Fidelma, bending by the dog, ordered him curtly to bring the candle nearer. The beast did not stir. There were flecks of foam around its muzzle.
Fidelma glanced up at her companion. ‘This animal has been drugged.’ She came to her feet so abruptly that Eadulf started back. ‘For what purpose was it drugged?’ she demanded. Eadulf was quiet for he deemed it a rhetorical question.
She contemplated the darkened house.
Then she was hurrying back to it with Eadulf following in her wake, wondering what on earth was possessing her.
She paused in the main room which they had just quit and looked swiftly around. Then she muttered something under her breath and headed for the stairway to the floor above.
Eadulf shrugged helplessly as if expressing his perplexity to some unseen audience and followed.
In the sleeping quarters above the stairs Fidelma had come to a halt and was staring at an object stretched on the bed.
Behind her, Eadulf raised his candle high.
Samradán the merchant lay sprawled across the bed. There was blood all over him and the haft of a knife was still buried in his chest. His eyes were open but glazed in death.
‘Too late,’ muttered Fidelma. ‘Someone has decided that Samradan might lead us to the truth.’
‘What truth?’ demanded Eadulf in desperation.
She infuriated him by not replying. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She bent down and examined the knife. There was nothing to identify it from a hundred similar knives. There were no distinguishing marks on it at all; nothing to point to its ownership. There was nothing she could see to identify the killer.
‘Finguine!’ Eadulf decided. ‘He was leaving when we arrived. He was in league with Solam and Gionga. God! Now I see why you were upset that Finguine had taken Brother Mochta and the reliquary.’
She nodded absently. Then something caught her eye. In falling back, Samradan must have clutched at his assailant’s clothing for in his twisted fingers was a piece of cloth, part of a linen shirt. Sherealised, with all the blood about, the assailant must be splattered with it. She reached forward and levered the cloth from Samradan’s fingers, realising that there was something attached to it.
It was a small, silver, solar emblem. A brooch picked out in semi-precious garnets. There were five garnets on each of the radiating arms of the emblem. She quickly placed it in her
‘It must belong to the murderer,’ Eadulf said, stating the obvious.
‘You have not seen this before?’ queried Fidelma.
‘It seems familiar,’ agreed Eadulf.
‘It is the central piece in our game of
Eadulf s hand suddenly squeezing her shoulder made her start. She glanced round and was about to rebuke him for frightening her when she saw that he had placed a finger to his lips. He motioned with his head towards the stairs.
The sound of someone moving in the room below could clearly be heard.
Fidelma stood up. ‘Be ready,’ she whispered.
Footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. They saw the point of a sword appear first and then the head. It was Donndubhain.
The young heir-apparent of Cashel stared at them in surprise..
‘What are you up to?’ he demanded, recovering from his apparent surprise. He ascended the final stairs, sheathing his sword. ‘I thought I heard …’
His eyes fell on Samraddn’s body and widened.
‘What happened?’
Fidelma did not reply immediately.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded at last.
‘I was riding by. With all the people coming into Cashel for the hearing, I thought that I ought to check the watches around the town. I was in the back alley when I saw a light and noticed the back door was open and I saw figures moving. The dog seemed asleep and wondered whether there was something the matter. So I came in. I was downstairs and I heard a movement above. And here you are.’ He glanced dispassionately at Samradan’s body. ‘Did you kill him?’
‘Of course not!’ snapped Eadulf. ‘We saw Fin — ’
‘We also saw the dog and the door open,’ Fidelma interrupted, lying naturally. ‘We have only just arrived ourselves.’
‘A robbery?’
Fidelma pointed to a leather purse still tied to Samradán’s belt.
Donndubháin leant across and opened it. He drew out a handful of silver coins.
‘Not a robbery then,’ he mused. ‘It can’t be something to do with the assassination? What would Samradán have to do with that?’
‘There seems to be nothing here to enlighten us,’ Fidelma said.
Eadulf was puzzled as to why Fidelma was being so frugal with the facts.
She turned down the stairway to the ground floor.
Eadulf and Donndubhain followed.
‘If we can leave this matter in your hands,’ Fidelma told him, ‘Eadulf and I will return to the palace.’
‘I will alert the watch,’ the heir-apparent agreed. He went to the back door where he had left his horse and on the threshold paused as if a thought had struck him. ‘Have you searched Samradán’s stables at the back there? Perhaps it was robbery after all? Something to do with what he kept there?’
‘I thought Samradan kept all his trade goods at his warehouse on the market square?’ Fidelma said.
‘Whether he does or not, I would not know. But there is a stable which belongs to him on the other side of the stream there.’
He pointed towards the dark shadow of a building at the back of the house.
‘Then we’d better see if there is anything there that can enlighten us,’ Fidelma replied.
Donndubhain took down a lamp and lit it from the fire.
He had left his horse tethered by the back gate of the yard and they passed the still drugged animal lying by its post. There was a small enclosure through which a stream passed, providing water for the house. Beyond it was a dark building, not large at all.
‘I didn’t know that this barn belonged to Samradán,’ Fidelma mused as they approached the building. Donndubháin led the way and opened the door for them.
Inside were a couple of stalls. Two horses were stabled inside.
‘I didn’t know Samradán owned as many horses,’ Donndubhain muttered. ‘But these are not dray horses … they are thoroughbreds.’
Fidelma’s gaze had encompassed the stables. There was certainly nothing else in there but the horses and tackle. The pungent smell of leather and the faint odours of hay and barley were almost overpowering to the senses.
Fidelma went to the larger of the two animals, a great chestnut mare. She could see some long-healed scars on one shoulder and flank. Old wounds. The animal had been used as a war horse. She leant forward and patted its muzzle. Then she opened the stalls and went in. The mare stood calmly, allowing her hands to traverse its warm, sweaty coat. She glanced down at its hooves.
‘Not the sort of animal a mere merchant might own,’ observed Donndubháin.
‘A war horse, so it seems,’ she agreed. ‘But the other animal is not.’
Fidelma turned her attention to the second horse. ‘It is a strong and well-bred mare but not a horse for battle. A good riding horse though.’
She patted it and turned back.
She found that Donndubháin was examining a saddle and bridle nearby.
‘Look, Fidelma,’ he said eagerly, ‘this is a warrior’s equipment. Look, there is no mistaking it.’
Eadulf had already begun examining the richly equipped saddle. It was well ornamented.
