take it to our blacksmith’s forge and get it replaced for you.’
Dúnchad Muirisci frowned and seemed about to refuse, and then nodded. ‘I should be grateful for it.’
He turned and hurried off towards the apothecary. Fidelma and Finguine did not bother to follow.
‘He seems slightly agitated,’ remarked Fidelma.
Finguine smiled knowingly. ‘He has good reason to be so. The heir presumptive of Connacht is out hunting- and he winds up in a thorn bush, cuts his hand badly on the thorns, loses his hunting spear, and, in addition, one of the shoes on his horse cracks. . wouldn’t you be agitated in his place? Imagine what a satirist would do with that information. It is a question of protecting one’s honour.’
Fidelma laughed. ‘Thankfully I do not have to protect this strange male honour that you speak of, Finguine.’
Her cousin chuckled. ‘Even so, it is enough to put Dúnchad Muirisci in a bad humour.’
Fidelma glanced up at the sky. It was nearly midday. ‘I suppose the hunt should be returning soon?’
Finguine pursed his lips. ‘If it has gone well,’ he replied. ‘At least it was a distraction for the guests while they are waiting for a resolution.’ He glanced quickly at Fidelma. ‘I presume your inquiry has not gone well this morning?’
‘You are correct in your presumption,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘I should have drawn up a list of those I wanted to see and ensured that they remained here in the fortress. But that would have given them warning of the intended interrogation. I’d much sooner question people when they are taken off guard.’
Finguine looked thoughtful. ‘Then you have other suspects for the slaying of Abbot Ultán, and not only the king of Connacht?’
‘Suspects?’ Fidelma gave a wry smile. ‘That is the one thing I am not short of, cousin, for it seems that everyone hated the man and everyone wished him dead.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eadulf and Gormán had been trying to follow the trail but had eventually given up. They had come to a stretch of stony ground where the tracks had disappeared and even though Gormán had circled the area several times he had been unable to pick them up again.
‘Let’s continue to head in the direction of Cashel,’ suggested Eadulf. ‘If our suspicion is right and the killer is heading back there, we should soon be able to pick up some signs again. The split horseshoe is easy to spot where the ground is soft.’
Gormán agreed and they turned their horses along the track. They had travelled but a short distance, traversing a copse of beech and aspen ringed round wi$i clumps of thorn bushes and broom, and moving across a small hillock, when Gormán gave a stifled gasp. Eadulf followed his extended hand.
A little distance in front of them and slightly below, as the hill inclined into a small valley, was a single rider, leading a second horse by the reins. Eadulf recognised the piebald. It was the animal that he had last seen being ridden by Muirchertach Nár.
Gormán had already given a grunt of satisfaction and was digging his heels into his mount, sending it cantering forward down the slope. Eadulf gave an inward groan and followed the warrior’s example.
Ahead of them, the rider must have heard the sound of their approach because he turned in the saddle to look back. The thought crossed Eadulf’s mind that their quarry might fly but the figure drew rein, rested in the saddle, and in an unperturbed fashion watched their approach.
It was a few moments before Eadulf realised who the rider was. He gasped in surprise. It was Brother Drón. And now that they drew close, Eadulf knew there was no doubt that the horse he was leading was the animal that Muirchertach Nár had been riding.
They reined in as they came abreast of him.
‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ was Eadulf’s greeting.
Brother Drón stared at him as if he were insane. ‘Explaining? For what?’ he demanded.
‘Where did you get that horse?’ Eadulf said, gesturing to the piebald.
Brother Drón’s lip curled in disdain. ‘What business is it of yours, Saxon?’ he demanded. ‘You have no authority to demand answers of me.’
Gormán was leaning forward on his saddlebow. ‘But I do, brother.’ He raised his hand to touch the golden necklet round his throat with a significant gesture. The necklet signified that he was of the Nasc Niadh, the élite warrior guard of the king of Muman.
‘If you must know, I am taking it back to the fortress,’ snapped Brother Drón
‘That is not what I asked,’ replied Eadulf coldly. ‘I asked where you found the animal, not where you are taking it.’
Brother Drón looked as though he was going to refuse but Gormán said: ‘It would be better if you answered.’
The man hesitated, frowning in annoyance. ‘I was riding by the woods back there and saw it standing with its reins caught in a thorn bush. It probably tossed its rider and then got caught up. I am taking it back to. .’
‘You have said that,’ Eadulf interrupted irritably. ‘Are you telling us that you simply found the horse riderless?’
‘I thought that was precisely what I said.’
‘What are you doing out here, brother?’ demanded Gormán. ‘You were not with the main hunting party when we left the fortress this morning.’
Brother Drón shrugged. ‘I do not see how that concerns you, even if you are a member of the king of Muman’s bodyguard,’ he countered.
Gormán’s mouth tightened and he clapped a hand on the hilt of his sword. Brother Drón did not miss the gesture. His eyes narrowed.
‘If it means so much to you,’ he said tightly, ‘I was not with the hunt. I came riding on my own. Satisfied?’
‘For what purpose?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘Why did you come riding here on your own?’
‘I was looking for someone.’
‘Who?’
‘Really. .’ began Brother Drón.
‘Who were you looking for?’ Eadulf’s voice was a sharp crack, making Brother Drón blink.
‘I was looking for one of my charges, if you must know. One who scandalously rode off to follow the hunt without permission. A shameful act. An affront to the abbey she serves since her superior, the abbot, is only newly dead.’
‘Are you saying that you were looking for one of the two sisters who accompanied Abbot Ultán?’ asked Eadulf, exchanging a glance with Gormán. He recalled that they had seen Sister Marga riding through the forest not so long before.
‘I am, for it is the truth.’
‘Who was it?’
‘If you will have it, I was looking for Sister Marga. I was told that she had ridden out with the others, and on Abbot Ultán’s very own horse. She will be punished for such an affront to his sacred memory.’
Eadulf was silent for a moment.
‘Do you have any idea whose horse
‘Should I?’
‘Oh, indeed you should.’ Eadulf smiled thinly. ‘That is the horse of Muirchertach Nár.’
Brother Drón’s eyes widened a fraction.
‘And Muirchertach Nár now lies dead,’ added Gormán.
Whatever reaction they were expecting, neither man hid their surprise when Brother Drón threw back his head and laughed.
