The Monk Who Vanished

Chapter Four

There was a long silence after the Prince of the Uí Fidgente had made his accusation.

It was Fidelma who finally broke the menacing stillness by inclining her head towards her brother who was standing with his face barely masking the pain of his wound.

‘If Colgú’s warriors shot and tried to kill you, Donennach, then they also tried to shoot down the King of Cashel.’

Donennach’s keen dark eyes examined her searchingly.

It was his chief warrior, Gionga, who articulated his unasked question.

‘Who are you, woman, who dares to speak in the presence of princes?’ His voice was still arrogant.

Colgú answered quietly although his voice was tight in pain. ‘It is my sister, Fidelma, who speaks and has more right to do so than any in this company for she is a dálaigh of the courts as well as a religieuse. She is qualified to the degree of anruth.’

Gionga’s eyes widened visibly, realising that only an ollamh, the highest degree ever bestowed by the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of Ireland, stood above an anruth.

Donennach was not so outwardly impressed. Instead his eyes narrowed slightly.

‘So? You are Fidelma of Cashel? Sister Fidelma? Your reputation is known throughout the lands of the Uí Fidgente.’

Fidelma returned his scrutiny with a grim smile.

‘Yes; I have been in the land of the Uí Fidgente — once. I was invited … to a poisoning there.’

She made no further elaboration, knowing that Donennach knew well enough the details of the story.

‘My sister is right,’ intervened Colgú, coming back to the original point. ‘Any charge that my hand is behind this evil act is false!’

Eadulf decided to take a hand again for he was worried about the wounds of the two men.

‘This is no time to discuss the matter. Both of you need your woundsproperly tended before infection sets in. Let us leave this discussion until a more appropriate time.’

Colgú bit his lip to control a spasm of pain in his arm. ‘Is it agreed, Donennach?’ he asked.

‘It is agreed.’

‘I will take matters in hand, brother,’ Fidelma said firmly, ‘while Eadulf attends to you.’

Gionga took a step forward, the annoyance showing on his face, but before he could speak Donennach raised a hand.

‘You may stay with Sister Fidelma, Gionga,’ he instructed softly, ‘and help her with this matter.’

There seemed an unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘help’. Gionga bowed his head and stepped back.

The bearers carrying the litter lifted the Prince of the Uí Fidgente and followed Colgú, helped by Donndubhain, up the steep path towards the royal palace. Eadulf was fussing at Colgú’s side.

Fidelma stood for a moment, hands folded demurely in front of her. Her bright eyes held a flickering fire which anyone who knew her would realise indicated a dangerous mood. Outwardly her features were composed.

‘Well, Gionga?’ she asked quietly.

Gionga shifted his weight from one leg to another and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well?’ he challenged in turn.

‘Shall we let the corpses of these two men be taken to our apothecary? We can examine them later and in better circumstances.’

‘Why not examine them now?’ demanded the Uí Fidgente warrior, a trifle truculently, but he was cognizant of her rank and appeared to realise that he must keep his arrogance in check.

‘Because now I want you to show me where and how you came on them and why you had to slay them instead of taking them captive that we might question their motives.’

Her tone was even and there was not trace of a rebuke in it. However, Gionga grew red in the face and seemed inclined to refuse. Then he shrugged. He turned and signalled to two of his men to come forward.

Someone called to them and Donndubhain came trotting back down the hill. He looked worried.

‘Colgú suggested that I might be of more help here,’ he explained, his facial expression attempting to imply that Colgú was not happy to leave his sister in the company of the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Capa and Eadulf are attending him.’

Fidelma smiled appreciatively. ‘Excellent. Gionga’s men are taking these bodies to the Conchobar’s apothecary. Have you a man to guide them?’

Donndubhain called to a passing warrior.

‘Escort the men of the Uí Fidgente with these bodies to …’ He raised his eyebrows interrogatively to Fidelma.

‘The apothecary of Brother Conchobar. Tell Conchobar to await my instructions. I wish to examine the bodies myself.’

The warrior saluted and motioned to the Uí Fidgente warriors, carrying the two bodies, to follow him.

‘Now, we will start from the spot where Colgú and Donennach were shot,’ Fidelma declared.

Gionga said nothing but he and Donndubhain followed Fidelma back to the square. The townsfolk of Cashel had not yet dispersed and many were huddled in groups whispering among themselves. Some cast furtive looks at the Uí Fidgente warrior. Fidelma could sense the dislike in their eyes. Generations of war and raiding were not going to be wiped from their memory as quickly as she had previously thought.

They reached the spot where the arrows had struck both Colgú and Donennach. Gionga pointed across the market square to a cluster of buildings on the far side.

‘When the first arrow struck, I looked round to see where it had come from. I saw a figure on the roof of that building there.’

The building he indicated was fifty metres away on the far side of the market square. It had a flat roof.

‘It was as I saw him discharging a second arrow that I shouted but it was too late to warn Donennach.’

‘I see,’ mused Fidelma. ‘That was when you spurred your horse across towards the building?’

‘It was. A couple of my warriors came close after me. By the time we reached the building, the archer had jumped down, still with his bow in his hand. There was another man there with a sword. I cut them both down before they could use their weapons against us.’

Fidelma turned to Donndubháin.

‘As I recall, you followed close behind, cousin. Does this accord with what you saw?’

The heir-apparent shrugged. ‘More or less.’

‘That is an imprecise answer,’ remarked Fidelma quietly.

‘What I mean to say was that I saw the archer jump down and join his companion but I did not see them raise their weapons. They seemed to stand waiting for the warriors to come up to them.’

Gionga snorted in disgust.

‘You mean, for us to come closer so that they could be sure of their targets?’ he sneered.

Fidelma began to walk towards the building without comment.

‘Let us see what we might find there.’

Donndubháin glanced at her, not understanding.

‘What would we find there? The assassins were both killed and the bodies removed. What can you find?’

Fidelma did not bother to answer him.

The building which Gionga and Donndubháin had identified was a low, single-storey building with a flat roof. It was a wooden structure. It looked more like a stable with two large doors at the front and a small side door. Fidelma, who had been born and spent her early years in Cashel, tried hard to remember what the building was. It was not a stable so far as she could recall but some sort of store house.

She halted and examined it with a careful gaze.

The doors and windows were shut up and there were no signs of life.

‘Donndubháin, do you know what building this is?’

The tanist tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip.

‘It is one of the store houses of Samradán the merchant. I think he uses it for wheat storage.’

‘Where is Samradán?’

Her cousin shrugged indifferently.

Fidelma tapped her foot impatiently.

‘Make it your task to find him and bring him to me.’

‘Now?’ asked Donndubhain, startled.

‘Now,’ affirmed Fidelma.

The heir-apparent of Cashel left to find the merchant, for even a Prince had to obey a dálaigh of the courts, aside from the fact that Fidelma was sister to the King. Fidelma walked around the wooden building, examining it. There was a small side door. She tried it and found it was locked. In fact, everything appeared shuttered and secured although, at the back of the building, she noticed a ladder leaning against the wall which had given access to the roof.

‘This was where I saw the assassins,’ Gionga pointed out. Fidelma glanced at him quickly. ‘Yet you could not have seen this from where you were crossing towards the front of the building.’

‘No. I saw only the archer, the man holding his bow. He stood on the roof and then he disappeared towards the back of it. I rode alongside the building just as the two men, one with the bow, the other with a drawn sword, emerged from behind the building.’

‘And at what spot did you strike them down?’

Gionga gestured with his hand.

The pools of blood had not dried up on the ground. They were sited at the back of the building but in view of anyone approaching from the square.

Fidelma climbed the ladder onto the flat roof. Towards the front of the roof, behind a small wooden parapet, lay two arrows. They had not been hastily discarded for they were placed carefully. Perhaps the bowman had put them there ready to enable him to shoot several times with rapidity. Fidelma picked them up and examined the markings on them. She compared them with the arrow tucked into her corded belt, the one Eadulf had taken from Colgú’s arm. Her mouth compressed grimly. She recognised the markings on them.

Gionga had joined her and was gazing at her moodily. ‘What have you found?’

‘Just arrows,’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘Fidelma!’

Fidelma peered over the parapet to where Donndubhain was standing below.

‘Have you found Samradan?’

‘I am told he is not in Cashel today. He is at Imleach trading goods with the abbey there.’

‘Presumably this Samradán does not live here?’

Donndubhain gestured with his arm. ‘From the roof where you are you might see his house. It is the sixth house along the main street there. I know the man and have traded with him.’ His hand went absently to the silver brooch at his shoulder. ‘I am sure he cannot be involved in this matter.’

Fidelma glanced along the street to the house which the tanist had indicated.

‘Well, it does not need answers from him to see what happened,’ Gionga cut in. ‘The assassins saw that this flat roof offered a strategic point from which to shoot at Donennach. They realised it was a store house; found a ladder and climbed up to await the arrival of my Prince. They thought they could get away in the confusion.’

