Eadulf stirred a little.
‘Was that the last time you saw Ultán?’ he asked quickly.
‘It was to speak to. I am not over-burdened with sorrow by that fact, nor, in all honesty, can I say that I mourn deeply, although he was a brother in Christ. Ultán of Cilia Ria was not a man who contributed to making this world a place of joy.’
‘You are honest, Abbot Augaire,’ Fidelma observed.
‘Probitas laudatur et alget,’ replied the abbot.
‘You read Juvenal?’ Fidelma recognised the quotation: honesty is often praised but ignored by most people.
‘I admire his Satires.’
‘Well, I not only praise honesty but will not neglect it in my considerations. But since it is obvious that you did not like the late Abbot Ultán, perhaps we should begin by clarifying where you were last night around midnight?’
Abbot Augaire actually chuckled. ‘I have heard that you are an honest dálaigh, Fidelma of Cashel. That is why it would be pointless for me to pretend that I felt other than I did about Ultán. As to where I was. . I was playing a game of brandubh with Dúnchad Muirisci of the Uí Fiachracha Muaide until close to midnight.’
‘Dúnchad Muirisci, the heir apparent to Muirchertach Nár?’
Abbot Augaire nodded absently. ‘Then I came directly here to my chamber and fell asleep almost immediately. And,’ he added with a smile, ‘I regret to say that no one saw me do so. So I can only prove my whereabouts until the moment I left Dúnchad Muirisci. Oh, I tell a lie. I passed one of your brother’s bodyguards on my way from Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber to my one. I bade him a peaceful night and he answered me.’
‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber was a short distance along the corridor from Abbot Ultán’s chamber. In which direction were you heading?’ Eadulf asked.
‘My way did not pass Ultán’s chamber, even though you could see the door to it from Dúnchad Muirisci’s doorway.’
Eadulf frowned. ‘How did you know which was Ultán’s chamber?’
Abbot Augaire stared at him for a moment and then his features relaxed in a smile.
‘Simply because, when I was making my way to Dúnchad Muirisci’s chamber, where we had agreed to meet and have our game of brandubh, I saw Ultán entering a door in the corner of the corridor where it turns at a right angle. I gather that was his chamber. That was the last time I saw him as opposed to speaking to him.’
‘And when was that?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Sometime after the evening meal. He had barely entered his room when one of his party brushed by me hurriedly in the corridor in the same direction as I was going. I didn’t hear them before they pushed by. They went straight to his door and entered without knocking. Even as the door was closing, I heard Ultán’s voice raised in a hectoring tone.’
‘Which member of his party? Brother Drón?’
Abbot Augaire shook his head. ‘One of the two women in his party.’
‘You did not recognise her, I suppose? Can you describe her?’
‘I do not know any of his party except Brother Drón. As for describing her, all I saw was her back as she brushed by. She wore a long cloak with the cabhal pulled up over her head. I recall the odour of some scent. I am not sure what. I am not good on such matters. It was strong. Perhaps honeysuckle. That was early in the evening. I thought Ultán was killed around midnight and I am told that Muirchertach was seen fleeing from his chamber.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘Much use is made of this word “fleeing”. It is a word that conjures guilt and prevents us from investigating a murder.’
‘So far as I am concerned, the person who killed Ultán did a public service,’ Abbot Augaire said firmly.
‘Nevertheless, Ultán was murdered, and there is a law to be answered.’
Abbot Augaire grimaced dismissively. ‘The irony is that Ultán refused to obey the law when he lived. Now that he is dead, others have to answer to a law that he ignored.’
Fidelma regarded the man carefully. ‘I would like you to tell me What you know of Ultán and how you came by your views of him.’
‘Not much to tell. But let me put this to you. If Muirchertach Nár is to be prosecuted, I would not want my words used to condemn him. If you are gathering evidence against him. .’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Muirchertach Nár has asked me to stand in his defence. He claims that he is innocent. It is the Brehon Ninnid who prosecutes.’
Abbot Augaire seemed to relax a little more and he smiled confidently. ‘Then I will tell you plainly what I know of Muirchertach and Ultán. I was sent as Muirchertach’s representative to demand compensation from Ultán for the death of the sister of Muirchertach’s wife. That was the beginning of our animosity.’
‘I have heard that you had a more personal interest in the matter?’
‘Personal?’ the response came sharply.
‘You saw the girl kill herself.’
‘I do not deny it.’
‘Tell us how that came about.’
Abbot Augaire sat back. ‘It was about three or four years ago. I was a member of a community on the shores of the southern borders of Connacht. It was a place not far from Muirchertach’s stronghold of Durlas. I was fishing on a small headland when this girl came along. The next thing I knew she had leapt to her death on the rocks. She was a very beautiful young woman. I could not imagine how such a one, so beautiful, so youthful, with so much life in her and before her, could be forced into such a terrible act.’
‘You did not know who she was?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Not then. I started to make inquiries and these led me to the fortress of our king at Durlas. I found out that the girl’s name was Searc and that she was the younger sister of the king’s wife Aïbnat. I remembered her ethereal beauty that day on the foreshore. To explain my feelings, I suppose that I was moved by her image — the youth, beauty and femininity that she represented, you understand? I pledged my service to that image, to Aíbnat and Muirchertach, swearing that I would discover the reason for her death and punish those responsible.’
Fidelma was aware that there was a faint mistiness in his eyes as if he were holding back tears.
‘It sounds as if this girl, in death, had touched something in you,’ she said.
The abbot seemed to pull himself together. ‘Her image still does. How many nights have I not been able to sleep as I run the events of that day through my mind, saying “if only”. If only I had not been so blind as to fail to see the tragedy that was about to unfold; if only I. . Ah, well. Sic erat in fatis, to quote Juvenal again.’
‘So it was fated,’ Eadulf repeated. ‘So you blamed yourself for her death and that is why you took such trouble. Was her involvement with the religieux from Cill Ria known at that time?’
‘It was. She was a poetess. I found out about the gathering at Ard Macha from some who had attended. I began to make inquiries about this boy, Senach, with whom she had fallen in love, and traced him to Cill Ria. I then found out what had happened to the boy.’
Eadulf was approving. ‘It sounds as though you would make a good investigator, Augaire. So it was you who discovered the details. Searc had not told her sister, or Muirchertach?’
‘It seems not.’
‘Having discovered this information, what then?’ asked Fidelma.
He replied with quiet vehemence: ‘I swore vengeance on those who had prevented that young girl from achieving happiness, and in her grief had compelled her to her death. .’
‘But what did you do in practical terms?’
Abbot Augaire seemed to shake himself and resume his normal demeanour. ‘I went to Muirchertach and Aíbnat and told them what I had discovered. Muirchertach was pleased. .’