Atonement of Blood

CHAPTER TWO

Eadulf 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.’

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.’

‘I have noticed it is prized for making beds and couches as well as decoration in the houses of nobles,’ replied Eadulf.

‘The ancient law has a special provision for protection of items that are made of yew,’ Fidelma put in. ‘The law lists fines for damage caused to such articles by visitors to places where they are displayed. So if you visit a person’s home and damage furniture made of yew, then you are in trouble.’

Gormán led them down a short path through the trees. A few moments later, they came to a small clearing in which stood a hut hardly big enough for an average man to stand up in or to lie down in, full length. In fact, a man could stand in the centre and stretch his hands out to touch each wall. They could not easily discern what wood it was constructed of because it was almost obliterated by thickly growing ivy.

Eadulf was moving towards the door when a rustling sound from within caused him to halt, head to one side, not sure whether it was merely the wind among the ivy leaves.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Gormán, behind him, had raised a finger to his lips. So he had heard it too. The young warrior drew his sword and motioned Eadulf and Fidelma to stay back. He paused for a moment and then raised his right foot and kicked out, sending the door flying inwards. The crash of the shattering wood was accompanied by a frightened cry. Sword at the ready, Gormán moved quickly inside and a moment later dragged a small figure out, screaming and struggling, and threw it on the leaf-strewn floor of the glade before them.

Straddling the figure with his sword pointing downwards in readiness, Gormán commanded, ‘Identify yourself, boy!’

The figure rolled over and scowled up at him.

Fidelma turned to Gormán in amusement. ‘You have your sexes mixed, Gormán. This is clearly a girl.’