A Prayer for the Damned

was waiting for them.

‘What news, lady?’ he asked hopefully.

‘None,’ she replied. ‘He is still unconscious. However, we may need you. Come with us.’

She led the way to the hostel for the religieuse. The place was in darkness and it seemed that everyone was asleep. However, as they drew near, the flinty-eyed brusaid, the hostel keeper, challenged her. Fidelma identified herself.

‘I can let you in, lady, but not the men,’ protested the old woman.

‘That’s all right,’ Fidelma replied. ‘They can wait here. I want to see the sisters Sétach and Marga.’

The old woman took a lantern and, while Eadulf and Caol waited outside, Fidelma followed her into the dormitory rooms.

Sister Sétach was in her bed but awake and sat up with a frown as they approached.

‘What is this?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘Do you come to haunt me?’

Fidelma glanced at the neighbouring bed. It was empty.

‘How long have you been here,’ she asked brusquely.

‘Since I came to bed after the communal meal ended.’

‘You have not stirred?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Show me your hands,’ demanded Fidelma.

‘My hands?’ Sister Sétach looked astonished.

‘Show me!’

Reluctantly, the woman held out her hands to Fidelma. Fidelma glanced at them by the light of the lantern. It was obvious that they had been washed recently and in a hurry, for Fidelma noticed that some flecks of soap had dried on them unnoticed. Her features remained impassive.

‘Where is Sister Marga?’ She nodded to the empty bed.

Sister Sétach shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Fidelma felt that her ignorance was feigned. ‘Yet you say that you have been here the whole time?’

‘It is true,’ Sétach insisted. ‘I came here and she was preparing for bed. I fell asleep and awoke only moments before you came in. She was not here then.’

‘So she left after you fell asleep? You seem to have slept well. I thought that you had difficulty sleeping?’

‘I fell asleep,’ snapped Sister Sétach.

Fidelma hesitated a moment. ‘At what time was your meeting with Sister Marga, Fergus Fanat and Brother Drón this evening?’

This time, the expression of incomprehension on the woman’s face did not seem to be feigned.

‘Our meeting?’ she repeated, puzzled.

‘Did Sister Marga and Fergus Fanat meet you and Brother Drón this evening?’ Fidelma said slowly.

Sister Sétach shook her head in bewilderment. ‘We had no meeting.’

‘Was such a meeting discussed?’

‘What purpose could such a meeting have?’ countered the woman.

Fidelma’s breath came out in an exasperated sigh. ‘Was such a meeting mentioned or arranged?’

‘Of course not. Why should such a meeting be arranged?’

‘Very well. If or when Sister Marga returns, the hostel keeper is to be informed and she must inform me. Is that understood?’

Fidelma hurried to rejoin Eadulf and Caol.

‘I thought our attacker might have been Sétach,’ she muttered, a little disappointed that her suspicion seemed to have been unfounded.

Eadulf was not surprised. ‘Because of her ability to climb along narrow ledges? That occurred to me.’

‘Her hands were unmarked. Yet there was a bloodstained hand print on the sill of the window where the attacker had climbed out. Of course, that is not conclusive. However, Marga is missing. Significantly, according to Sétach, neither she nor Fergus Fanat made any arrangement to see her and Brother Drón this evening. Sister Marga did not tell us the truth.’

‘Sister Sétach could be lying,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘She could,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Alas, we cannot ask Fergus Fanat and get to the truth that way. But we can ask Brother Drón.’

They came to Brother Drón’s chamber and knocked on the door. There was no answer, and, when a further knocking did not elicit a response, Fidelma impatiently opened it and entered. Caol came behind her holding the lantern high. The chamber was empty. The bed had not been slept in. There was no sign of Brother Drón.

‘It still lacks a few hours until dawn,’ Caol pointed out. ‘Drón must be still in the fortress, for the gates will still be closed, and in any case, no one would go out into an unfamiliar countryside in the dead of night.’

‘We must check,’ replied Fidelma, leading the way down to the main courtyard.

The guard at the gate looked sheepish.

‘Brother Drón, the hawk-faced man from Cill Ria? A boy came with a message for him and he took his horse and left about an hour ago. There was no instruction to detain him. He told me that he had to be at some place by first light. Some religious place, I think it was.’

‘You let a stranger out into the countryside in the middle of the night?’ thundered Caol.

‘But I had no orders not to. I did seek the advice of the noble Finguine when one of the religieuse earlier sought permission to leave to go to visit someone in the township. But that was before the gates were closed for the night.’

Fidelma stared at him. ‘A religieuse? Do you know her name?’

‘She gave it as Sister Marga, lady,’ replied the unhappy man.

Fidelma stifled a groan. ‘Was she on horseback?’

‘I don’t think so, lady.’

Fidelma was already hurrying across the cobbled patch to the stables.

The gilla scuir was seated on a hay bale with another of the guards and a fidchell board between them. They rose guiltily as Fidelma entered.

‘Is Abbot Ultán’s horse still here?’ she asked.

The stable lad nodded immediately and pointed.

‘Still here, lady,’ he confirmed.

‘Is there any other horse missing?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘Any other horse?’ The stable lad was bemused for a moment and then shook his head. ‘They are all accounted for with the exception of Brother Drón’s horse. He rode off on it some time ago. Is there something wrong?’

But Fidelma was frowning. ‘So Marga is on foot and Drón on horseback.’

‘Do you think it was Marga who attacked Fergus?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Do we go after them?’

Fidelma was about to reply when there was shouting from outside the gates. The guard said something in response, then swung the gate open a fraction to let a figure enter. To their surprise, Brother Berrihert pushed his way in, halted, saw them by the stables in the light of the lanterns and came hurrying across. He barely acknowledged Fidelma but let forth a flood of Saxon to Eadulf, speaking quickly and with emphasis. Fidelma had a working knowledge but could not follow all that was said by the intense, pale-faced religieux.

‘Eadulf, I need your help. My father is missing.’

‘Ordwulf?’

‘I fear my father plans to kill Brother Drón. When I found him gone tonight I came here to warn you. The guard has just told me that Brother Drón has already left the fortress. I should have told you before that Ordwulf has thought of nothing else but vengeance killing. But he is my father, you understand. I cannot tell you the full story but he blamed Abbot Ultán and still blames Brother Drón for the death of my mother. I need your help, and. .’