The King stared uncomprehendingly at the blood spreading over his tunic. Everyone seemed frozen in a moment of silent shock. Then, as the knife descended once more, Brehon Áedo, with a cry, threw himself in front of Colgú. The knife struck him in the side of the neck, sinking deeply and killing the Brehon.
The attacker was struggling to retrieve the knife from Áedo’s inert body as if he intended to strike again. He was still yelling the same words: ‘Remember Liamuin!’ Then he glanced up and saw Caol, commander of the King’s bodyguard, moving forward, his sword in hand, and renewed his frantic efforts to recover his knife. He had partially succeeded when Caol struck at him. The sword blow went straight to the man’s heart and it was obvious that he was dead even before he reached the floor.
The cries of horror now rose in a deafening roar. Beccan was standing as if rooted to the spot, his face a deathly pale.
Eadulf was the first to reach Brehon Áedo but one look told him that the Chief Brehon was beyond help. He pulled the body off the slumped figure of Colgú and made a quick examination. The King was unconscious and blood still seeped from the wound in his chest. Eadulf was aware of Fidelma standing anxiously just behind him.
‘He is still alive, but only just,’ he said.
‘With respect, I am best qualified to attend to the King.’ It was the voice of old Brother Conchobhar, the physician and apothecary who had tended Colgú and Fidelma since they were children.
Eadulf immediately moved aside. The old man was right. There was no need to debate the issue.
‘Will he live?’ Fidelma demanded, her voice cracking with emotion.
‘I can only do my best,’ replied Brother Conchobhar tersely. ‘The rest will be up to God.’ He knelt at the King’s side and began to remove Colgú’s tunic and shirt, to examine the wound.
People were still milling about the feasting hall, their voices raised in disbelief, some trying to tell the story as they had seen it.
Now Finguine, the heir apparent, sprang up on a table and called for silence, clapping his hands to add emphasis.
‘This noise is not helping,’ he called, when the level of cacophony receded. ‘You must all disperse and allow our physicians to take care of the King.’
Reluctantly, the guests began shuffling to the door of the feasting hall, which had been thrown open. Gormán stood to one side, sword in hand, awaiting orders.
Brother Conchobhar glanced up at Eadulf. ‘We need to have him removed to his own bedchamber where we may treat his wound in more comfortable circumstances.’
Eadulf looked round to find Beccan, the steward. The man still seemed to be in a state of shock. ‘Help me to carry Colgú to his bedchamber.’
Beccan stared at him as if he did not understand.
‘I mean now!’ Eadulf said harshly.
The steward blinked and then became aware of his responsibilities. He carefully helped to lift the inert body of the King while Brother Conchobhar moved forward, guiding the way from the feasting hall.
Realising that Fidelma was about to follow them, Eadulf told her: ‘There is little you can do to help; better surely to find out who this assassin is and why he struck!’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment, as if she would disagree. Then, knowing he was right, she turned back into the hall to where Brehon Aillín stood looking down at the bodies of Brehon Áedo and the dead religieux. Then Finguine was at her side with a goblet of wine. He held it out to her without speaking. She took it and swallowed two mouthfuls, feeling its warmth in her body, helping her blood to flow once more after the trauma of the last few moments. Everyone seemed to be confused, not knowing what to do.
‘I must take over until … until Colgú is recovered.’ Finguine’s voice was quiet. It was as if he were asking for her approval.
Brehon Aillín coughed nervously before she could respond.
‘And as poor Brehon Áedo is dead, as his deputy I should therefore take charge of the legal matters.’ It was true that Brehon Aillín was next in seniority among the Council of Brehons. ‘But, of course, as the King’s sister as well as a dálaigh, I would appreciate your assistance, lady,’ he added courteously. ‘Your experience in such matters is well known.’
‘Very well, Brehon Aillín,’ Fidelma replied after a moment or two. ‘Any advice that you or my cousin Finguine need, is yours for the asking.’
Finguine looked relieved that a possible awkward moment had been avoided. He turned to Brehon Aillín. ‘It was Gormán who admitted the assassin to the hall,’ he said. ‘I presume you will want to question him first?’
The place was almost empty now. Apart from Brehon Aillín and Fidelma, only Finguine and Caol now remained amidst the empty tables still laden with uneaten food. Gormán had remained at the door and, on Caol’s summons, the young warrior advanced, his face pale and his manner nervous.
‘Tell me what you know about this man, Gormán,’ Brehon Aillín said, indicating the corpse of the assassin.
Gormán pursed his lips and gave a little shrug. ‘There is little I can tell you. I was on duty outside the doors of the feasting hall, for it was my turn to act as sentinel. One of the guards from the main gates approached, accompanying this religieux.’
‘Who was the guard?’ asked Brehon Aillín.
‘Luan, the one they nickname the “hound”.’
‘Caol, send someone to find Luan,’ instructed Finguine before indicating that Gormán should continue.
‘Luan told me that the religieux had approached the gates, saying that he was Brother Lennán from Mungairit and had come with an important message for the King. He did not look suspicious. He looked just like an ordinary religieux. He confirmed his purpose to me and said his message was very important, but for the ears of Colgú only. Therefore I told him to wait outside while I entered the feasting hall and told the steward about him. Beccan went directly to Colgú and explained about the visitor. Beccan then signalled for me to admit the man and I did so. The rest you all saw for yourselves, for I had returned outside to my station.’ He sighed, turning his worried expression to Fidelma and adding sorrowfully, ‘I could not have prevented what happened, lady.’
‘No one is blaming you, Gormán,’ Fidelma told him. ‘We were all taken completely by surprise.’
‘So far, that tells us nothing,’ Brehon Aillín murmured. ‘We had better examine Brother Lennán’s corpse.’
At that moment the door opened and Caol returned with another warrior. The man was looking about apprehensively as he was guided towards the group.
‘Is it true?’ the newcomer asked in a whisper. ‘Is the King badly wounded?’
‘It is true,’ confirmed Brehon Aillín, ‘but God be praised that he still lives. However, Brehon Áedo is dead. Now, I presume that you are called Luan? We need you to tell us about this man who has proved to be his assassin.’
‘I did not know,’ the guard burst out, obviously distressed. ‘I should have been suspicious … but he fooled me.’
Brehon Aillín smiled thinly. ‘Just tell us what happened.’
The guard stood frowning, as if forming his recollection.
‘I was on guard at the gates when the figure of a religieux came up the hill, walking easily and openly. He came to me and announced that he was Brother Lennán from the Abbey of the Blessed Nessán and that he had walked from Mungairit to bring an important message to King Colgú. I knew that the King would be celebrating the feast of Colmán and told the man so. He replied that his message was important, that he needed to see the King at once and that he would take responsibility for disturbing him. I ordered my companions to maintain their vigil at the gates and instructed Brother Lennán to follow me to the feasting hall. There I spoke with the warrior, Gormán, and handed over my charge to him.’