“Come here and look, both of you. What, Brother Donngal, was your explanation of this?”
Brother Donngal looked slightly embarrassed as he peered forward.
“I did not examine her neck under the braid,” he admitted.
“Well, now that you are examining it, what do you see?”
“There is a small discolored patch like a tiny bruise,” replied the apothecary after a moment or two. “It is not more than a fingernail in width. There is a little blood spot in the center. It’s rather like an insect bite that has drawn blood or as if someone has pricked the skin with a needle.”
“Do you see it also, Laisran?” demanded Fidelma.
The abbot leaned forward and then nodded.
Fidelma gently lowered the girl’s head back onto the table.
“I believe that this was a wound caused by an incision. You are right, Brother Donngal, in saying it is like a needle point. The incision was created by something long and thin, like a needle. It was inserted into the nape of the neck and pushed up hard so that it penetrated into the head. It was swift. Deadly. Evil. The girl probably died before she knew that she was being attacked.”
Abbot Laisran was staring at Fidelma in bewilderment.
“Let me get this straight, Fidelma. Are you saying that the corpse found near this abbey this morning is a woman of rank who has been murdered? Is that right?”
“And, after her death, her clothes were taken from her and she was hurriedly dressed in poor peasant garb to disguise her origin. The murderer thought to remove all means of identification from her.”
“Even if this is true,” interrupted Brother Donngal, “how might we discover who she was and who perpetrated this crime?”
“The fact that she was not long dead when Brother Torcan found her makes our task more simple. She was killed in this vicinity. A woman of rank would surely be visiting a place of substance. She had not been walking any distance. Observe the soles of her feet. I would presume that she either rode or came in a carriage to her final destination.”
“But what destination?” demanded Brother Donngal.
“If she came to Durrow, she would have come to the abbey,” Laisran pointed out. “She did not.”
“True enough. We are left with two types of places she might have gone. The house of a noble, a chieftain, or, perhaps, a bruighean, an inn. I believe that we will find the place where she met her death within five or six kilometers of this abbey.”
“What makes you say that?”
“A deduction. The corpse newly dead and the murderer wanting to dispose of it as quickly as possible. Whoever killed her reclothed her body and transported it to the spot where it was found. They could not have traveled far.”
Abbot Laisran rubbed his chin.
“Whoever it was, they took a risk in disposing of it in the woods so near this abbey.”
“Perhaps not. If memory serves me right, those woods are the thickest stretch of forest in this area even though they are close to the abbey. Are they that frequented?”
Abbot Laisran shrugged.
“It is true that Brother Torcan does not often venture so far into the woods in search of fungi,” he admitted. “He came on the corpse purely by chance.”
“So the proximity of the abbey was not necessarily a caution to our murderer. Well, are there such places as I described within the distance I have estimated?”
“An inn or a chieftain’s house? North of here is Ballacolla, where there is an inn. South of here is Ballyconra where the Lord of Conra lives.”
“Who is he? Describe him?”
“A young man, newly come to office there. I know little about him, although he came here to pay his respects to me when he took office. When I came to Durrow as abbot the young man’s father was lord of Ballyconra but his son was away serving in the army of the High King. He is a bachelor newly returned from the wars against the Uí Néill.”
“Then we shall have to learn more,” observed Fidelma dryly. She glanced through the window at the cloudy sky.
“There is still an hour before sunset,” she reflected. “Have Brother Torcan meet me at the gates so that he may conduct me to the spot where he found the body.”
“What use would that be?” demanded the abbot. “There was nothing in the clearing apart from the body.”
Fidelma did not answer.
With a sigh, the abbot went off to find the religieux.
Half an hour later Brother Torcan was showing her the small clearing. Behind her, Abbot Laisran fretted with impatience. Fidelma was looking at a pathway which led into it. It was just wide enough to take a small cart. She noticed some indentations of hooves and ruts, undoubtedly caused by the passage of wheels.
“Where does that track lead?” she asked, for they had entered the clearing by a different single path.
It was the abbot who answered.
“Eventually it would link to the main road south. South to Ballyconra,” he added significantly.
The sky was darkening now and Fidelma sighed.
“In the morning I shall want to see this young Lord of Conra. But it is pointless continuing on tonight. We’d best go back to the abbey.”
The next morning, accompanied by the abbot, Fidelma rode south. Ballyconra itself was a large settlement. There were small farm-steads and a collection of dwellings for workers. In one nearby field, a root crop was being harvested and workers were loading the crop onto small carts pulled by single asses. The track twisted through the village and passed a stream where women were laying out clothes to dry on the banks while others stirred fabrics into a metal cauldron hanging over a fire. The pungent smell of dyes told Fidelma what process was taking place.
Some paused in their work and called a greeting to the abbot, seeking a blessing, as they rode by. They ascended the track through another field toward a large building. It was an isolated structure which was built upon what must once have been a hillfort. A young man came cantering toward them from its direction, sitting easily astride a sleek black mare.
“This is young Conri, Lord of Conra,” muttered Laisran as they halted and waited for the man to approach.
Fidelma saw that the young man was handsome and dark-featured. It was clear from his dress and his bearing that he was a man of rank and action. A scar across his forehead indicated he had followed a military profession. It seemed to add to his personality rather than detract from it.
“Good morning, Abbot.” He greeted Laisran pleasantly before turning to Fidelma. “Good morning, Sister. What brings you to Ballyconra?”
Fidelma interrupted as Laisran was opening his mouth to explain.
“I am a dálaigh. You would appear to be expecting visitors, Lord of Conra. I observed you watching our approach from the hill beyond the fortress before you rode swiftly down to meet us.”
The young man’s eyes widened a little and then he smiled sadly.
“You have a sharp eye, dálaigh. As a matter of fact, I have been expecting the arrival of my wife during these last few days. I saw only the shape of a woman on horseback and thought for a moment. .”
“Your wife?” asked Fidelma quickly, glancing at Laisran.
“She is Segnat, daughter of the lord of Tir Bui,” he said without disguising his pride.
“You say you have been expecting her?”
“Any day now. I thought you might have been her. We were married only three months ago in Tir Bui, but I had to return here immediately on matters pertaining to my people. Segnat was to come on after me but she has been delayed in starting out on her journey. I only had word a week ago that she was about to join me.”
Fidelma looked at him thoughtfully.
“What has delayed her for so long?”
“Her father fell ill when we married and has only died recently. She was his only close kin and she stayed to nurse him.”
“Can you describe her?”
The young man nodded, frowning.