“He was lying on his back?”
“That is so.”
“Very well. Continue. What then? Did you look for the cause of death?”
“Not closely. But it appeared that he had been stabbed in the lower part of the chest. I left a guard there and went with a second guard to the stable tent and saw Aonbharr. As Dagháin had said, the horse was obviously distressed. Its legs were splayed apart and its head depressed between its shoulders. There was froth around its muzzle. I know enough of horses to know that it was poisoned in some way. I called Cellach, the horse doctor, and told him to do what he could for the beast. Then I came back to report to Fáelán.”
Fidelma now turned to the King.
“And do you, Fáelán of the Uí Dúnlainge, agree that this is an accurate account thus far?”
“Thus far, it is as Dagháin and Énna have related,” confirmed the King.
“What then? At what point did you come to believe that the culprit responsible for these events was your own bishop, Bres-sal?”
Fáelán gave a loud bark of cynical laughter.
“At the very point I heard the news. This year my bishop has become obsessed with beating my horse, Aonbharr. He has made vain boasts, has wagered heavily and, indeed, is deeply in debt. He has put forward a horse to race Illan in the main race of today, a horse named Ochain. It is a good horse but it would not have stood a chance against Aonbharr. It became obvious that Bressal could not afford to lose against me. If Illan and Aonbharr did not run, then Ochain would win. It is as simple as that. And Bressal hated Illan, who was once his jockey.”
Fidelma smiled softly.
“It is a well-conceived suspicion but there is not enough evidence here to arrest nor charge a man, Fáelán. If it is only this suspicion which has caused your action, then my advice is to free Bressal immediately lest he cite the law against you.”
“There is more,” Énna said quietly, and motioned to the warrior of the Baoisgne who stood at the flap of the tent. The man went out and called to someone. A moment later, a large man with a bushy beard and rough clothes entered and bowed to the King and his Tanist.
“Tell the Brehon your name and station,” Énna ordered.
The big man turned to Fidelma.
“I am Angaire, hostler to Bishop Bressal.”
Fidelma raised an eyebrow but controlled all other expression on her features.
“You are not a member of Bressal’s community in Christ,” she observed.
“No, Sister. The Bishop employed me because of my expertise with horses. I train his horse Ochain. But I am no religious.”
Angaire was a confident man, smiling and sure of himself.
“Tell Sister Fidelma what you have told us,” prompted Énna.
“Well, Bressal has often boasted how Ochain would best Aon-bharr at this race and he has laid heavy wages upon the outcome.”
“Get to the main point,” pressed Fáelán irritably.
“Well, this morning, I was preparing Ochain…”
“You were to ride him in this race?” interrupted Fldelma. “I thought…”
The big man shook his head.
“Bressal’s jockey is Murchad. I am only Ochain’s trainer.”
Fidelma motioned him to continue.
“Well, I told Bressal that it was my opinion, having seen Aon-bharr in a trial run yesterday, that Ochain would have difficulty in catching the beast on the straight. Bressal went berserk. I have never seen a man so angry. He would not listen to me and so I withdrew. Half an hour later I was passing the tent of Illan …”
“How did you know it was Illan’s tent?” demanded Fidelma.
“Easy enough. Each jockey has a small banner outside showing the emblem of the owner of the horse he rides. The insignia of owners are important at such gatherings as this.”
Fáelán interrupted: “This is true.”
“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.