A Prayer for the Damned

dálaigh summoned me.’

‘A wise king,’ muttered Eadulf, staring at the ceiling.

Fidelma looked carefully at Brother Drón. It was certainly hard to deflate the man’s ego.

‘Did you go to find Sister Marga or Sister Sétach to tell them the news?’

‘I had no time.’

‘You slept well during the night? You were not disturbed at all?’

‘I would have mentioned that,’ snapped the religieux.

‘Not even when the body was discovered and there would have been many people in the corridor or going into the abbot’s chamber?’

‘I slept soundly.’

‘Very well. And, once again, you know of no particular enemies that Abbot Ultán had?’

Brother Drón sniffed. ‘I did not say that. I said that his only enemies were the enemies of the Faith. When I heard that Muirchertach of Connacht was being spoken of as the culprit, I was not surprised.’

Fidelma lifted her head quickly.

‘Really? Not surprised?’ she asked.

‘For some years he has been threatening Abbot Ultán.’

‘Threatening? In what form were these threats made?’

‘He demanded compensation on behalf of his wife’s family. The honour price for his wife’s sister. Ten seds, he claimed, because she was a poet.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Was the demand for this sum made through a brehon?’

For a moment Brother Drón looked bewildered.

‘Of course,’ he said hesitantly.

‘A demand for compensation made through a brehon is hardly a threat. But you said that he had been threatening. Why was this claim, which had to go through the law, seen as a threat? Explain the matter.’

The scribe looked annoyed. ‘It was the whole manner of the approach. The sister of Muirchertach’s wife was a girl named Searc. She was a poetess, supposedly of the class of a cli. Therefore her honour price was ten seds. The situation was simple. We had, in the abbey of Cill Ria, a young religieux who was also a poet. Bishop Ultán had allowed him to take part in a gathering of bards at Ard Macha. It was there he met this Connacht woman. The woman, Searc, tried to ensnare him with feminine wiles and when he returned to Cill Ria she followed, like a siren, trying to lure him to his doom.’

Fidelma sat without expression as Brother Drón gave his account.

‘Abbot Ultán decided to send the boy, whose name was Senach, to safety. He arranged passage for him to Gaul. There was a religious house looking for young members to help in the task of converting the Franks. As it happened, the ship did not arrive and there were stories that it had been attacked by Frankish pirates who had killed those on board or carried them off into slavery.’

Fidelma nodded slowly. It was a story not so different from Muirchetach’s own version. The differences were simply in the motivations ascribed to the protagonists.

‘So that was the end of the story, so far as Abbot Ultán was concerned?’

Brother Drón shook his head. ‘After a while, we received a formal messenger from Muirchertach of Connacht. It was then that we discovered that this same Searc was the sister to Muirchertach’s wife.’

‘I see. You did not know before? What then?’

‘This messenger. .’

‘Do you recall the name of the messenger?’ interrupted Eadulf suddenly.

‘Of course. It was the religieux who is now Abbot Augaire.’

‘Augaire?’ queried Eadulf. ‘How do you mean, “who is now Abbot Augaire”?’

Brother Drón sniffed. ‘He was Brother Augaire at the time. He received his office through the influence he secured with Muirchertach by representing him.’

‘So Augaire came to the Abbey of Cill Ria? Presumably he accompanied the brehon?’

‘He did, but it was Augaire who made the demands. He said that the girl had committed suicide and that he had been a witness to it. Well, Abbot Ultán said that proved the evil that was in the girl, to become guilty of kin-slaying, for which there is no forgiveness in this world.’

‘But hopefully there is in the next,’ muttered Eadulf.

Brother Drón glanced angrily at him but Fidelma quickly intervened.

‘What exactly did Augaire tell you?’

‘That he had discovered from Muirchertach that the girl, Searc, had heard the news of Senach’s death and killed herself, a crime that is heinous in law,’ he added in defiance, looking at Eadulf.

Fidelma grimaced. It was true that suicide was classed in law as kin-slaying and was regarded as a terrible crime.

‘But was it explained why Muirchertach blamed Abbot Ultán for the girl’s death?’ she pressed.

‘Augaire, speaking on his behalf, said the king of Connacht deemed Abbot Ultán responsible for separating Brother Senach and this woman Searc, thus bringing about Senach’s death and, consequently, Searc’s suicide. He demanded the compensation and, of course, Abbot Ultán refused to even consider the matter.’

‘On what grounds did the abbot refuse to go to the arbitration of a brehon?’

Brother Drón looked angry for the moment and then abruptly smiled, but without humour.

‘The abbey of Cill Ria, as I have explained, operates under the rules we have accepted from Rome, the chief church of Christendom. The Penitentials, which I am sure you know well, are the rules that have been blessed and approved by the archiepiscopus at Ard Macha.’

‘And these forbade Senach and Searc to be together?’

‘Of course.’

‘There is no “of course” about it. Rome does not forbid marriage among the religious.’

‘Had Bishop Ultán lived he would have brought the truth to you,’ snapped Brother Drón.

‘I do not doubt that he would have tried to put forward his views,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘But those views are not shared by everyone. By the way, are you saying that Senach did not respond to the feelings expressed by Searc?’

Brother Drón hesitated, his tongue passing swiftly over his lips.

Fidelma smiled thinly before he could reply. ‘So he did respond?’

Again anger formed on Brother Drón’s features. ‘He had taken an oath to obey the rules of the community of Cill Ria. The woman was a siren who twisted his mind and seduced him away from his oath.’

‘Is it true, then, that he asked if he could be absolved from his oath?’

‘Once taken, such an oath is impossible to withdraw from.’

‘Impossible? A formula of words in these circumstances is not made of chains and locks. Many have asked to be released from the oaths they took. An oath freely given may be ended if both sides freely consent.’

‘And Abbot Ultán did not freely consent, for if you have made a promise to serve God you cannot break that promise.’

‘As I understand it, Senach was not breaking the promise but asking that he be released from holding to it. And Abbot Ultán refused to consider his request and sent him off on this ship in which he was killed.’

‘It was for the boy’s own good.’

‘Hardly good when it resulted in the death of both the boy and the girl.’

‘That was God’s will. It was obviously God’s punishment on them both.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in distaste. ‘It seems that God gets blamed for many things,’ she said quietly.

Eadulf cleared his throat. ‘I am unclear. If Muirchertach summoned Abbot Ultán through a brehon to seek compensation in the courts, how could Abbot Ultán legally refuse to answer the courts of this land, even if his own abbey is ruled by the Penitentials?’

‘I have told you, in this the archiepiscopus supported him.’

‘But the king of Ulaidh knows full well that the Fénechus law is the law of all five kingdoms and the Penitentials are rules within the confines of certain abbeys that have adopted them. It was the king’s duty to obey the law and he should have compelled Ultán to come to account before the