Conchobar stared at her for a moment.
‘It is hard for Brother Eadulf not only to be in a foreign country but also to be married to an Eóghanacht princess.’
‘It was his choice,’ she replied defensively.
Conchobar smiled thinly. ‘And you had nothing to do with it?’
She coloured quickly at his gentle sarcasm.
‘I tried to dissuade him, tried to…’
Conchobar’s smiled broadened.
‘I see. You were unwillingly overwhelmed and there was nothing that you could do?’
The year and a day of my marriage contract is almost up. It falls within the next week.’
‘And you plan to formally reject him? Awkward in the current circumstances, is it not?’
Fidelma compressed her lips and said nothing. Conchobar was being as devastatingly logical as she would be in his place.
‘Apart from Eadulf’s sensibilities in adapting to this lifestyle, what are your feelings? Do not tell me that you are an unwilling partner in this. I know you too well. You have never done anything in life, Fidelma, that you did not want to do. You went into this partnership because you wanted to, not because Eadulf wanted it.’
Fidelma opened her mouth to protest and then snapped it shut. She frowned, trying to think how best she should answer the question.
At that moment the door burst open and one of the religieux came in, not even noticing Fidelma but looking straight at Brother Conchobar.
‘Come quickly, Brother Apothecary,’ he called. ‘You are needed at once.’
Fidelma rose quickly.
‘What is it?’ she demanded, her heart beginning to race.
The religieux turned, as if seeing her for the first time.
‘Sister Fidelma! It is the Bishop Petrán. I think he is near to death … if not dead.’
Chapter Eleven
Bishop Petrán was dead. He lay on his bed, his skin pale, like tightly stretched parchment, but with a curious blue tinge on his lips. There was nothing that Brother Conchobar could do except pronounce him dead.
Two of Bishop Petrán’s attendants, young brothers of the Faith, were present in the chamber, obviously anguished by the death of their elderly mentor. Fidelma had accompanied Brother Conchobar to the bishop’s room primarily out of curiosity. The previous day the bishop had seemed in remarkably good health and his argument with Eadulf had demonstrated his mental agility. She was about to ask Brother Conchobar what he thought the cause of death was, but as she framed the question the door suddenly opened and Brehon Dathal, the chief judge of Muman, came in followed by Finguine, the tanist.
Brehon Dathal glanced about him in an officious manner, frowning in annoyance when he saw Fidelma.
‘I shall take over the investigation of this matter, Fidelma,’ he said sharply, as if she would argue with him.
She smiled thinly. ‘You are welcome to do so, Dathal, although there is no investigation as yet. I merely came along with Brother Conchobar for I was playing brandubh with him when he was called to attend the bishop by these young brothers.’
Brehon Dathal turned to Brother Conchobar. ‘I see that Bishop Petrán is dead. What was the cause of death?’
Brother Conchobar simply shrugged. That I cannot tell you for certain at this moment. I have not begun a thorough examination.’
Brehon Dathal glanced down at the corpse.
‘Blue lips, blue lips,’ he muttered. ‘Surely a sign of poison?’
‘Not necessarily,’ the old apothecary protested.
‘Always in my experience,’ Brehon Dathal replied testily.
‘I had not realised that you are a qualified physician,’ replied Brother Conchobar blandly.
Brehon Dathal was bending over the corpse and did not appear to hear him. Brother Conchobar coughed loudly to attract his attention.
‘I need to do some further tests in my workroom.’
Brehon Dathal turned away from the bed and sniffed.
‘Superfluous. Clearly poison but, if you want to waste time, I have no objection. I am proceeding with the fact that he was poisoned and that this is a case of murder.’
Astonished, Fidelma gazed at him. ‘Isn’t that a little … a little precipitate?’ she said quietly.
Brehon Dathal stared at her in irritation.
‘I thought you were not involved in this matter?’
‘Neither am I.’
‘Then I need not detain you.’ He turned sharply to the two young religieux. ‘When did you discover the bishop?’
‘We came a short while ago to escort him to luncheon. We found him thus. I went to fetch Brother Conchobar while my companion stayed with him.’
‘When did you last see him alive?’
‘Shortly after he had performed the morning’s dismissal. He said he was feeling tired for it was only the day before yesterday that we had returned from the west coast.’
‘Apart from fatigue after his journey, he was in good health?’
‘Bishop Petrán was always in good health. He was never tired and this morning was the first time I had ever heard him admit to fatigue.’
‘Just so, just so,’ muttered Brehon Dathal. ‘So we can say that the poison was administered when he returned to his chamber…?’
Brother Conchobar let out a gasp of protest.
‘I have not yet stated a cause of death. I need to examine-’
Brehon Dathal waved him aside.
‘A formality, a formality that is all.’ He was already looking at a couple of pottery mugs on a side table. He picked them up and sniffed suspiciously at them. Behind his back, Finguine glanced across to Fidelma and raised his eyes to the ceiling with a shrug. Brehon Dathal was stroking his chin. ‘He came in, drank the poison in innocence and thus died.’
Suddenly he swung back to the two religieux. ‘Did the bishop have any enemies that you know of? Has he been in recent arguments?’
One of the two young men glanced at Fidelma before dropping his gaze. ‘On our return to Cashel, he was seen to have a very fierce argument,’ he said quietly.
‘With whom?’ pressed Brehon Dathal eagerly.
‘With the Saxon. The same Saxon with whom he had a fierce argument nearly a month ago.’
‘The Saxon?’ demanded Brehon Dathal.
‘He means Eadulf,’ Fidelma said quietly. She had gone suddenly cold at the implied accusation.
‘That’s right. With Brother Eadulf,’ confirmed the religieux.
‘What were these arguments about?’
‘I can tell you that…’ began Fidelma but Brehon Dathal waved her into silence.
‘Let an unbiased witness speak. You are the wife to this Saxon and therefore will present a bias in his favour.’
‘I think it was on matters of religious disagreement,’ said the brother. ‘They argued with harsh words and I know that on both occasions, when I attended the bishop afterwards, he was upset and went so far as to say that Cashel was the poorer when the sister of the king consorted with a-’
‘I cannot listen to this!’ snapped Fidelma.
Brehon Dathal turned on her disapprovingly.
‘I have already suggested that your presence here is not needed. You may go, and tell Brother Eadulf to hold himself ready to answer some questions.’
Finguine glanced sympathetically at her as she left. Behind her she heard old Brother Conchobar demanding permission to remove Bishop Petrán’s body so that he could examine it properly.
Eadulf was not in their chambers when she glanced in. She hurried down the grey stone corridor, trying not to run. Crossing the yard she saw Caol, the warrior, grooming a horse.
‘Have you seen my husband, Caol?’ she asked him, slightly breathless.
The warrior smiled in greeting as he stood up, brush in hand.
‘Not so long ago. I’ve just rubbed his horse down before he left again.’
She stared at him.
‘Left again?’ she said with emphasis.