Fidelma smiled gently. “Leaving the cena with the poison and its insignia conspicuously in Illan’s tent? No, my good mentor, if they were that clever then they would have simply destroyed the arrow. There are enough braziers in which to have burnt it. Why place it invitingly back in the quiver where it would easily be discovered? And they would have rid themselves of the cena. Also, my friend, in the excitement you have forgotten the very fact that neither Bressal nor Sílán appears to be aware of and which demonstrates their innocence.”
Laisran looked bewildered.
“What fact?”
“The fact that the arrow was placed in the wound after Illan was dead in order to mislead us. The fact that Illan was killed by a dagger thrust and not by stabbing with the arrow.”
Laisran clapped a hand to his head. He had forgotten that very point in the agitation of Fidelma’s cross examination of Bressal and Sílán.
“Are you suggesting that there is some plot to make Bressal appear guilty?”
“I am,” confirmed Fidelma.
Laisran looked at her thunderstruck.
“Then who …?” His eyes widened. “Surely you are not suggesting that the King…? Are you saying that Fáelán might have feared that his horse would not win against Bressal’s horse and so he contrived this intricate plot…?”
Fidelma pursed her lips.
“Your hypothesis is good but there is more work to be done before the hypothesis can be used in argument.”
Énna was suddenly blocking their path.
“Have you seen Bressal, Sister?” he greeted and when she nodded he smiled grimly. “Has he now confessed his guilt?”
Fidelma regarded him for a moment.
“So you believe him to be guilty?”
Énna stood in surprise.
“Believe? Surely there is no doubt?”
“Under our laws, one must be proven guilty of the offense unless one confesses that guilt. Bressal does not accept any guilt. My investigation must show proof against him.”
“Then that is not difficult.”
“You think not?” Énna looked uncomfortable at her mocking tone. “I would have everyone concerned now gather in Fáelán’s tent: Bressal,Sílán, Angaire, Murchad, Fáelán and Muadnat, yourself and Dagháin. There I will reveal the result of my investigation.”
As Énna hurried away, Fidelma turned to Laisran.
“Wait for me at Fáelán’s tent, I will not be long.” At Laisran’s look of interrogation, she added: “I have to look for something to complete my speculation.”
At Fidelma’s request they had all crowded into the tent of Fáelán of the Uí Dúnlainge, King of the Laighin.
“This has been a most perplexing mystery,” she began when the king signaled her to speak. “What seemed simple at first began to become mysterious and obscure. That was until now.”
Fidelma smiled broadly at them.
“And now?” It was Fáelán who prompted her.
“Now all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Firstly, the evidence against Bressal is overwhelming.”
There was a gasp of outrage from Bressal.
“It is not true. I am not guilty,” he protested indignantly.
Fidelma raised her hand for silence.
“I did not say that you were. Only that the evidence against you was overwhelming. However, if you had been guilty, or, indeed, if Sílán had carried out the deed for you, then you would have known that Illan had not been stabbed with an arrow but with a dagger. Only the real killer knew this and the person who placed the arrow in the wound. The arrow was a false scent planted in an attempt to lay a path to Bressal. It was obvious, therefore, that someone wanted me to find that evidence and draw the inevitable but wrong conclusion.”
Bressal gave a deep sigh and relaxed for the first time. Sílán, behind him, looked less defensive.
“I first approached this matter from the viewpoint of the motive, which seemed obvious,” went on Fidelma. “What immediately sprang to all minds was the idea that both Illan and the horse, Aonbharr, had been killed to prevent them taking part in the race today. Who would benefit by this? Well, Bressal, of course, for his horse, Ochain, and Murchad, his jockey, were the only serious contenders in the race other than Illan and Aonbharr. So if Bressal was not guilty, who could it have been? Who would benefit? Was it Murchad, who had laid a large wager on his winning? Laisran had already witnessed Murchad earlier this morning placing heavy wagers on himself to win.”
“No law against that!”
Murchad had flushed angrily but Fidelma ignored him and went on: “Obviously it was not Murchad for he did not have a motive. He would only have collected his winnings if he had won the race which essentially meant taking part in it. If he had murdered Illan, poisoned Aonbharr and left the trail of false clues of Bressal, then it would be obvious that Bressal would be arrested and his horse and Murchad would be disqualified from racing. That being so, Murchad would have forfeited his wager.”
Murchad nodded slowly in agreement and relief. Fidelma went blithely on.
“If not Murchad, what of Angaire, the trainer? He was not doing well for Bressal and had been told this very morning that Bressal was going to get rid of him. Bressal had made no secret of the fact that he had gone this very morning to see Illan in an attempt to persuade him to return to his stable and ride for him instead of Fáelán. Angaire had a better motive than Murchad.”
Angaire shifted uneasily where he stood. But Fidelma continued.
“You see, sticking to the line of argument about the horse race as the motive, there was only one other person with a motive who might benefit from putting the blame on Bressal.”
She turned toward Fáelán, the king. He stared at her in astonishment which swiftly grew into anger.
“Wait,” she cut his protests short. “Such a plot was too convoluted. Besides, everyone was of the opinion that Aonbharr could outdistance Ochain. There was no challenge there to be worried about. So there was no motive.”
She paused and looked around at their perplexed faces.
“It eventually became clear that the killing of Illan was not caused by rivalries on the race track. There was another motive for that crime. But was it the same motive as that for poisoning Aonbharr?”
They were all silent now, waiting for her to continue.
“The motive for Man’s death was as ageless as time. Unrequited love. Illan was young, handsome and his reputation among women was such that he had many lovers. He picked them up as one might pick up flowers, kept them until the affair withered and them threw them away. Am I not right?”
Fáelán was pale and he glanced surreptitiously at Muadnat.
“That is no crime, Fidelma. In our society, many still take second wives, husbands or lovers.”
“True enough. But one of the flowers which Illan had picked was not ready to be discarded. She went to his tent this morning and argued with him. And when he spurned her, when he said he would have no more to do with her, she, in a fit of rage, stabbed him to death. All it needed was one swift dagger blow under the rib cage.”
“If this is so,” said Énna, quietly, “why would she go to such lengths to put the blame on Bressal? Why poison Aonbharr? The laws of our society allow leniency to those who perpetrate such crimes of passion.”
Fidelma inclined her head. “A case could be made that any nonfatal injury inflicted by the woman in such circumstances does not incur liability. Our laws recognize the stirring of uncontrollable passion in such circumstances. In the matter of death she would be fined her victim’s honor price only. No other punishment would be necessary.”