A Prayer for the Damned (11 page)

Barrán sighed and shook his head. ‘I have to rule on this, Baithen, and say that Fidelma’s argument is sound in law. You cannot deny that you are a witness. What you have already seen cannot be unseen and therefore you are prejudiced. As she says, it is a prosecutor’s function to secure a conviction. That may lead a witness to zealousness in his evidence.’

Baithen accepted the point with good grace.

‘But there must be a prosecutor,’ he pointed out. ‘It should be someone of distinction and certainly not a judge from the retinue of the northern kingdoms.’

‘That is agreed,’ replied Barrán. ‘I propose Brehon Ninnid, the new brehon of Laigin. He is of the Uí Dróna of the southern part of that kingdom. Laigin is the only independent voice in these matters. Ninnid has accompanied his king, Fianamail, here for the ceremony. That, again, is most fortunate.’

Fidelma was frowning.

‘I presume that he is better qualified than Bishop Forbassach?’ she asked cynically.

Barrán uttered a brittle laugh. ‘Indeed. Thanks to your case against him at Ferna, Bishop Forbassach was stripped of his rank, retired to some small community and prohibited from the practice of law. King Fianamail had to choose a new brehon and in this matter he sought my advice. I can vouch that young Ninnid is talented and has made a name for himself as an assiduous prosecutor. It is true that with youth comes arrogance but he will grow out of that, I am sure. But now is the time to voice any objections to his appointment, before he is instructed.’

Baithen seemed indifferent while Colgú said: ‘I have no knowledge to make an objection. If you recommend him, then I accept. What do you say, Fidelma?’

‘A brehon of Laigin is a logical choice,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Perhaps the only choice, for he represents neither the kingdom of the victim, the kingdom of the accused nor the kingdom in which it happened. Therefore, ideally, he will be an unbiased prosecutor.’ She glanced through the window at the still dark sky and then rose from her seat. ‘I’d better inform Eadulf that the wedding is now delayed. And, of course, I shall ask Eadulf for his assistance in my investigation, if you have no objection, Barrán.’

The Chief Brehon shook his head. ‘I would expect no less. Brother Eadulf’s work is known and his name is now inseparably linked to your own.’

‘Then it is agreed.’ Colgú sighed. ‘There is nothing left but to announce this sad news to our guests. The ceremonies must be postponed until this matter is resolved.’ Colgú paused and smiled in sympathy at Fidelma. ‘Let us hope that it will be but a short delay.’

Barrán was sympathetic. ‘This is hard on you, Fidelma, but I know that you will bring this matter to a quick conclusion. We cannot allow all these distinguished guests to linger in Cashel for more than a few days.’

‘Law and justice move along in their own time,’ Fidelma rebuked him softly. ‘I, above all our distinguished guests, regret the delay, but
I am the first to argue that no man should be exonerated or condemned simply because it interferes with our plans.’

With a quick nod to encompass them all, Fidelma turned and left the chamber.

‘I am beginning to believe that there is some truth in old Brother Conchobhar’s prognostications,’ Eadulf finally said, after Fidelma had explained everything. She had gone to his chamber and woken him, making sure he was fully awake before explaining the events of recent hours.

‘He was claiming that the portents were not good for our marriage this day,’ she agreed.

There was a silence between them and faintly came the sound of the chapel bell calling the religious to the first prayers of the day. Fidelma smiled wanly, glanced into a mirror and adjusted her hair with an automatic gesture.

‘Well, from what we have heard about Abbot Ultán, it did not need any divination to know that there was going to be trouble in the offing.’

‘True,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘It is a pity that Caol took Dego away from his sentinel duties. I can understand it but I hope it does not mean that Caol will be in trouble.’

‘My brother has taken full responsibility.’

‘I told you that Brother Berrihert uttered a threat against Ultán’s life in front of Brother Conchobhar and me?’

‘I have not forgotten. But do not forget that the murder happened after the gates of the fortress were closed for the night. That much Caol told me. Your Saxon friends have accommodation in one of the hostels in the town, so they would not have been admitted here after the gates were closed.’

There was another awkward pause.

‘So everything is put into abeyance until the matter is resolved?’

