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here and went straight to my bed.’
    ‘You don’t lock your door?’ Eadulf asked Della.
    She laughed pleasantly. ‘Locks and bolts are for nobles, brother. We poorer folk do not bother with such things, for who would want to intrude on us?’
    Gormán was nodding agreement when Fidelma suddenly asked: ‘The dog made no sound when you came in?’
    ‘He must know my step by now, but …’ Gormán broke off as if a thought had struck him.
    ‘But?’ echoed Fidelma.
    ‘If truth be told, he usually barks and snarls until I call out to him and he recognises my voice.’
    ‘And last night he did not?’
    ‘He seemed to be sleeping soundly.’
    ‘He does not appear to be a docile dog,’ remarked Eadulf. ‘I have seen these cross-breeds before. They are good for hunting.’
    ‘How was your dog’s behaviour last evening?’ Fidelma asked Della thoughtfully.
    Della shrugged. ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Was he alert? Or did he become sleepy?’
    ‘He was running about all afternoon. I think he tired himself out …’ Her voice suddenly trailed off.
    ‘You’ve thought of something?’ prompted Fidelma.
    ‘Yes, something curious. He came back just before I had begun to prepare my evening meal. He was carrying a bone. I presumed that he had helped himself to a bone given to one of my neighbour’s dogs. He went quietly to his spot and lay down. I usually give him a slice of meat if I am eating it for the evening meal.’
    ‘And last night, you were eating meat?’ Eadulf asked.
    ‘I was. I threw him a small chunk, but he didn’t even touch it.’
    ‘Where does he sleep?’
    Della took them to the porch of her wooden cabin and pointed to where some sacking was spread in a dry spot. As they moved towards it, the dog trotted forward and picked up the remains of a piece of meat and, growling softly, began to chew it. However, it was a bone that lay on the sacking that Fidelma was after. She reached down and scooped it up. There were still strands of meat hanging from it. She sniffed at it cautiously before handing it to Eadulf.
    Eadulf grimaced at the strong and disagreeable odour. ‘
Cáerthann curraig
,’ the Irish name came immediately to his lips.
    ‘What is that?’ asked Della, puzzled.
    ‘Valerian root,’ he translated. ‘Apothecaries use it to allay pain and promote sleep. It tranquillises the mind.’
    ‘Except that this seems stronger than the usual valerian that I know,’ commented Fidelma.
    Della was looking horrified. ‘Are you saying that someone tried to poison my dog?’
    ‘Probably not,’ Eadulf said. ‘They just wanted to ensure that he was sleepy enough not to arouse any alarm, and then they could paddock the horse and change any clothing without being challenged.’
    Fidelma was looking unconvinced. ‘Why go to all that bother? Our assassin would have already arrived here with his horse and the dog would have had the chance to raise an alarm before the tranquilliser had been given to it.’
    ‘I have no understanding of this, lady,’ Gormán said.
    ‘And I have no explanation to offer at the moment,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Let us see if we can find the bridle and saddle that belong to this horse and the clothes belonging to the assassin.’
    ‘As I said, lady, we have made that search already and found nothing.’
    ‘Perhaps he used some other shelter nearby,’ offered Gormán, ‘rather than our outbuildings.’
    ‘Do you have any suggestions?’ Eadulf asked.
    Gormán pointed to the treeline at the far end of the field. ‘There is a small woodsman’s hut among those trees. The rider could have used that to change in and to store his clothes. I know of no other shelter nearby.’
    ‘Then let us examine it.’
    Gormán gave his mother a reassuring smile and indicated that she did not have to accompany them before turning and leading the way across the small field, passing the now indifferently grazing horses. A short distance beyond the back fencing of the paddock, the edge of