Gormán turned quickly to Brother Cuineáin, whose face now had a pallid tinge. He began to back away from the young warrior.
‘You have all seen how he is constantly massaging his right wrist with his other hand,’ Gormán said in ringing tones. ‘When we were here days ago, he dropped a beaker because he was unable to hold it. It was the same when he nearly dropped the lantern a moment ago.’
Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘I suspect that Brother Cuineáin did enter this abbey after the defeat at Cnoc Áine not to escape attention but because he was steward to Prince Eoganán. I think he is actually Codlata from the Ford of Flagstones.’
‘I did not know Codlata,’ Conrí said, staring in curiosity at the man. ‘His relationship was distant to that of my family.’ He moved towards the steward, hand on the hilt of his dagger. It was Eadulf who intervened.
‘It is not a wound that causes Brother Cuineáin’s hand to shake. It is what you call crithlam – a palsy. It is just as he said – he suffers from some strange ague that causes the hand to be weak and to shake uncontrollably.’
The warlord stepped back, blinking. He turned to Fidelma for guidance, then glanced towards Abbot Nannid.
‘If he is Codlata, then Abbot Nannid must have known him.’
‘One’s relations are not proof of guilt,’ blustered the abbot. ‘I gave sanctuary to Codlata and will maintain it. He was only administrator to Prince Eoganán.’
‘You are at liberty to do so,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘That is, unless Codlata or Brother Cuineáin, as he is now called, is proved guilty of some crime.’
She had been looking at Abbot Nannid as she spoke. As if in answer, the abbot drew back the sleeves of his robe, showing that he had no blemishes on his wrists. He stared back at her in silent challenge.
‘I was not about to accuse you, Abbot Nannid,’ she told him, ‘although, of course, you are Prince Donennach’s uncle and also of the bloodline. It seems this abbey has become home to several Uí Fidgente nobles. No, it is the man Suanach described that I want.’ Then, turning quickly: ‘And you have a scar on your right wrist, don’t you, Brother Lugna?’
The stable-master started in bewilderment. ‘Yes, I do. Everyone knows it. You saw it when you were here before. A horse bit me years ago. It was an accident, I told you.’
‘Brother Lugna has served this abbey for many years as my stable-master,’ Abbot Nannid said irritably. ‘He entered the abbey when he was seventeen years old, many years before Prince Eoganán started his war against Cashel. Brother Lugna was renowned for his piety and devotion to the abbey as well as his love of horses. He never wanted anything to do with his father’s claims nor did he have sympathy with his brothers Torcán and Lorcán. Why would he suddenly want to lead such a conspiracy, and claim power after all these years?’
Fidelma was aware of the looks of doubt on the faces of her companions.
‘People do change with experience,’ she conceded. ‘When Brother Cú-Mara was here a few days ago, he mentioned that he had noticed a change in Brother Lugna’s attitudes after Cnoc Áine.’
‘Brother Lugna is a man of great piety,’ insisted the abbot.
‘Indeed he was,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘His brother Lorcán was not. Perhaps it is time for you to speak as yourself, Lorcán!’ She added the last sentence sharply, wheeling round on the man.
In the silence that followed, Temnén was shaking his head. ‘No, no, no, lady. Lorcán was killed. Everyone knows that. It was Uisnech who killed him.’
‘I am afraid not. Lorcán killed his twin brother, Lugna, so that he could take his place as stable-master in this abbey. You, Temnén, were not alone in remarking how alike the brothers were physically but how unalike in temperament. Brother Cú-Mara, who had known Lugna for some years before Cnoc Áine, noticed a subtle change in the stable-master’s temperament. But everyone was willing to agree that attitudes had changed after that great defeat.’
‘But I have known Brother Lugna for … This is impossible!’ stammered Abbot Nannid. ‘I also knew Lorcán. He was not only a son of Prince Eoganán but one of his chief commanders. Speak up, Lugna.’
‘What better way of hiding, after the defeat, than in full view of everyone, passing as his own twin brother? People see what they expect to see,’ Fidelma said. ‘Lorcán’s twin brother was renowned for his lack of interest in Uí Fidgente pretensions, and for his piety and goodwill, having served a long time in the abbey. What a perfect disguise!’