‘So long as they also know me as Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh, I am not concerned what else they think I am. The mistake was for me to have accepted Abbot Laisran’s suggestion that I join the religious. At that time, when I left Brehon Morann’s school of law, I needed some security in life. But I have learned my lesson.’

  ‘So where are you off to now?’ her brother wanted to know.

  Fidelma had paused by the door. ‘Eadulf had the bodies brought to Brother Conchobhar last night. I intend to hear what he has to say first. I’ll keep you informed, brother.’

  Brother Conchobhar was the elderly physician and apothecary who had been at Cashel for as long as Fidelma and her brother could remember. He had served their father, Failbe Flann, when the latter was King some thirty years before. Brother Conchobhar had been something of a mentor to both of Failbe’s children as they were growing up. His apothecary stood just behind the old chapel on the far side of a narrow flagstone courtyard. Fidelma opened the door and entered. As she had done every time she passed the threshold, she halted and allowed herself to get used to the almost overpowering aromas of the herbs and spices that filled the apothecary’s workplace. She found Brother Conchobhar in the rear room where bodies were taken and laid out ready for burial. One of the his main tasks was to wash and prepare the corpse for committal whenever there was a death in the King’s household.

  The old physician was bent over a body which was stretched on a table in the centre of the room. As Fidelma entered, he glanced up. He was holding an altan – a sharp surgical knife – in his hand; it was bloody, and there were bloodstains on the one-piece garment he was wearing over his clothing and which was designed to protect it. He quickly drew a linen cloth over the mid-section of the corpse before turning to greet her. The movement surprised Fidelma.

  ‘What is it, old friend?’ she asked. ‘Is there something you don’t want me to see?’

  ‘There are some things that it is best not to see,’ he told her.

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Not even for the eyes of a dálaigh – an advocate who has probably seen more dead bodies than a battle-weary commander in war?’

  ‘There are some things…’ he repeated, but she cut him short.

  ‘I respect your sensitivity, but a murder is a murder and if I am to resolve this matter then I cannot afford such niceties of behaviour. Come, you are examining the murdered girl,’ she gestured at the table, ‘so what did you find that you don’t want me to know? I have seen people who have died in fires before.’

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head sadly. ‘It is not that I do not want you to know, nor that I would not tell you, but it is better that you do not see. Anyway, she did not die from the injuries inflicted by the fire. They were bad, especially on her left side, but not bad enough to kill her.’

  ‘Why not tell me first,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘and I’ll make up my own mind if I need to see afterwards.’

  Brother Conchobhar nodded slowly. ‘Very well. We will start with the cause of death of this woman. Simply – she was poisoned.’

  Fidelma stared at the physician in surprise. ‘How could you know that?’ she gasped.

  ‘Am I not a physician?’ the old man demanded. ‘I have examined the blue stain of the lips, the contraction of the muscles of the face – both of which Brother Eadulf pointed out to me last night as being suspicious. I think he suspected poison, but wanted me to come to my own conclusion. Remember, he has studied at the medical school of Tuaim Brecain.’

  ‘Poisoned! But how?’

  Brother Conchobhar gave a cynical shrug. ‘I can only tell you the what. The how and the why must be left to you.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘In telling me the what, perhaps you can suggest what the poison was?’

  ‘One can never be sure in such circumstances. At an experienced guess, however, I would suggest a very concentrated infusion from the plant called the Devil’s Bread.’

  Fidelma knew the tall plant, its hollow green stem and little white flowers of which children were always told to beware.

  ‘Apothecaries often use it as a sedative,’ she protested. ‘You have told me that much in the past. It might have been taken as a medication.’

  ‘In very moderate infusions, yes, but this effect, as I say, was caused by a highly concentrated dose. The intent was obvious.’

  ‘It still doesn’t make sense. If the girl set light to her wagon, swallowed the infusion, left the wagon and moved to where she was supposed to have collapsed and died, then it would not have caused her death by that time.’

  ‘True enough. I would say the poison would have had to have been imbibed some time before, perhaps even several days before. Certainly before she reached the stage of death, she would have been showing clear signs of illness.’

