A Prayer for the Damned

courtyard. She tried not to make her movements seem anxious or hurried. She glanced down and saw the cavalcade of horses entering the fortress courtyard and she tried to disguise her smile of satisfaction.

Eadulf and Gormán rode at the head, while behind them came Sister Marga alongside the warrior whom she had sent to Eatharlaí. Behind them came the three Saxon brothers, Berrihert, Pecanum and Naovan, and behind them rode Miach of the Uí Cuileann and two of his warriors.

She turned back to the abbot and seated herself once more at the brandubh board. He stared quizzically at her.

‘It is Eadulf,’ she confirmed, answering his unspoken question.

‘Then we can finish this game later,’ Laisran suggested.

Fidelma smiled confidently. ‘I am not so distracted, my cousin, that I cannot win this game before I go down to greet them.’

Abbot Laisran chuckled in appreciation before glancing down at the board, examining the pieces. ‘I am still in a strong position, Fidelma. I believe that it will take you some time to attempt to weaken me.’

‘I make it three moves before my High King reaches safety from your attack,’ she said.

Abbot Laisran frowned, peering forward. ‘I don’t see. .’

‘There is no advantage for you,’ she said. ‘Look, you have to begin your attack from here and I move there and then. .’

He saw at once as she indicated the squares on the brandubh board. It was logical. But then she was always logical. He sighed, trying to remember the last time he had won a game from his young cousin. He raised his shoulders and let them fall in a gesture of resignation.

‘Then I resign and acknowledge you have the game,’ he said, his chubby face almost mournfully comic.

She hesitated, wondering whether she had not been diplomatic, but the abbot was suddenly smiling again.

‘Does the arrival of Eadulf mean that you are now close to resolving this riddle?’

‘I believe so,’ she replied. ‘Now we have all those concerned back at Cashel, I think that we will be able to resolve this by midday as I promised Brehon Barrán.’

Abbot Laisran’s eyes widened a little. ‘So you already know who killed Bishop Ultán and Muirchertach Nár?’

Fidelma rose again from her seat. ‘I am sure I do, but to reveal the truth in such matters is very much like a game of brandubh.’

‘I don’t follow.’

She pointed to the board. ‘Let us merely substitute the roles. We have the board, which is seven squares by seven squares — forty-nine squares in all. That is the board on which the murderer and suspects can move this way and that. The High King piece represents the murderer. The four protecting pieces are the false leads, those suspects who will eventually be cleared of wrongdoing. Our inquiries begin from the four corners of the board; the investigators are represented by the four attacking pieces. As you know, these attacking pieces can only move in logical lines whereas the defending pieces, our suspects, can move in any direction they choose. The murderer is at the centre of the board and can move in various directions but not as far as the suspects can. He can only move one square at a time. The murderer is slow and encumbered.’

Abbot Laisran looked at the board game, trying to follow her logic. ‘Very well, I accept your symbolism. But then what?’

Fidelma bent over the board. ‘The attacking pieces have to be relentless and corner each defender and eliminate it before moving on to the High King piece, finally trapping it. So, the investigators have to corner each suspect and eliminate them from the inquiry before moving on to trap the murderer.’

‘I understand.’ Abbot Laisran smiled. ‘So where is your analogy leading?’

Fidelma straightened up. ‘The brandubh board will now become the great hall here where all the players and pieces will be gathered. Before the Chief Brehon Barrán, I shall commence my attack, eliminating each suspect before cornering the murderer.’ She turned for the door and then paused. ‘But before I do that, I have a few things to sort out with Eadulf.’

An hour later, in their chambers, with Muirgen fussing over them, Fidelma and Eadulf had brought each other up to date on the developments since they had parted on the previous afternoon.

‘Where is Sister Marga now?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘Because of her inclination to keep running away, I have had her placed in a locked chamber. Do you want to question her now?’

‘Not at once.’ She looked up to where Muirgen was playing with Alchú, and called to the nurse to go to the chamber where Sister Marga was held.

‘After her journey from Eatharlaí, I fear that she must be in need of a bath. Provide all her wants, perfumes and the like, so that she may bathe. Tell her that, should she require it, Brother Conchobhar has many scents for her bath and she may ask for anything she desires. When she has done, I will come and question her. Is that clear?’

Muirgen was a simple soul and did not question Fidelma’s instructions, but Eadulf was looking at her as if she had lost her reason. Fidelma merely returned his gaze with solemn features and did not answer his unasked question.

‘And send an attendant to take care of Alchú while you are gone,’ she added as Muirgen left.

‘Now we will have a word, at long last, with Brother Drón,’ she said when the attendant arrived. She explained how Caol and his warriors had picked up the surprised northern religious at the inn at Rath na Drínne on the previous evening and returned him to the fortress.

Brother Drón scowled as they entered the room where he was confined.

‘You are a fool, Sister Fidelma! I have been chasing Marga because I know that she killed Abbot Ultán, as doubtless she also killed Muirchertach when he found out what she had done.’

Fidelma took a chair and said: ‘You’d better tell me how you know that.’

Brother Drón scowled and looked as if he was about to argue, but Fidelma urged him to continue.

‘Sister Marga was a temptress, a siren conjured to seduce that God-fearing man. She forced an unnatural liaison with the abbot.’

Fidelma looked solemn. ‘Are you admitting that there was a sexual relationship between the abbot and Sister Marga?’

‘The fault lay entirely with Sister Marga,’ Brother Drón replied. ‘Why else would he have succumbed had she not tempted him?’

‘From what I have learned,’ said Fidelma pointedly, ‘I doubt whether he needed any temptation. Is your preamble necessary to the reason why you assert that Marga killed him?’

‘Marga came to hate him. Probably because he finally rejected her advances. That’s why she killed him.’

‘A lot of people hated Abbot Ultán with more reason.’

‘I was a witness that night. A witness to the killing.’

‘A witness?’ For the first time, Fidelma was genuinely surprised.

‘I went to Bishop Ultán’s chamber late that night. .’

‘For what reason?’ demanded Eadulf.

Brother Drón blinked at the interruption. ‘Why?’ He hesitated. ‘Because Abbot Ultán was preparing a protest against your wedding on the following day. He needed my advice.’

‘Go on,’ urged Fidelma.

‘He asked me to go to his room about midnight to run through some of the arguments that he was going to put forward. I had just left my room when I saw Abbot Ultán’s door open. His door faces the corridor where my room is. Then Sister Marga emerged. She did not see me and I pressed back into my room, for, at that time, I thought it unseemly that either Abbot Ultán or Sister Marga know that I shared their dark secret.’

‘You display a curious sense of proprieties, Brother Drón,’ Eadulf observed dryly. ‘You knew about his penchant for women, you knew even darker secrets such as his taste for sadism, the beating to death of his victims. . like the poor Saxon woman at Colmán’s island. You ignored that. Yet you ask us to believe that you were concerned for his sensitivities or Marga’s feelings? Come. What game were you playing?’