A Prayer for the Damned (31 page)

‘The truth is always important,’ she assured him.

‘I did not find my horse for a long time,’ he confessed. ‘I was on foot for what seemed ages. In fact, my long
bir
became an encumbrance. I finally tossed it aside in the bushes, to be the better able to travel on foot. I wandered about for a long time trying to find the animal. I had almost given up and decided that I would have to face the shame of the loss and come back to Cashel on foot.’

‘But you did find it,’ Fidelma pressed. ‘How was that?’

‘That is curious,’ Dúnchad said. ‘I came through the forest to a place where there was a hilly mound.’

Eadulf now leaned forward eagerly. ‘Describe it,’ he insisted.

The Connacht noble looked surprised at his intervention but then shrugged and gave a quick description.

‘But did you not go up to the mound and look down in the gully beyond?’ Eadulf asked.

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head. ‘Is it important?’

‘It is important, because that is where Muirchertach Nár was killed,’ explained Eadulf. ‘His body lay in the gully beyond that mound.’

The Connacht noble appeared shocked. ‘I did not know. I had come to the foot of the mound when I heard the sound of horses nearby.’

‘Horses?’

‘Having given up on saving my reputation, I gave a shout and hurried towards them, thinking that I might be able to get a ride behind one of the other members of the hunt. Distinctly, I heard horses. I thought that I had not been heard. The track these riders had taken led back in
the direction of Cashel and so I felt there was nothing for it but to set my footsteps along that path. I had not gone more than a short distance when I came to an area where the path turned rocky and just then I saw my own mount. It was waiting docilely there.’

‘You said this was curious,’ Fidelma said. ‘In what fashion was it so?’

‘My horse was tethered to a bush.’

‘The reins were not simply entangled?’

Dúnchad Muirisci shook his head quickly. ‘I know the difference between entanglement and the way reins are wrapped over a branch so that the animal does not wander.’

‘There was no one about? Not another horse tethered there?’

‘No one about and no other horse.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I decided to keep to my initial story. I mounted and returned to the fortress. Oh, I forgot. I noticed the horse was limping slightly, so checked and found it had cracked a shoe. It may have been on the rocky area. It was re-shod on my return. Now,’ he looked from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, ‘tell me what this is about. You think that I killed my king?’

‘Tell me, what was your relationship to Muirchertach? I don’t mean your blood relationship.’

‘I am … was … his
tánaiste,’
replied Dúnchad Muirisci hesitantly.

‘So you were close to him? He was a good friend?’

Dúnchad shook his head immediately. ‘He was of the Uí Fiachracha Aidni. I am of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide. I am five generations in descent from Náth Í, of the senior line, while Muirchertach Nár was eight generations from the second son of Náth Í. We were not even close as cousins, let alone as friends.’

‘But, presumably, you were friendly enough for you to be in accordance in governing the kingdom?’

‘We had an agreement that I would govern the western territories of Connacht and Muirchertach would spend his time in the eastern territories, and it worked well. He was, to be truthful, not a man who was assiduous in his pursuit of government. He preferred the pleasures of kingship to its duties.’

‘Now that he is dead, what will happen to the lady Aíbnat? I believe that she is not grief-stricken at his demise?’

Dúnchad shrugged indifferently. ‘Doubtless she will be disappointed that she no longer has a position of power. But then her family is of the Uí Briúin Aí. Their word is law in northern Connacht and we have little say in the government of their territories. They have long claimed the right to be regarded as kings of Connacht. They descend from Bríon the brother of Niall Noigiallach but only Aíbnat’s father ever became king, and he held the throne for twenty-five years. Aíbnat always thought that her brother Cellach should have been
tánaiste
if not king. She will doubtless support him when the assembly meets to choose my
tánaiste.’

‘Was her position all that she cared about?’ asked Fidelma. ‘I certainly received the impression that she did not think highly of her husband.’

‘I doubt if she felt highly about anyone except herself,’ Dúnchad confirmed. ‘My cousin’s rule was short and not altogether spectacular. His father, Guaire, eclipsed him in deeds and valour and in bestowing lands to the church so that they might flourish. He worked hard to buy people’s loyalty and praise rather than earn it.’

