As Eadulf and Fidelma hurried across the square to the inn, they noticed the Laighin warriors sitting under a thatched shelter in front of the inn playing dísle – an ancient dice game that was popular among warriors. They seemed preoccupied and it was clear they knew something was amiss as they cast some nervous glances at the newcomers.

  Rumann was standing agitatedly in the doorway and came quickly to greet them. As they reached him, he said nothing but motioned them to follow.

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded Eadulf as he entered the inn hot on Rumann’s heels. ‘Whose body have you discovered?’

  The innkeeper half-turned: ‘The fellow is a stranger to me,’ he muttered.

  Eadulf actually seized him by the arm, almost swinging him round. ‘Was it Egric? The man who was in here the other day with Dego, the warrior?’

  To his relief the innkeeper immediately shook his head. ‘Not him. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him or Dego since they left for the mountains the other day.’

  ‘Then who is it?’ Eadulf asked, relief making him sound brusque.

  Fidelma moved forward to take matters in hand. ‘You had better show us this body then, Rumann,’ she said calmly. ‘Kindly show us where and in what circumstances it was found.’

  Rumann led the way through the inn and out of a back door, talking as he did so.

  ‘We had to cater for the Laighin warriors last night, as well as several others who came for food and drink. So it was not until a short time ago that I and my assistant decided to start the fermenting process of the bracat.’

  Bracat was ale fermented from barley or rye but taking its name from bracha, malt.

  ‘The grain had already been dried in the kiln and was ready mashed to be placed into the vat for boiling, straining and fermentation. As I was about to start cleaning the vat, I peered down … and there was a body at the bottom of it!’

  They had crossed the outside yard where three men were waiting – Rumann’s brewers. One of them was standing nervously near a great wooden vat. At his feet was something covered in sackcloth.

  Rumann gave a quick nod to the man, who bent down and pulled off the covering. In spite of the coating of drying mash that covered the body, it was easy to recognise the corpse as that of Sister Dianaimh of Cill Náile.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Eadulf’s expression was grim. ‘Do you have water to wash the mash off so that I can examine her?’ he asked Rumann.

  The innkeeper relayed the instruction to one of his workers, who hurriedly brought over a bucket of water. Eadulf poured some of its contents over the head and neck of the dead girl. Then he bent down beside the body and made a cursory examination.

  ‘It seems that she was strangled.’ He glanced up at Fidelma. ‘See there, the mark of a cord of some description which has cut and bruised her neck.’ He bent further in his examination. ‘To achieve this, the killer must have approached from behind, put the cord around her neck and twisted it with some force. She might have had time to cry out, but perhaps the surprise was so complete that she did not.’

  Fidelma looked at Rumann. ‘I suppose no one heard any cry during the night?’

  ‘Not I, lady.’

  ‘I shall need to ask your family, workers and guests in a moment.’

  ‘Very well. The only permanent guests are the warriors of Clan Baiscne from Laighin. Apart from myself there was just my son in the inn. As you know, my wife died from the Yellow Plague some years ago. I closed up before midnight and went to bed and slept soundly. My boy had gone to bed before me and he was asleep when I went up.’

  ‘And your guests? The warriors?’

  ‘Most of them had retired, although I left two downstairs with a lamp playing a game of búanbach.’

  ‘Lasting victory’ was another favourite board game among warriors.

  ‘And what of your brewers?’ She turned inquisitively to the three men.

  ‘We all live on the far side of the square, lady,’ one of them volunteered as spokesman for all three. ‘We left the brewery just after sundown, having finished our day’s work. We returned this morning and started to prepare the brew, and that’s when Rumann found…’ He swallowed and indicated the body with his head. ‘Rumann immediately sent his son to the palace to fetch a Brehon.’

  Fidelma glanced at the body and then back to the three brewers. ‘May I make a request? Would you wrap the girl’s body and carry it to Brother Conchobhar in the palace? You would act under my authority and be rewarded for your trouble.’

