A Prayer for the Damned: A Mystery of Ancient Ireland (Mysteries of Ancient Ireland, 17) - Softcover

CHAPTER ONE ‘Have a care, Ségdae of Imleach, lest you be faced with death and eternal damnation!’
As he spoke, Abbot Ultán smote the table in front of him with a balled fist.
There was an audible gasp from those seated on the opposite side of the dark oak boards. Only the man to whom the words were addressed seemed unconcerned. Ségdae, the tall, silver-haired abbot and bishop of Imleach, sat relaxed in his chair with a smile on his face.
There were six men and two women seated at the table in the sanctum of the abbot of Imleach. On one side was Abbot Ségdae with his steward and two of the venerable scholars of the abbey. Facing them was Ultán, abbot of Cill Ria and bishop of the Uí Thuirtrí, who sat with his scribe and two female members of his abbey.
Now, in the flickering candlelight which lit the gloomy chamber, even Abbot Ultán’s companions began to look concerned at the intemperance of his language.
There was but a moment’s pause after Abbot Ultán’s outburst before Abbot Ségdae’s steward, the rechtaire of the abbey of Imleach, Brother Madagan, leaned forward from his chair at the abbot’s side with an angry scowl on his face.
‘Do you dare to use threats, Ultán of the Uí Thuirtrí? Do you know to whom you speak? You speak to the Comarb, the successor of the Blessed Ailbe, chief bishop of the Faith in this kingdom of Muman. Imleach has never recognised the claims of Ard Macha. Indeed, is it not accepted that the Blessed Ailbe brought the Word of Christ to this place even before Patrick was engaged on his mission to the northern kingdoms? So have a care with your bombast and threats lest your words rebound on your own head.’
The animosity in Brother Madagan’s voice was controlled, the words coldly spoken but none the less threatening for that.
Abbot Ségdae reached forward and laid a restraining hand on his steward’s arm. His soft blue eyes remained fixed upon Bishop Ultán’s flushed, wrathful features and he let forth a sigh.
‘Aequo animo, Brother Madagan,’ he admonished his steward, urging him to calmness. ‘Aequo animo. I am sure that Abbot Ultán did not mean to imply a physical threat to me. That would be unthinkable in one who has been granted the hospitality of this house.’ Was there a slight emphasis, a gentle rebuke in that sentence? “The abbot was but giving voice to his conviction of the righteousness of his cause. Yet perhaps he was a little over-zealous in his choice of words?’
Abbot Ségdae paused, clearly waiting for the response.
There was a silence broken only by the crackle of the dry logs burning in the hearth at the far end of the chamber and by the winter wind moaning round the grey stones of the abbey walls. Even though it was late afternoon, it could have been midnight for it was dubhluacran, the darkest part of the year. Within a few days it would be the phase of the moon anciently called ‘the period of rest’, mi faoide, which started in contrary fashion with the feast of Imbolc, when the ewes began to come into lamb. It was a long, anxious time in the country.
That very noon Abbot Ultán and his three followers had arrived at the abbey and announced that he was a special emissary from Ségéne, abbot and bishop of Ard Macha, the Cormarb or heir to the Blessed Patrick. Ségéne was regarded by many as the senior churchman in the northern kingdom of Ulaidh. Having been granted hospitality, Abbot Ultán and his companions had presented themselves in Abbot Seégdae’s sanctum to deliver their message.
The proposal put forward by Abbot Ultán was simple. Abbot Ségdae, as the most senior churchman in Muman, was to recognise Ségéne of Ard Macha as archiepiscopus, chief bishop of all the kingdoms of Éireann. To support the claim, Abbot Ultán pointed out that the Blessed Patrick the Briton had received the pallium from the bishop of Rome, who was regarded as the chief bishop of the Faith. Patrick had then proceeded to convert the people of Éireann. He had made Ard Macha his primary seat and it was therefore argued that the bishops of that place should hold religious governance over all the five kingdoms and their sub-kingdoms.
Abbot Ségdae had listened in polite silence while the northern cleric had put forward his argument, which was delivered in such blunt terms as almost to constitute a demand. When the envoy had sat back, Abbot Ségdae had pointed out, politely but with firmness, that churchmen and scholars from the other kingdoms of Éireann would argue that Patrick the Briton, blessed as he was, was not the first who had preached the New Faith in the land. Many others had come before him and one of these had converted Ailbe, son of Olcnais of Araid Cliach in the north-west of Muman, who had established his seat at Imleach. It was the great abbey in which they were presently gathered that was regarded by all the people of Muman as the chief centre of their faith, and when, in recent times, the abbots and bishops of Ard Macha had begun to assert their claims, they were immediately challenged by Imleach and most of the other churches in each of the five kingdoms of Éireann.