  ‘So if she was suffering from the poison, then someone would have noticed?’

  ‘Exactly so,’ agreed the old physician.

  ‘But this was not why you were performing a surgical examination?’ she said, gesturing at the blood-stained altan that he had laid aside.

  Brother Conchobhar sighed.

  ‘In truth, I was just about to call the women who, for the proprieties, usually undress and wash female corpses and put them in grave clothes ready for the obsequies, when I realised something. It had been difficult to notice before, for the girl had been wearing a large, flowing woollen robe. As she lay there, however, I saw that the poor girl’s crislach was swollen.’

  The word meant the part of the body enclosed by a criss or girdle – which was a polite way of saying the abdomen or belly. Brother Conchobhar was a believer in polite euphemisms when speaking on feminine matters. He paused, but Fidelma said nothing, waiting for him to finish in his own way.

  ‘I removed the clothing and examined the swelling. The only way I could confirm my immediate conclusion was by cutting into the maclaig.’

  Again, old Brother Conchobhar was choosing a polite euphemism, referring to ‘the child’s dwelling place’ – the womb. Fidelma’s mouth tightened and she remained silent, guessing what was to come.

  ‘The girl had been some months pregnant. Perhaps six to seven months. I removed the … the growth.’ He looked sadly at the shroud-covered corpse. ‘I did not think you would want to see it.’

  The old man had been right. Fidelma had seen many gruesome sights, but that of a developed unborn foetus was one she would prefer to avoid unless it was absolutely necessary.

  ‘Could anything be discerned from the … the infant’s body?’

  The physician shook his head. ‘Only that at the time the mother was poisoned it had been growing naturally and seemed healthy. I cannot guess what the story would have been, had the poison seeped into the growing infant. Now, do you really want to see this?’

  Fidelma had changed her mind. ‘I will take your word on the matter,’ she said. ‘So tell me, what of the mother herself? Is there anything to indicate who she was?’

  Brother Conchobhar gazed at the uncovered face of the girl who lay before him.

  ‘She was dressed in poor clothing and yet,’ he bent over and took one of the girl’s stiffened arms from beneath the covering; it was the one which had not been caught by the flames. He pointed to the hand. ‘Her fingernails are well cared for. Her hands are soft and there are no calluses. That is an indication that she was of good birth and upbringing. She was certainly not one of these travelling entertainers or someone who worked in the fields or tended a loom.’

  Fidelma gave a quick nod of agreement as she examined the hand. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Two things that may be helpful. As I say, the attention to her toilet. Apart from the last day or so, one can see that her skin is fresh and her hair has been regularly washed and dressed with some fragrant-smelling unguent.’

  Fidelma bent forward and sniffed at the auburn strands.

  ‘Lavender?’ she queried.

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘Then from these observations, we can be assured that this is the daughter of a wealthy house or one of some standing in her community.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed the old physician.

  ‘Also, if this girl was so fastidious,’ mused Fidelma, ‘it seems hard to believe that she could accidentally set fire to herself.’

  ‘That is another thing I would like to discuss.’ Brother Conchobhar’s voice was heavy.

  Fidelma gave him a searching glance. ‘Go on.’

  ‘A theory has apparently been advanced that the burns on the girl’s left side and clothing were caused by accident when she tried to set fire to her wagon to destroy the corpse inside it. However, I noticed an odour about the burns that was unfamiliar. Early this morning, I went to view the wagon. I wanted to see where the fire had started – and the damage. The burned bucket which seemed to be the origin of the fire was still in place.’

  ‘Yes – Eadulf left everything ready for me to investigate. Did you learn anything?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of Tene Gregach?’

  ‘Greek Fire? No.’

  ‘It is known by several names; we call it dergthach. It is an incendiary material that was used in ancient battles by the Greeks and Romans. A chronicler from Antioch named Malelas once described it as being basically made of sulphur and said that it was fired from giant catapults and caused great damage when aimed at ships in sea battles.’

  ‘Are you saying someone threw this incendiary material at the girl?’

