‘How do you think the key came to be on the floor?’
‘I believe it was probably in the lock on the inside and, as we smashed open the door, the force of our blow must have jolted it from the lock and it fell.’
‘Show me where.’
The young man pushed open the smashed door and pointed to an area immediately behind it. The spot was slightly to the centre rather than immediately under the lock.
‘Where is the key now?’ she asked.
‘It was handed to Brehon Faolchair.’
Fidelma cast her eye over the door. It was a stout oak door although there were some knots in the ageing wood, and cracks. Indeed, a couple of the knots had simply disappeared with age and wear.
‘Are there keys to the other rooms?’
‘There are, lady.’
‘Would any others fit this lock?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied Lachtna. ‘This place was originally built to hold prisoners as well as the guard. I was told that our locksmiths made all the keys of different shapes. That was back in the days when Oengus son of Nechtan was our prince and very wary of his enemies. He felt the differences in locks and keys were a better security than …’
Fidelma held up her hand to stay the other’s sudden enthusiasm for the subject. She entered the room and looked about.
It was fairly small chamber. A window gave light but it had iron bars inserted in such a way that no one could use it to exit or enter. A cot bed, a cupboard, a chest and a desk with two wooden chairs comprised the furnishings. She saw nothing that gave her any ideas of how someone could conceal themselves in the room.
‘In your opinion, Lachtna, is there any way someone could have entered this chamber, knocked out Gorman, the warrior, and killed the abbot in the manner Gorman claimed?’
The young man shook his head. ‘Not unless they were a puca, a shape-shifter, lady, and could move through solid walls. Look, even the one window there is a full storey high above ground and has iron bars across it. The windows were barred to hold the prisoners in the old days.’
‘But there is a closet in that corner and a chest under the window. Could an assassin have hidden there?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Anything is possible.’ The young man walked to a position before the desk-like table. ‘The Cashel warrior claimed he was attacked from behind. From the position where I found him, he was on the floor at this point. The abbot was lying in front of him. From where I am now standing, lady, if a nameless assassin was hiding either in the closet or the chest, how could he not have been observed emerging from these hiding places? How could he come round to strike the warrior from behind without being seen? The chest is there, under the window to the warrior’s right. He would have seen the lid opening and the assassin having to climb out from a horizontal position. He did not. And the closet is almost directly behind the abbot, slightly to the left shoulder of where he stood. The abbot might not have seen an assassin emerge from that but the warrior would have done so and presumably raised the alarm.’ He paused. ‘That is, if his story is true.’
Fidelma was silent for a moment or two, examining the positions indicated by the young warrior.
‘You have a keen eye for observation, Lachtna,’ she praised him.
‘It is my training,’ Lachtna admitted modestly. ‘I notice things. It is why I noticed the key on the floor behind the door and why I then ensured that it was presented to Brehon Faolchair because Brother Tuaman had failed to see it. The key is the confirmation that the door had been locked on the inside – and that is essential evidence.’
‘True,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘What do you think of Gorman’s claim that he had been hit over the head and that he was not the killer?’
Lachtna looked uncomfortable. ‘I know you have come here to defend him, lady. That is the talk among the household guards here. I hear he is the commander of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel.’
‘Don’t let that influence your opinion,’ Fidelma told him. ‘Just tell me what you think.’
Lachtna spread his arms. ‘If I had discovered a fox in a chicken run with feathers in its mouth and a dead chicken before it, it would be hard not to believe that the fox was guilty of killing the chicken.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘So there is absolutely no doubt in your mind, speaking as one of the chief witnesses to these events, that he is guilty?’ Fidelma was expecting the answer but she had to put the question.
‘With respect, lady,’ answered Lachtna, ‘there can be no other conclusion. It is as if Gorman wanted to be found guilty! If he had planned to assassinate the abbot, why do it in such a manner? Why not wait for some lonely spot in the dark of the night?’
‘That argument is of itself one in support of innocence,’ pointed out Eadulf.
‘I did not see the dagger being plunged into the body of the abbot, brother, but the circumstances indisputably show that he was the only person in the room apart from the victim. I cannot say anything other than what I have seen.’
‘That is all we can ask of you, Lachtna,’ Fidelma observed gently. ‘Now, where is the abbot’s staff, the one which is said to have caused the wound on Gorman’s head?’
There was a movement at the doorway. Fidelma glanced over and saw the tall figure of the steward framed in it.
‘You come at an opportune time, Brother Tuaman. I was about to send for you,’ she said.
When Brother Tuaman strode in, his body language assertive, once again Fidelma had the impression of a wrestler going into a contest rather than of a scholarly religieux. She dismissed Lachtna, and the young warrior left with a half shrug at the newcomer.
‘I am prepared to answer your questions,’ the steward announced, and the condescending tone in his voice irritated Eadulf. It was true what Conri had previously observed: the steward seemed to have a high opinion of himself, which was unusual in a tall, muscular man. Such men had little need to prove themselves to others.
‘That is good because it is your duty to answer the questions of a dalaigh and a refusal would bring penalties,’ Fidelma replied sternly. ‘But I don’t need to tell you that.’
Brother Tuaman blinked. Eadulf wondered if he realised that his pomposity would not succeed in elevating his status with her.
‘As I mentioned before,’ Fidelma went on, ‘when Abbot Segdae visited my brother at Cashel, I recall that you were in his company. However, we did not really talk at that time. I am wondering where you are from … before Imleach, that is?’
‘From Loch Lein.’
‘I meant, at what abbey did you train?’
‘For ten years I served in the Abbey of the Blessed Finnian Lochbhair on Inis Faithlian. The abbey is on the island in Loch Lein,’ he added condescendingly, as if she would not know this fact. ‘I grew up on the shores of the lake and that is why I joined the community there.’
‘Inis Faithlian is an abbey of high learning,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘What did you study there?’
‘Penmanship, for which I received much praise as well as my renditions of Latin, Greek and Hebrew characters.’
The man was certainly not impeded by a lack of egotism and Fidelma’s irritation now gave way to one of amusement.
‘Do you also transcribe our own tongue?’
‘Res ipsa loquitor,’ replied the man pretentiously as if it were obvious.
Fidelma looked at Eadulf with lowered brows and tried to hide her smile. ‘Sometimes I find it better not to presume knowledge. Many things that one thinks should go without saying, should be clarified,’ she said.
The steward flushed but did not respond.
‘I am told your delegation consisted of Abbot Segdae, his deputy, yourself and two other brothers from Imleach,’ Fidelma continued.
‘That is so. Brother Mac Raith, whom you met yesterday, and Brother Mael Anfaid.’