‘What is it? Do you wish to change your story?’ he demanded.
‘How can I alter what is the truth?’ replied Fidelma in irritation. ‘No; if I am supposed to have killed Solin, even as Artgal entered the stable, then I would have used a knife to kill him. Examine the wound in the body, Murgal. You are a Brehon. How did he die?’
Murgal moved over and took the torch from her hand, bending over the body and examining it carefully.
‘One wound, a stab straight through the lower rib cage,’ he announced.
‘It is not disputed that Brother Solin was stabbed to death,’ Laisre said, with a quick glance at Artgal, who had also stayed after Fidelma had called out.
‘Artgal says that he saw me bending over Brother Solin’s dying form; saw me rising from the body, believing that I had just killed the man.’
‘That is exactly as I saw it,’ Artgal agreed.
‘Very well. I demand to be searched now for the knife.’
‘What?’ frowned Murgal.
‘Search me for the weapon with which I killed Brother Solin. I have not moved from this spot since Artgal came upon me. There has been no time for me to have concealed or cast away that weapon.’
Laisre hesitated and exchanged a hesitant glance with Murgal.
The saturnine Druid rose from the body and handed the torch to Rudgal.
‘Then with your permission, Fidelma of Cashel …?’
He moved forward and ran his hands impersonally through her clothing. His search was thorough, systematic and dispassionate.
‘She has no weapon hidden on her person,’ he reported.
‘Now look on the floor by the body,’ instructed Fidelma. She knew that no weapon would be found there as she had already cast around in a quick examination when she had seen how Brother Solin had come by his mortal wound.
Laisre sighed deeply.
‘We will search, Fidelma. Though you must already be sure that we will find nothing.’
‘I am only sure that I did not commit this killing.’
Murgal turned to Rudgal’s companion, for Rudgal himself had taken up a position just behind Fidelma in the manner of her escort.
‘Search, then, and if you find anything at all, bring it to us in the council chamber. Artgal, you have your instructions. Bring Orla to the chamber. Rudgal, you will escort Fidelma of Cashel.’
With Laisre leading the way and Murgal following, they madetheir way across the courtyard. Only a few people had been disturbed by the noise of Artgal’s alarm and had gathered, whispering among themselves in the courtyard. Fidelma looked anxiously for Eadulf but he was not there. However, she saw the white-faced Brother Dianach at the hostel door.
Rudgal leant close to her and whispered apologetically in her ear.
‘I hope that we will be able to solve this mystery quickly, Sister. But there will be much ill feeling at your accusation of Orla. She is well liked in Gleann Geis.’
In the council chamber Laisre clapped his hands and a servant came forward to relight the oil lamps and stir the embers of the grey fire into a dancing display of sparks before adding fuel to rekindle it.
Laisre sat uncomfortably in his chair of office and motioned Murgal to be seated at his side. He indicated Fidelma to be seated before them while Rudgal took up a discreet position just behind her chair.
‘This is a very bad business, Fidelma,’ muttered Laisre uneasily. ‘This morning we were due to conclude an agreement.’
‘I am fully aware of that.’ There was coldness in Fidelma’s voice. ‘Perhaps that is no coincidence? We have already been prevented from such a discussion once before.’
She stared directly at Murgal when she spoke. His face showed anger as he realised her implication.
‘My chieftain,’ he said harshly, ‘as your Brehon, I should conduct this matter from now on.’
Laisre gestured that he relinquished the matter to Murgal. The Brehon gave Fidelma a sallow smile.
‘At the moment your case is not good, Fidelma. What have you to say to the proposition put forward by Artgal as to your motive?’
‘No argument on theology is worth resorting to violence as a resolution,’ replied Fidelma.
‘Yet it is not unknown that people of your Faith have violent arguments on matters which are pointless to most people. We know, for example, how many clerics here argue against the authority of Rome and now we hear that Imleach does not even agree with the authority of Armagh. Surely you all worship the same God?’
Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘That itself is arguable.’
‘This Brother Solin was so certain that he represented the true way to your God and that all others dwelt in ignorance. I suppose you also argue that your way is the only way?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘I would not be that impertinent, Murgal. There are many paths to the same objective. We can be absolutely certain only about those things that we do not properly comprehend. To have a path through life made certain is the aspiration of most people in this unclear and uncertain existence. But certainty is often an illusion. We are born to doubt. Those who know nothing, doubt nothing.’
Murgal’s expression was one of amazement.
‘If I did not see that you carry the symbols of the new Faith, Fidelma of Cashel, I would swear that you were of the old Faith. Perhaps you are wearing the wrong cloak?’
‘My Faith is the best armour in which to travel through life but it is the worst cloak.’
There was a silence as they tried to work out her meaning. It was broken by the sounds of voices outside and Artgal threw open the door. Colla, looking as if he had just risen from bed, a cloak wrapped around him, entered. Behind him, came Orla, looking sleepy and tousled-haired. Fidelma was surprised to see Orla’s dishevelled appearance as if she, too, had just been awakened from a deep sleep. She also had a cloak wrapped around her nightgown.
‘What is it?’ demanded Colla. ‘What demands our presence in the middle of the night? What has happened? There are people standing around the courtyard in whispering groups.’
Fidelma noticed that Artgal was standing just inside the door with a grin of satisfaction on his features.
‘Has Artgal not informed you of what has taken place?’ Fidelma asked suspiciously.
Colla shook his head emphatically.
‘He simply roused us and told us that Laisre wished to see us in the council chamber at once.’
Murgal intervened in annoyance.
‘I am in charge of these proceedings,’ he announced. ‘I am conducting these proceedings in my office as Brehon.’ He turned to Orla. ‘Orla, were you at the stables within the last hour?’
Orla’s look of bewilderment could surely not be feigned. Fidelma began to have a sinking feeling. Could she have been mistaken? No; she was certain.
‘Are you making some jest, Murgal? If so, it is in poor taste.’
‘I am not jesting. Where have you been this last hour?’
‘In the same place that I have been since returning after last evening’s festivities,’ Orla replied perplexed. ‘In my husband’s bed. We have not stirred until Artgal came knocking upon our door.’
The tanist’s wife was very convincing.
‘And Colla will doubtless confirm this?’ smiled Murgal grimly.
‘Of course I will,’ Colla snapped irritably. ‘We have not stirred these last few hours. Now, what does this mean?’
‘I can sympathise with your annoyance, Colla,’ Murgal replied. ‘There is worse to come. The cleric from Armagh, Solin, was stabbed to death in the stable within this last hour.’
Colla let out a low whistle of astonishment and Orla’s expression of bewilderment seemed to grow broader.
‘But what has this to do with us? Why do you ask if I had been at the stable …? Oh!’ Her eyes grew rounded as she stared at Fidelma. ‘I had told you that I would kill that pig! You think that … but it was just a figure of
