Atonement of Blood (4 page)

Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘A very good observation, Eadulf.’

Eadulf regarded the corpse for some time in silence before he realised that the others were waiting for him to make some further comment.

‘His hands show that he is no manual labourer for the skin is soft and the palms exceptionally so, for that is an area where manual work leaves an impression. The fingernails are carefully cut and rounded and,’ he took the right hand in his, pointing to the thumb and forefinger, ‘there is a dark stain here on the side of the thumb as well as the forefinger. I would say that it is ink. His hair is cut and his face shaven. All in all, I would say he was a man used to keeping up a good appearance.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Fidelma.

‘The main thing we must consider,’ Eadulf insisted, ‘is the name of the woman he shouted. Whoever she is, or was, it was meant to be recognised immediately by your brother. As this man struck him, he shouted: “Remember Liamuin!” Surely someone here should recognise that name and what it means?’

E
adulf lay awake that night, aware of Fidelma tossing fitfully beside him but not daring to say anything in the hope that she would eventually sink into a much-needed slumber. He must have dozed off eventually – until something suddenly awoke him. He eased a hand across the mattress, finding the bed deserted and cold. It was dark, even though the stormclouds had disappeared, pushed away by the strong west winds. He blinked for a moment to adjust his eyes. The moon had only just reached its first quarter and was shedding little natural light.

A figure was standing at the window, gazing out into the night.

‘Fidelma?’

The figure turned and said, ‘Eadulf, sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.’

There was a tone in her voice that he had never heard before, and he swung out of the bed, hurried across to her and caught her cold hands in his.

‘You’ve been crying.’ He lifted one hand and gently wiped the wetness from her cheeks with his fingertips. She sniffed a little but made no reply.

‘Your brother is a strong man. He is in the best of care with Brother Conchobhar.’ Eadulf tried to sound reassuring.

Fidelma nodded slowly in the shadows. ‘I have known Brother Conchobhar since I was old enough to remember. There is no physician in the world that I would rather entrust with my brother’s life.’

And then, to Eadulf’s astonishment, she gave a heartrending sob. Fidelma was not one to let her emotions show. Only a few times had Eadulf been allowed to see behind the cryptic exterior that she had developed over the years; only now and then was he privy to flashes of her real feelings, her sensitivity, her vulnerability which she had learned, as a lawyer, to disguise with her cutting logic, a refusal to treat fools and prejudiced people with tolerance, her sharp speech and feisty attitudes. Eadulf was the only man who could see through her camouflage to the real person beneath, but even he was amazed to see her so emotionally reduced by the attempted assassination of her brother.

He knew that he could not comfort her by telling her that to cry was a normal release, nor that things would turn out all right in the end. He knew her too well to come out with such platitudes.

‘I know you love your brother very much,’ he said quietly, his hands squeezing her cold ones tenderly.

‘He is all the close family I have left,’ she wept. ‘Our mother died giving birth to me and our father died soon after. My eldest brother, Forgartach, died when I was studying law. So Colgú and I are close.’ She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘We remained in touch with one another even when were studying and I went into the religious. We saw each other whenever we could.’

‘And yet it seems that you have so many cousins. Finguine, your brother’s heir apparent, for example.’

‘But none of them are as close as Colgú and I, even though we are a kin-based society. Family is very dear to us and our genealogists are strict in recording our ancestry. Our genealogies go back to the beginning of time.’

Eadulf inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I have heard your
forsundud
– your praise poems of your ancestry.’

‘Neither king nor chieftain can be installed without the
forsundud
of his ancestry sung before the assembly,’ agreed Fidelma and then, with some pride she dashed away the last of her tears and added: ‘Colgú is the fifty-ninth generation from Éber Finn, the son of Milidh, and founder of this Southern Kingdom. It was the eight sons of Milidh, the warrior, whose birth name was Golamh, who landed with the Gaels on the shores of this island and established themselves here. That was in the time beyond time when they had to fight with the ancient gods and demons …’ She paused and Eadulf was almost sure she was smiling in the gloom. ‘Or so our legends tell us.’ There was a pause and then she sighed: ‘It will soon be dawn. No more sleeping. Light a candle, Eadulf, and fetch some wine.’

