The Second Death (Sister Fidelma Mysteries)

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘So why the delay? That is, apart from the necessity of taking your son riding.’

  Fidelma ignored his sarcasm. ‘I decided to wait until this morning before beginning to question them. The delay was deliberate. Guilty people often get lulled into a false sense of security if left alone for a while.’

  Colgú stared at her in astonishment. ‘Guilty people? Apart from the unfortunate girl, what makes you think that any other member of the group has any involvement in this matter?’

  ‘I think something very strange happened. Until we have the facts, it is best to form no conclusion.’

  Colgú looked unhappy. ‘Dar Luga has told me there is much gossip and apprehension in the township. It is ill-luck to have entertainers turn up with corpses.’ Dar Luga was the plump, middle-aged airnbetach, or housekeeper, of the palace. ‘The sooner the matter is dealt with, the better for everyone. If only my new Chief Brehon were here.’

  Fidelma’s eyes glinted ominously; a curious green fire seemed to flicker for a moment. ‘Are you saying that you don’t trust me to handle this matter? Are you questioning my qualification and method?’

  Colgú was immediately contrite. ‘No, of course I didn’t mean that – you know I didn’t. But it seems an extraordinary affair. A strange wagon joins a band of travelling entertainers. It is driven by a girl dressed as a boy. The wagon suddenly bursts into flames. It seems the girl had tried to set it alight, then lost control and had to leap from the wagon to escape. She ran a few paces along the track, then collapsed and died. In the wagon was the body of a man, apparently a religieux. The company that the girl had joined put out the flames. So, what conclusion is there other than that the girl murdered her companion and then set light to her wagon to hide that fact, by accident, killing herself in the process?’

  ‘If it were her intention to destroy the wagon and the body in it, why did she not do so before joining Baodain’s group? Why wait until there were plenty of witnesses on the main highway? Why did she ask to accompany them here … to Cashel? What was her purpose in coming here?’

  Colgú shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What do you think is the explanation?’

  Fidelma exhaled and stretched a little in her chair, telling her brother, ‘That is precisely what I must find out. At the moment, we are simply not in possession of all the facts, therefore cannot arrive at an answer.’

  ‘But Eadulf spoke to those nearest the burned wagon and they said …’

  Fidelma shook her head. ‘They told him what they knew, but that doesn’t mean to say that they all spoke the truth.’

  Colgú sank further back in his seat and resumed his glum look. ‘We only have a week before the Great Fair opens. We should have some resolution before then. Don’t forget that the princes and their ladies from all the sub-kingdoms and regions of Muman will be attending. All the leading dignitaries of the kingdom and some from beyond our borders will be in Cashel. I just feel that Chief Brehon Fíthel should be here to assuage their fears.’

  Fidelma managed to control the irritation she felt at this new evidence of her brother’s lack of confidence in her.

  ‘Where is Brehon Fíthel?’ she asked coldly. ‘If you are so concerned about having him present, why not send a messenger telling him to return here at once.’

  Colgú seemed too preoccupied to notice her icy tone. Instead he replied: ‘He won’t be back for a while. He’s gone to mediate in a problem that has arisen with our cousin Olchobur of Raithlinn and his neighbours of the Uí Echach.’

  ‘But it is custom and law for the Chief Brehon to attend the Great Fair because that is the time the Dál – the court – sits and dispenses justice for any who wish to appeal to the Chief Brehon and the King,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘He will return with time enough to fulfil those duties,’ Colgú assured her. ‘There are some days left yet but this matter must be cleared up.’

  Fidelma sniffed meaningfully as she rose and made for the door. ‘As it seems that you only have me to rely on, I had better make a start on finding a solution. I presume that I am given your authority to conduct whatever enquiries that I deem fit?’

  Colgú glanced up distractedly. ‘What? Oh, of course. You are a dálaigh. You don’t need my approval to proceed in a matter of law.’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps it was a mistake that you left the religious and assumed the cares of your office. Life might have been a little less complicated.’