Fidelma looked carefully at Dúnchad. ‘You sound as if you disapproved of him.’

‘Disapproved? A good word. I’ll be honest with you, even if it does endorse your obvious suspicion that I had a role in his death. I did not like my cousin. He was a vain man and he had acquired a reputation. But, on the other hand, I did not hate him to the point that I would kill him.’

‘A reputation?’ Fidelma smiled. ‘A moment ago you were all for reputations and protecting them.’

‘Not the sort of reputation that my cousin had acquired. He had a reputation as a
clúanaire.’

Eadulf recognised the word as being concerned with deceit, but he had not come across its use in this fashion before. He asked Fidelma to explain.

‘It means someone who beguiles another, usually a seducer of women.’

Dúnchad nodded in confirmation. ‘That is exact what his reputation
was. They said that no noble’s lady was safe in his company.’

‘What did the lady Aíbnat think of that?’

‘I don’t think she was concerned if it didn’t threaten her position at court. She was content to let Muirchertach Nár get on with his own life, provided it did not interfere with hers.’

‘I see. And what were your thoughts on that?’

‘I thought that so long as he did not jeopardise the safety of the kingdom, there was no harm to it.’

‘I presume that none of the ladies involved ever complained?’

‘Not to my knowledge. If they did, he would simply have paid them and their husbands, if husbands there were, whatever their price was for silence.’

‘And yet one would have thought that he was possessed of high morals. He went to such lengths to bring Abbot Ultán to justice over what he considered to be a slight to his wife’s younger sister,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘A man can have double standards,’ said Dúnchad. ‘Or set standards for others that he did not live up to himself. His double standards were somewhat peculiar in respect to the death of Aíbnat’s sister, for the story was that he was attracted to her himself.’

‘Did Aíbnat know that?’

Dúnchad Muirisci raised a shoulder and let it fall as an eloquent comment. ‘It was common knowledge for a while. It was after she had come back from Cill Ria, shocked by the death of the boy with whom she had apparently fallen in love. I think Muirchertach tried to press his attentions on Searc, if you know what I mean. There was a problem and Aíbnat was angry for a time. But then the girl committed suicide and that was that. She obviously cared too much for the boy who was drowned, or killed, or whatever it was that happened to him.’

‘But then Muirchertach sent Brother Augaire to Abbot Ultán for recompense over the suicide?’

‘That is true,’ conceded Dúnchad. ‘Augaire had actually witnessed the suicide, traced the girl’s identity and come to report it to Muirchertach and Aíbnat. Augaire was incensed at her death – a passionate man, Augaire. He saw himself as a vengeful spirit setting out to exact recompense. Muirchertach went along with it. Even
appointed him as abbot of Conga. As I said, Muirchertach was full of double standards.’

‘So what you are saying is that both Aíbnat and Muirchertach Nár had their individual faults but that they were compatible enough?’ said Fidelma.

‘Of course. We all have our faults.’

‘But Muirchertach Nár’s faults did not warrant his death,’ Eadulf remarked.

Dúnchad Muirisci blinked and shook his head. ‘It is obvious why he was killed. I said so at the start, as soon as you told me he had been murdered.’

‘Vengeance?’

‘Of course vengeance!’ Dúnchad Muirisci was emphatic. ‘That man, Brother Drón … he was Abbot Ultán’s comrade, not just a travelling companion. He was steward at Gill Ria. And what of the others Abbot Ultán brought with him? Any one of them could have killed him. Come to think of it, wasn’t Sister Marga riding on the hunt? That is scandalous enough in itself, but maybe it has a deeper significance too.’

Fidelma stood up abruptly. ‘We will finish for the time being, Dúnchad Muirisci, but you, like everyone else, will remain now within these walls until we have done with this investigation.’ Something had been worrying her for some time and now she finally dredged the question from the back of her mind. ‘On the night that Abbot Ultán was killed, you told me that Abbot Augaire and you were playing
brandubh.’

‘We were.’

‘Abbot Augaire left you close to midnight?’

‘He did.’

‘Then you said that after you went to bed shouting in the corridor disturbed you. You did not investigate because you had been disturbed already that night. What was the cause of your first disturbance?’

Dúnchad Muirisci appeared puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. He smiled.