He turned to look at the land at the back of the building.

‘They could easily have escaped into the copse behind. Why-’ his face lightened — ‘I will wager that is where we will find their horses tethered, waiting.’

He made to leave as if to prove his suggestion.

‘One moment.’ Fidelma stayed him with a quiet command.

She was examining the distance between the roof and the spot where Colgú and Donennach had been struck Her eyes narrowed.

‘Well, I will tell you one thing about our archer,’ she said grimly.

Gionga frowned but did not say anything.

‘He was not a good archer.’

‘Why so?’ asked the Uí Fidgente warrior, reluctantly.

‘Because from this point and distance it would have been hard tohave missed his target twice in succession. He could well have missed the first time but certainly not the second time when the target was stationary.’

She stood up and, taking the arrows with her, she went down the ladder with Gionga following. Her cousin was waiting for them at the bottom.

‘Did you hear Gionga’s suggestion about horses?’ she asked.

‘I did,’ Donndubhain affirmed non-committally. Fidelma received the impression that he did not think much of Gionga’s ideas.

They moved towards the small copse of trees. There was no sign of any horses tethered.

‘Perhaps they had another accomplice?’ Gionga hazarded, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘He saw his companions struck down and fled, taking the horses with him.’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fidelma, her eyes examining the track on the far side of the copse. There were too many signs of horses and wagons there to draw any firm conclusions.

Gionga stood scowling about him as if hoping to see the horses suddenly emerge from thin air.

‘What now?’ asked Donndubhain, hiding his satisfaction that the Uí Fidgente warrior had been proved wrong.

‘Now,’ sighed Fidelma, ‘we will go to Brother Conchobar’s apothecary and examine the bodies of these assassins.’

The elderly Brother Conchobar was waiting for them at the door. He stood aside as Fidelma approached with Donndubhain and Gionga behind her.

‘I was expecting you, Fidelma.’ He grimaced wryly. ‘And didn’t I warn you that no good would come of this day?’

Overhearing this, Gionga snapped: ‘What do you mean by that, you old goat? Are you saying that you had prior warning of this deed?’

Donndubháin reached out and put a warning hand on Gionga’s arm, for the warrior had seized the old man roughly by his shoulder.

‘Leave him alone. He is an old man and a faithful servant of Cashel,’ he said sharply.

‘He does not deserve to be treated thus,’ added Fidelma. ‘He saw evil in the patterns of the stars, that is all.’

Gionga dropped his hand in disgust. ‘An astrologer?’ He exploded a small breath against half-open lips in an expression matching the sneer in his voice.

The old monk readjusted his crumpled clothing with grave dignity.

‘Have the two bodies been brought safely to you?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I have removed their clothing and laid them on the table but, as you instructed, I have not touched either of them.’

‘When we are finished, if we have not identified them, you may wash the bodies and wrap them in shrouds but where you will measure their graves I know not.’

‘There is always a space somewhere in the earth even for sinners,’ replied Conchobar, gravely. ‘However, the days of their lamentation will not be long.’

Among the people of Eireann, the funeral obsequies often included twelve days and nights of mourning and weeping over the body which were called laithi na caoinnti — the days of lamentation — before which the bodies were laid in their graves.

Inside the apothecary there stood a large broad plank table which was more than adequate to take the two bodies of the slain men. Indeed, this was not the first time that the table was used by Conchobar for laying out bodies as he was often called upon to perform the duties of mortician. The corpses lay side by side, naked except, for modesty’s sake, where the old monk had lain a strip of linen to mask their genitalia.

Fidelma went to stand at the foot of the table, her hands folded before her; her eyes were narrowed slightly and they missed nothing.

The first thing that she noticed, almost in grotesque amusement, was that one man was tall, thin and balding although his fair hair was worn long at the back as if to compensate for this fact, while the second man was short, of ample girth with a mass of curly, unruly greying hair. Side by side, their physical differences were almost comical. Only the fact that they were cadavers, the wounds of Gionga’s sword marking how they met their deaths, turned the comical into the grotesque.

‘Which of these two was the archer?’ Fidelma asked softly.

‘The bald one,’ answered Gionga at once. ‘The other was the accomplice.’

‘Where are the weapons that they carried?’

It was Conchobar who retrieved the bow and quiver, which contained a few arrows, and a sword from a corner of the room.

‘The warriors who carried the corpses here brought these things with the bodies,’ the old monk explained.

