The Devil's seal

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Eadulf’s expression was grim. ‘Do you have water to wash the mash off so that I can examine her?’ he asked Rumann.

The innkeeper relayed the instruction to one of his workers, who hurriedly brought over a bucket of water. Eadulf poured some of its contents over the head and neck of the dead girl. Then he bent down beside the body and made a cursory examination.

‘It seems that she was strangled.’ He glanced up at Fidelma. ‘See there, the mark of a cord of some description which has cut and bruised her neck.’ He bent further in his examination. ‘To achieve this, the killer must have approached from behind, put the cord around her neck and twisted it with some force. She might have had time to cry out, but perhaps the surprise was so complete that she did not.’

Fidelma looked at Rumann. ‘I suppose no one heard any cry during the night?’

‘Not I, lady.’

‘I shall need to ask your family, workers and guests in a moment.’

‘Very well. The only permanent guests are the warriors of Clan Baiscne from Laighin. Apart from myself there was just my son in the inn. As you know, my wife died from the Yellow Plague some years ago. I closed up before midnight and went to bed and slept soundly. My boy had gone to bed before me and he was asleep when I went up.’

‘And your guests? The warriors?’

‘Most of them had retired, although I left two downstairs with a lamp playing a game of búanbach.’

‘Lasting victory’ was another favourite board game among warriors.

‘And what of your brewers?’ She turned inquisitively to the three men.

‘We all live on the far side of the square, lady,’ one of them volunteered as spokesman for all three. ‘We left the brewery just after sundown, having finished our day’s work. We returned this morning and started to prepare the brew, and that’s when Rumann found. .’ He swallowed and indicated the body with his head. ‘Rumann immediately sent his son to the palace to fetch a Brehon.’

Fidelma glanced at the body and then back to the three brewers. ‘May I make a request? Would you wrap the girl’s body and carry it to Brother Conchobhar in the palace? You would act under my authority and be rewarded for your trouble.’

The spokesman glanced at his companions, before turning back and raising a knuckled hand to his forehead.

‘We will do so and willingly, lady.’

Fidelma led the way to the front of the tavern where the Laighin warriors still sat at their dice game. It was clear that their concentration was not on their game. As Fidelma approached, they all rose to their feet immediately.

‘What is it, lady?’ asked one nervously. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘There has been a murder here,’ she replied. ‘Who is in charge among you?’

One of them took a step forward. ‘I am Muiredach, lady. I command these men.’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel and a dálaigh.’

Muiredach inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘How may we help?’

‘Did any of you see or hear anything during the night?’

There was a shuffling of feet and shaking of heads.

‘What time did you retire?’

One young man coughed with apparent embarrassment. ‘We went abed before the tavern-keeper. I am afraid some of us had indulged too freely in his liquor.’

Another of the younger warriors added defensively: ‘It is boring, simply waiting for the religious who we are escorting. We have to hang around for them to finish their business before we can move on. There is nothing to do here except play dice and drink.’

Fidelma felt a momentary sympathy with the young man and made a mental note to raise the subject with her brother. Members of his bodyguard could surely arrange hunting expeditions or indulge in contests with these men in order to distract them from their boredom. But at the moment, there were more important matters to consider. She was aware of the commander, Muiredach, looking displeased with his subordinate.

‘I can understand your boredom,’ she said briskly, ‘but for the moment, some questions. Who went to bed early? I am told at least two of you stayed up playing a game of búanbach.’

Two of the warriors indicated self-consciously that they had imbibed too much and gone to bed before the others. It was Muiredach and another man who admitted to being the game players.

‘We were playing a tough game, lady,’ Muiredach confessed. ‘Rumann had left us with a lamp and we played on until the pieces resolved themselves on the board.’

‘I was the victor,’ the other man smirked, with an obvious pride that he had bested his commander.

‘How long did the game last?’

‘Not very long,’ affirmed Muiredach. ‘But everyone was asleep when we retired to our beds. You could be deafened by their snores. Neither of us heard anything else and it was only after we awoke this morning that we learned that something had happened. It was a murder, you say?’

