A Prayer for the Damned

‘I share the responsibility. When you told me, I could have said who the beast belonged to. I was in the courtyard when Dúnchad Muirisci returned from the hunt. The gilla scuir mentioned the split shoe on the tánaiste’s horse. Furthermore, his hand was bloody from falling into a thorn bush, or so he said. And he said that he had lost his hunting spear.’

‘Then he is our man! It is obvious!’

Fidelma grimaced wryly.

‘Just as the guilt of Brother Drón was obvious?’ she asked sceptically, shaking her head. ‘Patience. We must go carefully, Eadulf. Especially now that Dúnchad Muirisci succeeds Muirchertach Nár as king of Connacht. We are dealing with men of power in this affair, so we must be sure of our accusations.’

‘But just as Brother Drón had a motive to kill Muirchertach Nár, Dúnchad Muirisci had an equally good motive: that he would succeed to the kingship of Connacht.’

‘But what motive had Dúnchad to kill Abbot Ultán?’

‘Well. . none.’

‘Then you are saying that we have two killers here — the one who killed Ultán and the one who killed Muirchertach Nár.’

‘Why not? Muirchertach could have killed Ultán and Dúnchad could have killed Muirchertach. Two separate murders.’

‘I am not satisfied that Muirchertach Nár killed Ultán. If he had been nursing thoughts of vengeance against the man all these years then he would have invented a better story. He would have had a better plan than he did. The very fact that there was no love lost between Muirchertach and his wife makes me wonder, and not for the first time, why Muirchertach would pursue the matter on behalf of a wife who did not care. There is something here that continues to irritate me.’

‘What should we do now? Release Brother Drón?’

‘We will have to withdraw the guard and release him from confinement,’ Fidelma said after a moment’s reflection. ‘But, for the time being, he is only free within the bounds of the fortress. We must now find out what story Dúnchad Muirisci has to tell us.’

Dúnchad Muirisci, his hand newly bandaged, greeted them with some surprise.

‘I have told you all I can about Abbot Ultán’s death. There is nothing more I can say.’ He seemed slightly flustered and evasive.

‘It is not his death that we have to speak of,’ Fidelma replied. ‘May we enter?’

The tánaiste of Connacht stood indecisively, which allowed the determined Fidelma to brush him aside and enter. She halted abruptly and, for a moment, even she was surprised.

Standing in the chamber looking nervous was Sister Sétach.

‘I am surprised to see you here, sister,’ Fidelma said calmly.

The girl made no reply, seeming to look at Dúnchad Muirisci for some guidance.

Eadulf had followed behind Fidelma and was equally surprised when he saw who the girl was.

Dúnchad Muirisci coughed, his face red with embarrassment. ‘Sister Sétach came to see me to discuss the death of Abbot Ultán.’

Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘What aspect of the death?’ she asked, looking at Sister Sétach.

‘About the death of the girl that this whole matter is supposed to be about. About the death of Searc.’

‘That is interesting,’ Fidelma said pointedly, as if waiting for an explanation.

The two were silent for a moment.

‘We were trying to see, now that Abbot Ultán is dead. .’ Sister Sétach was red in the face and she hunched her shoulders as she spoke.

‘Trying to see whether some peace could be declared on this matter between Connacht and Cill Ria,’ ended Dúnchad Muirisci hurriedly.

Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf.

‘So you think that you are now in a position to make such a declaration?’ she asked Dúnchad Muirisci softly.

The heir apparent smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is clear that Sister Sétach could not approach Muirchertach in the current circumstances. As I am tánaiste it is obvious that she would first speak to me. Anyway, the matter is of no consequence. Sister Sétach and I will discuss it later.’ He glanced to the girl with a nod as of dismissal and she took it as such.

Eadulf wondered whether Fidelma was going to hold her back but she allowed the girl to hasten from the room.

‘Now,’ Dúnchad Muirisci said, drawing himself together and trying to regain control of the situation. ‘I have told you all I know about the death of Ultán.’

‘As I have said, it is not his death we came to speak of. This morning, on the boar hunt, Muirchertach Nár was killed.’

If Dúnchad Muirisci was feigning astonishment he was very good, thought Eadulf.

‘But he was a good horseman, an excellent spearshot,’ muttered the tánaiste. ‘How did the boar get him?’ Then he paused. ‘And why has no word of this reached me before now?’

‘You seem to think he was killed in a hunting accident, Dúnchad Muirisci. He was not,’ she replied.

‘He was not?’ The noble looked bemused. ‘Then how?’

‘He was attacked and murdered with his own spear.’

Dúnchad Muirisci took a step back and sat down quickly in a chair.

‘Murdered? Who?’ His eyes cleared. ‘A vengeance killing?’

‘We are investigating that.’

‘That weasel, Brother Drón! Where was he at the time?’

‘As I say, we are investigating.’

Dúnchad Muirisci frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘That means that you are the new king of Connacht, provided your derbhfine is willing.’ The derbhfine was the electoral college of the family, usually consisting of three generations from its last head, who would chose his successor.

‘Of course, of course,’ Dúnchad Muirisci muttered.

‘It also makes you a prime suspect,’ Eadulf added dryly.

‘A suspect?’ Dúnchad Muirisci stared at him stupidly for a moment and then anger began to form on his face.

Before he could frame a rejoinder, Fidelma added: ‘That is absolutely true, Dúnchad; Muirisci. So perhaps you could begin by telling us how you came by that wound on your hand.’

Eadulf wondered why Fidelma was not going straight to the damning evidence of the split horseshoe but decided not to interfere.

Dúnchad; Muirisci hesitated. ‘I told you when I arrived. Down in the courtyard.’

‘Tell me again.’

‘My horse stumbled and I was pushed into a thorn bush. That’s where I scratched my hand.’

‘And you, by all accounts, an excellent rider and hunter,’ murmured Fidelma.

The Connacht noble controlled his obvious resentment at her gentle sarcasm. ‘The truth is that I was caught unawares. The boar came out of nowhere and startled my horse. And if you must know the total truth, my mount reared up and I was taken by surprise and fell off, into a thorn bush. By the time I was on my feet, the horse had galloped off.’ He looked defiant. ‘It can happen to anyone easily enough.’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable. He knew exactly how easily it could happen.

‘So now you say that you fell into a thorn bush and found yourself without your horse,’ Fidelma prompted. ‘What then?’

‘The boar had vanished. I was left on foot. I cursed myself for a fool. I knew that if the others learned of my misfortune, I would be shamed. That is why I did not tell you before. I, Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí