A Prayer for the Damned (30 page)

Eadulf crossed the courtyard to the stables and found the
gilla scuir
, the head stable lad. He asked to examine the horse that Brother Drón had ridden. The man looked curiously at him but nodded assent, taking a lantern and leading the way to the stalls.

‘I want to examine its shoes,’ Eadulf explained. ‘I am not very good with horses. How do I go about it?’

The
gilla scuir
’s expression became somewhat pitying but he said nothing. Fidelma was an expert horsewoman but the stable lad knew all about Eadulf’s unease with horses.

‘Hold the lantern, then, Brother Eadulf,’ he instructed. ‘Which hoof did you want to see?’

‘Front left.’

The stable lad entered the stall, talking softly to the animal, touching its muzzle so that the beast would recognise him, before bending forward and picking up the foreleg, so that the underside of the hoof could be seen.

‘Come into the stall with the lantern,’ he said. ‘Gently now, and hold it so that you can see what you need. What were you looking for? A loose shoe?’

Eadulf shook his head. He peered at the hoof. There was nothing wrong with the horseshoe, no crack, no uneven quality. His mouth compressed to hide his disappointment while he considered the matter.

‘Let’s look at the others,’ he said, just in case Rónán had been mistaken as to which leg it was.

It took a very short time to ascertain that there were no distinguishing marks on any of the shoes of the animal that Brother Drdn had ridden.

Outside the stall Eadulf stood thinking carefully. The only
conclusion he could come to was that Brother Drdn was not the rider who had led Muirchertach’s horse from the scene of the slaying. Did this mean he was not the killer? He came back to the present to find the
gilla scuir
looking at him expectantly.

‘What were you looking for, Brother Eadulf?’ he asked.

‘I was looking for a horse with a cracked or broken shoe.’

The lad’s features broke into a smile. ‘In that case, brother, you were looking at the wrong beast.’ He pointed to another stall. ‘That one came in this evening with the shoe cracked in two. A bad casting of the metal. It happens sometimes. I’m happy to say it wasn’t cast here. One of those northern smiths did that.’

‘Where was the cracked shoe?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘On the left foreleg. Oh, our smith has replaced it now,’ he called as Eadulf made towards the stall. ‘But there’s no doubt about it. The left foreleg. I helped replace it myself.’

Eadulf turned back eagerly. ‘But whose horse is it?’

The stable lad rubbed his chin. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci is his name. The noble prince from Connacht.’

F
idelma looked thoughtful as Eadulf finished telling her what he had discovered. Gormán had diplomatically left them together in the corner of old Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary to discuss matters in the light of this information.

‘There is no question that Brother Drón’s horse did not have a cracked shoe?’ she asked gently.

‘None,’ replied Eadulf, somewhat bitterly. ‘I should have checked immediately. All four shoes were in good condition. Rónán told us that the horse that was ridden from the scene of the killing had a split horseshoe on his left foreleg. That is a description of Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse.’

‘Well, as I have said, we may trust Rónán;. So from what we now know, the story that Brother Drón told you, that of simply finding Muirchertach’s horse, could be true.’

Eadulf was irritated.
‘Could
be true, yes. But it seems odd that the killer should leave the scene of the crime riding his horse and leading Muirchertach’s for quite a way before deciding to abandon it.’

‘I mean it as no insult when I say that you are not much of a horseman, Eadulf.’

‘It is true, I’ll not deny it,’ Eadulf said stiffly. ‘So what have I missed?’

‘That Muirchertach’s horse probably followed the killer’s mount of its own volition. Horses do not have to be led. When the killer found that the king’s horse was trailing him, which would have been a sure accusation, he dismounted and looped the reins into a bush so that the beast was tethered. Then he rode away.’

‘I see the logic of that,’ agreed Eadulf reluctantly. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that a horse would follow a strange animal, though.’

Fidelma smiled. ‘That’s just it. It probably would not. But it would follow a horse that it was familiar with.’

Eadulf’s eyebrows rose in enlightenment. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse and the one belonging to Muirchertach were both out of the same stable. I see. Still, I feel angry that I did not spot the business of the split shoe before.’

‘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 Fiachracha Muaide, whose bloodline is that of the great High King, Niall Noigiallach! If it was known that I had been unhorsed in a mere hunt, then the satirists of the five kingdoms would claim that Muirchertach Nár had been succeeded by Dúnchad Náire;.’

Despite his concentration on the matter in hand, Eadulf’s attention was caught. He knew that the word
nár
, which had been the epithet appended to Muirchertach’s name, meant noble, honourable and generous, but now it seemed that a similar word, born of the same root, had come to mean disgraced and shamed.

‘I decided, then, that if I recovered my horse, I would pretend that I had never lost it, in order to preserve my reputation.’ Honour and reputation meant a great deal to the nobles and warriors of Éireann.
Dúnchad Muirisci sat back. ‘That’s the truth of it,’ he said simply. ‘I am not proud of it.’

‘But you found your horse again and gave out the story as you told it to me and Finguine when you returned to the fortress,’ Fidelma concluded.

Dúnchad Muirisci looked uncomfortable. He hesitated before replying and Fidelma leaned forward.

‘So you did
not
recover your horse immediately? You lied. So what is the truth? I want the whole truth now.’

‘The truth?’ he asked. ‘Is it so important? I found the horse again – what does time matter?’