Fidelma left her chamber and hurried quickly along the corridor. She almost hesitated at the door of the room which had been assigned to Eadulf. It was true that during this last year they had been legally married and shared the same chambers but at this time there was a tradition to be upheld. Yesterday they had formerly separated. That marked the end of their trial marriage and they would not be intimately together again until their new formal contract was agreed under the laws of the lánamnus. She wondered if she should wake Eadulf but immediately decided against it. Whatever the problem that caused her brother to rouse her in the middle of the night, it was up to him to decide if it was Eadulf’s concern or not.
She hurriedly made her way along the corridors to her brother’s private apartments. Two warriors stood on guard in the antechamber, as was usual day and night, and, seeing her coming, one of them immediately went to an inner door and knocked once before opening it for her to pass through. The door was closed behind her.
In the chamber, Colgú came to greet her with a worried look. She glanced swiftly to where Brehon Baithen was struggling to rise from his seat and signalled him to remain seated.
‘There has been a murder,’ blurted Colgú as he waved her to a chair near the fire.
Fidelma composed her astonishment.
‘Who has been murdered?’ she asked quietly, as she seated herself.
‘Abbot Ultán.’
A blink of the eyes was the only registration of the information. Fidelma was already working out the consequences. Abbot Ultán murdered; not only an emissary from the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick at Ard Macha but a guest from the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. These were matters of great concern.
Colgú turned to his brehon and gestured towards him. ‘Tell her the details.
Brehon Baithen made a helpless gesture with his hand. ‘It is simple enough. A short time ago, Abbot Ultán was stabbed to death in his chamber.’
‘And the perpetrator of this deed?’ asked Fidelma, her voice calm. ‘Is he or she known?’
Brehon Baithen sighed and nodded. ‘As chance would have it, Caol and I were on our way to speak with Ultán, as had been agreed when we met here. Turning into the corridor that led to his chamber, we saw the culprit leaving it. .’ He paused dramatically.
Fidelma suppressed her impatience and waited.
Realising that she was not going to respond to his pause but was awaiting his announcement, Baithen continued: ‘It was Muirchertach Nár of the Uí Fiachracha.’
At the name a troubled frown crossed Fidelma’s brow.
‘The king of Connacht? Are you sure?’
Brehon Baithen looked pained. ‘My eyesight is not at fault. Neither is that of Caol. It was Muirchertach Nár without a doubt. And after we called old Brother Conchobhar, the apothecary, to come and examine the body, we went straightway to the chambers of the Connacht king.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘And?’
‘We challenged him, said that we had seen him hurrying from the chamber and demanded to know his explanation.’
‘What was his response?’
This time Brehon Baithen gave a hint of a shrug. ‘As one would expect from such a noble. He said that he would make no statement nor comment other than that he was not responsible for the death of Abbot Ultán.’
‘This does not bode well, Fidelma,’ Colgú added, his handsome features drawn into a worried frown. ‘An abbot, who is an emissary from Ard Macha, is slain; a king of Connacht is charged, and at the very time when the princes of the five kingdoms are gathered here to witness your wedding. There will be much suspicion among them until this matter is resolved.’
Fidelma did not have to be told why her brother was so concerned but she was not sure why he had summoned her in the middle of the night and said so.
Colgú looked even more uncomfortable. He glanced at Baithen as if imploring his help. The brehon of Muman cleared his throat.
‘As you doubtless know, lady, a king has certain privileges. .’ He hesitated. ‘Muirchertach has. . he has demanded the right to choose his own counsel to prove his innocence.’
Fidelma’s expression was suddenly grimly set. She guessed what was coming.
‘Today is my wedding day,’ she said coldly. She could not feel for the loss of Abbot Ultán; she had never met him, and after what she had heard about him she was not overly concerned about his demise. Her mind only concerned itself with the legal aspect of his death, and the disruption it was causing.
Colgú gestured with his open hands as if in apology. ‘Unless the murder of Abbot Ultán is resolved before the ceremonies, I think our distinguished guests will depart in suspicion and anger. There may even be war among the kingdoms, for many will ask how Ultán came to be slain in Cashel. Why was he not protected by his host?’
Brehon Baithen looked uncomfortable. ‘Caol has admitted that when Abbot Ultán arrived he demanded in front of witnesses that a warrior should be placed at his chamber door. It was not done.’
Fidelma was surprised at that. ‘It is unlike Caol to be irresponsible.’
‘Apparently, he initially asked Dego to fulfil this task, but with so many lords and princes in the fortress there was much to be done, and Dego was needed elsewhere. Besides, very few guests had retired for the night by then. That was why we were on our way to see Abbot Ultán. I have assured Caol that no blame attaches to him,’ the brehon told her.
Colgú’s features were woebegone. ‘This failure of protection lies at my door. Questions will be raised. It will be asked, was there enmity because of my chief bishop, Abbot Ségdae of Imleach? There will be reference to the argument when he refused to comply with Ultán’s demand for recognition of Ard Macha. Was there some conspiracy to silence Ultán because it was known he would raise objections to the wedding of my sister?’
‘That is nonsense!’ exploded Fidelma.
‘You know it,’ conceded Colgú. ‘But will those in the northern kingdoms know it?’
Fidelma lowered her head as she thought through the implications. Colgú was right. Under the laws of hospitality, it was his duty to resolve the matter. All the guests who had come to Cashel, including Abbot Ultán, were under the protection of the king. The death of a guest was the crime of díguin, violation of protection. If the matter was not resolved and the culprit made known, then Colgú himself could lose his honour price, be removed as king and be forced into paying the appropriate fines and compensation. Restitution had to be made. Fidelma realised that the Eóghanacht — indeed, Cashel itself-could become mallachtach — accursed. Colgú must be seen to be beyond reproach in this matter.
‘So Muirchertach has demanded that I should be his advocate?’ she finally asked, her voice resigned. ‘Where is he now?’
‘A king has rights and he has the liberty of Cashel until the hearing is held. As king of Connacht he has given his parole’ — Colgú used the term gell, meaning the ‘word of honour’ usually given by noble prisoners of war and hostages — ‘that he will not leave before the hearing exonerates him, as he says. I am afraid that we are in no position to refuse his request for us to defend him.’
Fidelma smiled faintly at Colgú’s attempt to shoulder responsibility with her by the use of the plural form. ‘I understand. Who will sit in judgement when the hearing is convened?’
‘Who else but Barrán, Chief Brehon of the Five Kingdoms? I have asked him to attend us and perhaps it is fortunate that he is here with the High King because none of the northern kings or princes will be able to argue with his decisions.’