The warlord stepped back, blinking. He turned to Fidelma for guidance, then glanced towards Abbot Nannid.
‘If he is Codlata, then Abbot Nannid must have known him.’
‘One’s relations are not proof of guilt,’ blustered the abbot. ‘I gave sanctuary to Codlata and will maintain it. He was only administrator to Prince Eoganán.’
‘You are at liberty to do so,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘That is, unless Codlata or Brother Cuineáin, as he is now called, is proved guilty of some crime.’
She had been looking at Abbot Nannid as she spoke. As if in answer, the abbot drew back the sleeves of his robe, showing that he had no blemishes on his wrists. He stared back at her in silent challenge.
‘I was not about to accuse you, Abbot Nannid,’ she told him, ‘although, of course, you are Prince Donennach’s uncle and also of the bloodline. It seems this abbey has become home to several Uí Fidgente nobles. No, it is the man Suanach described that I want.’ Then, turning quickly: ‘And you have a scar on your right wrist, don’t you, Brother Lugna?’
The stable-master started in bewilderment. ‘Yes, I do. Everyone knows it. You saw it when you were here before. A horse bit me years ago. It was an accident, I told you.’
‘Brother Lugna has served this abbey for many years as my stable-master,’ Abbot Nannid said irritably. ‘He entered the abbey when he was seventeen years old, many years before Prince Eoganán started his war against Cashel. Brother Lugna was renowned for his piety and devotion to the abbey as well as his love of horses. He never wanted anything to do with his father’s claims nor did he have sympathy with his brothers Torcán and Lorcán. Why would he suddenly want to lead such a conspiracy, and claim power after all these years?’
Fidelma was aware of the looks of doubt on the faces of her companions.
‘People do change with experience,’ she conceded. ‘When Brother Cú-Mara was here a few days ago, he mentioned that he had noticed a change in Brother Lugna’s attitudes after Cnoc Áine.’
‘Brother Lugna is a man of great piety,’ insisted the abbot.
‘Indeed he was,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘His brother Lorcán was not. Perhaps it is time for you to speak as yourself, Lorcán!’ She added the last sentence sharply, wheeling round on the man.
In the silence that followed, Temnén was shaking his head. ‘No, no, no, lady. Lorcán was killed. Everyone knows that. It was Uisnech who killed him.’
‘I am afraid not. Lorcán killed his twin brother, Lugna, so that he could take his place as stable-master in this abbey. You, Temnén, were not alone in remarking how alike the brothers were physically but how unalike in temperament. Brother Cú-Mara, who had known Lugna for some years before Cnoc Áine, noticed a subtle change in the stable-master’s temperament. But everyone was willing to agree that attitudes had changed after that great defeat.’
‘But I have known Brother Lugna for … This is impossible!’ stammered Abbot Nannid. ‘I also knew Lorcán. He was not only a son of Prince Eoganán but one of his chief commanders. Speak up, Lugna.’
‘What better way of hiding, after the defeat, than in full view of everyone, passing as his own twin brother? People see what they expect to see,’ Fidelma said. ‘Lorcán’s twin brother was renowned for his lack of interest in Uí Fidgente pretensions, and for his piety and goodwill, having served a long time in the abbey. What a perfect disguise!’
‘But to kill his own brother and switch identities …’ Conrí was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘There is an easy way to get confirmation,’ Eadulf murmured. ‘Any competent apothecary or physician can tell the difference between the scar left by an axe and the bite of a horse.’
Brother Lugna, who had remained silent the whole time, went to move forward, as if to extend his arm for inspection, but then he suddenly turned and made a grab for Gormán’s sword, his placid features twisted in anger. Gormán was quicker and his dagger was at the stable-master’s throat. Brother Lugna wisely halted his action and stood glowering at them.
Eadulf glanced briefly at the man’s wrist. ‘No horse made that scar,’ he confirmed.
Fidelma pointed to the forehead of the erstwhile Lugna. Anger had caused the blood to flush his features. In so doing, a faint white scar was shown in relief.
‘A further proof? That is doubtless where poor Brother Lennán struck his killer when he tried to seize the Cathach on Cnoc Áine.’
‘I can hardly believe it,’ the abbot almost wailed.
‘This fits with Lorcán’s character.’ Temnén was reflective. ‘I knew him, as I told you. He was ambitious and cruel. I did say that physically, Lorcán and Lugna could pass as one another except for their differences in personality.’
‘I am afraid that it was Lugna who was slain,’ repeated Fidelma. ‘And it was not by Uisnech, although he received the blame — presumably from tales circulated by Lorcán. He, as you say, had no morality. After the defeat and death of his father, he fled to this abbey. He did not think twice about killing his own twin brother and taking his place. Brother Lugna would not be suspected. Who would question him? Then he was free to plot for the future. As the surviving son of Prince Eoganán he determined he would find a way to claim the princedom and continue the war against Cashel. It was as simple as that.’
‘Yet not so simple to me,’ Conrí said. ‘Explain the details of this.’
‘It was Lorcán, in his guise of stable-master, who learned from poor Brother Ledbán, working as a groom under him, where his daughter Liamuin was hiding. He also learned that she had the Cathach which her brother had given her for safekeeping. Having heard that a warrior of the Golden Collar was living at Menma’s rath, he conceived the idea of retrieving the Cathach in the guise of Eóghanacht warriors, even taking the shield that he knew had been retrieved from the battlefield and kept in the shrine here, along with one of the Cashel torcs. It was not hard for him to gain access to the shrine room.
‘But when he recovered the Cathach from Menma’s rath he found it had been damaged during the battle. It needed repair — and who were the greatest smiths in the kingdom? The almost legendary smiths of Magh Méine, the Plain of Minerals on the Great River.’
‘And so they restored the Cathach?’ queried Temnén.
‘The task was given to Gláed, one of his loyal followers. Gláed knew Ordan of Rathordan and made the deal with him to take the Cathach to the smiths of Magh Méine. When it had been repaired, Ordan was to bring it back to him at the Ford of the Oaks. Gláed also gave Ordan money to purchase some new weapons — swords, spears and shields, for the quality of items produced by those smiths is known throughout the Five Kingdoms. And this Ordan did … he fulfilled his task — except that he fell into our hands. Then Gláed was caught by Conrí.’
Brother Cuineáin was aghast. ‘I served with this man for four years and was fooled. He was my cousin, and I was fooled. Why did he hide here for four years in disguise before acting?’
‘He had to await the right opportunity. That was when Prince Donennach felt secure enough to make a visit to Tara to see the High King. It was then Lorcán decided to use another weapon. As I have told you, that weapon was poor demented Maolán, whose secret he had learned. He told Maolán that it was my brother Colgú, the King of Cashel, who had led the raid on Menma’s rath. Maolán was advised to dress as a religious and say he had a message from this abbey in order to gain entrance to Cashel. Perhaps it was his own idea to give his name as that of Liamuin’s brother, Brother Lennán. That I do not know.’
Conrí was undecided. ‘I am not sure what to do with him.’