‘A young religieuse was strangled among the brewery vats,’ Eadulf explained in a heavy tone.

Muiredach and his companions looked shocked.

At that moment the brewery workers came by the front of the tavern. They had constructed a makeshift stretcher on which they had placed the body.

‘Perhaps you should look upon her face and see if anyone recognises her,’ Fidelma suggested, and she instructed the men to halt and put down the stretcher. Eadulf bent and gently removed the piece of sackcloth from the young woman’s face.

The warriors moved forward and glanced down. Muiredach’s expression immediately revealed that he recognised the victim.

‘Where have you seen Sister Dianaimh before?’ Fidelma asked, at the same time indicating to the brewers to continue carrying the body to the palace.

‘I do not know her name, but I have seen her before we came to Cashel,’ the warrior said.

‘Before you came to Cashel?’ Fidelma was puzzled.

‘A few weeks ago, in Sléibhte.’

Fidelma gazed at him astounded, wondering if she had heard correctly. ‘Where did you say?’

‘At the Abbey of Sléibhte. I was sent to escort Brother Rónán and one of the foreigners to the abbey. That girl was there. I have no doubt it is the same one.’

‘Can you remember the circumstances?’

Muiredach pursed his lips for a moment. ‘There is not much to say. I escorted Brother Rónán and the foreigner from Dinn Ríg to the Abbey at Sléibhte. We stayed two days. Then Brother Rónán said that they would not require my services further, so I rejoined my companions at Dinn Rig. Then I was informed that I must escort the other three foreigners to Cashel and should choose a few of my fellow warriors for the journey.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Fidelma was impatient. ‘But what of the girl, Sister Dianaimh? You saw that she was at the Abbey of Sléibhte? Exactly where and when did you see her?’

‘On the day after we arrived at Sléibhte, I was sent back to Dinn Ríg. I was preparing my horse for the journey when, in the stableyard, I saw a girl mounting a horse also ready to leave the abbey. It was this girl. What is more, Abbot Aéd himself came into the stableyard to bid her farewell.’

‘Abbot Aéd?’ Eadulf questioned.

‘The abbot and Bishop of Sléibhte,’ Muiredach confirmed. ‘I remember now. Something was passed between them as she sat on her horse and I heard him saying “God’s speed. If you are able to acquire it, it will be a great support for our cause.” I did not hear her response but then she rode off. That is all I heard. It comes back to me now that I think on her dead features.’

Fidelma was silent, considering what the warrior had told her.

‘So you never saw her again until this moment?’

‘Never, lady. I don’t think that I can help further.’

‘You have helped more than I can say.’ Fidelma turned to Rumann. ‘I’ll send back your brewers immediately and keep you informed of the investigation.’

As they walked slowly back to the palace, Eadulf asked: ‘What next?’

‘Next, we must discover how Sister Dianaimh left the palace and went to Rumann’s brewery if she did not pass through the gates by the guard.’

Gormán was standing waiting for them at the gates. His expression was grave.

‘They’ve taken the body to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary, lady. This looks very bad. I am afraid Deogaire’s prophecy is coming true.’

‘Who was on duty at the gates throughout the night?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring his gloomy tone. She knew that Gormán feared no mortal thing but now the idea of something supernatural, the prophecy of Deogaire, was beginning to prey on his imagination.

‘Enda, lady,’ he replied.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Asleep in the Laochtech, if he has any sense.’

‘Then I am afraid we must wake him.’

Fidelma and Eadulf remained in the antechamber while Gormán went into the sleeping quarters and returned soon afterwards with a slightly dishevelled and hastily dressed Enda.

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma told the warrior, ‘but I do need this information quickly.’

‘Gormán has told me that Sister Dianaimh was found murdered in Rumann’s tavern,’ Enda said gruffly. ‘How can I help?’

‘What time did you come to watch the gates?’

