Atonement of Blood (5 page)

Fidelma was aware of the passing of the time and did not want to tire the sick man. ‘There is one question I must ask,’ she said. ‘Who is, or was, Liamuin?’

Her brother gazed up at her blankly. ‘Liamuin? I don’t understand.’

‘When the assassin stabbed you, he was shouting, “Remember Liamuin!”. It was obviously intended to mean something to you.’

Colgú closed his eyes and moved his head restlessly. ‘I know of no one by that name.’

‘No one at all? No one from the distant past – any relative, friend or acquaintance?’

‘No one. Truly, sister – the name means nothing to me.’

Fidelma leaned over the figure on the bed and took one of his hands for a moment.

‘Rest well, little thorn,’ she told him. ‘Do not worry about anything. Just concentrate on getting better.’

Colgú gasped, ‘I’ll do my best, sister.’

Outside Colgú’s chambers, Fidelma greeted Eadulf with a disappointed shake of her head before he could ask the question.

‘The name meant nothing to him,’ she said.

‘Then it becomes a mystery. Why would a man attempt to assassinate someone, knowing full well that he was likely to be killed in the process, while shouting a name in justification when it meant nothing to anyone?’

‘The name meant something to the assassin,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Well, of course it would, but—’

‘Perhaps it was meant for the assassin’s own understanding and no one else’s,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘It was a justification to himself.’

‘That is very deep.’

‘There is nothing so deep as a disturbed mind.’

‘Well, it does not help us discover who or why.’ Eadulf glanced at the drifting clouds through a nearby window. ‘We should make a search of the town for the assassin’s horse, but …’

She heard the hesitation in his voice. ‘But?’ she prompted.

‘We did promise little Alchú to take him riding.’

Fidelma sighed in annoyance. She had not forgotten but was hoping that Eadulf had.

‘Can you explain the situation to Nessán while I go on ahead to the town to make enquiries at the inn?’ she asked.

Eadulf shook his head. ‘It is Alchú who will stand in need of the explanation, not Nessán,’ he said firmly.

For a moment Fidelma looked as if she were about to argue and then she shrugged.

‘Come on, then.’

‘Lady! Eadulf! Wait!’

They turned at the urgent call. Gormán came hurrying along the corridor towards them.

‘I’ve just come from my mother’s house. She has some interesting information that might help identify the assassin.’

Fidelma stared at the young warrior in astonishment.

‘Is Della well?’ she asked immediately. Gormán’s mother had become a friend to Fidelma. She had once been an outcast, a
bé-táide
or prostitute, whom Fidelma had successfully represented when she had been raped. Her defence demonstrated that the law allowed protection for prostitutes if they did not consent to the sexual act. Della had then given up her way of life but Fidelma had had to defend her again – this time from a charge of murder. It was then that Della had admitted she was the mother of the young warrior Gormán.

‘My mother is in good health,’ Gormán reassured her. ‘It is about the speculation that the assassin might have left his horse in the town last night. I think you should both come with me.’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf. She had no need to articulate the question.

Eadulf shrugged. ‘
Primum prima
– first things first. We will return to give young Alchú his riding lesson later, but first we must hear what Della has to say.’

Della’s house was on the western side of the township that spread below the Rock of Cashel, on which the palace of the Kings of Muman arose, dominating the surrounding plains. Her home was set a little apart from the others with outbuildings and a paddock at the rear. The paddock led onto larger fields and an area of dense woodland, stretching to the south. As they approached, a large dog came bounding out of the house, barking noisily until Gormán called to it sharply. Then it gave one or two short barks and stood with its tail wagging. It was a fairly large animal, what many called a
leith-choin
or half-dog – a cross between a wolfhound and something else. Perhaps a terrier in this case.

Alerted by the dog, Della came to stand at her door. A small woman of forty years of age, her maturity had not dimmed the youthfulness of her features nor the golden abundance of her hair. She was clad in a close-fitting robe that flattered her figure, revealing that her hips had not broadened and her limbs were still shapely.

Della was clearly anxious as she greeted them. ‘What is the news of your poor brother, the King?’

‘Colgú lives, but is poorly. The next few days are crucial,’ Fidelma replied. ‘But is all well with you, Della?’