Fidelma gestured for the old man to lay the weapons aside. ‘I will examine them in a moment …’

‘One moment!’ Gionga ignored her. ‘Bring the quiver of arrows here.’

Brother Conchobar glanced at Fidelma but she made no protest. She knew what Gionga had spotted on the roof of the warehouse and she realised that it was wise not to delay the point he was inevitablygoing to make. The apothecary held out the quiver to Gionga. The tall warrior selected an arrow at random and drew it out, holding it out before their gaze.

‘What would you say is the provenance of this arrow, tanist of Cashel?’ Gionga asked with a feigned expression of innocence.

Donndubháin took the arrow and began to examine it carefully.

‘You know well enough, Gionga,’ interrupted Fidelma, for she was also versed in such matters.

‘I do?’

Donndubháin looked unhappy.

‘The flights bear the markings of our cousin’s people, the Eóghanacht of Cnoc Aine.’

‘Exactly,’ sighed Gionga softly. ‘All the arrows in the assassin’s quiver bear the markings of the fletchers of Cnoc Aine.’

‘Has that some meaning? After all-’ Fidelma turned innocent eyes on the warrior — ‘arrows are easily acquired.’ She drew out a small knife from her marsupium. ‘This knife was made in Rome. I bought it when I was on a pilgrimage there. It does not make me a Roman.’

Gionga flushed in annoyance and rammed the arrow back in the quiver.

‘Do not try to be clever, sister of Colgú. The provenance of the arrows is clear. And will be borne in mind when I report to my Prince.’

Donndubháin flushed at the direct insult to his cousin. ‘There is only one dálaigh among us, Gionga, and she will make the report,’ he snapped.

Gionga merely showed his teeth in a sneer.

Fidelma ignored him and took the quiver and examined it. Apart from the markings on the flights of the arrows there was no other means of identifying it from a hundred and one other such quivers. She gestured for Conchobar to show her the bow. It was of good, sturdy workmanship and with no other distinguishing marks. Then she turned to the sword. It was of poor quality, rusting around its joints and not even sharpened. The handle was strangely ornamented with the carved teeth of animals. Fidelma had seen the style of sword before — it was called a claideb dét and, so far as she knew, only one area in Eireann produced such decoration on their swords. She tried to recall where it was but could not.

‘There, Gionga,’ she said, at last, ‘we have examined these weapons. Are you satisfied that we have done so?’

‘In that we can now identify the origin of the arrows — yes!’ replied the warrior.

The door opened abruptly and Brother Eadulf entered the apothecary. He halted apologetically on the threshold.

‘I heard that you were about to examine the bodies,’ he said, a trifle breathlessly. He had obviously been hurrying.

Fidelma turned to him anxiously. ‘How is my brother … and Prince Donennach?’ she demanded.

‘Comfortable. There is no danger but they will be sore and irritable for a few days. Do not worry, their wounds are tended and they are being nursed in good hands.’

Fidelma relaxed and smiled. ‘Then you are just in time, Eadulf. I may need your eyes.’

Gionga glowered in annoyance. ‘This foreigner has no business here,’ he protested.

‘This foreigner,’ Fidelma replied in measured tones, ‘is the guest of my brother and has been trained in the physician’s art at Tuaim Brecain. He has probably kept your Prince out of harm’s way by his medical skills. Also, we may need his expert eye in the observation of these bodies.’

Gionga clenched his jaw in an expression of disapproval but made no further protest.

‘Come forward, Eadulf, and tell me what you see,’ Fidelma invited.

Eadulf moved to the table. ‘Two men, one short, one tall. The tall one …’ Eadulf bent carefully over the body, examining it minutely. ‘The tall one died from a single wound. By the look of it, it was a sword thrust into the heart.’

Gionga chuckled sarcastically. ‘I could have told you that for mine was the hand that did it.’

Eadulf ignored him. ‘The second man, the short one, died from three blows. He had his back turned to his assailant when they were delivered. There is a cut in the neck that is a dire wound. A stab under the shoulder-blade which I do not think was mortal but the back of his skull has been smashed in, perhaps with the hilt of a sword. I would say that this man was running away when he was cut down by someone who was in a position above him. Perhaps someone on horseback.’

Fidelma allowed her penetrating gaze to linger on the Ui Fidgente warrior. The silence was an accusation. Gionga thrust out his chin defensively.

‘It matters not how your enemy is slain, so long as he is rendered a threat no longer.’

‘I thought that you said this man threatened you with his sword?’ Fidelma asked quietly.

