A Prayer for the Damned

will find it an excellent education.’

Eadulf’s expression was positively woebegone. ‘I am not a good horseman. .’

‘Nonsense,’ interrupted Colgú. ‘Anyway, the huntsmen lead the way on foot with their dogs. Only the nobles, who are the spearmen, follow on horse. Then behind them come the ladies on horseback. So you have a choice. You can go on foot with the huntsmen, of course.’

Fidelma took pity on Eadulf’s alarmed expression.

‘Let young Gormán ride with you to assist you in the task. He can also explain what is happening during the hunt. But keep close to Muirchertach.’

Eadulf was resigned. ‘What will you be doing?’ he asked moodily.

‘We will not be able to speak to everyone today. There are several people that I still need to question, such as the two young religious who accompanied Ultán. They might be able to give more details of the man and his enemies. I also want to speak with Fergus Fanat of Ulaidh and Dúnchad Muirisci before the end of today.’

Colgú was surprised. ‘What is their involvement?’ he demanded.

‘Perhaps none, but their word is needed as witnesses in clarifying some matters.’

‘Then be as diplomatic as you can, sister,’ Colgú advised her. ‘These are nobles with much power.’

‘And you are not?’ she asked mockingly.

Colgú shook his head. ‘The art of kingship is to maintain the peace but not to stir up antagonisms.’

‘Do not fear, my brother. My intention is merely to search for the truth.’

Colgú grimaced wryly. ‘There was a line in that play by Terence that was performed here last year — The Girl from Andros — what was it now?’

‘Veritas odium parit’ muttered Eadulf.

‘Exactly. Truth breeds hate. Be careful when you search for truth that you do not stir up hate.’

‘While I am asked to function as a dálaigh, I cannot be stopped from that search,’ Fidelma said firmly.

Colgú turned for the door, saying over his shoulder: ‘I will go to draw up the list of those who will attend the hunt tomorrow. I’ll let you have it later.’

Fidelma had decided that they should first follow up the intriguing reference that Abbot Augaire had made to Fergus Fanat of Ulaidh but, by chance, they encountered Dúnchad Muirisci, the tánaiste to the king of Connacht, as they were crossing one of the courtyards. He was young, sandy-haired and handsome, with a ready smile and large blue eyes. He carried himself with the bearing of a warrior.

‘Abbot Augaire? Indeed he was with me last evening for some time. He left late. We were playing brandubh. He is a very determined player. Eventually I had to accept the loss of the High King.’

Brandubh, black raven, was one of the most popular board games in the five kingdoms. The board was divided into forty-nine squares, the centre square symbolising Tara, the centre of the cosmos, and the four squares round it the capitals of the provincial kings. Here the four defending kings had to keep the invading force at bay without leaving the High King on the centre square unprotected. Eadulf found it too slow and cerebral for his taste.

‘So Abbot Augaire won the game?’ he said. ‘Do you know, roughly, when the abbot came to your chambers?’

‘Not long after the evening meal. Many of the nobles continued to drink and listen to the bards and storytellers. But Augaire and I had agreed to match our minds across the gaming board. Indeed, we had a wager on it, and’ — he shrugged ruefully — ‘I confess I lost and he has my silver piece to prove it.’

‘When did he leave?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Towards midnight, I think. I know that I had retired to bed sometime after he left but was disturbed by shouting in the corridor. I had already been disturbed once that evening so I ignored it. It was only this morning that I realised that it must have been when the body of Ultán was discovered.’

‘What did you think when your king, Muirchertach, was accused?’

‘Shall I be honest?’

Fidelma gazed at him with steely eyes.

‘That is the purpose of my questioning,’ she said sharply.

‘I was excited. I am his heir apparent and if he were to be guilty of this murder, then I would automatically succeed and be king of Connacht.’

‘That is being honest indeed,’ muttered Eadulf.

Dúnchad Muirisci laughed as if it were a joke.

‘You cannot make emotions illegal,’ he said.

Fidelma’s lips thinned for a moment. ‘So long as they remain emotions and hidden rather than being given physical substance.’

Dúnchad Muirisci continued to smile. ‘Come, lady, you do not suspect that I slunk into Abbot Ultán’s chamber to kill him, then put the blame on Muirchertach in order that I could succeed as king?’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘In this case, I do not suspect that. However, how well did you know Abbot Ultán?’

‘Not at all.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows. ‘With all the intercourse between the court of Muirchertach and the abbey of Ultán on behalf of the queen’s sister, Searc, that comes as a surprise.’

‘Yet it is true. The business was between Muirchertach and Aíbnat and later involved Cathal of the Uí Briúin Aí. But I never once laid eyes on Ultán and would have passed him by in the corridor without knowing him. It was Augaire and one of our brehons who conducted the intercourse with Cill Ria.’

‘So what did you think of Muirchertach’s attempt to seek compensation for his wife, Aíbnat, over this matter?’

Dúnchad Muirisci considered for a moment. ‘I will admit that I found it strange. Aíbnat was never really close to her young sister and, in truth, I did not think she was much affected by the poor girl’s death. But the fact that she pressed the claim against Ultán. .’

‘Aíbnat did not insist on seeking compensation, according to Augaire. It was your cousin Muirchertach who was the instigator of the claim.’

Dúnchad Muirisci’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Muirchertach?’ he demanded sharply.

‘You did not know?’

‘I did not. I assumed it was Aíbnat for she was the next of kin.’

‘How well did you know Searc?’

‘Not well at all. I met her only a few times at Durlas. She was a dreamy, romantic young girl. I was not surprised when people started to acclaim her poetry. It was of the dántaigecht grádh variety, love poetry. That is not really my style. You know the sort of thing?’ He screwed up his face and recited in a falsetto voice:

Cold are the nights I cannot sleep,

Thinking of you, my love, my dear. .

‘How well is not well?’ interrupted Fidelma with some irritability in her tone.

‘When she came to stay with her sister Aíbnat at Muirchertach’s fortress at Durlas, I saw her more. . that was in the weeks before her death.’

‘Did she give any indication that she would take her own life when she came back from Cill Ria having found that her love had been sent to his death at sea?’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘In fact, while she was upset, she did not really believe that this lad — what was his name? Senach? — she did not believe that he was really dead. She was determined to pursue him.’