  ‘You know well enough, brother, that life for me was more complicated when I was a religieuse!’ she replied vehemently.

  ‘But everyone still knows you as Sister Fidelma, and still calls you as such.’

  ‘So long as they also know me as Fidelma of Cashel, a dálaigh, I am not concerned what else they think I am. The mistake was for me to have accepted Abbot Laisran’s suggestion that I join the religious. At that time, when I left Brehon Morann’s school of law, I needed some security in life. But I have learned my lesson.’

  ‘So where are you off to now?’ her brother wanted to know.

  Fidelma had paused by the door. ‘Eadulf had the bodies brought to Brother Conchobhar last night. I intend to hear what he has to say first. I’ll keep you informed, brother.’

  Brother Conchobhar was the elderly physician and apothecary who had been at Cashel for as long as Fidelma and her brother could remember. He had served their father, Failbe Flann, when the latter was King some thirty years before. Brother Conchobhar had been something of a mentor to both of Failbe’s children as they were growing up. His apothecary stood just behind the old chapel on the far side of a narrow flagstone courtyard. Fidelma opened the door and entered. As she had done every time she passed the threshold, she halted and allowed herself to get used to the almost overpowering aromas of the herbs and spices that filled the apothecary’s workplace. She found Brother Conchobhar in the rear room where bodies were taken and laid out ready for burial. One of the his main tasks was to wash and prepare the corpse for committal whenever there was a death in the King’s household.

  The old physician was bent over a body which was stretched on a table in the centre of the room. As Fidelma entered, he glanced up. He was holding an altan – a sharp surgical knife – in his hand; it was bloody, and there were bloodstains on the one-piece garment he was wearing over his clothing and which was designed to protect it. He quickly drew a linen cloth over the mid-section of the corpse before turning to greet her. The movement surprised Fidelma.

  ‘What is it, old friend?’ she asked. ‘Is there something you don’t want me to see?’

  ‘There are some things that it is best not to see,’ he told her.

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Not even for the eyes of a dálaigh – an advocate who has probably seen more dead bodies than a battle-weary commander in war?’

  ‘There are some things …’ he repeated, but she cut him short.

  ‘I respect your sensitivity, but a murder is a murder and if I am to resolve this matter then I cannot afford such niceties of behaviour. Come, you are examining the murdered girl,’ she gestured at the table, ‘so what did you find that you don’t want me to know? I have seen people who have died in fires before.’

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head sadly. ‘It is not that I do not want you to know, nor that I would not tell you, but it is better that you do not see. Anyway, she did not die from the injuries inflicted by the fire. They were bad, especially on her left side, but not bad enough to kill her.’

  ‘Why not tell me first,’ Fidelma said quietly, ‘and I’ll make up my own mind if I need to see afterwards.’

  Brother Conchobhar nodded slowly. ‘Very well. We will start with the cause of death of this woman. Simply – she was poisoned.’

  Fidelma stared at the physician in surprise. ‘How could you know that?’ she gasped.

  ‘Am I not a physician?’ the old man demanded. ‘I have examined the blue stain of the lips, the contraction of the muscles of the face – both of which Brother Eadulf pointed out to me last night as
being suspicious. I think he suspected poison, but wanted me to come to my own conclusion. Remember, he has studied at the medical school of Tuaim Brecain.’

  ‘Poisoned! But how?’

  Brother Conchobhar gave a cynical shrug. ‘I can only tell you the what. The how and the why must be left to you.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘In telling me the what, perhaps you can suggest what the poison was?’

  ‘One can never be sure in such circumstances. At an experienced guess, however, I would suggest a very concentrated infusion from the plant called the Devil’s Bread.’

  Fidelma knew the tall plant, its hollow green stem and little white flowers of which children were always told to beware.

  ‘Apothecaries often use it as a sedative,’ she protested. ‘You have told me that much in the past. It might have been taken as a medication.’

  ‘In very moderate infusions, yes, but this effect, as I say, was caused by a highly concentrated dose. The intent was obvious.’