‘I had almost forgotten. After Abbot Augaire had left, I was preparing for bed when there was a cry and the sound of someone
falling outside my door. I went quickly to it and opened it. I found that weasel Brother Drón picking himself up.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He had tripped and fallen outside my door.’ Dúnchad smiled. ‘I did not ask him how he came to fall but he sheepishly said he had been hurrying after someone and tripped. Easily done, I suppose. Anyway, it was nothing to do with me. That was why I did not respond to the second disturbance, which I later realised must have been the discovery of Ultán’s murder.’

There was a silence, and then the Connacht noble rose hesitantly.

‘So what of Muirchertach Nár?’ he asked. ‘What will happen now?’

‘At the moment his body lies in the apothecary of Brother Conchobhar,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It will be washed and prepared ready for burial.’

‘He should be taken to the great abbey of Cluain Mic Nois where his forefathers are buried, as are all legitimate kings of Connacht.’

‘That may not be possible. Neither you nor Aíbnat, nor even your close personal attendants, may leave here with it until the investigation is over.’

‘So you would keep the body here?’ Dúnchad Muirisci was aghast.

‘Let us hope that it will not be for long,’ Fidelma replied gravely.

Eadulf grimaced wryly. ‘We can be thankful that it is the depth of winter and the days are cold,’ he added.

Outside in the corridor, he turned to Fidelma. ‘It is an unlikely story that he is telling. I think it is not to be believed.’

‘Unfortunately it is the unlikely stories that tend to be the truth,’ Fidelma commented. ‘However, I agree that we cannot take it at face value.’

‘Especially the reason given as to why Sister Sétach was visiting. I don’t think that promiscuity had anything to do with it.’

Fidelma smiled briefly. ‘An interesting choice of word, Eadulf.’

‘I merely meant that Sister Sétach would be immoderate in her behaviour if … well, you know. I believe that she could have only just met Dúnchad Muirisci.’

Fidelma suddenly smiled. ‘Sometimes, Eadulf, you unconsciously put your finger on a point that eludes me.’

Eadulf looked bemused. ‘Something about Sister Sétach? I don’t see what.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Something about Sister Marga. I now want a word with that young woman.’

They were walking to the hostel for the religieuse when, turning a corner, they nearly collided with Abbot Augaire. He halted and frowned at them.

‘How does your investigation proceed, Sister Fidelma?’ he inquired sharply. ‘I have just come from Aíbnat. It is strange that you keep this matter so secret. Anyway, it means that Muirchertach Nár’s body awaits disposal. Can you not conclude this matter so that we may accompany it to Connacht for burial?’

‘Not yet,’ Fidelma said calmly.

‘Rumour has it that Brother Drón was caught with Muirchertach’s horse.’

‘Rumours spread quickly,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘But things must take their course, Augaire. You know that. However, speaking of Brother Drón, I did want to ask you a question. On the night of the murder of Abbot Ultán, did you see Brother Drón in the corridor when you left Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber?’

Abbot Augaire paused for a moment. ‘Was he there?’

‘I am asking you.’

‘So far as I am aware, I left Dúnchad Muirisci, walked to my chamber without seeing anyone and was there for the rest of the night. I shouldn’t think Brother Drón could have been lurking anywhere unless …’ He paused.

‘Unless?’ pressed Fidelma.

Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘There is a sort of alcove there in the corridor. You must know it. There are several in the corridors here. I was going to say, unless he was lurking there … but then I walked past it and there was no one to be seen. Of course, he could have been standing on the ledge that runs outside the alcove window.’ He chuckled. ‘But I don’t think Brother Drón is the sort to submit himself to such dangers. The ledge has several loose blocks along it.’

Eadulf smiled grimly.

‘I think that we can discount Brother Drón’s playing such acrobatics,’ he said firmly.

Fidelma and Eadulf found Sister Marga in the women’s hostel. The religieuse had just come from the bathing house, and there was the faint odour of some fragrance. Fidelma sniffed as she entered, for she could smell a combination of scents. She could identify
fedlend
, the soft smell of honeysuckle, but not the more powerful odour. Sister Sétach was fussing over her companion with some toiletry and looked up in annoyance as Fidelma came in.

‘Are we never to be left alone?’ she snapped.