“Aonbharr is dying,” he replied to Fidelma’s question.
“Can you confirm that the horse been poisoned?”
Cellach grimaced angrily.
“It has. A mixture of wolfsbane, ground ivy leaves and mandrake root. That is my diagnosis, Sister.”
Fidelma stared at Cellach in surprise.
The man sniffed as he saw her skepticism.
“No magic in that, Sister.”
He reached for the horse’s muzzle and gently pried it open. There were flecks of blood and spittle around the discolored gums. Amidst this mucus Fidelma could see speckles of the remains of feed.
“You can see the remnants of these poisons. Yes, someone fed the horse on a potent mixture.”
“When would such feed have been administered?” she asked.
“Not long ago,” replied Cellach. “Within the last hour or so. Such a mixture on this beast would have an almost instantaneous effect.”
Fidelma laid a gentle hand on the big animal’s muzzle and stroked it softly.
The great soft brown eyes flickered open, stared at her and then the beast let out a grunting breath.
“Are there no other signs of violence inflicted on it?” she asked.
Cellach shook his head.
“None, Sister.”
“Could Aonbharr have eaten some poisonous plants by accident?” asked Laisran.
Cellach shrugged.
“While tethered in its stable here? Hardly likely, Abbot. Even in the wilderness, horses are intelligent and sensitive creatures. They usually have a sense of things that will harm them. Apart from the fact that one would not find mandrake root or wolfsbane around these parts. And how would it crush ivy leaves? No, this was a deliberate act.”
“Is there no hope for the animal?” asked Fidelma sadly.
Cellach grimaced and shook his head.
“It will be dead by noon,” he replied.
“I will see Illan’s body now,” Fidelma said quietly, turning toward the tent of the king’s jockey.
“Are you Sister Fidelma?”
As Fidelma entered the tent of Illan she found a religieuse straightening up from the body of the man who lay on its back on the floor. The woman was big-boned with large hands and an irritable expression on her broad features. On Fidelma’s acknowledgment she went on: “I am Sister Eblenn, the apothecary from the community of the Blessed Darerca.”
“Have you examined the body of Illan?”
Sister Eblenn made a swift obeisance to Laisran as he entered the tent before answering Fidelma.
“Yes. A fatal stabbing. One wound in the heart.”
Fidelma exchanged a glance with the Abbot.
“Is there sign of the knife?”
“The wound was not made by a knife, Sister.” The apothecary was confident.
Fidelma controlled her irritation at the pause.
“Then by what?” she demanded, when there had been a sufficient silence and the religieuse had made no attempt to amplify her statement.
Sister Eblenn pointed to the table. A broken arrow lay on it. It was the front half of the arrow, about nine inches of the shaft and head. It was splintered where the shaft had been snapped in two.
Fidelma reached forward and took up the section of arrow. She could see that it was covered with blood and it was clear that Sister Eblenn had taken it from the wound.
“Are you telling us that Illan was stabbed in the heart with this arrow?” intervened Abbot Laisran. “Stabbed, you say, not shot with the arrow?”
Sister Eblenn pursed her lips and regarded him dourly.
“Have I not said so?” she asked petulantly.
Fidelma’s voice was brittle.
“No; so far you have not explained matters at all. Tell us what you have discovered and be specific.”
Eblenn blinked. She was obviously unused to people questioning her. She was given to assuming knowledge on the part of others and did not explain herself clearly. She flushed angrily at the rebuke.
“The dead man,” she began slowly, speaking in wooden but distinct tones, like a petulant child explaining the obvious, “was stabbed in the heart. The instrument was this arrow. Whoever killed him thrust the arrow under the rib cage, avoiding the sternum and thrusting with some force upward so that it entered the heart. Death was instantaneous. There was little bleeding.”
“Why do you discount the arrow being shot into the body?” insisted Abbot Laisran.
“The angle of incision is of such a degree that it would be impossible unless the archer was standing five feet away and shooting upward at a forty-five degree angle at least five feet below the target. There is also the fact that the arrow snapped in two. I believe the impact of the blow, the arrow gripped hard in the hand of the attacker, was the cause of its breaking.”
“I presume that you cut out the arrowhead?”
Eblenn pursed her thin lips and shook her head.
“The head is part of the shaft, simply a carved wooden point. I did not cut the arrow out at all but merely pulled it out. As it went in, so it came out. It was easy enough.”
Fidelma sighed deeply.
“So that when you came to examine the body, the arrow was in two pieces? One in the body, the other… where was that exactly?”
Sister Eblenn looked suddenly startled and peered around as if seeking the answer.
“I do not know. I presume it is somewhere about.”
Fidelma bit her lip. Extracting information from Sister Eblenn was like fishing for trout. One had to cast about blindly.
For a moment or two she stood looking down at the arrow. She became aware that Sister Eblenn was speaking.
“What?”
“I said, I must return to my apothecary’s tent. I have already had one theft this morning and do not want to chance another.”
Fidelma swung round with sudden interest.
“What was taken from your tent?”
“Some herbs, that is all. But herbs cost money.”
“And these herbs-were they mandrake root, wolfsbane and crushed ivy?”
“Ah, you have spoken to the Lady Dagháin?”
Fidelma’s eyes rounded slightly. “What has the Lady Dagháin to do with this matter?”
“Nothing. She was passing my tent just after I discovered the theft. I asked her to inform her husband as the Tanist has charge of the royal guards.”
“When exactly was this?”
“Just after the breakfast hour. Early this morning. Queen Muad-nat had come by requesting a balm for a headache. It was soon after that I noticed the herbs were gone. Then, as I was going to breakfast, I saw the Lady Dagháin and told her.”
After Sister Eblenn had left, still showing some bewilderment, Laisran grimaced.
“So now we know where the killer obtained the poison.”
Fidel nodded absently. While Laisran watched silently, Fidelma lowered herself to her knees and began to examine the body. Then she motioned Laisran to join her.
“Look at the wound, Laisran,” she said. “It seems our Sister Eblenn is not as perceptive as she should be.”
Laisran peered closely to where Fidelma indicated.
“No pointed arrowhead made that wound,” he agreed after a moment. “It is more of a gash, such as a broad-bladed knife would have made.”
“Exactly so,” agreed Fidelma.
For a while she searched all around the body in ever-increasing circles to cover the whole floor of the tent. There was nothing on the floor except for a leather cena, a medium-sized bag, which she placed on a tabletop. She could not find what she was expecting to discover and climbed back to her feet. She took up the splintered arrow again and stared at it as if perplexed. Then she thrust it into the marsupium or purse which she always carried.
She gazed down to study Illan’s features for a final time. Laisran was right; he had been a handsome young man. But his face was a little too handsome to attract her. She could imagine the self-satisfaction of his expression while he was in life.
Abbot Laisran coughed, as if to remind her of his presence.