‘The King’s feast was just finishing towards midnight. The musicians were still playing their last tune. That was when I commenced my guard.’

‘But you were not on duty all night?’

‘Of course not, lady. I was relieved by Bríon.’

‘I’ll get him,’ Gormán said hurriedly. ‘He’s asleep too.’

‘A simple question. When did Sister Dianaimh leave the palace?’

‘Not on my watch, lady,’ Enda said immediately. ‘Abbess Líoch already asked the same question of both me and Bríon.’

Fidelma recalled that the abbess had been searching for Sister Dianaimh earlier. ‘There is no way you would have missed her leaving?’

‘There is only one exit and entrance. Young Bríon took over from me for the second cadar. It was a clear night so we can be precise.’

Clear nights were important, for the most intelligent measured time throughout the night by rough estimates according to the position of the stars; exactly as the farmers had done since time immemorial.

Bríon, who was hardly more than a youth, came blinking into the room, rubbing his eyes.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, Bríon,’ Fidelma said again. ‘What time did Sister Dianaimh pass through the gates here this morning?’

The young man stared at her for a moment and then stifled a yawn. ‘As I told Abbess Líoch, lady, she did not pass through while I was here. I finished my watch just after sunrise.’

Fidelma expected no other answer but she had to be sure. ‘So your watches spanned the entire night from the ending of the feast and until sunrise, and yet you say that Sister Dianaimh did not pass through? Were the gates shut and bolted from midnight, as is the custom?’

‘Only once was it opened,’ Enda confirmed, ‘and that was shortly after the feast ended, when the musicians left to return to their homes in the township. But I knew every one of them. Sister Dianaimh was certainly not among them, I can assure you of that.’

There was silence for a while and then Fidelma told them to return to their interrupted sleep.

‘That confirms that Sister Dianaimh did not leave by the main gate.’ She added: ‘So now we have to find out how she did so.’

‘There is no way, unless she flew,’ Eadulf replied in a dour tone. ‘I cannot see her climbing the walls and scrambling down the rocky slopes. I would not like to try that even in the daylight, let alone the dark.’

‘The fact is that she did so,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘But how? The answer will come to us eventually.’

Gormán was listening to them with a frown. ‘I don’t know if it is worthy of repeating, but I did hear some words that passed between her and that Saxon — your pardon, friend Eadulf — Brother Bosa.’

‘Let us judge whether the words are worth repeating,’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘Well, I was passing by them last night at the meal. It was when the guests were mingling with one another. I was pausing to look round to make sure all was in order and did not hear the opening of the conversation. But I will try to reconstruct it exactly as I heard it.’

He then closed his eyes and recited the following dialogue.

Brother Bosa said: ‘But your abbot is not interested?’

‘He is not my abbot any more,’ Sister Dianaimh replied sharply.

‘But you continue to visit the abbey.’

To which she answered: ‘I have often carried messages for Abbot Aéd, that is true. But I can assure you that Aéd has already pledged his loyalty to Abbot Ségéne of Ard Macha.’

‘Wouldn’t that be contrary to the wishes of King Fianamail, who supports Cill Dara as the prime church of this island?’ asked Brother Bosa.

‘Aéd is of the Uí Barraiche. Fianamail is of the Uí Cennselaigh.’

Gormán added that Brother Bosa did not understand the enmity between the rival families of Laighin nor, it seemed, did Sister Dianaimh take the trouble to enlighten him.

‘So,’ went on Brother Bosa, ‘it is not true that Aéd would not be interested in the market?’

Gormán said that at this point, the girl turned away and left the scribe.

‘Not interested in the market?’ Fidelma exchanged a thoughtful glance with Eadulf. ‘So Brother Bosa was aware that Sister Dianaimh had recently been at Sléibhte. We’d best visit her room in the guest quarters.’

The girl had shared a room with Abbess Líoch. The abbess was now sitting on her bed, head in hands in a state of distress. The news of Sister Dianaimh’s murder had spread swiftly.