Eadulf felt satisfaction that he had distracted Fidelma from feeling sorry for herself. He could understand why she could not sleep, but he himself felt tired and would have liked to go back to bed. However, he picked up a candle and, knowing a lamp was always lit in the corridor, he went outside to ignite his candle from it. He had opened the door of their chamber when he heard a movement.

It was Enda, one of the young warriors of the King’s guard. He was standing sentinel.

‘Anything wrong, friend Eadulf?’ Enda demanded.

Eadulf shook his head. ‘We could not sleep, that is all.’

Fidelma appeared at the door, pulling a woollen shawl around her.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Is there news of Colgú?’

‘No, lady,’ replied Enda. ‘Caol has placed me here to watch. I am sorry to disturb you.’

‘You did not,’ replied Eadulf, lighting the candle from the lamp. ‘Good night.’ He went back into their chamber with a nod towards the warrior and shut the door behind him.

‘Caol is obviously worried that this assassin might not have been acting alone,’ mused Fidelma, sinking back onto the bed while Eadulf placed the candle to give the best advantage of its dim, flickering light.

‘He is cautious, and rightly so,’ agreed Eadulf as he poured two goblets of wine and brought them to the bed. ‘It is always best to be on guard until we know all the facts.’

‘And we can’t begin to gather the facts until it is lighter,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘Is that what you are thinking?’

‘There is truth in that. The answer does seem to lie in discovering who Liamuin is or was, and why she should be remembered by Colgú at the hour in which this assassin intended his death. We were speaking of ancestry a moment ago. Is there anyone in your ancestry who bore that name?’

Fidelma drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.

‘I do not think so.’ Then she raised her head with a gasp. ‘How foolish! Wasn’t Liamuin the name of one of the five sisters of the Blessed Patrick? Wasn’t she the mother of Sechnall? Sechnall the poet who wrote that famous song about Patrick?’

‘Audite, omnes amantes Deum …
’ intoned Eadulf, remembering the opening of the song. ‘
Sancta merita viri in Christo beati Patrici Episcopi
… Listen, all you lovers of God, to the holy qualities of Bishop Patrick, a saintly man in Christ …’

His voice died away as a thought struck him. ‘Do you think this attack might have had some religious connection? Is not the feast day of Blessed Sechnall the day after tomorrow?’

Fidelma pursed her lips, pausing for a second before shaking her head. ‘These are traditions of the North and of the Middle Kingdom, Midhe. What quarrel would Colgú have had about the mother of the Blessed Sechnall of Midhe?’

‘There is conflict enough between the Abbeys of Imleach and Ard Macha about Ard Macha’s claims that its abbot should be chief among the bishops of the Five Kingdoms,’ Eadulf pointed out.

Fidelma shrugged. ‘That is purely an argument between the religious. Anyway, apart from the mother of Sechnall, there must be other women bearing the name Liamuin, although I can’t remember anyone else so called. But it is too early to say.’

‘Let us be practical then,’ Eadulf said. ‘The cry was meant to mean something to your brother, so he must hold the answer to this mystery. Let us hope …’ He paused in embarrassment before he hurried on. ‘When he is better, the question must be put to him.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment before agreeing. ‘You are right and I shall put it to him as soon as I can. I was thinking,’ she went on, then sighed. ‘I believe the point Luan made is worth following when it is light.’

‘You think the assassin stayed somewhere in the town while it was raining and then came up to the palace after the rain stopped?’

‘Exactly so. If he rode to Cashel he must have found a place to stable his horse and change his clothes. If he was not a religieux then the clothes might offer a clue to his identity. But did he stay at an inn, or was he given shelter by a fellow conspirator?’

