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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?’

CHAPTER TWO

    E adulf lay awake that night, aware of Fidelma tossing fitfully beside him but not daring to say anything in the hope that she would eventually sink into a much-needed slumber. He must have dozed off eventually – until something suddenly awoke him. He eased a hand across the mattress, finding the bed deserted and cold. It was dark, even though the stormclouds had disappeared, pushed away by the strong west winds. He blinked for a moment to adjust his eyes. The moon had only just reached its first quarter and was shedding little natural light.
    A figure was standing at the window, gazing out into the night.
    ‘Fidelma?’
    The figure turned and said, ‘Eadulf, sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.’
    There was a tone in her voice that he had never heard before, and he swung out of the bed, hurried across to her and caught her cold hands in his.
    ‘You’ve been crying.’ He lifted one hand and gently wiped the wetness from her cheeks with his fingertips. She sniffed a little but made no reply.
    ‘Your brother is a strong man. He is in the best of care with Brother Conchobhar.’ Eadulf tried to sound reassuring.
    Fidelma nodded slowly in the shadows. ‘I have known Brother Conchobhar since I was old enough to remember. There is no physician in the world that I would rather entrust with my brother’s life.’
    And then, to Eadulf’s astonishment, she gave a heartrending sob. Fidelma was not one to let her emotions show. Only a few times had Eadulf been allowed to see behind the cryptic exterior that she had developed over the years; only now and then was he privy to flashes of her real feelings, her sensitivity, her vulnerability which she had learned, as a lawyer, to disguise with her cutting logic, a refusal to treat fools and prejudiced people with tolerance, her sharp speech and feisty attitudes. Eadulf was the only man who could see through her camouflage to the real person beneath, but even he was amazed to see her so emotionally reduced by the attempted assassination of her brother.
    He knew that he could not comfort her by telling her that to cry was a normal