‘I am well, lady, but mystified,’ she said. ‘Has my son explained?’ She glanced at Gormán.

‘Best if we hear it from your mouth,’ returned Fidelma solemnly.

‘Of course. Yet it is not so much what I can tell as what I can show you.’

She walked past them, beckoning them to follow, and turned around the back of the buildings towards the paddock. There, she pointed. A couple of horses were in the small field. One of them Fidelma recognised as Della’s own workhorse; she had often seen it harnessed to a small
fén
or cart. The cart was a solid-wheel affair because spoke-wheels were expensive. Della was of a frugal disposition in spite of her son’s position in the King’s bodyguard.

It was the second animal that caught her attention. Taller and sturdier than the other horse, it was a well-muscled hunter that a warrior might ride, grey in colour but with white legs above the hocks.

‘I presume that is not your horse?’ Fidelma said.

Della made a face. ‘Would that it were, lady. That animal would fetch a good price. Or my son might have a pride in riding it.’

Gormán shifted his weight impatiently. ‘The truth is that my mother found it in our paddock this morning and in view of what has happened …’

Fidelma had already moved to the paddock gate; she swung up and over it with impressive agility, and went towards the animal. It stood docile enough, although its ears went back and its nostrils inflated as she approached. Eadulf had followed her to the gate, concern showing on his face. He was not a good horseman.

Catching his anxiety, Gormán said quietly, ‘Do not concern yourself, friend Eadulf. That breed is usually quiet and intelligent, and the lady Fidelma is a good horsewoman. She will not disturb it.’

Fidelma came to the animal, reached forward without hesitation and petted its muzzle, allowing it to smell her hand while examining her with its large soulful eyes. She spoke softly to it. Eadulf was too far away to hear the words – if, indeed, they were words and not just the musical rise and fall of her voice. Then, still speaking, Fidelma began to move around the beast, patting its strong shoulders, but being careful not to go near its hindquarters, where many a nervous kick had injured the unwary. It stood patiently. When she turned and began to walk back to the paddock gate, the horse ambled after her.

‘Do you have an apple, Della?’ she called.

Della nodded and hurried back to her house where, on the porch, there was a small barrel. She withdrew an apple, went back to the gate and handed it to Fidelma. The horse gently took it from her outstretched palm.

‘There is nothing to identify the beast,’ Gormán commented. ‘I could see no marks of ownership.’

‘There is certainly nothing that I can see,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘If that is the horse that the assassin arrived on, and he abandoned it here, then he must have found a dry place to store the saddle and his clothes and change them before making his way to the palace,’ Eadulf suggested.

Della was shaking her head. ‘We looked through the outbuildings and found nothing.’

‘Did you hear anything last evening? No sound of restless horses? The paddock is near your house. No barking of your dog?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘And you were here yesterday afternoon and evening?’

‘I was. My son had left during the afternoon. He had guard duties at the palace last night for the feast in honour of the Blessed Colmán. He told me he would not return until very late last night.’

‘As you know, that is correct,’ Gormán said.

‘And so what did you do last evening?’ queried Fidelma.

‘I ate my evening meal alone,’ Della said. ‘When I had finished, I made sure the lamps were lit, including the one over the door because it would be very dark when Gormán returned here. I spent some time darning and mending, then I grew tired and went to my bed.’

‘You really heard nothing all this time?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Even when you went to bed?’

‘I sleep soundly these days, lady,’ Della smiled sadly. ‘Ah, but I did stir when Gormán returned from the palace. I merely turned over when I recognised his step crossing to his bed. Then I must have slept until dawn. The dog was awake and I went to take oats to my horse – that was when I saw the other horse. I returned to the house and woke Gormán. When I told him about the horse, he became excited and related what had happened to your poor brother last night.’

Fidelma turned to Gormán. ‘Did you come straight back here when you left the palace?’

‘I stopped at Rumann’s tavern on the square,’ Gormán admitted sheepishly. ‘But I had only one beaker of his ale before I returned here and went straight to my bed.’

‘You don’t lock your door?’ Eadulf asked Della.

