side.
Gionga and Donndubháin followed curiously.
Eadulf had lifted the head slightly so that they could see the crown. There was a lot of dried blood on it where Gionga had smashed the back of the skull with the blow from his sword hilt.
Fidelma’s eyes widened.
‘What is it?’ demanded Gionga. ‘I see nothing except the wound I made. I freely admit that I made it. So what?’
Fidelma spoke very quietly. ‘What Brother Eadulf is pointing out, Gionga, is that you will see there is a difference in the growth of the hair on this man’s crown to the hair surrounding the crown. As you will see, the hair surrounding the crown is thick and curly. There is a circle on the crown in which the hair is barely more than half an inch to an inch in length.’
Gionga still could not understand what it meant.
Realisation reached Donndubháin. first. ‘Does this mean that the man was in holy orders until recently?’
‘What?’ Gionga was startled. He peered forward as if to verify the fact that he had missed.
‘The corona spina of the Roman following,’ observed Eadulf who wore the same tonsure.
‘Are you saying that this man was a foreigner?’ demanded Gionga of Eadulf.
Fidelma closed her eyes momentarily. ‘There are plenty of religious within the five kingdoms who have forsaken the tonsure of St John for the tonsure of St Peter,’ she explained. ‘The tonsure tells us
nothing more than the fact that he is … or was … a member of the religious.’
‘We know also that he wore his tonsure until about two weeks ago. I would say that it has taken that long for the hair to grow thus,’ Eadulf added.
‘Two weeks?’ queried Fidelma.
Eadulf nodded confirmation.
They stood back while Eadulf continued his examination, peering carefully at the body. He pointed to the left forearm. ‘Have you all observed this strange tattoo?’
They bent forward to examine it.
‘It is a bird of some sort,’ offered Donndubhain.
‘Clamhán,’ asserted Fidelma.
‘A what?’ frowned Eadulf.
‘It is a hawk of sorts,’ she explained.
‘Well, I have never seen its like,’ asserted Gionga.
‘No,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘You are not likely to unless you travel to the northern lands.’
‘And you have, I suppose?’ the warrior jeered.
‘Yes. I have seen it in Ulaidh and in the kingdom of Dál Riada when I was on my way to the great council called by Oswy of Northumbria.’
‘Ah!’ Eadulf was triumphant. ‘I recognise it now. In Latin it is called buteo, a buzzard. An odd bird for a religieux to have emblazoned on his forearm.’
He continued with his examination, paying special attention to the hands and feet.
‘This man is no religieux turned warrior, nor warrior turned religieux,’ he announced. ‘The hands and feet are soft and not calloused. Indeed, examine his right hand, Fidelma, especially between the first and second fingers.’
Fidelma reached forward and picked up the flaccid, cold hand. She tried not to shiver as a reaction to the repulsive touch of the soft flesh which seemed pliable as to be almost boneless.
She glanced quickly at Eadulf, her eyebrows raised, before replacing the hand.
‘What is it now?’ demanded Gionga, resentful that he was not able to understand.
‘There are ink stains on the fingers,’ Eadulf replied to the question. ‘It means that our erstwhile monk was a scriptor . A strange person to become an assassin.’
Gionga was querulous. ‘Well, it was the other man who was the archer and he wore the emblem of the elite bodyguard of the King
of Cashel and his weapons were arrows manufactured by the people of Cnoc Aine, a territory ruled by the cousin of Colgú.’
Fidelma did not bother to comment on his statement. ‘And so we will turn to the archer himself. What can you tell us of this man, Eadulf?’
Eadulf spent some time examining the tall man’s body before he stood back and addressed them.
‘The man is well muscled, his hands are used to work, although they