‘How did you work it out?’ His tone was almost genial as he asked the question.
‘Let us come to the means first and then the motive, for the motive has been staring me in the face ever since our first meeting. The means only fell into place when we discussed how Brother Drón might have hidden himself in the alcove. You said that you had not seen him in the alcove. When it was mentioned that he might have stood out on the ledge that ran under the window along to Ultán’s chamber, you replied: “But I don’t think Brother Dr6n is the sort to submit himself to such dangers. The ledge has several loose blocks along it.” How did you know that fact unless you had been along that same ledge yourself?’
Abbot Augaire winced in disgust as he acknowledged the slip.
‘On the night of Ultán’s death you were playing brandubh with Dúnchad Muirisci,’ went on Fidelma. ‘You left Dúnchad’s chamber towards midnight. As you went down the corridor, you heard Ultán’s door open. You saw Sister Marga come out. She was probably looking back into the chamber and did not see you. Why hadn’t she then seen you when she turned into the corridor? We know that Drón and Fergus Fanat were in the corridor facing Ultán’s door, so you were in the corridor along which Marga had to come. The answer was that you had slipped into the alcove and she passed by without seeing you. I think that the idea came to you on the spur of the moment. You noticed the ledge and realised that it ran all the way to Ultán’s chamber. Knowing that he was alone, you took the decision to make use of it as a means of reaching his chamber unseen. No one would then observe you if they came along the corridor. You would be safe. You entered his room, surprising him, and you stabbed him to death in a frenzied fashion as befitted your great hatred for him. Then you slipped back along the ledge the way you had come.’
Abbot Augaire made no comment.
‘You left Ultán’s chamber not a moment too soon, for that was when Brother Drón entered. He did not tarry long, for he had also seen Marga leaving and came to the conclusion that she had killed him. Drón, as he had told us, had paused before going to Ultán’s so as to save the abbot embarrassment. That pause was lucky for you in that it gave you the time and opportunity. Drón initially raced after Marga to accuse her but slipped and fell on the flagstone outside Dúnchad’s room. He then came to his senses about challenging Marga. She could bring down the claims of Ard Macha. He decided to return to his chamber saying nothing. It did not occur to him until too late that he should have taken from Ultán’s room the documents which showed that Marga had been the scribe of this so-called Liber Angeli.
‘By the time he realised it, lo and behold, Muirchertach Nár had decided to speak to Ultán. He went to his chamber, saw the body and, aghast, backed from the scene only to be spotted by Brehon Baithen and Caol who came to the natural conclusion. He was accused of the murder.’
Abbot Augaire still sat quietly, not speaking.
‘For a while, Augaire, you probably thought that you had the ideal situation. Your first victim was dead and the intended second victim was charged with the crime. When you heard that I was going to defend Muirchertach Nár, you did your best to emphasise Muirchertach’s hatred of Ultán to me. However, you realised that I was developing a good case to defend him and you decided that you could not take the chance. You needed to complete your act of vengeance.
‘The boar hunt was the ideal opportunity, especially when the hunting party became scattered. You were shadowing Muirchertach, though probably keeping out of his sight, and when he stumbled alone on a secluded spot you continued to sweep round and meet him face to face. You must have persuaded him to dismount and somehow got hold of his bir, the hunting spear. You killed him with that.
‘Then coincidence came to your aid. Dúnchad’s horse being loose was a godsend. You told me that your father was a hunter and tracker. You knew the skills involved and utilised your knowledge to lay a false trail. You took his horse and mounted it, taking Muirchertach’s horse as well. You rode a short distance to stony ground, tied Dúnchad’s horse to a gorse bush and probably slapped Muirchertach’s piebald across the rump causing it to canter off to where Drón found it. You then re-mounted your own horse and rode off in time to find Muirchertach’s wife Aibnat to guide her away from the scene. As you were returning with her, you encountered Eadulf and Gorman. But you were now satisfied that your revenge was complete.’
Abbot Augaire was smiling now.
Brehon Barrán leaned forward with a puzzled frown.
‘But revenge for what?’ he asked, confused. ‘I do not follow this at all.’
Fidelma was still looking expectantly at Abbot Augaire. ‘Shall I continue?’
Abbot Augaire shrugged a shoulder in eloquent indifference. Fidelma turned back to Barrán.
‘Revenge for the death of Searc, the poetess.’
‘But Augaire did not know Searc the poetess,’ Dúnchad Muirisci interrupted. ‘He was only a witness to her death. That is how he became involved with Muirchertach and was appointed emissary to demand compensation from Ultán. There was no personal relationship there.’
Fidelma smiled. ‘Augaire was a member of a small community near Rinn Carna in Connacht. He was fishing one day when he witnessed the distracted girl Searc plunge to her death. It was suicide. .’
‘To which she was driven,’ snapped Abbot Augaire fiercely, speaking for the first time since Fidelma had begun her peroration.
‘Just so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘As we know, Searc had fallen passionately in love with a young religieux of Cill Ria. Ultán forbade the relationship and sent the boy Senach overseas and he was killed on the voyage. Searc was full of grief.’
‘I can see why Ultán could be held to account for having a part in driving the poor girl to her death,’ Brehon Barrán agreed. ‘But why should anyone want to exact revenge on Muirchertach Nár? Surely Searc was his wife’s younger sister and Muirchertach made lawful representations for compensation for her loss?’
‘It was not hard to discover that Muirchertach Nár had a reputation as a philanderer and womaniser. Aíbnat knew it and disliked him. Dúnchad Muirisci knew it and hinted of things that were subsequently repeated in stories that reached even the ears of Abbot Laisran at Durrow. I asked myself this question — why, when Augaire was painting a black picture to persuade me of Muirchertach’s guilt of slaying Ultán, did he not dwell more on this very point? The point that Muirchertach Nár forced his attentions on Searc when she arrived at his fortress in shock and grieving for the loss of Senach. Muirchertach raped her and she, deep in shock and shame, fled to the coast and threw herself from the cliffs. It was Muirchertach’s act that caused her suicide. But Augaire was too much in love with Searc to have her reputation besmirched by revealing it.’
Brehon Barrán sat back looking even more confused. ‘But we have heard that Augaire did not know this girl before. Why would he be in love with her?’
‘Because he fell in love with an image,’ replied Fidelma sadly. ‘It is hard to explain the feelings that motivate a man or woman to this emotion we call love. He saw Searc once in life and then in death and could not get that image from his mind. He did not know who she was. But the image obsessed him. He tracked her identity down and it became a fixation to discover the reasons for her suicide. Ultán’s part in it was fairly clear. But at some stage he learned the reputation of Muirchertach Nár. .’
‘I told him.’ It was Aíbnat who spoke. Her voice was quiet and unemotional. ‘Before we set out here, I told Augaire. I knew my husband’s reputation and one night, in a burst of anger towards me, he boasted what he had done with my sister. I told Augaire, knowing that, eventually, retribution would catch up with him.’