A Prayer for the Damned

Fidelma exchanged a sharp look with Eadulf. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.

‘When she came back she talked about finding a ship to go to Gaul and to the abbey to which the lad had been sent. She even knew the name of it. She believed that he would be waiting there for her.’

Fidelma leaned forward in surprise. ‘How long was this before she took her life?’

‘I saw her about three days before it happened. Augaire witnessed the event, you know. He didn’t know who it was — it took him a day or so to discover it and so come to Durlas. Muirchertach was called upon to identify the body.’ He paused and rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘It is strange, now I think of it. She was talking about sailing after Senach and then, shortly after, she tosses herself from a cliff.’

‘Strange, indeed,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘Did she tell anyone else about the voyage to Gaul she was planning?’

‘I would have presumed that she told her sister Aíbnat as well as Muirchertach.’

‘It seems strange that it was not mentioned,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘I will see what Muirchertach and his wife have to say later.’

Dúnchad Muirisci smiled knowingly.

‘I am not sure that the truth will come out,’ he said. ‘Muirchertach never did like people knowing what was in his mind. Not even me.’

‘But you are his tánaiste — his heir apparent. Who runs the kingdom if he will not discuss the affairs of the day with you?’ inquired Eadulf.

‘The truth? The tribes of Connacht are descended into anarchy. Muirchertach has brought the line of Fiachra into disrespect. Thank God that I am only a cousin, for I am of the tribe of Muaide.’

‘If this is so, has no one recourse to the law, to declare Muirchertach incapable of his office?’ Fidelma asked.

Dúnchad Muirisci shrugged. ‘The time will come. He has few friends now, not even his own wife.’

‘That is why I am interested in the reason he pursued this affair of compensation with Ultán,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Well, if Aíbnat did not press for it, then I cannot say. Maybe he wanted to impress her by doing so in order to win back her regard?’

‘Perhaps. Yet if Aíbnat was not close to her young sister, as we have been told, it does not appear to be a sufficient reason.’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘That is a matter that you’d best pursue with Muirchertach.’

‘And I shall do so.’

The tánaiste suddenly looked seriously at Fidelma. ‘I said that I would be honest. There is no love lost between Muirchertach and myself. I even avoided him as a child. He had a spiteful nature and later he had a reputation among women. I was surprised when Aíbnat and he were married, but then Aíbnat was of the Uí Briúin Aí and ambitious.’ He stopped speaking when he caught sight of a woman crossing the courtyard. ‘Ah, the lady Fína. You will excuse me? I have promised to go riding with her this afternoon while the light is still with us.’ He hurried after the figure that was disappearing towards the stables.

Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a long face. ‘This is irritating,’ she said. ‘There is something here which does not seem right.’

‘You have said that before,’ commented Eadulf.

‘And I say it again now. Alas, I think we still have much to learn.’

‘And much to do. We’d better go in search of Fergus Fanat.’

It was the commander of the guard who told them that Fergus Fanat was in the town below the fortress playing immán, or driving, with two groups that had been formed from the more active guests. Caol seemed more cheerful now that he had been assured by Colgú that he was not being blamed for removing the guard from Ultán’s chamber.

Although the day continued to be cloudy, at least it was dry and Fidelma suggested they walked down to the playing field, the faithche, a level grassy meadow just beyond the last buildings in the town that was set aside for such games. Eadulf made no objection, so they walked down into the town, aware of some stares as people recognised them. Most were aware that this should be the day of their official wedding and some seemed to wish to commiserate while others were embarrassed as to how to acknowledge them. Fidelma seemed oblivious of the little huddled groups that formed in their wake, the whispered conversations and the looks of sympathy, as if it were some funeral cortége that had passed.

They could hear the game long before they passed the last of the houses and came on the open meadow. The shouts and cheers of the people gathered around the faithche were noisy enough, and the pair moved forward to a point where they could see the action on the field. There were two teams, and the aim was to drive the ball into the opponents’ goal, or berna, with a wooden stick.

Eadulf found the game exciting, for the swinging ash clubs could easily inflict not just bruises and cuts but serious injuries. For the players it was warfare by another means. The shouts of instruction and curses when a strategy went wrong came thick and fast as the young men pushed sometimes one way and sometimes the other. To Eadulf it looked like a mad uproar with few rules, but when he mentioned this to Fidelma she shook her head.

‘Our laws are strict about this game, Eadulf. See, there is Brehon Baithen observing the game to see they are obeyed. To strike a deliberate blow against another player, for example, is punishable by a fine.’

‘There are other laws to protect spectators and, indeed, even to protect the field itself,’ a voice echoed behind them.

They glanced round and found Abbot Augaire standing there, looking amused. ‘I did not think you would have time to watch this diversion,’ he observed.

Fidelma’s chin came up a little. ‘It is not for diversion that we are here, Abbot Augaire,’ she told him. ‘You suggested that we should speak with Fergus Fanat, who is apparently among the players.’

Abbot Augaire smiled. ‘Ah, just so. I should have realised that you would not be attracted to this entertainment when there was an abbot’s murder to be resolved.’

‘Which of the players is Fergus Fanat?’ pressed Fidelma, ignoring his cynical tone.

‘You see the short, muscular man with the long raven-coloured hair? The one now out in front striking at the ball? That is Fergus Fanat. He leads the team from the northern kingdoms against the locals.’

Fidelma realised that her cousin Finguine mac Cathal, Colgú’s heir apparent or tánaiste, was the leader of the second team.

‘How long until the end of the game?’ she demanded.

‘Not long,’ replied Augaire. ‘Three times more must the bowl fill with water.’

He nodded to where Brehon Baithen was standing, another man was sitting before a water clock with which he was timing the progress of the game. The bowl to which Augaire had referred was placed on the surface of a tub of water. It had a small hole in its base so that it gradually filled and sank, after which it was taken out and emptied and the process was repeated. The bowl had to sink a prescribed number of times to measure the length of the game.

Fidelma’s wandering gaze was suddenly attracted by a figure in the crowd behind Brehon Baithen, a slight female figure wearing a religious robe. The girl looked attractive. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the players on the field as though she was fascinated by the game. For a moment, Fidelma wondered who she was.

Just then there was a shout of protest from the field. The players suddenly bunched into a group, shouting at each other. Brehon Baithen quickly hurried on to the faithche.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, frowning.

‘One of the players is protesting a foul. He says that two opposing players jostled him before he had possession of the ball.’

The argument seemed short. Brehon Baithen had made some decision and the game recommenced.

Abbot Augaire gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘Do you realise, my Saxon friend,’ he confided to Eadulf, ‘that it was at the site of my own abbey of Conga, on the plain of Maigh Éo, where it is said the very first recorded