‘Let us hope we can resolve the mystery.’

Eadulf glanced towards the window, where the sky was rapidly getting lighter, and blew out the candle. There were already the faint sounds of movement throughout the palace. Eadulf stretched and yawned. It was going to be a long day.

It was still early when Brother Conchobhar met Fidelma and Eadulf outside the doors that led into Colgú’s private apartments. Two of Cashel’s élite warriors stood on guard outside. They were Dego and Aidan, and both were well known to Fidelma and Eadulf. Their faces were set.

‘What news?’ asked Fidelma immediately as the apothecary came forward.

‘He is conscious but in some pain. It has been a bad night but there is little fever, thank God.’

‘Can he speak?’

The old man looked troubled. ‘I’d rather he did not exert himself. The wound is deep and he needs stillness and tranquillity.’

‘One question,’ Fidelma pressed, after a moment. ‘That’s all I’ll ask and then no more.’

Brother Conchobhar had known both Fidelma and her brother Colgú since they were babies. Even before they were born, he had served their father Failbhe Flann when the latter had ruled Muman. He had been with King Failbhe when he died. The elderly physician realised that Fidelma would not insist unless the question was absolutely necessary.

‘One question,’ he warned, standing aside.

‘You go in,’ Eadulf told her. ‘We do not want to tire him with too many people crowding round.’

As Dego turned the handle to allow her entrance, Fidelma seemed to brace herself for a moment and then passed through the doors. Dego silently shut them behind her.

Eadulf turned to Brother Conchobhar. ‘I suppose there is no one in this palace who knows Colgú as well as you do?’

The other man replied, ‘I would agree, although no one is ever privy to all the thoughts, emotions and deeds of another.’

Eadulf accepted the caveat. He went on: ‘You know that the assassin called “Remember Liamuin!” before he struck?’

Brother Conchobhar inclined his head.

‘Would you have any idea of what that meant?’

‘None at all. I have never heard of anyone called Liamuin. I presume that is the question that Fidelma will ask her brother? I regret I cannot help.’

‘Then let us hope Colgú can supply an answer,’ Eadulf said.

Fidelma moved across the large outer chamber where her brother usually received his advisers, members of the family and inner circle of friends. A log fire was crackling in the hearth. She strode directly to the door of his bedchamber. A male attendant, seated outside, rose nervously to his feet but Fidelma motioned him to reseat himself. She opened the door and entered silently.

The bedchamber was in semi-gloom and Colgú lay on his back on the bed, his chest tightly bandaged. His face was pale. Sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks, and his fiery red hair was plastered to his forehead. The King’s lips were pale; his breath was uneven, coming in wheezy grasps.

As she approached the side of the bed, it seemed that Colgú became aware of her presence for his eyelids flickered and then opened. His grey-green eyes focused on her. The pain-wracked face tried to smile but it was more a grimace.

Fidelma held a finger to her lips.

‘Hello, “little thorn”,’ she said softly, using her childhood nickname for her brother. His name actually meant anything sharp and pointed like a sword or a thorn, and when she had discovered this, she had bestowed ‘little thorn’ as a pet name on him. ‘How are you feeling?’

He grimaced again. ‘Like someone who has been stabbed,’ he replied in a thick tone with an attempt at dry humour.

‘The man who attacked you is dead.’

‘I was told that Caol killed him.’

Fidelma nodded. ‘But, sadly, not before the assassin killed Brehon Áedo.’

Colgú went to move but grunted in pain.

‘Stay still!’ Fidelma admonished. ‘You must rest all you can.’

‘Are you in charge of the investigation?’ Colgú forced the words out.

‘Have no fear,’ Fidelma smiled cynically. ‘Technically, it is Brehon Aillín who is in charge, but I am helping him.’

Colgú’s lips compressed for a moment. ‘Áedo was a good man,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He had hardly been a month or so as my Chief Brehon.’