She laughed pleasantly. ‘Locks and bolts are for nobles, brother. We poorer folk do not bother with such things, for who would want to intrude on us?’

Gormán was nodding agreement when Fidelma suddenly asked: ‘The dog made no sound when you came in?’

‘He must know my step by now, but …’ Gormán broke off as if a thought had struck him.

‘But?’ echoed Fidelma.

‘If truth be told, he usually barks and snarls until I call out to him and he recognises my voice.’

‘And last night he did not?’

‘He seemed to be sleeping soundly.’

‘He does not appear to be a docile dog,’ remarked Eadulf. ‘I have seen these cross-breeds before. They are good for hunting.’

‘How was your dog’s behaviour last evening?’ Fidelma asked Della thoughtfully.

Della shrugged. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Was he alert? Or did he become sleepy?’

‘He was running about all afternoon. I think he tired himself out …’ Her voice suddenly trailed off.

‘You’ve thought of something?’ prompted Fidelma.

‘Yes, something curious. He came back just before I had begun to prepare my evening meal. He was carrying a bone. I presumed that he had helped himself to a bone given to one of my neighbour’s dogs. He went quietly to his spot and lay down. I usually give him a slice of meat if I am eating it for the evening meal.’

‘And last night, you were eating meat?’ Eadulf asked.

‘I was. I threw him a small chunk, but he didn’t even touch it.’

‘Where does he sleep?’

Della took them to the porch of her wooden cabin and pointed to where some sacking was spread in a dry spot. As they moved towards it, the dog trotted forward and picked up the remains of a piece of meat and, growling softly, began to chew it. However, it was a bone that lay on the sacking that Fidelma was after. She reached down and scooped it up. There were still strands of meat hanging from it. She sniffed at it cautiously before handing it to Eadulf.

Eadulf grimaced at the strong and disagreeable odour. ‘
Cáerthann curraig
,’ the Irish name came immediately to his lips.

‘What is that?’ asked Della, puzzled.

‘Valerian root,’ he translated. ‘Apothecaries use it to allay pain and promote sleep. It tranquillises the mind.’

‘Except that this seems stronger than the usual valerian that I know,’ commented Fidelma.

Della was looking horrified. ‘Are you saying that someone tried to poison my dog?’

‘Probably not,’ Eadulf said. ‘They just wanted to ensure that he was sleepy enough not to arouse any alarm, and then they could paddock the horse and change any clothing without being challenged.’

Fidelma was looking unconvinced. ‘Why go to all that bother? Our assassin would have already arrived here with his horse and the dog would have had the chance to raise an alarm before the tranquilliser had been given to it.’

‘I have no understanding of this, lady,’ Gormán said.

‘And I have no explanation to offer at the moment,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Let us see if we can find the bridle and saddle that belong to this horse and the clothes belonging to the assassin.’

‘As I said, lady, we have made that search already and found nothing.’

‘Perhaps he used some other shelter nearby,’ offered Gormán, ‘rather than our outbuildings.’

‘Do you have any suggestions?’ Eadulf asked.

Gormán pointed to the treeline at the far end of the field. ‘There is a small woodsman’s hut among those trees. The rider could have used that to change in and to store his clothes. I know of no other shelter nearby.’

‘Then let us examine it.’

Gormán gave his mother a reassuring smile and indicated that she did not have to accompany them before turning and leading the way across the small field, passing the now indifferently grazing horses. A short distance beyond the back fencing of the paddock, the edge of the forest began to stretch south of the township, and beyond that was a large area of grassland, the Plain of Femen. It was an area abounding in ancient legends, so Eadulf had learned, and much associated with the stories of the ancient gods and heroes, goddesses and heroines of Fidelma’s people. However, the forest was large enough to supply the townsfolk of Cashel with many kinds of wood. Eadulf knew that the ancient Irish laws were very specific about the illegal felling of trees, with fines according to each class of trees. He noticed that this area was composed of birch and elm, which were fairly common, but it also had several tall yew trees which were highly valued.

Gormán saw his wandering gaze and smiled.

‘This wood used to abound in yew when I was a boy. It’s why the old woodsman’s hut is there. It’s a difficult wood to work and they say it requires much skill, for it is used for so many things.’