‘You note how his pate is pale – a white circle of skin that is at odds with the sallow and weather-tanned skin of his face and arms? I think this tonsure was but recently cut.’
‘You doubt that he was a religieux?’ asked Brehon Aillín.
‘You must admit, he has proved to be an unusual religieux,’ replied Fidelma dryly. ‘But we can make no such deduction as yet. We only remark that the tonsure is but recent. Now let us remove and examine his clothing and see what we can make of his body.’
‘His body?’ frowned Brehon Aillín.
‘The man can change his clothing, the cut of his hair – even his features to some extent – but he cannot disguise his body.’
‘Perhaps I should examine the body, lady,’ muttered Brehon Aillín uncomfortably.
‘I have seen and examined enough corpses in my time, Aillín, as you well know. I do not need anyone to spare my modesty.’
At that moment, Eadulf re-entered.
‘The King still lives,’ he announced, before anyone could ask the question. ‘The wound went deep but it is clean and there appears to be no infection. The bleeding has been halted and Brother Conchobhar is in constant attention. However, the King is still unconscious and perhaps that is a good thing, for sleep will help to heal the wound.’
Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment. The only question in her mind that Eadulf had not answered was one that no one could answer at that time: would Colgú live? She took in some deep breaths before she indicated the corpse.
‘You come at an opportune time, Eadulf, for we need your skills. We were just about to examine the body of the assassin.’
‘What of his words before he struck? Has anyone recognised them?’
They stared at him blankly for a moment.
‘Remember Liamuin!’ Eadulf reminded them. ‘Who is, or was, Liamuin? What does the name mean?’
‘It is not a common name,’ replied Fidelma, disconcerted that she had forgotten all about what the assassin had called out as he struck with his dagger.
‘It is a female name,’ replied Finguine. ‘Doesn’t it mean “the comely one”?’
‘Liamuin is an unusual name but not an exclusive one,’ Fidelma reiterated. ‘Anyway, let us continue our examination of the assassin, for I think we were about to come to a conclusion that he was not necessarily a religieux.’
‘There seems to be no identification on the man to show where he comes from,’ Brehon Aillín said. ‘He could be disguised as a religieux. Under his robe he wears a satin undershirt.’
Eadulf’s mouth twitched slightly to hide a cynical expression. ‘It is not exactly unknown for abbots, bishops and other wealthy prelates to clad themselves in such finery,’ he said.
‘But not a man purporting to be just a messenger and clad in simple robes as these,’ objected Brehon Aillín.
‘A point that is well taken,’ confirmed Eadulf. ‘Anything else?’
‘He has good shoes, hardly worn, that do not reflect any lengthy walking. They have scuff-marks that might indicate he rode a horse,’ replied Fidelma. ‘He was certainly not caught in the rain shower which occurred not long before he arrived here.’
‘And have you noticed the other curious thing?’ enquired Eadulf.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.
‘So far as I saw, when he attacked Colgú and now as he lays before us, there was no crucifix around his neck. Neither one that showed his poverty nor one that showed rank. It is odd that a member of the Faith would be without a cross.’
Fidelma smiled approvingly. ‘A very good observation, Eadulf.’
Eadulf regarded the corpse for some time in silence before he realised that the others were waiting for him to make some further comment.
‘His hands show that he is no manual labourer for the skin is soft and the palms exceptionally so, for that is an area where manual work leaves an impression. The fingernails are carefully cut and rounded and,’ he took the right hand in his, pointing to the thumb and forefinger, ‘there is a dark stain here on the side of the thumb as well as the forefinger. I would say that it is ink. His hair is cut and his face shaven. All in all, I would say he was a man used to keeping up a good appearance.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Fidelma.
‘The main thing we must consider,’ Eadulf insisted, ‘is the name of the woman he shouted. Whoever she is, or was, it was meant to be recognised immediately by your brother. As this man struck him, he shouted: “Remember Liamuin!” Surely someone here should recognise that name and what it means?’