‘At first,’ snapped Gionga. ‘Then when I cut down his companion he turned and ran.’

‘And you could not capture him?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp. ‘You had to kill him, in spite of the fact that he could have given us invaluable information about this deed?’

Gionga shuffled his feet. ‘Such considerations do not enter one’s mind in the act of combat. The man was a menace and I eliminated that threat.’

‘A threat!’ repeated Fidelma softly. ‘He looks like an elderly man and his age and corpulence would have combined to make it easy for a young warrior, such as yourself, to disarm him. Anyway, I would remember this, Gionga of the Uí Fidgente: when a dálaigh asks you a question, it is the truth that they seek, not a lie to justify an action.’

Gionga stared back aggressively but did not say anything.

When Fidelma returned her attention to the cadavers, she found Eadulf bending over the head of the shorter corpse. There was an expression of amazement on his face.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

Eadulf did not say anything but merely beckoned her to his side.

Gionga and Donndubháin followed curiously.

Eadulf had lifted the head slightly so that they could see the crown. There was a lot of dried blood on it where Gionga had smashed the back of the skull with the blow from his sword hilt.

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘What is it?’ demanded Gionga. ‘I see nothing except the wound I made. I freely admit that I made it. So what?’

Fidelma spoke very quietly. ‘What Brother Eadulf is pointing out, Gionga, is that you will see there is a difference in the growth of the hair on this man’s crown to the hair surrounding the crown. As you will see, the hair surrounding the crown is thick and curly. There is a circle on the crown in which the hair is barely more than half an inch to an inch in length.’

Gionga still could not understand what it meant.

Realisation reached Donndubháin. first. ‘Does this mean that the man was in holy orders until recently?’

‘What?’ Gionga was startled. He peered forward as if to verify the fact that he had missed.

‘The corona spina of the Roman following,’ observed Eadulf who wore the same tonsure.

‘Are you saying that this man was a foreigner?’ demanded Gionga of Eadulf.

Fidelma closed her eyes momentarily. ‘There are plenty of religious within the five kingdoms who have forsaken the tonsure of St John for the tonsure of St Peter,’ she explained. ‘The tonsure tells usnothing more than the fact that he is … or was … a member of the religious.’

‘We know also that he wore his tonsure until about two weeks ago. I would say that it has taken that long for the hair to grow thus,’ Eadulf added.

‘Two weeks?’ queried Fidelma.

Eadulf nodded confirmation.

They stood back while Eadulf continued his examination, peering carefully at the body. He pointed to the left forearm. ‘Have you all observed this strange tattoo?’

They bent forward to examine it.

‘It is a bird of some sort,’ offered Donndubhain.

‘Clamhán,’ asserted Fidelma.

‘A what?’ frowned Eadulf.

‘It is a hawk of sorts,’ she explained.

‘Well, I have never seen its like,’ asserted Gionga.

‘No,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘You are not likely to unless you travel to the northern lands.’

‘And you have, I suppose?’ the warrior jeered.

‘Yes. I have seen it in Ulaidh and in the kingdom of Dál Riada when I was on my way to the great council called by Oswy of Northumbria.’

‘Ah!’ Eadulf was triumphant. ‘I recognise it now. In Latin it is called buteo, a buzzard. An odd bird for a religieux to have emblazoned on his forearm.’

He continued with his examination, paying special attention to the hands and feet.

‘This man is no religieux turned warrior, nor warrior turned religieux,’ he announced. ‘The hands and feet are soft and not calloused. Indeed, examine his right hand, Fidelma, especially between the first and second fingers.’

Fidelma reached forward and picked up the flaccid, cold hand. She tried not to shiver as a reaction to the repulsive touch of the soft flesh which seemed pliable as to be almost boneless.

She glanced quickly at Eadulf, her eyebrows raised, before replacing the hand.

‘What is it now?’ demanded Gionga, resentful that he was not able to understand.

‘There are ink stains on the fingers,’ Eadulf replied to the question. ‘It means that our erstwhile monk was a scriptor. A strange person to become an assassin.’

Gionga was querulous. ‘Well, it was the other man who was the archer and he wore the emblem of the elite bodyguard of the Kingof Cashel and his weapons were arrows manufactured by the people of Cnoc Aine, a territory ruled by the cousin of Colgú.’

Fidelma did not bother to comment on his statement. ‘And so we will turn to the archer himself. What can you tell us of this man, Eadulf?’

Eadulf spent some time examining the tall man’s body before he stood back and addressed them.