  The spokesman glanced at his companions, before turning back and raising a knuckled hand to his forehead.

  ‘We will do so and willingly, lady.’

  Fidelma led the way to the front of the tavern where the Laighin warriors still sat at their dice game. It was clear that their concentration was not on their game. As Fidelma approached, they all rose to their feet immediately.

  ‘What is it, lady?’ asked one nervously. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘There has been a murder here,’ she replied. ‘Who is in charge among you?’

  One of them took a step forward. ‘I am Muiredach, lady. I command these men.’

  ‘I am Fidelma of Cashel and a dálaigh.’

  Muiredach inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘How may we help?’

  ‘Did any of you see or hear anything during the night?’

  There was a shuffling of feet and shaking of heads.

  ‘What time did you retire?’

  One young man coughed with apparent embarrassment. ‘We went abed before the tavern-keeper. I am afraid some of us had indulged too freely in his liquor.’

  Another of the younger warriors added defensively: ‘It is boring, simply waiting for the religious who we are escorting. We have to hang around for them to finish their business before we can move on. There is nothing to do here except play dice and drink.’

  Fidelma felt a momentary sympathy with the young man and made a mental note to raise the subject with her brother. Members of his bodyguard could surely arrange hunting expeditions or indulge in contests with these men in order to distract them from their boredom. But at the moment, there were more important matters to consider. She was aware of the commander, Muiredach, looking displeased with his subordinate.

  ‘I can understand your boredom,’ she said briskly, ‘but for the moment, some questions. Who went to bed early? I am told at least two of you stayed up playing a game of búanbach.’

  Two of the warriors indicated self-consciously that they had imbibed too much and gone to bed before the others. It was Muiredach and another man who admitted to being the game players.

  ‘We were playing a tough game, lady,’ Muiredach confessed. ‘Rumann had left us with a lamp and we played on until the pieces resolved themselves on the board.’

  ‘I was the victor,’ the other man smirked, with an obvious pride that he had bested his commander.

  ‘How long did the game last?’

  ‘Not very long,’ affirmed Muiredach. ‘But everyone was asleep when we retired to our beds. You could be deafened by their snores. Neither of us heard anything else and it was only after we awoke this morning that we learned that something had happened. It was a murder, you say?’

  ‘A young religieuse was strangled among the brewery vats,’ Eadulf explained in a heavy tone.

  Muiredach and his companions looked shocked.

  At that moment the brewery workers came by the front of the tavern. They had constructed a makeshift stretcher on which they had placed the body.

  ‘Perhaps you should look upon her face and see if anyone recognises her,’ Fidelma suggested, and she instructed the men to halt and put down the stretcher. Eadulf bent and gently removed the piece of sackcloth from the young woman’s face.

  The warriors moved forward and glanced down. Muiredach’s expression immediately revealed that he recognised the victim.

  ‘Where have you seen Sister Dianaimh before?’ Fidelma asked, at the same time indicating to the brewers to continue carrying the body to the palace.

  ‘I do not know her name, but I have seen her before we came to Cashel,’ the warrior said.

  ‘Before you came to Cashel?’ Fidelma was puzzled.

  ‘A few weeks ago, in Sléibhte.’

  Fidelma gazed at him astounded, wondering if she had heard correctly. ‘Where did you say?’

  ‘At the Abbey of Sléibhte. I was sent to escort Brother Rónán and one of the foreigners to the abbey. That girl was there. I have no doubt it is the same one.’

  ‘Can you remember the circumstances?’

  Muiredach pursed his lips for a moment. ‘There is not much to say. I escorted Brother Rónán and the foreigner from Dinn Ríg to the Abbey at Sléibhte. We stayed two days. Then Brother Rónán said that they would not require my services further, so I rejoined my companions at Dinn Rig. Then I was informed that I must escort the other three foreigners to Cashel and should choose a few of my fellow warriors for the journey.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Fidelma was impatient. ‘But what of the girl, Sister Dianaimh? You saw that she was at the Abbey of Sléibhte? Exactly where and when did you see her?’