‘I don’t understand it!’ she cried, raising a tear-stained face to them as they entered. ‘Who would want to kill that innocent girl, Fidelma?’

‘While she was undoubtedly innocent of many things, she must also have been guilty of something,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘What she was guilty of is for me to find out. I would like to have a look at her personal belongings, if you have no objection? I presume that no one else has searched through her possessions since her death?’

‘Who would want to?’ the abbess rejoined sadly. ‘She had little enough.’ She nodded to the spare bed with a single woollen cloak spread across the bottom of it. There was a srathar or saddlebag hung nearby, and a ciorbhog hanging up behind the bed. This was the inevitable comb bag, which women of all ranks and offices carried. There was the usual change of clothes in the saddlebag. Fidelma took down the comb bag, sat on the edge of the cot and searched through it. She then set it aside with a sigh. There was little of value in it; it contained only the usual items. She shifted her weight to replace it and caught her breath as she felt something hard beneath her thigh.

She stood up and lifted the straw-filled mattress. A leather bag was concealed underneath. Fidelma lifted it up.

‘Heavy,’ she muttered.

With the mattress back in place, she reseated herself, put the bag beside her and untied the leather thongs that held it together. Then she widened the neck of the bag to look at the contents.

Eadulf, who had come to peer over her shoulder, exhaled through his teeth, a curious whistling sound to denote his astonishment.

‘What is it?’ demanded Abbess Líoch, rising from her bed and moving towards them.

‘Did you know Sister Dianaimh was carrying these coins?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Coins? What coins?’ Abbess Líoch saw — and gasped.

The bag was filled with gold and silver coins — a mixture of Roman, Gaulish and coins of the early Britons among them.

‘Why, there must be. .’ Eadulf was trying to calculate the value.

‘Enough to pay the honour price of any one of the Kings of the Five Kingdoms,’ Fidelma concluded.

‘Enough to buy a herd of nearly fifty milch cows,’ breathed Abbess Líoch, having seated herself again. She was in a state of shock.

Fidelma retied the bag, saying to the abbess, ‘I presume that you had no idea your steward carried such a sum?’

The abbess shook her head slowly. ‘None at all. But why?’

‘We must take this into safekeeping until the matter can be resolved,’ Fidelma declared. ‘Meanwhile, you must not breathe a word to anyone about this.’

Abbess Líoch, beyond speech, could only give an assenting gesture.

‘Do you think we have found the motive for her murder?’ Eadulf asked. ‘Perhaps the murderer knew she would be carrying the sum and killed her for it?’

‘I would have thought even someone with impaired vision would see that she was not carrying the coins on her. If they knew she was the bearer of such wealth, they would be aware that she would never carry it on her person but would place it somewhere for safety — somewhere like this hiding-place we have found. So if she was killed for this, why did they not enter here and search for it?’

Abbess Líoch glanced nervously at her. ‘But I was asleep here all night, and only this morning did I find Sister Dianaimh missing.’

Fidelma made no reply but stood and picked up the bag, handing it to Eadulf. It was quite heavy.

‘Where to now?’ he asked.

‘Now we shall place the money in the safekeeping of my brother,’ Fidelma said. ‘I have an idea.’

‘I am getting more confused as time goes by,’ Eadulf sighed as they went towards Colgú’s apartments. ‘We start with the murder of a Saxon cleric. Then there is an attack on my brother and his companion on the river. We think they are attacked by robbers from the Déisi. The robbers are captured and killed, except for their leader. He is brought here because he says he has something which he will use as a bargain to save himself from punishment. He is then murdered. We are told a deputation from Canterbury is coming here. Then someone tries to kill us. Then we are told my brother’s companion is no religious but a thief. And now Abbess Líoch’s bann-mhaor, her young steward, is murdered. She has been carrying a fortune with her. What can we make of all this?’

‘A tangled skein can be untangled if one has patience,’ observed Fidelma.