‘The man is well muscled, his hands are used to work, although they are well groomed. They do not carry the dirt of a farmer or labourer. The feet are also hardened and the body is tanned but carries two scars, old scars which have healed. See here, one is near the ribs on the left and the other is on the left upper arm. The man has fought in battles. Furthermore, he is a professional bowman.’

At that last statement, Gionga burst into derisive laughter. ‘Just because you have heard me say that he was a bowman, Saxon, you need not seek to impress us with your powers as if you were some sorcerer.’

Eadulf was unperturbed. ‘I report only what I see.’

Fidelma smiled gravely. ‘Perhaps you will explain it for Gionga as he does not understand your reasoning.’

Eadulf smiled patiently.

‘Come here.’ He beckoned to the Uí Fidgente warrior. ‘Firstly, we look at his left hand in which he holds his bow. Look at the calluses on the fingers. They are not to be found on the right hand. This hand is used to holding a sturdy piece of wood. Now look at the right hand and see the smaller calluses on the tips of the first finger and thumb where this hand repeatedly holds the end of the shaft of an arrow. Return your gaze to the inner forearm of the left hand where you see some ancient burn marks. There, the string of the bow has sometimes vibrated against the flesh. It happens when a bowman is trying to release arrows in quick succession and is not always able to line up the bow with precision.’

Gionga tried not to sound impressed. ‘Very well, Saxon. I grant you that there is a logic to your tricks. Nevertheless, I could have told you that he was a bowman for I cut him down with the bow in his hand after he had tried to kill my Prince.’

‘And tried to kill the King of Muman,’ added Donndubhain. ‘You keep neglecting that point.’

‘Turn to the assassin’s clothes.’ Gionga was peevish. ‘Explain the emblem of the Golden Chain, which is the elite bodyguard of your cousin.’

The old monk Conchobar had placed the clothing on a second table with the weapons for them to examine.

Fidelma picked up the cross on the chain of gold which was the symbol of the ancient order associated with the Eóghanacht Kings of Cashel. There were no distinguishing marks on it. It was similar to the cross and chain that she herself wore around her neck in token of her brother’s gratitude for her services to the kingdom.

‘Donndubháin, you have been close to your father, King Cathal, who was King of Cashel before my brother. You have personally known the bodyguard of the kings as well as any. Do you recognise the body of this tall archer?’

‘No,’ averred her cousin. ‘I have never seen him before in the company of the bodyguards, Fidelma.’

Fidelma held out the emblem to him. ‘Have you ever seen this before … I mean, this specific emblem?’

‘It is like every emblem worn by members of the Order of the Golden Chain, cousin. You know it for you also wear one. It is impossible to tell one from the other.’

Gionga was sceptical. ‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You would hardly admit that one of your bodyguard was an assassin.’

Donndubhain whirled angrily and clapped a hand to his sword hilt as if to draw it in anger but Fidelma held up her hand.

‘Stop! Whether you believe it or not, Gionga, this man is not recognised as a member of the Order of the Golden Chain. I do not recognise him nor does my cousin. On that you have our solemn oaths.’

‘I would expect you to say no less,’ replied Gionga, the disbelief in his voice not dissipated one iota.

‘Maybe the cross was carried deliberately to mislead you,’ offered Eadulf.

Gionga started to laugh offensively. ‘You mean that the assassin meant to be killed so we could find his emblem and be misled?’ he sneered.

Fidelma saw the chagrined expression on the face of her Saxon friend and came to his defence.

‘It could be that the assassin meant to drop it where we would find it,’ she said, though she did not really feel convinced. She hastily turned to the piles of clothes and began to examine them.

‘Coarse materials. There is nothing that identifies their origin. These clothes could come from anywhere. Two leather purses. A few coins in each of them but of no great value. Our assassins seem to have been poor. And …’

She stopped and her searching fingers encountered something in the purse which Brother Conchobar had identified as belonging to the elderly, rotund man. Slowly she drew it out.

It was a crucifix, three inches in length on a long chain. Both crucifixand chain were exquisitely wrought in sparking silver. Within the four arms of the crucifix were set four precious stones with a larger stone set in its centre. They were emeralds. It was not a cross of native Irish workmanship, that was easy to see, for it was plainer, less intricate than the designs turned out by Irish silversmiths.

Eadulf was staring over her shoulder.

‘That is a cross that no ordinary member of a religious community would be wearing,’ he observed.

‘Nor even a priest. This is the cross of a bishop, at least,’ observed Fidelma with some awe. ‘Perhaps even more valuable than an ordinary bishop’s cross.’