did not kill him — much as I would have liked to.’

Aíbnat suddenly laughed bitterly.

‘My husband can scarcely kill a man in battle without swooning!’ she sneered. ‘Such a mighty king. All he cares for is his fine wine, good food, dancing and entertainment and women.’

Muirchertach flushed. ‘I hardly think that. .’

‘You hardly think!’ snapped Aíbnat. ‘Return to your wine and leave the rulership of Connacht to your cousin. He is twice the man you will ever be.’

Fidelma knew that Muirchertach’s tánaiste was Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide. There certainly did not seem to be any love lost between Muirchertach and his wife. She coughed slightly to bring their attention back to the matter in hand.

‘So, what you are saying, Muirchertach, is that you left here just before midnight and went to confront Abbot Ultán but found him dead. Is that so?’

She looked carefully into his eyes and he did not drop them before her bright quizzical gaze. His cheeks were flushed by his wife’s insults.

‘I did,’ he replied firmly.

‘But the only witnesses were those who saw you hurrying from his chamber?’

‘You have the word of a king, even though he is but a poor specimen of one,’ snapped Aíbnat. ‘His word should take precedence over anyone else’s.’

Fidelma could not help the pitying look that came to her features as she gazed at him.

Muirchertach shrugged defensively. ‘My word is all I have.’

Fidelma turned slightly. ‘Now, Aíbnat, did you remain here after Muirchertach had left?’

Aíbnat flushed.

‘What are you implying?’ she snapped.

‘I never imply,’ replied Fidelma waspishly. ‘I am asking a question. I do it for your own sake. After all, Searc was your sister. You blamed Abbot Ultán for her death and that was the reason why your husband, presumably on your behalf, went to see Ultán with the intention of doing him harm, even if he did not do so. At the moment, her death provides a strong motivation for Abbot Ultán’s killing. It could be argued that you both had an equal hand in this murder.’

‘It could be as you say,’ Aíbnat responded coldly after a few moments’ thought. ‘However, I was in this chamber the whole time. After my husband left, I did not stir.’

Fidelma sat in silence thinking over things for a few moments. Then she sighed.

‘I have to say, although the evidence is circumstantial, it is good enough to create real problems. It is