  ‘On the day after we arrived at Sléibhte, I was sent back to Dinn Ríg. I was preparing my horse for the journey when, in the stableyard, I saw a girl mounting a horse also ready to leave the abbey. It was this girl. What is more, Abbot Aéd himself came into the stableyard to bid her farewell.’

  ‘Abbot Aéd?’ Eadulf questioned.

  ‘The abbot and Bishop of Sléibhte,’ Muiredach confirmed. ‘I remember now. Something was passed between them as she sat on her horse and I heard him saying “God’s speed. If you are able to acquire it, it will be a great support for our cause.” I did not hear her response but then she rode off. That is all I heard. It comes back to me now that I think on her dead features.’

  Fidelma was silent, considering what the warrior had told her.

  ‘So you never saw her again until this moment?’

  ‘Never, lady. I don’t think that I can help further.’

  ‘You have helped more than I can say.’ Fidelma turned to Rumann. ‘I’ll send back your brewers immediately and keep you informed of the investigation.’

  As they walked slowly back to the palace, Eadulf asked: ‘What next?’

  ‘Next, we must discover how Sister Dianaimh left the palace and went to Rumann’s brewery if she did not pass through the gates by the guard.’

  Gormán was standing waiting for them at the gates. His expression was grave.

  ‘They’ve taken the body to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary, lady. This looks very bad. I am afraid Deogaire’s prophecy is coming true.’

  ‘Who was on duty at the gates throughout the night?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring his gloomy tone. She knew that Gormán feared no mortal thing but now the idea of something supernatural, the prophecy of Deogaire, was beginning to prey on his imagination.

  ‘Enda, lady,’ he replied.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Asleep in the Laochtech, if he has any sense.’

  ‘Then I am afraid we must wake him.’

  Fidelma and Eadulf remained in the antechamber while Gormán went into the sleeping quarters and returned soon afterwards with a slightly dishevelled and hastily dressed Enda.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma told the warrior, ‘but I do need this information quickly.’

  ‘Gormán has told me that Sister Dianaimh was found murdered in Rumann’s tavern,’ Enda said gruffly. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘What time did you come to watch the gates?’

  ‘The King’s feast was just finishing towards midnight. The musicians were still playing their last tune. That was when I commenced my guard.’

  ‘But you were not on duty all night?’

  ‘Of course not, lady. I was relieved by Bríon.’

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Gormán said hurriedly. ‘He’s asleep too.’

  ‘A simple question. When did Sister Dianaimh leave the palace?’

  ‘Not on my watch, lady,’ Enda said immediately. ‘Abbess Líoch already asked the same question of both me and Bríon.’

  Fidelma recalled that the abbess had been searching for Sister Dianaimh earlier. ‘There is no way you would have missed her leaving?’

  ‘There is only one exit and entrance. Young Bríon took over from me for the second cadar. It was a clear night so we can be precise.’

  Clear nights were important, for the most intelligent measured time throughout the night by rough estimates according to the position of the stars; exactly as the farmers had done since time immemorial.

  Bríon, who was hardly more than a youth, came blinking into the room, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you, Bríon,’ Fidelma said again. ‘What time did Sister Dianaimh pass through the gates here this morning?’

  The young man stared at her for a moment and then stifled a yawn. ‘As I told Abbess Líoch, lady, she did not pass through while I was here. I finished my watch just after sunrise.’

  Fidelma expected no other answer but she had to be sure. ‘So your watches spanned the entire night from the ending of the feast and until sunrise, and yet you say that Sister Dianaimh did not pass through? Were the gates shut and bolted from midnight, as is the custom?’

  ‘Only once was it opened,’ Enda confirmed, ‘and that was shortly after the feast ended, when the musicians left to return to their homes in the township. But I knew every one of them. Sister Dianaimh was certainly not among them, I can assure you of that.’

  There was silence for a while and then Fidelma told them to return to their interrupted sleep.