Fidelma nodded, moving to the window and glancing down in the direction of the few lanterns and lights that could be seen in the town below.

‘I feel sorry for the people who have gathered down there for the
aenach,’
she remarked.

‘Surely the fair can go ahead?’ Eadulf said. ‘It could amuse people and will not interfere with us in the fortress.’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Abbot Ségdae would doubtless say that it would not be seemly while an abbot and bishop of the Faith lies murdered and that death remains unexplained.’

Eadulf pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. Although it is not as if many here will mourn his passing. Everyone seemed to hate him.’

‘Well, though I shall not hurry this matter, the sooner we begin the sooner we can come to an end,’ she said.

Eadulf had finished dressing and asked: ‘What do you mean to do first?’

‘As always, we will start with the body and the cause of death. Brother Conchobhar was called to examine it. After that, we shall see what Muirchertach Nár has to say.’ She paused at the door and frowned, glancing back to Eadulf. ‘As Muirchertach Nár is a king …’

Eadulf interrupted, as if reading her thoughts.

‘It would be better if you saw him alone. It might not be …’ He spent a few moments trying to think of the right word and settled on
cubaid
. ‘It might not be seemly if I were to be present unless he wished it.’

Fidelma cast him a smile of thanks for his perception and diplomacy.

It was still dark but there was a light burning in the apothecary shop as they crossed the cobbled courtyard. Fidelma tapped softly on the door before reaching to the handle and swinging it open. At once the pungent smell of herbs and dried flowers assailed her nostrils and she was hard pressed not to sneeze.

In the gloom, Brother Conchobhar glanced up from his workbench where he had been mixing something in a bowl by the light of a lantern and smiled a welcome.

‘I was expecting you,’ he said simply, as they entered. ‘Do you prosecute or do you judge, lady?’

‘Neither,’ Fidelma responded. ‘The Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms, Barrán himself, will be judge. But the accused has requested that I should defend him.’

‘It is a difficult path, lady.’ Brother Conchobhar pulled a comical face. ‘Thank God I do not have to be involved in such deliberations.
Surely it is hard to defend someone when there are eyewitnesses to the deed?’

‘My mentor Brehon Morann once said, do not give your judgement on hearing the first story until the other side is brought before you,’ she replied.

‘A good philosophy,’ agreed the apothecary. He glanced at Eadulf. ‘So, are you both working on this matter?’

‘We are,’ Eadulf replied. ‘We are told that you were asked to examine the body of Abbot Ultán?’

Brother Conchobhar nodded absently. ‘To play the
dálaigh
, I should strictly say that I was called upon to examine a body. I recognised it to be Abbot Ultán only when I saw it. I was not told who it was before then.’

Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘You are developing a legal mind, my old friend. Where is the body now?’

‘The body is still in the chamber where it happened. Brehon Baithen ordered it to remain so until you came to conduct your examination. Baithen is a careful judge, unlike …’ Brother Conchobhar stopped short and glanced at Eadulf in embarrassment. No need to remind Eadulf how Baithen’s predecessor was so careless that he had accused the Saxon of murder. ‘And you doubtless want me to come and point out the salient features?’ the apothecary went on hurriedly.

‘Even so,’ agreed Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar put aside the mixture that he had been working on and wiped his hands on a linen cloth. ‘Then come with me. I shall show you what I can.’

They followed him to the main guests’ quarters of the palace. Enda, another of Caol’s warriors, was standing outside the chamber that had been allotted to Abbot Ultán. He let them pass inside with a deferential nod of his head.

Inside the room, which was still lit by tallow candles, the body of the abbot lay sprawled on its back on the bed. The blood had soaked his clothing and the surrounding bedclothes, staining them. Fidelma glanced quickly round. Apart from the way the corpse lay, the bedchamber was fairly tidy. There were no signs of any disorder.

‘Has anything been moved?’ she asked.

Brother Conchobhar shook his head.

‘The abbot was obviously an orderly man,’ he said. ‘The room was perfectly tidy when I came here. Baithen told me to leave everything exactly as I found it.’

‘So, there was no indication of a struggle,’ observed Fidelma.

‘None,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar.

‘That means that he probably knew his killer,’ Eadulf pointed out softly.