  ‘It still doesn’t make sense. If the girl set light to her wagon, swallowed the infusion, left the wagon and moved to where she was supposed to have collapsed and died, then it would not have caused her death by that time.’

  ‘True enough. I would say the poison would have had to have been imbibed some time before, perhaps even several days before. Certainly before she reached the stage of death, she would have been showing clear signs of illness.’

  ‘So if she was suffering from the poison, then someone would have noticed?’

  ‘Exactly so,’ agreed the old physician.

  ‘But this was not why you were performing a surgical examination?’ she said, gesturing at the blood-stained altan that he had laid aside.

  Brother Conchobhar sighed.

  ‘In truth, I was just about to call the women who, for the proprieties, usually undress and wash female corpses and put them in grave clothes ready for the obsequies, when I realised something. It had been difficult to notice before, for the girl had been wearing a large, flowing woollen robe. As she lay there, however, I saw that the poor girl’s crislach was swollen.’

  The word meant the part of the body enclosed by a criss or girdle – which was a polite way of saying the abdomen or belly. Brother Conchobhar was a believer in polite euphemisms when speaking on feminine matters. He paused, but Fidelma said nothing, waiting for him to finish in his own way.

  ‘I removed the clothing and examined the swelling. The only way I could confirm my immediate conclusion was by cutting into the maclaig.’

  Again, old Brother Conchobhar was choosing a polite euphemism, referring to ‘the child’s dwelling place’ – the womb. Fidelma’s mouth tightened and she remained silent, guessing what was to come.

  ‘The girl had been some months pregnant. Perhaps six to seven months. I removed the … the growth.’ He looked sadly at the shroud-covered corpse. ‘I did not think you would want to see it.’

  The old man had been right. Fidelma had seen many gruesome sights, but that of a developed unborn foetus was one she would prefer to avoid unless it was absolutely necessary.

  ‘Could anything be discerned from the … the infant’s body?’

  The physician shook his head. ‘Only that at the time the mother was poisoned it had been growing naturally and seemed healthy. I cannot guess what the story would have been, had the poison seeped into the growing infant. Now, do you really want to see this?’

  Fidelma had changed her mind. ‘I will take your word on the matter,’ she said. ‘So tell me, what of the mother herself? Is there anything to indicate who she was?’

  Brother Conchobhar gazed at the uncovered face of the girl who lay before him.

  ‘She was dressed in poor clothing and yet,’ he bent over and took one of the girl’s stiffened arms from beneath the covering; it was the one which had not been caught by the flames. He pointed to the hand. ‘Her fingernails are well cared for. Her hands are soft and there are no calluses. That is an indication that she was of good birth and upbringing. She was certainly not one of these travelling entertainers or someone who worked in the fields or tended a loom.’

  Fidelma gave a quick nod of agreement as she examined the hand. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Two things that may be helpful. As I say, the attention to her toilet. Apart from the last day or so, one can see that her skin is fresh and her hair has been regularly washed and dressed with some fragrant-smelling unguent.’

  Fidelma bent forward and sniffed at the auburn strands.

  ‘Lavender?’ she queried.

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘Then from these observations, we can be assured that this is the daughter of a wealthy house or one of some standing in her community.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed the old physician.

  ‘Also, if this girl was so fastidious,’ mused Fidelma, ‘it seems hard to believe that she could accidentally set fire to herself.’

  ‘That is another thing I would like to discuss.’ Brother Conchobhar’s voice was heavy.

  Fidelma gave him a searching glance. ‘Go on.’

  ‘A theory has apparently been advanced that the burns on the girl’s left side and clothing were caused by accident when she tried to set fire to her wagon to destroy the corpse inside it. However, I noticed an odour about the burns that was unfamiliar. Early this morning, I went to view the wagon. I wanted to see where the fire had started – and the damage. The burned bucket which seemed to be the origin of the fire was still in place.’

  ‘Yes – Eadulf left everything ready for me to investigate. Did you learn anything?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of Tene Gregach?’

  ‘Greek Fire? No.’