‘But if it is true that this Venerable Victricius was a thief, what was he doing on his way here? Is that why he did not tell my brother what his purpose was?’

‘After we have deposited these coins with Colgú, we will search out Brother Bosa and see if he can add anything more to this matter.’

Brother Bosa was on the walkway of the fortress walls when they found him, leaning against the parapet and gazing towards the distant mountains in the north-west.

‘Not my sort of country,’ he greeted them as they approached. ‘There are mountains in every direction. Give me the low hills or flatlands, the sky and the sea.’

‘I have been once in the Kingdom of Kent,’ Fidelma offered. ‘We were in Canterbury for a short time before going to Aldred’s Abbey. I do remember the low hills and rivers and no sign of any mountains. I suppose each to their own. We have a saying here, there is no hearth like your own hearth.’

Brother Bosa sighed and seemed almost vulnerable compared to the arrogance he usually displayed.

‘We wanted to ask a few questions,’ Eadulf volunteered.

In a moment the man’s affable expression became guarded. ‘About what?’

‘You will have heard that Sister Dianaimh has been murdered?’

‘I am told that she was found in a tavern. It’s hardly a place for a moral religieuse.’

‘Being murdered, she might not have been able to protest about where her body was placed after her death,’ Eadulf replied sharply.

‘You will understand my position as a dálaigh,’ Fidelma went on smoothly, giving Eadulf a reproving glance. ‘I need to ask some questions.’

‘Why of me?’ asked the scribe.

‘You were talking to her during the meal last night. I just wondered if she said anything that might have indicated whether she was afraid of anyone?’

Brother Bosa shrugged carelessly. ‘I did not speak to her for long.’

‘What did you talk about?’

The scribe said reluctantly, ‘You know by now that our mission here is to gather information about claims for a primacy in this island.’

‘And that is what you were asking her about?’

‘My understanding was that she had been trained at an abbey called Sléibhte which was already in existence when Patricius came to administer to the faithful here. While we were in Laighin, we heard a rumour that they might contend for the primacy against Ard Macha. King Fianamail of Laighin supported another abbey called Cill Dara, which would certainly not be considered by the Holy Father because its abbot was subservient to an abbess.’

‘So you were asking Sister Dianaimh if the Abbot of Sléibhte, Abbot Aéd, was pressing his own case to be regarded as a primacy?’ clarified Fidelma.

‘The Venerable Verax wanted an assurance, so I thought that I would ask her.’

‘And did you get the information you wished?’

‘Not really.’

‘So why did you think that Sister Dianaimh, who was bann-mhaor to Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile, would have any particular information about Sléibhte?’ Fidelma asked.

‘As I said, I was told she had links with the Abbey of Sléibhte,’ muttered Brother Bosa.

‘Could it have been that she had recently been observed at Sléibhte by Brother Cerdic? And would that have been the reason why she was invited especially to Cashel to meet with your deputation?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘We have been trying to understand why Abbess Líoch and her steward Sister Dianaimh had been invited by Brother Cerdic to attend here. It was pointed out to the abbess that it was in her interest to do so. If the purpose of your deputation was merely to gather such information — as could have been obtained by other simple means — why invite the abbess of a new and small community that would not rank in such research?’

‘We did not know Brother Cerdic had extended such an invitation,’ protested the scribe.

‘But he did. Apparently he went to Sléibhte and saw Sister Dianaimh there. It occurs to me that he, or your deputation, needed Sister Dianaimh at this meeting in Cashel. He could not openly invite her as an individual, but if he invited Abbess Líoch, then she would naturally bring her steward.’

Brother Bosa was looking blank. ‘You have lost me, lady,’ he said.

‘The mystery is,’ Fidelma was reflective, ‘why go to all that trouble, simply to get such information? Had your deputation gone to the High King’s palace at Tara and sat with Cenn Faelad and his Brehon Sedna, you would have learned all this, without the necessity of a journey to each kingdom. It makes me wonder if there is some other, hidden purpose to your deputation.’