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head. ‘There were the remains of a wooden bucket, overturned next to the driver’s seat. I believe that a mixture had been put in there of pronnasc, or sulphur, mixed with gláed, or birdlime. That produces something of the sort that I think they would call Greek fire.’

  ‘Birdlime is what our warriors often use to reinforce the seams of their shields,’ Fidelma noted. ‘It’s strong like sechim or bitumen.’

  ‘And when mixed with sulphur in the right proportions, it is highly combustible once heated,’ confirmed the physician.

  ‘But doesn’t that clear up part of the mystery?’ Fidelma asked. ‘The girl is driving the wagon. She has a bucket of this dergthach by her side. It ignites, the flames catch her on her left side – and to escape, she leaps from the wagon and runs forward…’

  ‘… only to submit to the poison she has ingested days before,’ ended the old apothecary. ‘There is one problem. Where was her means of lighting the dergthach? She would need some agent such as a tinderbox. If by some mishap she caused the flames to spring up unexpectedly, then she would have dropped her tinderbox. Eadulf specifically told me he saw no sign of one.’

  ‘Are you saying the bucket was already alight?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘I can only tell you what I have been told and seen.’

  ‘I will check it out with Eadulf,’ affirmed Fidelma. ‘Anything else?’

  Brother Conchobhar turned to a side table and picked up a small length of plaited hemp rope – about enough to tie around one’s wrist. Attached to it was a piece of bronze metal, roughly circular in shape, like a coin, with the cord inserted through a small hole. He handed it to her and she turned it over, examining it carefully.

  ‘It was tied around the wrist of the undamaged arm,’ the old man explained, seeing the question in her eyes.

  Fidelma moved to the window and held up the bronze disc so that she could see it more clearly.

  ‘It seems to have the image of a bird beaten on it,’ she said.

  ‘I would say it was a raven,’ the old man said. ‘See the stout, heavy bill and pronounced curve at the top?’

  ‘Does the emblem signify something in particular?’

  ‘I have never seen anything like it before.’

  ‘It certainly doesn’t indicate wealth or nobility.’ Fidelma pondered. ‘What of the man who was in the wagon? Did you have a chance to examine his body?’ She looked around, wondering where the second corpse was.

  Brother Conchobhar nodded and turned to a side door. ‘I have already placed it in a coffin outside because of the putrefaction and gaseous smells.’

  Fidelma glanced from the girl’s corpse to Brother Conchobhar, a question in her eyes.

  ‘The man died several days before the girl,’ the apothecary confirmed her unasked question. ‘I would say three days. Hence the putrefaction. As you know, when a person dies several changes take place: discolouration, the stiffening of the limbs – and after two to three days the body starts to swell because of gases which emit foul odours. When the body was brought to me last night, these things were already manifest. I made a cursory inspection and had the corpse placed into a wooden box and sealed. He must be buried as soon as possible.’

  ‘Could you tell how he died?’

  ‘I would guess that he had imbibed the same poison as the girl. I saw enough to confirm that he had died in convulsions of the type I have seen when someone has been poisoned.’

  ‘Like the girl?’ Fidelma said.

  ‘Yes – but before the girl,’ Brother Conchobhar said.

  ‘Eadulf believed the man was a religieux wearing the tonsure of Colmcille.’

  ‘I can understand why,’ smiled the old man. ‘We shave our tonsure from ear to ear at the front of the head. The corpse had a high forehead and, of course, the tightening of the skin that occurs after death accentuated it because it pulls the skin away from the hairline. It is often wrongly thought that hair and nails continue to grow after death. But the tightening and hardening of the skin causes it to shrink back so the hair and nails look longer.’

  ‘So he might not have been a religieux?’

  Brother Conchobhar sighed. ‘One cannot be certain either way. Like the girl, he bore the signs of being clad in poor homespun.’

  ‘And there is little else that you can tell me about him?’

  ‘Only that he was a young man, probably quite handsome before the disfigurement of death, with fair hair although it had become tangled and dirty.’

