Brother Drón was tight lipped with ill-concealed anger. ‘I need no lessons in theology from you, Fidelma of Cashel. Abbot Ultán was right to come here to protest against your marriage. You are not deserving of a place in the ranks of the religious. Stick to your law and leave matters of faith to those who are qualified to speak of it.’
Fidelma blinked at the vehemence in the man’s voice. Then her voice grew brittle.
‘Very well, Brother Drón. I will speak to you of the law. I am a dálaigh and you are a fíadu, a witness. As such you have certain obligations, not just of honesty but of respect for the law and its officers. If you do not meet such obligations, then you must bear in mind that you will be liable to certain strictures and fines. Do you understand this?’
Brother Drón seemed abashed at being addressed in such a manner. He swallowed audibly.
‘At Cill Ria no woman would dare speak in such a fashion. We are governed by the Penitentials and. . ’
‘You are not at Cill Ria,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘The law of this land is, and has been from time immemorial, the law of the Fénechus. That is the law you will now answer to. If you refuse to do so, I will call one of my brother’s guards to take you to a place where you may reflect on your position. Now, where were you last night?’ She shot the question at him before he had time to recover his poise.
‘Where was I?’ Brother Drón sounded as if he could not believe his ears at being asked.
‘I think that you heard the question,’ she snapped.
‘I was in the chamber which the good abbot had acquired for me. Originally, I was going to be placed in some dormitory with the other religious, but Abbot Ultán protested to your steward that I needed to be within call, being his scribe and adviser.’
‘And where was this chamber?’
‘My chamber? The abbot’s room was in a corner where two corridors formed a right angle. My chamber was ten metres along the corridor from which one could see the door to his chamber.’
‘Were you there at the time of the abbot’s death?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I retired early as it is my custom to be up several hours before dawn to pray and prepare myself for the day.’
‘And when were you told of Abbot Ultán’s death?’
‘I had arisen and gone to the chapel and was at prayer when other brothers entered and spoke of the event. Horrified, I went immediately to Abbot Ultán’s chamber but was not allowed to enter by some officious young warrior. I was told — no, ordered — to go back to my chamber and await a summons from the dálaigh in charge. I said I would protest at this treatment and went to see Blathmac mac Mael Coba, who is staying here.’
‘I presume King Blathmac of Ulaidh instructed you as to your position under the law?’ Fidelma said almost sweetly.
Brother Drón grimaced in annoyance. ‘He told me that I had to wait until the dálaigh summoned me.’
‘A wise king,’ muttered Eadulf, staring at the ceiling.
Fidelma looked carefully at Brother Drón. It was certainly hard to deflate the man’s ego.
‘Did you go to find Sister Marga or Sister Sétach to tell them the news?’
‘I had no time.’
‘You slept well during the night? You were not disturbed at all?’
‘I would have mentioned that,’ snapped the religieux.
‘Not even when the body was discovered and there would have been many people in the corridor or going into the abbot’s chamber?’
‘I slept soundly.’
‘Very well. And, once again, you know of no particular enemies that Abbot Ultán had?’
Brother Drón sniffed. ‘I did not say that. I said that his only enemies were the enemies of the Faith. When I heard that Muirchertach of Connacht was being spoken of as the culprit, I was not surprised.’
Fidelma lifted her head quickly.
‘Really? Not surprised?’ she asked.
‘For some years he has been threatening Abbot Ultán.’
‘Threatening? In what form were these threats made?’
‘He demanded compensation on behalf of his wife’s family. The honour price for his wife’s sister. Ten seds, he claimed, because she was a poet.’
Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Was the demand for this sum made through a brehon?’
For a moment Brother Drón looked bewildered.
‘Of course,’ he said hesitantly.
‘A demand for compensation made through a brehon is hardly a threat. But you said that he had been threatening. Why was this claim, which had to go through the law, seen as a threat? Explain the matter.’
The scribe looked annoyed. ‘It was the whole manner of the approach. The sister of Muirchertach’s wife was a girl named Searc. She was a poetess, supposedly of the class of a cli. Therefore her honour price was ten seds. The situation was simple. We had, in the abbey of Cill Ria, a young religieux who was also a poet. Bishop Ultán had allowed him to take part in a gathering of bards at Ard Macha. It was there he met this Connacht woman. The woman, Searc, tried to ensnare him with feminine wiles and when he returned to Cill Ria she followed, like a siren, trying to lure him to his doom.’
Fidelma sat without expression as Brother Drón gave his account.
‘Abbot Ultán decided to send the boy, whose name was Senach, to safety. He arranged passage for him to Gaul. There was a religious house looking for young members to help in the task of converting the Franks. As it happened, the ship did not arrive and there were stories that it had been attacked by Frankish pirates who had killed those on board or carried them off into slavery.’
Fidelma nodded slowly. It was a story not so different from Muirchetach’s own version. The differences were simply in the motivations ascribed to the protagonists.
‘So that was the end of the story, so far as Abbot Ultán was concerned?’
Brother Drón shook his head. ‘After a while, we received a formal messenger from Muirchertach of Connacht. It was then that we discovered that this same Searc was the sister to Muirchertach’s wife.’
‘I see. You did not know before? What then?’
‘This messenger. .’
‘Do you recall the name of the messenger?’ interrupted Eadulf suddenly.
‘Of course. It was the religieux who is now Abbot Augaire.’
‘Augaire?’ queried Eadulf. ‘How do you mean, “who is now Abbot Augaire”?’
Brother Drón sniffed. ‘He was Brother Augaire at the time. He received his office through the influence he secured with Muirchertach by representing him.’
‘So Augaire came to the Abbey of Cill Ria? Presumably he accompanied the brehon?’
‘He did, but it was Augaire who made the demands. He said that the girl had committed suicide and that he had been a witness to it. Well, Abbot Ultán said that proved the evil that was in the girl, to become guilty of kin-slaying, for which there is no forgiveness in this world.’
‘But hopefully there is in the next,’ muttered Eadulf.
Brother Drón glanced angrily at him but Fidelma quickly intervened.
‘What exactly did Augaire tell you?’
‘That he had discovered from Muirchertach that the girl, Searc, had heard the news of Senach’s death and killed herself, a crime that is heinous in law,’ he added in defiance, looking at Eadulf.
Fidelma grimaced. It was true that suicide was classed in law as kin-slaying and was regarded as a terrible crime.
‘But was it explained why Muirchertach blamed Abbot Ultán for the girl’s death?’ she pressed.
‘Augaire, speaking on his behalf, said the king of Connacht deemed Abbot Ultán responsible for separating Brother Senach and this woman Searc, thus bringing about Senach’s death and, consequently, Searc’s suicide. He demanded the compensation and, of course, Abbot Ultán refused to even consider the matter.’