A Prayer for the Damned

a scribe at Ard Macha and one day, acknowledging my abilities, he asked me if I would join him at his abbey of Cill Ria in the land of the Uí Thuirtrí. I did so and have served him to the best of those abilities for these last four years.’

‘And we presume that you shared the abbot’s view that Ard Macha should be recognised as the primatial seat of the Faith in the five kingdoms?’ Fidelma spoke gently.

‘Of course. Not only that but I provided him with all the salient arguments in support of the contention.’ Brother Drón did not lack pride.

‘And it was as a matter of course, as his adviser, that you accompanied Abbot Ultán when he embarked on this embassy to the southern kingdoms? Tell us how that came about.’

Brother Drón shrugged quickly. ‘It was at the request of the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick. .’

‘Abbot Ségéne?’

‘The archiepiscopus,’ corrected Brother Drón heavily. ‘He sought an emissary to visit the southern abbeys and churches to argue the case for the recognition of Ard Macha. As it was something that I. . that Abbot Ultán had long argued, he undertook the mission with great joy.’

‘As well as Abbot Ultán and yourself, who else is in this embassy?’

‘Two of our religieuse: Sister Marga and Sister Sétach. We were accompanied by two attendants to look after our wagon and horses.’

‘What is the role of your two religieuse companions?’

‘They were record keepers and had care of the documents we were presenting in argument.’

‘I see,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘And having worked with Abbot Ultán for four years, you must have had a good knowledge of him?’

Brother Drón frowned. ‘A knowledge of him?’

‘Of what kind of man he was, what his hopes and fears were, and whose enmity he aroused,’ Fidelma explained.

Brother Drón sat back with his thin smile and folded his hands in front of him. ‘I would have said that he was a man without faults, unless a passion for his cause be called a fault.’

‘To some that may very well be a fault,’ Eadulf pointed out, looking up from his notes. ‘A man may believe so much in his cause that he becomes intolerant and despotic towards others.’

Brother Drón appeared shocked. ‘You are speaking of the Abbot Ultán, brother.’

‘But a man like any other man,’ Eadulf replied calmly. ‘Being an abbot does not make a man any more or less human, with all the faults that humans have.’

‘I will admit that Abbot Ultán was resolute in his faith and turned a harsh face and a firm hand to those who were enemies to it.’

Eadulf smiled without humour.

‘Fortiter in re, suaviter in modo. .’ he commented softly. Resolutely in action, gently in manner.

‘Apart from these views,’ Fidelma cut in hurriedly, ‘which you have described as “resolute”, would Abbot Ultán have garnered enemies?’

Brother Drón shrugged. ‘His enemies were the enemies of the Faith. Perhaps there are many such enemies still in this land. Abbot Ultán, to my mind, was a great leader of men. Stern and forceful. He was much admired by archiepiscopus Ségéne.’

Fidelma was about to snap that no one outside Ard Macha recognised this new title archiepiscopus, for in the five kingdoms the Comarb of Patrick and the Comarb of Ailbe stood in equal status in matters of ecclesiastical respect. No bishop was superior to another. Then she shrugged. Let Brother Drón call Ségéne of Ard Macha what he may, it did not make it a reality.

‘Sometimes the qualities that you boast of sit ill on a man of religious calling,’ she mused.

Brother Drón frowned, not quite understanding.

‘Firm and forceful, stern and harsh,’ she pointed out. ‘These are not the qualities of someone bringing a message of joy, of peace and love among humankind.’

‘Sister, our movement — the Faith — is like an army on the march,’ Brother Drón argued earnestly. ‘We must conquer souls for Christ. Abbot Ultán was a great general in the crusade to convert the heathen to the one true faith.’

‘Conquer souls?’ Fidelma shook her head immediately. ‘It is not a concept I could ascribe to. It means that you have vanquished the soul, subjugated it and become its master.’ Eadulf nodded supportively as she made the variations of meaning on the old word buad. ‘Is it not better to persuade, by reason and logic, to come to an understanding, than to simply conquer?’

Brother Drón grimaced angrily. ‘It matters not how people come to submit themselves to the true religion. They have to bend their necks before the master.’

‘Submit? Master? Bend their necks? These are words that fit ill in our tongue, Brother Drón. Not even the old gods and goddesses would claim that they were masters, or that we had to bend the knee or submit to them. Nor do I think Christ ever taught that we should. If God gave people free will then we have the will to choose and choice should be made freely — not by conquest, fear or force.’

Brother Drón was tight lipped with ill-concealed anger. ‘I need no lessons in theology from you, Fidelma of Cashel. Abbot Ultán was right to come here to protest against your marriage. You are not deserving of a place in the ranks of the religious. Stick to your law and leave matters of faith to those who are qualified to speak of it.’

Fidelma blinked at the vehemence in the man’s voice. Then her voice grew brittle.

‘Very well, Brother Drón. I will speak to you of the law. I am a dálaigh and you are a fíadu, a witness. As such you have certain obligations, not just of honesty but of respect for the law and its officers. If you do not meet such obligations, then you must bear in mind that you will be liable to certain strictures and fines. Do you understand this?’

Brother Drón seemed abashed at being addressed in such a manner. He swallowed audibly.

‘At Cill Ria no woman would dare speak in such a fashion. We are governed by the Penitentials and. . ’

‘You are not at Cill Ria,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘The law of this land is, and has been from time immemorial, the law of the Fénechus. That is the law you will now answer to. If you refuse to do so, I will call one of my brother’s guards to take you to a place where you may reflect on your position. Now, where were you last night?’ She shot the question at him before he had time to recover his poise.

‘Where was I?’ Brother Drón sounded as if he could not believe his ears at being asked.

‘I think that you heard the question,’ she snapped.

‘I was in the chamber which the good abbot had acquired for me. Originally, I was going to be placed in some dormitory with the other religious, but Abbot Ultán protested to your steward that I needed to be within call, being his scribe and adviser.’

‘And where was this chamber?’

‘My chamber? The abbot’s room was in a corner where two corridors formed a right angle. My chamber was ten metres along the corridor from which one could see the door to his chamber.’

‘Were you there at the time of the abbot’s death?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘I retired early as it is my custom to be up several hours before dawn to pray and prepare myself for the day.’

‘And when were you told of Abbot Ultán’s death?’

‘I had arisen and gone to the chapel and was at prayer when other brothers entered and spoke of the event. Horrified, I went immediately to Abbot Ultán’s chamber but was not allowed to enter by some officious young warrior. I was told — no, ordered — to go back to my chamber and await a summons from the dálaigh in charge. I said I would protest at this treatment and went to see Blathmac mac Mael Coba, who is staying here.’

‘I presume King Blathmac of Ulaidh instructed you as to your position under the law?’ Fidelma said almost sweetly.

Brother Drón grimaced in annoyance. ‘He told me that I had to wait until the