A Prayer for the Damned

Fidelma was not only surprised at the girl’s vehemence but also astonished at her logic.

‘You argue well, Sétach, and from knowledge. That is good. What do you know about Brother Berrihert?’

The girl was silent for a moment or two. ‘I know nothing.’

‘Yet you saw the passion that was aroused in him last night at the grave. What of the curse he levelled at Brother Drón? Do you say that you know nothing about what prompted such an outburst at such a sacred moment?’

‘I can only tell you what I know.’

‘But you are willing to defend Ultán without that knowledge?’

‘I have no knowledge of what the Saxon claimed. All I can say is that I know Ultán, who has been a good and saintly man during the time I have served him at Cill Ria. You will have to speak to Brother Drón if you seek an answer to the hatred that this Saxon Brother Berrihert displayed last night. He was with Ultán during his visit to Abbot Colmán’s island.’

Fidelma paused, and then said suddenly: ‘And what do you know of Brother Senach?’

The girl started and then said: ‘That was before I went to Cill Ria.’

‘Ah, but you have heard the story?’

‘Rules were drawn up by the abbot for the governing of the abbey in accordance with the Faith now being espoused at Rome. Brother Senach sought to disobey them. He was therefore sent abroad to Gaul but died on his voyage there.’ Sister Sétach said this without emotion, as if repeating a lesson. ‘That is all I know or have heard.’

‘And what of the poetess Searc?’

‘I know nothing more about that story.’

‘These rules that the abbot has drawn up to govern his community — does everyone at Cill Ria obey them?’

The girl looked curiously at her.

‘Everyone,’ she confirmed. ‘Of course they do.’

‘Including Ultán?’

For a moment the girl blinked and there was a slight red tinge to her cheek.

‘Ultán is. . was. . the abbot,’ she replied.

‘That does not answer my question,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘He would not write down rules for everyone to obey but him,’ said the girl. ‘I do not understand what you are trying to imply. Surely it is obvious who killed him and no defence of yours will change that.’

There was a sudden emotional note in the girl’s voice which made Fidelma think that she was treading on some dangerous path.

‘Guilt or innocence is a matter for a brehon to decide,’ Fidelma admonished. ‘At the moment, nothing is obvious. . unless you have witnessed something which you are not disclosing.’

Sister Sétach’s head jerked slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly what I say. Do you have information that might help in this matter?’

She shook her head quickly in denial. ‘All I know is what everyone knows. That Abbot Ultán was killed and Muirchertach was seen leaving his chamber. Isn’t it obvious who killed him?’

Fidelma smiled gently. ‘Not at all.’ She paused a moment and then asked: ‘How did you come to join the abbey at Cill Ria? What persuaded you to become a member of that community?’

Sister Sétach was frowning. ‘I write a fair hand. I have a flair for languages. But, alas, my family were not of the flaith or nobility, nor of the professional classes. They were simple céile, free clansmen, who worked their land, paid their taxes for the upkeep of the community and formed the warrior bands in time of war. They had no great wealth or connections. So, if I were to use my talents, there was little choice but to join a religious house. I am of the Uí Thuirtrí, who dwell by the shores of Loch nEchach, Eoghaidh’s lake. That is why I chose to enter Cill Ria, which is close to my home.’

‘The céile are the basis of our whole society, Sétach. Without them we would have no society,’ Fidelma rebuked her mildly.

‘You can say that, you who are a flaith. Even more than a flaith — the sister of a king. What do you know of working in the fields and herding cows, or sheep?’ The girl sounded bitter.

‘As a practical experience of survival, I have no knowledge. Although I have done such work,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘I suppose that you knew the rules of Cill Ria before you entered it?’

‘Not exactly. I entered and was then taught the rules propounded by Abbot Ultán.’

‘I am told the women live separately from the men?’

‘That is so. A stream runs between the two houses; on one side is the male community and on the other the female community. It is. .’ She suddenly stopped.

‘What?’ asked Fidelma quickly.

‘It was just that when I came south I had not realised that most of the religious houses were, what is the word? Con. . con. .?’

‘Conhospitae?’ supplied Fidelma. Then she frowned. ‘Was this trip your first outside the abbey of Cill Ria?’

Sister Sétach nodded slowly. ‘I had not realised that there were other interpretations of the rules of the Faith. We only were taught Abbot Ultán’s rules.’

‘What about Sister Marga? Did she, being chosen, as you told me yesterday, by Ultán to come on this journey, know of the controversies that rage beyond the walls of Cill Ria?’

‘I don’t know. I think that she had accompanied Abbot Ultán several times to Ard Macha. I was therefore pleased when she asked me to come with her here.’

Fidelma sighed softly. ‘And you have no knowledge of where I might find Sister Marga now?’

‘None,’ the girl replied firmly.

Fidelma was unsatisfied. She felt that old sensation that there was something not quite right. On the one hand Sister Sétach was intelligent, resourceful and strong in her defence of Abbot Ultán and his views. Her attempt at entering the abbot’s chamber during the previous evening showed her courage. On the other hand, when pressed, she seemed to display signs of a lack of knowledge that bordered on the naive. Still, it was no use pressing her without knowing anything further.

Knowing! Fidelma thought that trying to get knowledge in these circumstances was like drawing teeth. She abruptly thanked the girl and left the chapel, Sister Sétach staring in perplexity after her.

Fidelma knew there were few places in her brother’s fortress that Sister Marga could be. She made her way down the steps to the courtyard. Finguine was still among the group of warriors at the gates and as she approached he called out to her.

‘Weren’t you looking for those two companions of Brother Drón?’

‘I have found Sister Sétach,’ she said, as she came up. ‘But I can’t seem to find Sister Marga.’

‘The younger one? The attractive little sister with fair hair and blue eyes?’

Fidelma smiled at her cousin’s appreciative tone.

‘That is probably Sister Marga,’ she replied gravely, because it was certainly not a description of Sister Sétach.

‘I only just remembered it after you had gone off to the dormitory in search of them,’ said Finguine. ‘She rode off with the ladies.’

Fidelma stood still. ‘Rode off with the ladies?’ she repeated in amazement.

‘On the boar hunt,’ confirmed her cousin. ‘She seemed to have acquired a horse and went off in the company of the ladies after the hunt this morning.’

CHAPTER TWELVE