‘And the body was found as we see it now?’ Fidelma pressed the apothecary.

‘Exactly as I have said. I had no cause to touch or move it. It was obvious what the cause of death was.’

Fidelma peered down distastefully at the congealing blood. ‘Which appears to have been a sharp dagger.’

‘Just so,’ agreed the old man.

‘Then we can also be assured that the abbot had no suspicion of the impending attack.’ Eadulf was examining the position of the body.

‘How so?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘From the way the body has fallen back on the bed. He was sitting on it at the time. The legs still dangle over the side of the bed touching the floor and one foot is bare … the sandal came off as he fell or was pushed backwards by the force of the attack. That means that the straps were loose. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with unloosed sandals, in a relaxed state. He did not seem the type of man, especially in his office of abbot, who would relax in such a manner in front of a stranger.’

Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘Excellently observed, Eadulf.’

She bent down and examined the man’s feet. Then she glanced round and with a grunt of satisfaction reached forward under a side table. Indeed, one sandal had been hidden under it, reinforcing the idea that it had been kicked off while the other was still on the foot. Fidelma rose satisfied.

Eadulf was now looking at the wounds on the man’s chest.

‘I presume that you agree that he was stabbed to death?’ he asked Brother Conchobhar.

The old apothecary nodded. ‘I am reminded, Brother Eadulf, that you studied for a while in one of our great schools of medicine … Tuam Brecain, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

‘Examining the stab wounds, can you deduce anything else?’

Eadulf peered at the wounds, frowning before straightening up. ‘The abbot was stabbed half a dozen times.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows momentarily in surprise. She moved to Eadulf’s shoulder and glanced down at the body once more.

‘Half a dozen?’ There was so much blood staining the clothes and surrounding areas that she had not counted the wounds.

‘You remark on that?’ Brother Conchobhar’s tone was approving. ‘It is not my place to draw conclusions but, nevertheless, there is a conclusion to be drawn.’

‘The conclusion that here is a killing that was filled with emotion?’ Fidelma said at once.

‘One of the stab wounds would be fatal in itself,’ agreed Brother Conchobhar. ‘That one entered the body between the ribs.’ He indicated. ‘The rest were more or less superficial wounds that caused much blood to flow. They seem to have been struck at haphazard as if someone had thrown himself on the abbot with sudden fury. Eadulf rightly says that he fell backwards upon the assault but once that one blow, was struck there would have been no defence. You will perceive the superficial nature of those other wounds … you see that they were not struck deeply. That means the hand that delivered these blows did not have strength behind it … probably surprise more than anything caused the abbot to be thrown backwards on the bed.’

Fidelma was nodding slowly. ‘In other words, you are saying that we should take notice that the killer was physically weak?’

Brother Conchobhar pursed his lips in a cynical expression. ‘I am thinking that a strong man would not have struck so many blows which made superficial wounds.’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘But emotion could explain the weakness,’ he observed quickly. ‘Rage can often reduce even the strongest men to momentary inability and render them weak with the emotion.’

‘Has a knife been recovered?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Whoever killed the abbot took the weapon with him.’

Fidelma was examining the coverlet on the bed and she pointed at a spot near the body. ‘Indeed, after having wiped the blade clean on the coverlet.’

It was true that there were signs that something broad and bloody had been wiped on the cloth by the side of the body.

‘That contradicts the idea of an emotional killer, Fidelma,’ Eadulf muttered. ‘That shows the action of someone in control and thinking. Yet why the number of wounds?’

Fidelma did not reply immediately. She cast another look over the body. Then she moved forward and carefully lifted aside part of the abbot’s robe.

‘There seems to be a piece of paper under the robe …’ she began, as she bent down and extracted a small piece of folded paper smudged with blood. She unfolded it, glanced at it and handed it to Eadulf. He took it, read it and then chuckled.

‘Well, well, perhaps Abbot Ultán was not the unfeeling and arrogant person we hear about after all. This seems to be a piece of poetry. Love poetry at that.’

He scanned it once more, reading aloud.

Cold the nights I cannot sleep,
Thinking of my love, my dear one,
Of the nights we spent together,
Myself and my love from Cill Ria
.