  ‘It is known by several names; we call it dergthach. It is an incendiary material that was used in ancient battles by the Greeks and Romans. A chronicler from Antioch named Malelas once described it as being basically made of sulphur and said that it was fired from giant catapults and caused great damage when aimed at ships in sea battles.’

  ‘Are you saying someone threw this incendiary material at the girl?’

  Brother Conchobhar shook his head. ‘There were the remains of a wooden bucket, overturned next to the driver’s seat. I believe that a mixture had been put in there of pronnasc, or sulphur, mixed with gláed, or birdlime. That produces something of the sort that I think they would call Greek fire.’

  ‘Birdlime is what our warriors often use to reinforce the seams of their shields,’ Fidelma noted. ‘It’s strong like sechim or bitumen.’

  ‘And when mixed with sulphur in the right proportions, it is highly combustible once heated,’ confirmed the physician.

  ‘But doesn’t that clear up part of the mystery?’ Fidelma asked. ‘The girl is driving the wagon. She has a bucket of this dergthach by her side. It ignites, the flames catch her on her left side – and to escape, she leaps from the wagon and runs forward …’

  ‘… only to submit to the poison she has ingested days before,’ ended the old apothecary. ‘There is one problem. Where was her means of lighting the dergthach? She would need some agent such as a tinderbox. If by some mishap she caused the flames to spring up unexpectedly, then she would have dropped her tinderbox. Eadulf specifically told me he saw no sign of one.’

  ‘Are you saying the bucket was already alight?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘I can only tell you what I have been told and seen.’

  ‘I will check it out with Eadulf,’ affirmed Fidelma. ‘Anything else?’

  Brother Conchobhar turned to a side table and picked up a small length of plaited hemp rope – about enough to tie around one’s wrist. Attached to it was a piece of bronze metal, roughly circular in shape, like a coin, with the cord inserted through a small hole. He handed it to her and she turned it over, examining it carefully.

  ‘It was tied around the wrist of the undamaged arm,’ the old man explained, seeing the question in her eyes.

  Fidelma moved to the window and held up the bronze disc so that
she could see it more clearly.

  ‘It seems to have the image of a bird beaten on it,’ she said.

  ‘I would say it was a raven,’ the old man said. ‘See the stout, heavy bill and pronounced curve at the top?’

  ‘Does the emblem signify something in particular?’

  ‘I have never seen anything like it before.’

  ‘It certainly doesn’t indicate wealth or nobility.’ Fidelma pondered. ‘What of the man who was in the wagon? Did you have a chance to examine his body?’ She looked around, wondering where the second corpse was.

  Brother Conchobhar nodded and turned to a side door. ‘I have already placed it in a coffin outside because of the putrefaction and gaseous smells.’

  Fidelma glanced from the girl’s corpse to Brother Conchobhar, a question in her eyes.

  ‘The man died several days before the girl,’ the apothecary confirmed her unasked question. ‘I would say three days. Hence the putrefaction. As you know, when a person dies several changes take place: discolouration, the stiffening of the limbs – and after two to three days the body starts to swell because of gases which emit foul odours. When the body was brought to me last night, these things were already manifest. I made a cursory inspection and had the corpse placed into a wooden box and sealed. He must be buried as soon as possible.’

  ‘Could you tell how he died?’

  ‘I would guess that he had imbibed the same poison as the girl. I saw enough to confirm that he had died in convulsions of the type I have seen when someone has been poisoned.’

  ‘Like the girl?’ Fidelma said.

  ‘Yes – but before the girl,’ Brother Conchobhar said.

  ‘Eadulf believed the man was a religieux wearing the tonsure of Colmcille.’

  ‘I can understand why,’ smiled the old man. ‘We shave our tonsure from ear to ear at the front of the head. The corpse had a high forehead and, of course, the tightening of the skin that occurs after death accentuated it because it pulls the skin away from the hairline. It is often wrongly thought that hair and nails continue to grow after death. But the tightening and hardening of the skin causes it to shrink back so the hair and nails look longer.’