A Prayer for the Damned

‘I do not think there was much love lost between them,’ Fidelma agreed.

‘She is right about vengeance, though. Brother Drón’s story is so weak that it is laughable. When we came upon him leading Muirchertach’s horse it all fell into place. By the way, why didn’t you tell her that we are holding Drón for the murder?’

‘We have to be certain of everything in this matter, Eadulf.’

‘But it all fits together,’ protested Eadulf. ‘And now we hear that a raven’s feather, the symbol of death, was left on their pillow last night. A threat of vengeance for Ultán’s killing.’

Fidelma regarded him seriously. ‘That is the one thing that doesn’t fit.’

‘Why not?’

‘If anything, it rather precludes Brother Drón from involvement as it is a token of the Old Faith and not the new one. Why would one of the New Faith send a symbol of the goddess of death and battles?’

Eadulf thought for a moment. ‘Old ways die hard. Maybe he put the feather there to mislead whoever took on the investigation — or maybe it was someone else entirely who put it there — someone unconnected with the killing.’

‘Perhaps,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘Does a raven’s feather have the same meaning among the pagan Saxons as it does here?’

Eadulf considered. ‘The women Woden sends to gather the corpses of the slain are accompanied by ravens, so the raven is always a bird of ill-omen.’

‘Then there is no need to explain the symbolism. We’d better have a word with Dúnchad Muirisci now that we have told Aíbnat.’ She halted suddenly with a frown. ‘You mentioned Rónán the tracker. I have known him since I was a little girl here. He is a good huntsman, so we must respect what he has to say. I presume that you have checked all he told you?’

‘We were able to follow the tracks he pointed out quite well for a while before we lost them on the stony ground,’ said Eadulf. ‘Anyway, the fact that we caught Brother Drón with Muirchertach’s horse seemed certain enough to me.’

‘Rónán specifically mentioned to you that the horse ridden by the person who met Muirchertach in the wood, and who appears to be his attacker, had a particular identifying mark,’ Fidelma pointed out patiently.

Eadulf stared at her for a moment and then gave a groan.

‘I meant to check that as soon as we came back to the fortress,’ he said. ‘That would be an argument that Drón could not deny.’

‘Then you’d better check it now,’ Fidelma instructed. ‘We should do that before going to break the news to Dúnchad Muirisci and certainly before we go to question Brother Drón further. I’ll meet you at Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary.’

Eadulf hurried away, rebuking himself for overlooking the point that could so easily have confirmed Brother’s Drón’s guilt. He had recounted everything to Fidelma: the finding of the body, Rónán’s observations on the tracks, and the overtaking of Drón. To her credit, Fidelma had not pointed out the obvious but had diplomatically pushed Eadulf into a realisation of what was needed.

Eadulf crossed the courtyard to the stables and found the gilla scuir, the head stable lad. He asked to examine the horse that Brother Drón had ridden. The man looked curiously at him but nodded assent, taking a lantern and leading the way to the stalls.

‘I want to examine its shoes,’ Eadulf explained. ‘I am not very good with horses. How do I go about it?’

The gilla scuir’s expression became somewhat pitying but he said nothing. Fidelma was an expert horsewoman but the stable lad knew all about Eadulf’s unease with horses.

‘Hold the lantern, then, Brother Eadulf,’ he instructed. ‘Which hoof did you want to see?’

‘Front left.’

The stable lad entered the stall, talking softly to the animal, touching its muzzle so that the beast would recognise him, before bending forward and picking up the foreleg, so that the underside of the hoof could be seen.

‘Come into the stall with the lantern,’ he said. ‘Gently now, and hold it so that you can see what you need. What were you looking for? A loose shoe?’

Eadulf shook his head. He peered at the hoof. There was nothing wrong with the horseshoe, no crack, no uneven quality. His mouth compressed to hide his disappointment while he considered the matter.

‘Let’s look at the others,’ he said, just in case Rónán had been mistaken as to which leg it was.

It took a very short time to ascertain that there were no distinguishing marks on any of the shoes of the animal that Brother Drdn had ridden.

Outside the stall Eadulf stood thinking carefully. The only conclusion he could come to was that Brother Drdn was not the rider who had led Muirchertach’s horse from the scene of the slaying. Did this mean he was not the killer? He came back to the present to find the gilla scuir looking at him expectantly.

‘What were you looking for, Brother Eadulf?’ he asked.

‘I was looking for a horse with a cracked or broken shoe.’

The lad’s features broke into a smile. ‘In that case, brother, you were looking at the wrong beast.’ He pointed to another stall. ‘That one came in this evening with the shoe cracked in two. A bad casting of the metal. It happens sometimes. I’m happy to say it wasn’t cast here. One of those northern smiths did that.’

‘Where was the cracked shoe?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘On the left foreleg. Oh, our smith has replaced it now,’ he called as Eadulf made towards the stall. ‘But there’s no doubt about it. The left foreleg. I helped replace it myself.’

Eadulf turned back eagerly. ‘But whose horse is it?’

The stable lad rubbed his chin. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci is his name. The noble prince from Connacht.’

CHAPTER FORUTEEN

Fidelma looked thoughtful as Eadulf finished telling her what he had discovered. Gormán had diplomatically left them together in the corner of old Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary to discuss matters in the light of this information.

‘There is no question that Brother Drón’s horse did not have a cracked shoe?’ she asked gently.

‘None,’ replied Eadulf, somewhat bitterly. ‘I should have checked immediately. All four shoes were in good condition. Rónán told us that the horse that was ridden from the scene of the killing had a split horseshoe on his left foreleg. That is a description of Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse.’

‘Well, as I have said, we may trust Rónán;. So from what we now know, the story that Brother Drón told you, that of simply finding Muirchertach’s horse, could be true.’

Eadulf was irritated. ‘Could be true, yes. But it seems odd that the killer should leave the scene of the crime riding his horse and leading Muirchertach’s for quite a way before deciding to abandon it.’

‘I mean it as no insult when I say that you are not much of a horseman, Eadulf.’

‘It is true, I’ll not deny it,’ Eadulf said stiffly. ‘So what have I missed?’

‘That Muirchertach’s horse probably followed the killer’s mount of its own volition. Horses do not have to be led. When the killer found that the king’s horse was trailing him, which would have been a sure accusation, he dismounted and looped the reins into a bush so that the beast was tethered. Then he rode away.’

‘I see the logic of that,’ agreed Eadulf reluctantly. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that a horse would follow a strange animal, though.’

Fidelma smiled. ‘That’s just it. It probably would not. But it would follow a horse that it was familiar with.’

Eadulf’s eyebrows rose in enlightenment. ‘Dúnchad Muirisci’s horse and the one belonging to Muirchertach were both out of the same stable. I see. Still, I feel angry that I did not spot the business of the split shoe before.’