“As I passed the tent I heard voices raised in anger. I recognized Bressal’s voice at once. The other I presumed to be that of Illan.”
“What did you do?”
Angaire shrugged.
“No business of mine. I went on to Murchad’s tent to advise him how best to handle the race, though I knew he had little chance against Illan.”
“Then?”
“As I was leaving Murchad’s tent I saw-”
“How much later was this?” interjected Fidelma again.
Angaire blinked at the interruption.
“Ten minutes probably. I can’t recall. Murchad and I did not speak for very long.”
“So what did you see?”
“I saw Bressal hurrying by. There was a red welt on his cheek. His face was suffused with anger. He did not see me. Furthermore, he was carrying something concealed under his cloak.”
“What sort of something?”
“It could have been a long, thin knife.”
Fidelma drew her brows together.
“What makes you say that? Describe what you saw exactly.”
“He held something long and thin in one hand, hidden under his cloth, it was no more than nine inches long but I have no idea of the width.”
“So you cannot take oath that it was a knife?” snapped Fidelma. “I am not here to listen to surmise and guesses but only facts. What then?”
Angaire looked grieved for a moment and then shrugged.
“I went about my business until I heard a guard telling someone that Illan had been found dead in his tent. I felt it my duty to tell the guard what I knew.”
“That guard came to me,” Énna agreed. “I later verified An-gaire’s story with him.”
“And I had Bressal arrested,” confirmed Fáelán as if it ended the matter.
“What has Bressal replied to these charges?” Fidelma asked.
“He has refused to speak until a Brehon was sent for,” the King replied. “When Énna told me that you were on the course, I sent for you. Now you know as much as we. I think I have the right to hold the bishop for trial. Will you see Bressal now?”
Fidelma surprised them by shaking her head.
“I will see the body of Illan. Has a physician been in attendance?”
“None, since Illan is dead.”
“Then one needs to be sent for. I want Illan’s body examined. While that is being done, I shall see the horse, Aonbharr, and this horse doctor… what name did you say?”
“Cellach,” the King said. “He attends all my horses.”
“Very well. Your guard may escort me to the place where the animal is stabled.” She turned to Abbot Laisran, who had remained quiet during the entire proceedings. “Will you accompany me, Laisran? I have need of your advice.”
Outside as they walked in the direction which the warrior of the Baoisgne conducted them, Fidelma turned to Laisran.
“I wanted to speak to you. I noticed that Queen Muadnat seemed to be very upset by the death of Illan.”
“Your perception is keen, Fidelma,” agreed Laisran. “For example, I did not even notice the disarray of Dagháin’s clothes until you mentioned it. But Muadnat has obviously been weeping. The death of Illan has upset her.”
Fidelma smiled thinly.
“That much I know. You know more of the gossip of the court, however. Why would she be so upset?”
“Muadnat is a handsome woman with, by all accounts, a voracious appetite in sexual matters. Perhaps I should say no more for Fáelán is a tolerant monarch.”
“You are still speaking in riddles, Laisran,” sighed Fidelma.
“I am sorry. I thought you might have heard of Illan’s reputation as a ladies’ man. Illan was only one of many lovers who have graced the queen’s entourage.”
When Fidelma and Laisran reached the stable tent in which Aon-bharr was, the horse was lying on its side, its great breath coming in deep grunting pants. It was clearly nearing the end. A few men were gathered around it and one of these was Cellach, the horse doctor.
He was a thin man with a brown weather-beaten face and regarded the Sister with large, sad grey eyes. He was obviously upset by the suffering of the animal.
“Aonbharr is dying,” he replied to Fidelma’s question.
“Can you confirm that the horse been poisoned?”
Cellach grimaced angrily.
“It has. A mixture of wolfsbane, ground ivy leaves and mandrake root. That is my diagnosis, Sister.”
Fidelma stared at Cellach in surprise.
The man sniffed as he saw her skepticism.
“No magic in that, Sister.”
He reached for the horse’s muzzle and gently pried it open. There were flecks of blood and spittle around the discolored gums. Amidst this mucus Fidelma could see speckles of the remains of feed.
“You can see the remnants of these poisons. Yes, someone fed the horse on a potent mixture.”
“When would such feed have been administered?” she asked.
“Not long ago,” replied Cellach. “Within the last hour or so. Such a mixture on this beast would have an almost instantaneous effect.”
Fidelma laid a gentle hand on the big animal’s muzzle and stroked it softly.
The great soft brown eyes flickered open, stared at her and then the beast let out a grunting breath.
“Are there no other signs of violence inflicted on it?” she asked.
Cellach shook his head.
“None, Sister.”
“Could Aonbharr have eaten some poisonous plants by accident?” asked Laisran.
Cellach shrugged.
“While tethered in its stable here? Hardly likely, Abbot. Even in the wilderness, horses are intelligent and sensitive creatures. They usually have a sense of things that will harm them. Apart from the fact that one would not find mandrake root or wolfsbane around these parts. And how would it crush ivy leaves? No, this was a deliberate act.”
“Is there no hope for the animal?” asked Fidelma sadly.
Cellach grimaced and shook his head.
“It will be dead by noon,” he replied.
“I will see Illan’s body now,” Fidelma said quietly, turning toward the tent of the king’s jockey.
“Are you Sister Fidelma?”
As Fidelma entered the tent of Illan she found a religieuse straightening up from the body of the man who lay on its back on the floor. The woman was big-boned with large hands and an irritable expression on her broad features. On Fidelma’s acknowledgment she went on: “I am Sister Eblenn, the apothecary from the community of the Blessed Darerca.”
“Have you examined the body of Illan?”
Sister Eblenn made a swift obeisance to Laisran as he entered the tent before answering Fidelma.
“Yes. A fatal stabbing. One wound in the heart.”
Fidelma exchanged a glance with the Abbot.
“Is there sign of the knife?”