  ‘What of the clothing they were both wearing? You say they wore simple homespun.’

  Brother Conchobhar pointed to the pile of clothing in a corner. ‘There it is. You may examine it for yourself. It could even be the robes worn by a religious community. I found nothing that would give a clue to origin or identity.’

  Fidelma turned over the garments but found nothing of particular interest. They were just rough items with linen undergarments of plain quality. Even the leather sandals that both had worn were shoddy. There were no brooches on the female apart from the coin-like piece of metal on the hemp bracelet, and no belt or belt bag on the male. Nothing to identify either victim.

  ‘There is just the piece of parchment that Eadulf found in the girl’s sandal,’ Brother Conchobhar concluded.

  When Eadulf had shown it to her, Fidelma had suggested that he take it to the old physician. Although she had knowledge of the ancient alphabet, and the archaic form of the language which it represented, she had wanted to double-check the meaning with her former teacher, for he had a perfect understanding of it and, what was more important, could recognise any quotations that she might overlook. ‘Did you have a chance to look at it?’ she asked now. ‘I could only make out some name when he showed it to me.’

  Brother Conchobhar opened the drawer where he had placed it for safekeeping, and took out the little piece of parchment.

  ‘It was a simple name in Ogham and a location,’ he said.

  ‘I read it as Cloch Ór – “Stone of Gold of the graveyard”,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, but the formation is difficult. I would read it as “Golden Stone is at the graveyard of…” But I can’t make out the name.’

  Fidelma peered at it: she had missed that part of the interpretation. ‘It sounds as if it is something set up in a graveyard,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘A stone of gold?’

  ‘Have you never heard of the Cloch Ór – the Golden Stone?’ Brother Conchobhar stared at her in surprise.

  ‘I don’t think so. Nothing comes immediately to mind. Why? Am I missing something?’

  Brother Conchobhar pursed his lips for a moment and then smiled. ‘No reason why you should have heard of it. It’s just an old legend. It goes back to the days of the Old Faith, to the time of the Druids.’

  ‘And what is it?’

  ‘It is – or was supposed to be – a sacred stone, encrusted in gold, that stood in some ancient pagan sanctuary.’

  ‘Does it still exist, this Cloch Ór? And which graveyard is it in?’

  ‘I can tell you!’ exclaimed a voice. They swung round in surprise, to see the housekeeper of the palace, Dar Luga. The plump-faced, elderly woman stood on the threshold of the room, trying to avoid looking at the shrouded corpse on the table.

  ‘What are you doing here, Dar Luga?’ Brother Conchobhar demanded, rather sharply.

  ‘The kitchen has run out of carlann and I wanted to prepare some lamb, so I came to ask if you had any that you could spare.’

  ‘Yes, there is some water-mint in there,’ he said, motioning her into the next room where he kept his herbs and spices. He ushered both women into the main apothecary, pausing to shut the door behind him. Then he turned to his array of shelves to locate the mint.

  Meanwhile, Fidelma was gazing with interest at Dar Luga.

  ‘You said that you knew where this Cloch Ór was,’ she prompted her.

  Dar Luga smiled. ‘Well, not exactly. What I meant was that it was an ancient story.’

  ‘And one that I hope you will share with me,’ Fidelma said, smiling back at her.

  ‘Of course, lady. Brother Conchobhar has the right of it. It was an ancient, gold-covered stone, venerated by those who refused to follow the New Faith. It belonged to Mogh Ruith, the Slave of the Wheel, who became a god – one of the sons of An Lair Derg.’

  ‘The Red Mare?’ It was a euphemism for the sun. ‘You mean that he was a Sun God in the time before the New Faith? I was taught, as a child, that he was supposed to be a blind Druid who dwelled in this kingdom centuries ago.’

  Dar Luga nodded slowly. ‘There are many stories about him, lady. But the country-folk in the west still believe that he became one of the immortals. If you angered him, he grew to enormous size so that his very breath could create a storm, hurling men, women and children, and all manner of animals, from one end of the land to another, and causing rivers to flood. Those who saw him in anger did not live long.’