Abbot Colmán nodded his agreement with the announcement.
‘It is good to come to an end of this affair,’ he said. ‘My only regret is that Dubh Duin killed himself so that we cannot try him for the murder of the High King.’
‘But Dubh Duin did not murder the High King.’
The sentence clearly spoken by Fidelma caused a silence more complete than any that had gone before. It seemed that all present held their breath.
Brehon Sedna stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you joking with us, Fidelma?’
‘It is no joke.’
‘What of the witnesses — what of the fact that, when caught in the act, Dubh Duin took his own life? Be reasonable.’
‘Nevertheless, the truth remains that Dubh Duin did not murder Sechnussach,’ she said again, more firmly still.
‘You will have to explain yourself.’
‘It is simple to do so. When Dubh Duin took his knife and cut Sechnussach’s throat, the High King was already dead.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
This new announcement was greeted with a stunned silence, as if everyone present had suddenly been transformed into statues of stone. Even the conspirators, about to be led away, looked shocked.
It was Abbot Colmán who finally broke the spell that had descended on the hall.
‘I think you had better explain, Fidelma,’ he said at last, trying to sound stern but sounding merely bewildered.
Fidelma turned to Iceadh the physician. ‘I would like to present my first witnesses for this statement. Stand up, Iceadh.’
The old physician did so, peering round nervously at the assembly.
‘When I first asked you to describe to me the wounds inflicted on Sechnussach’s body, what exactly did you tell me?’
Iceadh sniffed impatiently. ‘My account was no different from the one I gave everyone else. Sechnussach’s throat was cut. The jugular vein severed. Short stab to the heart. Either could have been fatal. Sharp instrument found with assassin. A hunter’s knife. Honed to sharpness that would slice anything. Sechnussach died instantly.’
‘Precisely,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘And the one thing that we have been overlooking was the short stab to the heart that, as you say, could be just as fatal as the cutting of the throat.’
Iceadh frowned and shook his head fiercely. ‘I did not overlook it,’ he said grumpily. ‘I reported it as I saw it.’
‘And I am glad you did so,’ confirmed Fidelma, with a pacifying smile. ‘But everyone else overlooked it. You see,’ she went on, turning to the Great Assembly, ‘Sechnussach had already been stabbed in the heart and killed before Dubh Duin entered the chamber and cut his throat.’
Brehon Sedna was leaning back and smiling sceptically as a ripple of sound ran round the Great Assembly.
‘Now that is a theory that you will be hard-pressed to prove, Fidelma,’ he remarked, almost patronisingly.
Fidelma flushed a moment and then returned his smile with her most dangerous icy look.
‘I never make claims that I cannot substantiate, Brehon Sedna. I now intend to prove it,’ she said sharply. She turned again to the physician. ‘Now, Iceadh, I know little of your profession but I have often watched my old mentor, Brother Conchobhair, at his work in Cashel.’
‘Brother Conchobhair is known to me,’ Iceadh acknowledged, ‘for I have read his treatise on the treatment of galar poil-the epilepsy which it is thought that Paul of Tarsus suffered after his vision.’
‘Would you have any objection if Brother Eadulf asked you a few questions? Most of you will know that Brother Eadulf studied for a while at the great medical school of Tuam Brecain.’
‘I will answer any question worthy of an answer,’ replied Iceadh coldly.
Eadulf stood up and smiled briefly at the physician.
‘I have but few questions, but hope you will find all of them worthy of answers, Iceadh. Let me begin by pointing out the obvious so that all members of the Great Assembly can follow our logic. Arriving here two weeks after the assassination, we were not able to inspect the body of Sechnussach, who had already been buried according to custom. That being so, we must rely on your eyes and observations.’
‘My observations are as sharp now as when I first examined the body,’ Iceadh replied fussily. ‘It is not often that one is called to examine the murdered body of one’s High King. I see the body very clearly in my mind’s eye.’
‘And that is good, for you have given us a weighty piece of evidence. As indicated by Fidelma, you pointed to the wound to the heart, which you said was as fatal as the cutting of the throat.’
‘That is true,’ Iceadh conceded, ‘but in what order the wound came, whether it was made before the cutting of the jugular or after it, I cannot say.’
‘I think, as we examine this, you will be able to do so,’ Eadulf assured him, to more gasps from the members of the Great Assembly. ‘I make no claims to be a surgeon, but at the medical school where I studied, I attended many lectures and demonstrations of surgery.’
‘Tuam Brecain is one of our greatest medical schools,’ Iceadh admitted. ‘I grant that the teaching there is of the best.’
‘I have never seen a man have his throat cut,’ went on Eadulf, ‘and, Deo volente, I hope I never will. However, the skilled masters at Tuam Brecain taught by showing what happens when the throat of an animal is cut, how the blood spurts forth like a great spring, powerful and strong.’
Iceadh smiled as if patiently trying to humour him. ‘Just so. Just so,’ he murmured.
‘Stay there a moment, Iceadh. For I would like to ask a question of Brónach,’ Eadulf said.
The woman looked startled and then rose to face Eadulf. ‘Must I answer this stranger?’ she demanded belligerently of Brehon Sedna.
The Brehon frowned in annoyance. ‘If you do not answer him, then you will answer to me,’ he snapped. ‘Eadulf is no stranger to us and has our entire confidence.’
Brónach flushed.
‘As a servant in the royal household, part of your duties was the washing of all the bedlinen. Is that not so?’ Eadulf did not seemed put out by her antagonism.
‘And still is,’ replied the woman tersely.
‘I recall that you told Fidelma and me that you took all the bedlinen and clothes from the High King’s chamber after his assassination for washing. Is that correct?’
‘If you remember, why ask me?’
‘So that you may confirm this to the Great Assembly and show that I am not putting words into your mouth,’ explained Eadulf patiently.
Brehon Sedna leaned forward. ‘I tell you again, Brónach, you will answer Eadulf’s questions promptly and without prevarication.’
‘It is so,’ snapped the woman.
‘Excellent,’ smiled Eadulf. ‘And there was, of course, blood on the linen?’
‘Of course.’
Eadulf glanced at her. ‘Do you recall telling us that there was so little blood that you were able to wash the sheets so that they could be used again, but Brother Rogallach told you to sell them as it would be unlucky for the royal household to keep them?’
‘I do.’ The woman looked wary now, trying to see if Eadulf was leading her into some dangerous admission.
‘Did you find it strange that there was so little blood?’
‘No — why should I?’
‘Because I have seen what happens when a sheep’s throat is cut. There is so much blood that I would say that the entire bed would be soaked in it. Anyway, I have finished. You may be re-seated, Brónach. Indeed, the matter of the lack of blood was perplexing. When we arrived here, Abbot Colmán mentioned that blood must have spurted like a fountain from the wound. It was only later that I discovered he had not actually examined the wounds. But if the throat was cut, the presumption was a valid one.’
Eadulf turned to indicate Irél. ‘It was the commander of the Fianna who first alerted us to the fact that there was little blood and its significance. He had seen many such neck wounds in battle and so commented at the lack of blood that flowed from Sechnussach’s wound.’