It had been at that point that Abbot Ultán, a vain man of middle age, quite handsome in a dark, saturnine way, had pounded the table with his fist, clearly unused to anyone challenging his authority.
Following Abbot Ségdae’s gentle rebuke, there was silence round the table. All eyes were upon the arrogant envoy of Ard Macha.
Abbot Ultán flushed as he regarded the open hostility on the face of Brother Madagan and the others who sat across the table on either side of his host. Beside him, his scribe, Brother Drón, a thin, elderly man, with sharp features and birdlike movements, bent quickly forward and whispered in his ear, ‘Aurea mediocritas.’ He was urging the abbot to employ moderation: the ‘golden mean’. Attack was no way to win an argument when faced with such opposition.
Abbot Ultán finally shrugged and tried to force a smile.
‘The words were spoken in the zealousness of my cause and intended no threat, physical or otherwise, to you, my dear brother in Christ, or to anyone here,’ he said unctuously. But there was no disguising the falseness of his tone. ‘I would simply ask for a moment more in order to clarify my argument, for I fear that I must have presented it badly.’
‘We have heard Ard Macha’s argument and do not agree with it,’ snapped Brother Madagan.
Again Abbot Ségdae laid a hand on his arm and said, without glancing at him: ‘My steward, too, is zealous for the rights of this abbey. Audi alteram partem – we will hear the other side, for there are two sides to every question. You seem to think, my dear brother in Christ’ – Ultán glanced up sharply: was he being mocked? – ‘you seem to imply that there is more to set before us for our consideration. Is that so?’
Abbot Ultán nodded quickly. ‘My scribe, Brother Drón, will continue for me.’
The sharp-faced scribe, seated at Abbot Ultán’s side, cleared his throat. ‘I beg leave to read from a sacred book of Ard Macha.’ He turned quickly to the fair-faced sister of the Faith at his side. ‘Sister Marga, the book, please.’
Thus addressed, his neighbour reached into a satchel that she was carrying and drew forth a small calf-bound book, which she handed to Brother Dron. The scribe took it and turned to a pre-marked page and began to intone: ‘A celestial messenger appeared before the Blessed Patrick and spoke to him, saying, “The Lord God has given all the territories of the Irish in modum paruchiae to you and to your city, which the Irish call in their language Ard Macha—’ ”
Abbot Ségdae interrupted. ‘Brother Dron, I presume that you are reading from the book that you call Liber Angeli? It is already known to us; indeed, we have asked Ard Macha for permission to send a scribe to make a copy for our own scriptorium.’
Brother Drón looked up with a frown. ‘I am, indeed, reading from the Book of the Angel. In virtue of this miraculous appearance to the Blessed Patrick, Ard Macha claims to hold supreme authority over the churches and monasteries of the five kingdoms of Éireann. All the houses of the Faith must defer to the authority of Ard Macha and pay tribute to it both spiritual and material.’ Brother Drón tapped the vellum page with his forefinger. ‘That is what is written here, Abbot Ségdae. This is why we have come to ask your obedience to this sacred instruction.’
Abbot Ségdae’s smile seemed to broaden as he shook his head.
‘When I was a young man, I visited your great abbey at Ard Macha.’ He spoke slowly, almost dreamily. ‘I met with its scribes and scholars.’ He paused and for a few moments they waited in silence, but he did not continue. He seemed to have drifted off into his memories.
Brother Drón glanced nervously at Abbot Ultán.
‘What relevance has this?’ he finally demanded.
‘Relevance?’ Abbot Ségdae looked up and frowned as if surprised by the question. Then he smiled again. ‘I was just thinking back to the time before this celestial message was ever known at Ard Macha. This book and its claims appear to have only recently come to light.’
At that moment, Sister Marga, who had been taking notes, snapped her quill. Brother Drón turned to her with a frown, she muttered a hurried apology.
Brother Madagan ignored the interruption and added cuttingly: ‘Not even Muirchú maccu Machtheri, the first great biographer of Patrick, argued that Ard Macha was the place wherein Patrick’s earthly remains repose. It is we...