Brother Bosa flushed. ‘What other purpose could there be?’ he blustered.

‘Are you selling anything?’ Eadulf blurted out, even surprising Fidelma.

‘Selling. .? What do you mean?’ demanded the scribe, startled.

‘I had the impression last evening that I was being asked if Abbot Ségdae would give something — presumably pay out for some sort of approval if he made a claim for the primacy. I am told you appeared to be asking the same question of Sister Dianaimh about Abbot Aéd.’

‘King Fianamail had already told us that Abbot Aéd was supporting the claims of Abbot Ségéne of Ard Macha,’ replied Brother Bosa angrily, then realised he had confirmed his interest.

‘So is that why you are here?’ smiled Eadulf. ‘You are here to find the highest bidder among the abbots of these kingdoms for the recognition of the primacy by Rome?’

The muscles in Brother Bosa’s face had tightened. ‘What nonsense is this?’ he spluttered. ‘Do you really think the Holy Father would countenance the buying and selling of such office?’

‘Why not?’ replied Eadulf easily. ‘Buying favours seems a natural human failing.’

‘Absolute nonsense,’ snapped Brother Bosa. ‘Now, if you will excuse me!’ He pushed roughly past them and headed to the steps leading down into the courtyard.

‘Well, well,’ breathed Eadulf after he had gone. ‘That seemed to upset him. But I cannot understand why Abbot Aéd would support Ard Macha, if his abbey has a prior claim of seniority.’

‘Simple enough,’ returned Fidelma. ‘It is a matter of politics rather than religion. The first Bishop and Abbot of Sléibhte, Fiacc, was a prince of the Uí Bairrche. They were once the ruling clan of Laighin. But Fiacc’s brother, Prince Oénghus, slew Crimmthan, a prince of the Uí Cennselaigh. And so the Uí Cennselaigh have gradually erased the power of the Uí Bairrche from all their strongholds in Laighin in retribution. Abbot Aéd is of the Uí Bairrche and he knows that ecclesiastical and political overlord-ship work in tandem. He doubtless fears that the Uí Cennselaigh will take over his great abbey. If he has agreed to recognise Ard Macha as having primacy over his abbey, and thereby receive its protection, then he has obviously been moved by the politics of power.’

For a moment or two, Eadulf stood digesting this information.

‘But that doesn’t seem to fit with what the warrior, Muiredach, told us he saw at Sléibhte. What was it that Sister Dianaimh was meant to acquire — and was her bag of valuable coins to be used to purchase it?’

Fidelma leaned against the wall, her hands clasped before her as she gazed out at the green swathe below. Eadulf waited nervously, in case he had said the wrong thing.

‘It is an interesting point,’ he added in justification.

Fidelma finally turned to him. ‘Interesting? It is a very important question that needs an answer.’

‘Do you really think that Vitalian would give the primacy to someone who offered him money?’

‘No, I don’t,’ replied Fidelma, to his immediate disappointment. ‘Nevertheless, it still remains a good question. Why did Sister Dianaimh carry all that money? What did she hope to achieve with it? To buy something? But what?’

Eadulf uttered a sigh. ‘I am beginning to think that our friend Deogaire was right.’

‘How so?’

‘That this deputation — and he did describe it as a deputation from the east — has been sent by the devil. So far, it has brought four deaths, including this mysterious Victricius — eight if you count the boatmen.’

‘Plus an attempt to kill us,’ Fidelma reminded him with a wry smile.

She pushed herself away from the wall and stretched. There were clouds in the sky but it was still dry and not too cold for the time of year. She examined the wall where it ran towards the south of the fortress complex.

‘I have an idea,’ she said suddenly, starting to move along the walkway. Eadulf trotted after her. There were one or two sentinels on the walkway who stood back respectfully as they passed. One of them, however, called a warning.

‘Be careful of the south-west corner, lady. That’s where the stones crumbled. The builders are still at work there with their scaffolding.’

