‘In the old religion, Ran was wife to Aegir, the god of the sea. When seafarers drowned, she would take them to her palace beneath the waves where her nine daughters would look after them. Ran was protector of those who sacrificed to her.’ The young man hesitated and coloured. ‘That was what was taught in the old religion to which our parents clung steadfastly. There was no harm in them, for they were good people, but just a little old and set in their ways.’
‘I understand,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Continue.’
‘Abbot Ultán came walking by as she was making her sacrifice and demanded to know what she was doing. She did not speak your language well but one of the men with him, one of the warriors, who had been a mercenary among the Saxons, interpreted. Abbot Ultán was beside himself to learn that a foreign woman, in the shadow of a Christian monastery, was carrying out a pagan ceremony. He raged and stormed and told the warrior to beat my mother for her sacrilege.’
There was a silence. Brother Naovan raised his chin defiantly.
‘He ordered an elderly woman to be beaten?’ Fidelma was incredulous.
‘God’s curse on his soul,’ muttered Brother Pecanum. ‘He deserved his death.’
‘What happened then?’
‘They left my mother senseless and smashed her little altar under the tree. They left. We never saw Ultán or Drón again until we heard that they were here at Cashel.’
‘How did you learn what had happened to your mother?’
‘Someone came running to the community to say they had found her. Berrihert, Pecanum and I went down to her. She was still living but her life was ebbing fast with the shock. She told us what had happened as best as she could. She struggled to remain alive until evening so that she could say farewell to my father on his return, but before dusk descended her spirit had fled her body. May she rest with her own gods in peace.’
Fidelma sat regarding the two brothers carefully. ‘Tell me, and tell me truthfully, did Berrihert, your father Ordwulf, and yourselves, come here with the intention of seeking vengeance on Ultán and Drón?’
Brother Pecanum raised his head and met her gaze. ‘At first we did not know they were here. But when we found out, my father grew angry. Yesterday, at dawn, he went to the fortress, when the gates opened, and his intention was to seek out Ultán.’
‘And kill him?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘And kill him,’ confirmed Brother Pecanum.
Fidelma had been expecting a denial. She was surprised at the frankness of the young man.
‘Since you have been so honest, let me ask you whether your family were involved in the death of Abbot Ultán?’
This time Brother Naovan replied.
‘We were not. I speak only for Pecanum and me. I cannot say anything else. Our father raged against us for not being warriors, for not avenging our mother’s death, but we are committed to the New Faith and vengeance is not ours to take. We did not know our father had gone up to the fortress until he returned to say that he had been thwarted and that Ultán was already slain by the hand of the king of Connacht.’
‘So you are saying that Ordwulf and Berrihert were not involved in his death?’
‘We heard that it was the king of Connacht who killed him. Why do you question us in this fashion?’
‘Because I do not believe that the king of Connacht did kill the abbot.’
The brother exchanged a glance of surprise. ‘Then you suspect. .?’ began Brother Naovan.
Fidelma interrupted with a sad shake of her head. ‘Do not think that I have no sympathy for you in this tragic tale. However, I must attend to the law. You will have to remain within this town until such time as the matter has been resolved.’
‘We understand, sister. But it is hard for us to carry suspicion in our hearts against our brother and our father. God grant that they are not involved, and that you are wrong in your belief that the king of Connacht did not strike down Ultán.’
‘There is going to be a price to pay for this!’
Gormán was peering over Eadulf’s shoulder and was shaking his head in disbelief.
Eadulf made no comment. He was examining the king’s body for the cause of death. In fact, it was fairly obvious. The killing blow had left a wound just above the heart, although Eadulf had noticed three more such wounds in the neck: deep, plunging, tearing cuts which, of themselves, would not have caused death. These wounds could have been made by sword or knife or. .
He was about to rise when he noticed a piece of paper tucked into a fold of Muirchertach Nár’s hunting cloak. He reached forward, extracted it and then unfolded it. He drew his breath sharply as he saw what it was. A poem. He knew the words.
He did not know what it could mean but he folded it and put it in his purse. Then he rose to his feet and glanced round.
A short distance away he saw a discarded hunting spear, Muirchertach’s
‘He has been stabbed with his own hunting spear,’ he announced. Then, straightening, he added: ‘There is no sign of his horse.’
Gormán beckoned the dog handler to come forward. ‘Was there any sign of Muirchertach’s horse when you came here?’
‘There was not.’
Eadulf turned to the man. ‘How did you make this discovery. . what is your name?’
‘My name is Rónán. I am one of the trackers at Cashel.’
‘So, tell me how you came here.’
‘We were driving the boars through the forest. I was on the far left of the line. One of the hounds, again to my left, starting giving cry and so I moved towards it through the forest, thinking it had a boar at bay. I was still in the forest when I heard the sound of a frightened horse, then the thud of hooves at a gallop. By the time I came through the undergrowth just there, there was no sign of anything. No horse and no hound.’ The man paused and Eadulf waited patiently. ‘I came to the mound here, it being high ground, to see if I could see anything.’
‘And that is when you saw the body?’ Gormán cut in.
‘I did so.’
‘Then what?’
‘Recognising the body as that of Muirchertach Nár, I knew I had to tell someone immediately. I ran back to the main track hoping that someone would be passing and, thanks be, I saw you both immediately. That is all I know.’
‘You say that you heard the sound of a horse?’ Gormán asked. ‘The ground is soft here. There should be tracks.’
‘There are,’ replied the man. ‘Come with me.’
They followed him to a place beyond the body.
‘Can you read the signs?’ Eadulf asked.
The man crouched down to point at the hoofprints.
‘So far as I can see, two riders came to this spot here by different paths.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘A third horse was here, with a split shoe. It went off in that direction.’ He pointed. ‘The other two horses followed it, but neither appears to have had a rider. The one with the split shoe seems to be the only one that was ridden away.
Eadulf smiled a little sceptically. ‘Is that guesswork?’
Rónán was not offended.
‘It is observation, Brother Eadulf. I am a tracker. I can see when horses bear the weight of riders and when they don’t. The hooves do not sink so deeply into the mud as when they have the added weight of their riders. Therefore, you can see those horses were carrying less weight when they left than when they came.’ He shrugged
