Atonement of Blood(10)

‘One question,’ he warned, standing aside.

‘You go in,’ Eadulf told her. ‘We do not want to tire him with too many people crowding round.’

As Dego turned the handle to allow her entrance, Fidelma seemed to brace herself for a moment and then passed through the doors. Dego silently shut them behind her.

Eadulf turned to Brother Conchobhar. ‘I suppose there is no one in this palace who knows Colgú as well as you do?’

The other man replied, ‘I would agree, although no one is ever privy to all the thoughts, emotions and deeds of another.’

Eadulf accepted the caveat. He went on: ‘You know that the assassin called “Remember Liamuin!” before he struck?’

Brother Conchobhar inclined his head.

‘Would you have any idea of what that meant?’

‘None at all. I have never heard of anyone called Liamuin. I presume that is the question that Fidelma will ask her brother? I regret I cannot help.’

‘Then let us hope Colgú can supply an answer,’ Eadulf said.

Fidelma moved across the large outer chamber where her brother usually received his advisers, members of the family and inner circle of friends. A log fire was crackling in the hearth. She strode directly to the door of his bedchamber. A male attendant, seated outside, rose nervously to his feet but Fidelma motioned him to reseat himself. She opened the door and entered silently.

The bedchamber was in semi-gloom and Colgú lay on his back on the bed, his chest tightly bandaged. His face was pale. Sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks, and his fiery red hair was plastered to his forehead. The King’s lips were pale; his breath was uneven, coming in wheezy grasps.

As she approached the side of the bed, it seemed that Colgú became aware of her presence for his eyelids flickered and then opened. His grey-green eyes focused on her. The pain-wracked face tried to smile but it was more a grimace.

Fidelma held a finger to her lips.

‘Hello, “little thorn”,’ she said softly, using her childhood nickname for her brother. His name actually meant anything sharp and pointed like a sword or a thorn, and when she had discovered this, she had bestowed ‘little thorn’ as a pet name on him. ‘How are you feeling?’

He grimaced again. ‘Like someone who has been stabbed,’ he replied in a thick tone with an attempt at dry humour.

‘The man who attacked you is dead.’

‘I was told that Caol killed him.’

Fidelma nodded. ‘But, sadly, not before the assassin killed Brehon Áedo.’

Colgú went to move but grunted in pain.

‘Stay still!’ Fidelma admonished. ‘You must rest all you can.’

‘Are you in charge of the investigation?’ Colgú forced the words out.

‘Have no fear,’ Fidelma smiled cynically. ‘Technically, it is Brehon Aillín who is in charge, but I am helping him.’

Colgú’s lips compressed for a moment. ‘Áedo was a good man,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He had hardly been a month or so as my Chief Brehon.’

Fidelma was aware of the passing of the time and did not want to tire the sick man. ‘There is one question I must ask,’ she said. ‘Who is, or was, Liamuin?’

Her brother gazed up at her blankly. ‘Liamuin? I don’t understand.’

‘When the assassin stabbed you, he was shouting, “Remember Liamuin!”. It was obviously intended to mean something to you.’

Colgú closed his eyes and moved his head restlessly. ‘I know of no one by that name.’

‘No one at all? No one from the distant past – any relative, friend or acquaintance?’

‘No one. Truly, sister – the name means nothing to me.’

Fidelma leaned over the figure on the bed and took one of his hands for a moment.

‘Rest well, little thorn,’ she told him. ‘Do not worry about anything. Just concentrate on getting better.’

Colgú gasped, ‘I’ll do my best, sister.’

Outside Colgú’s chambers, Fidelma greeted Eadulf with a disappointed shake of her head before he could ask the question.

‘The name meant nothing to him,’ she said.

‘Then it becomes a mystery. Why would a man attempt to assassinate someone, knowing full well that he was likely to be killed in the process, while shouting a name in justification when it meant nothing to anyone?’

‘The name meant something to the assassin,’ Fidelma replied.

‘Well, of course it would, but—’

‘Perhaps it was meant for the assassin’s own understanding and no one else’s,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘It was a justification to himself.’