‘Liamuin is an unusual name but not an exclusive one,’ Fidelma reiterated. ‘Anyway, let us continue our examination of the assassin, for I think we were about to come to a conclusion that he was not necessarily a religieux.’
‘There seems to be no identification on the man to show where he comes from,’ Brehon Aillín said. ‘He could be disguised as a religieux. Under his robe he wears a satin undershirt.’
Eadulf’s mouth twitched slightly to hide a cynical expression. ‘It is not exactly unknown for abbots, bishops and other wealthy prelates to clad themselves in such finery,’ he said.
‘But not a man purporting to be just a messenger and clad in simple robes as these,’ objected Brehon Aillín.
‘A point that is well taken,’ confirmed Eadulf. ‘Anything else?’
‘He has good shoes, hardly worn, that do not reflect any lengthy walking. They have scuff-marks that might indicate he rode a horse,’ replied Fidelma. ‘He was certainly not caught in the rain shower which occurred not long before he arrived here.’
‘And have you noticed the other curious thing?’ enquired Eadulf.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.
‘So far as I saw, when he attacked Colgú and now as he lays before us, there was no crucifix around his neck. Neither one that showed his poverty nor one that showed rank. It is odd that a member of the Faith would be without a cross.’
Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘A very good observation, Eadulf.’
Eadulf regarded the corpse for some time in silence before he realised that the others were waiting for him to make some further comment.
‘His hands show that he is no manual labourer for the skin is soft and the palms exceptionally so, for that is an area where manual work leaves an impression. The fingernails are carefully cut and rounded and,’ he took the right hand in his, pointing to the thumb and forefinger, ‘there is a dark stain here on the side of the thumb as well as the forefinger. I would say that it is ink. His hair is cut and his face shaven. All in all, I would say he was a man used to keeping up a good appearance.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Fidelma.
‘The main thing we must consider,’ Eadulf insisted, ‘is the name of the woman he shouted. Whoever she is, or was, it was meant to be recognised immediately by your brother. As this man struck him, he shouted: “Remember Liamuin!” Surely someone here should recognise that name and what it means?’
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?’