‘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.