She raised her hand in acknowledgement. It was precisely to that point she was heading, cursing herself for not having remembered it before.

A mason was at work dressing a stone down on the scaffolding as they came up. Seeing them approaching, he stopped working with his hammer and chisel and saluted them.

‘Have a care, lady,’ he said politely. ‘It is dangerous here.’

‘I shall be careful,’ Fidelma assured him. She leaned forward cautiously and peered down through the wooden structure that went all the way to the ground. There were several workmen below, cutting and hoisting stones to repair the wall which had been damaged in a rock-slip.

‘Is it easy to come up and down that way?’ she asked.

‘Bless you, lady, it’s very easy to the trained. That is our job.’

‘What if one was not skilled — could it still be done? I see ladders in place. Are they always there?’

‘The ladders are lashed to the structure, lady, for security. It would be timewasting to keep removing them and replacing them each day. Already the steward of your household is chiding us about the length of time it is taking to finish. But we are working as quickly as we can.’

‘So they are there during the night?’

‘They are so. But you need have no fear of an enemy attack from here, lady.’ The man chuckled at the idea. ‘The structure is easily defended from the wall.’

‘But anyone could climb up or down without any skill?’

‘There’s no skill in climbing a ladder, lady.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a smile. ‘I think we might have resolved one more question,’ she said in an undertone before turning back to the stonemason. ‘I am going to climb down,’ she announced. ‘I want to test how easy it is.’

The man was astounded. ‘But, lady, we cannot afford it if you slip or have some accident.’

‘If anything happens, Eadulf is witness that I make this climb of my own volition and you are absolved from making any recompense if I injure myself.’

Without a further word, she swung over the wall and, gripping the wooden supports of the structure, lowered herself to the first platform where the stonemason was working. With the astonished man still mumbling protests, she trod carefully over to the first ladder. Eadulf, having stifled his own protests, gave a groan and he, too, swung after her. At the third ladder, she paused and reached forward to where the wood was splintered. Several strands of dyed wool had been caught on the jagged edge. She picked them off carefully. They were of the same material as might be used in a religious robe.

It was a quick and easy descent, from each ladder to each platform and so on, until they had reached the bottom and were gazing up towards the towering walls of her brother’s fortress. As Eadulf, sweating and nervous, joined her, Fidelma was standing with a satisfied smile on her face. Puzzled workmen were standing nearby, gazing astonished at their unexpected descent.

‘So now we know how Sister Dianaimh could have secretly left the fortress without the necessity of coming through the gates!’ she exclaimed in triumph. She showed the strands of wool to Eadulf. ‘I will wager with you that when we examine the robe that Sister Dianaimh was wearing, we will find a match.’

‘I would have believed you without the need for a practical demonstration,’ Eadulf replied glumly. Then he glanced over his shoulder. ‘It is certainly an easy walk from here to Rumann’s inn. But that would mean she was going to meet someone there.’

‘I believe she was going to meet someone,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Someone she knew and with whom she was-’

‘Going to negotiate a payment with the sack of coins?’ Eadulf interrupted.

‘Well, she did not carry them with her,’ Fidelma pointed out, ‘but I think I am beginning to see some light in this dark matter.’ And before Eadulf could say anything further, she added brightly: ‘Well, do you prefer to walk round to the main gate and surprise our guards, or would you like to climb back up?’

Eadulf screwed up his face as if in agony. ‘I would willingly walk three times around The Rock than climb back up those ladders,’ he replied in a tone of fervour.

They turned and began to walk along in the shadow of the citadel towards the main gate.

‘Having discovered how Sister Dianaimh could leave the palace without being seen,’ Eadulf speculated, ‘there is another thought that occurs to me.’

‘Which is?’ Fidelma asked in high good humour.

‘If it was easy for her to leave, it was just as easy for someone else to gain entrance.’

It was a thought that had already occurred to Fidelma but she gave a quick nod. ‘I will tell my brother that he should have a guard permanently mounted there,’ she said quietly.