  ‘That confirms that Sister Dianaimh did not leave by the main gate.’ She added: ‘So now we have to find out how she did so.’

  ‘There is no way, unless she flew,’ Eadulf replied in a dour tone. ‘I cannot see her climbing the walls and scrambling down the rocky slopes. I would not like to try that even in the daylight, let alone the dark.’

  ‘The fact is that she did so,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘But how? The answer will come to us eventually.’

  Gormán was listening to them with a frown. ‘I don’t know if it is worthy of repeating, but I did hear some words that passed between her and that Saxon – your pardon, friend Eadulf – Brother Bosa.’

  ‘Let us judge whether the words are worth repeating,’ Fidelma said quickly.

  ‘Well, I was passing by them last night at the meal. It was when the guests were mingling with one another. I was pausing to look round to make sure all was in order and did not hear the opening of the conversation. But I will try to reconstruct it exactly as I heard it.’

  He then closed his eyes and recited the following dialogue.

  Brother Bosa said: ‘But your abbot is not interested?’

  ‘He is not my abbot any more,’ Sister Dianaimh replied sharply.

  ‘But you continue to visit the abbey.’

  To which she answered: ‘I have often carried messages for Abbot Aéd, that is true. But I can assure you that Aéd has already pledged his loyalty to Abbot Ségéne of Ard Macha.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be contrary to the wishes of King Fianamail, who supports Cill Dara as the prime church of this island?’ asked Brother Bosa.

  ‘Aéd is of the Uí Barraiche. Fianamail is of the Uí Cennselaigh.’

  Gormán added that Brother Bosa did not understand the enmity between the rival families of Laighin nor, it seemed, did Sister Dianaimh take the trouble to enlighten him.

  ‘So,’ went on Brother Bosa, ‘it is not true that Aéd would not be interested in the market?’

  Gormán said that at this point, the girl turned away and left the scribe.

  ‘Not interested in the market?’ Fidelma exchanged a thoughtful glance with Eadulf. ‘So Brother Bosa was aware that Sister Dianaimh had recently been at Sléibhte. We’d best visit her room in the guest quarters.’

  The girl had shared a room with Abbess Líoch. The abbess was now sitting on her bed, head in hands in a state of distress. The news of Sister Dianaimh’s murder had spread swiftly.

  ‘I don’t understand it!’ she cried, raising a tear-stained face to them as they entered. ‘Who would want to kill that innocent girl, Fidelma?’

  ‘While she was undoubtedly innocent of many things, she must also have been guilty of something,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘What she was guilty of is for me to find out. I would like to have a look at her personal belongings, if you have no objection? I presume that no one else has searched through her possessions since her death?’

  ‘Who would want to?’ the abbess rejoined sadly. ‘She had little enough.’ She nodded to the spare bed with a single woollen cloak spread across the bottom of it. There was a srathar or saddlebag hung nearby, and a ciorbhog hanging up behind the bed. This was the inevitable comb bag, which women of all ranks and offices carried. There was the usual change of clothes in the saddlebag. Fidelma took down the comb bag, sat on the edge of the cot and searched through it. She then set it aside with a sigh. There was little of value in it; it contained only the usual items. She shifted her weight to replace it and caught her breath as she felt something hard beneath her thigh.

  She stood up and lifted the straw-filled mattress. A leather bag was concealed underneath. Fidelma lifted it up.

  ‘Heavy,’ she muttered.

  With the mattress back in place, she reseated herself, put the bag beside her and untied the leather thongs that held it together. Then she widened the neck of the bag to look at the contents.

  Eadulf, who had come to peer over her shoulder, exhaled through his teeth, a curious whistling sound to denote his astonishment.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Abbess Líoch, rising from her bed and moving towards them.

  ‘Did you know Sister Dianaimh was carrying these coins?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Coins? What coins?’ Abbess Líoch saw – and gasped.

  The bag was filled with gold and silver coins – a mixture of Roman, Gaulish and coins of the early Britons among them.

  ‘Why, there must be…’ Eadulf was trying to calculate the value.