It was the first time they had seen the usually dour steward almost in a state of excitement.
‘But surely wood or stone is merely an outward covering,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘The fame of an abbey lies in the deeds of its community and its scholars.’
Brother Lugna flushed a little and did not respond. Instead he pointed to the upper floor of the building. ‘Brother Donnchad’s cubiculum is on the top floor.’ The steward guided them up a stone stairway to the upper floor before leading them along a corridor and halting before a door. They could see immediately that the lock on the door had been smashed open. There was no sign of the lock but splintered wood marked the place where it had been fitted. The steward reached out and pushed the door open.
‘Where is the lock and key?’ Fidelma asked.
‘They were handed back to the smith who has been told to keep them for your examination.’
‘So this door has not been secured since you found the body?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Even if it could be, there was no need to secure it,’ replied Brother Lugna primly. ‘Brother Donnchad no longer had need of the lock.’
‘And Brother Donnchad had no possessions to keep safe?’
‘There was little of value here but the abbot ordered that nothing be removed until you came. I can assure you that nothing has. As the abbot and I have told you, there were no precious manuscripts here.’
‘What happened after you found the body?’
‘The abbot and I remained here to examine the room even after the body was taken by the physician for examination and preparation for burial.’
‘The physician did not examine the body here?’
‘He saw Brother Donnchad was dead, so there was little need to do anything further here.’
‘Would you ask the physician to join us here?’
Brother Lugna hesitated.
‘Is there a problem?’ Fidelma asked.
‘There is little he can tell you that I cannot,’ replied the steward.
‘But you are not the physician who examined the body,’ Fidelma said.
Reluctantly, the steward turned and hurried off on his errand.
Fidelma entered the cubiculum and halted just inside the door. She looked round at the small room. It was lit by one narrow window to which Fidelma immediately went. It was high up in the wall, the sill on a level with her head. She turned round, seized a chair and drew it to the window. She looked out at the walls below the window. They were smooth and obviously could not be scaled without a ladder. The ground beneath appeared muddy, evidence that this had, until recently, been a building site, although here and there a few bushes had sprung up since the building had been constructed. Then she turned her head and glanced upwards. There was an overhang to the roof that made it practically impossible for anyone to descend in order to gain entrance through the window, even if they had been small enough.
‘Well, unless the murderer was a midget, an acrobat, or had wings, I cannot see anyone gaining entrance this way,’ Fidelma announced, climbing off the chair and returning it to its place. ‘Even if they could scale the wall, and perhaps that is possible with all this building work going on with ladders lying unattended. But an intruder would have to squeeze through the window and would have given his victim plenty of warning. We are told there were no signs of a struggle.’
‘And we are told that he was stabbed in the back,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘That means he had his back to the intruder and was not expecting the attack.’
The next thing that struck Fidelma was how bare the room was. For a scholar of Brother Donnchad’s reputation, and one who had travelled on such an important pilgrimage to the Holy Land, it was decidedly empty.
Eadulf agreed. ‘And if we accept the word of the abbot and his steward, nothing has been taken from here except the body.’
The wooden bed, with its straw palliasse and blanket, still lay in turmoil. The mattress and woollen blanket were stained with blood. They had certainly not been touched. Some shelves contained a few odds and ends of writing materials, goose quills and a small knife to cut them. There was a broken stylus and an adarcín, part of a cow’s horn used to contain dhubh, a black ink made from carbon. But there was no sign of any material to write on, vellums or parchments, nor a writing stand or maulstick to guide the hand of the scribe. Indeed, there was no sign of any books, scrolls or manuscripts at all.
‘Curious,’ murmured Fidelma.
‘Not even a marsupium or tiag luibhar, no bags to carry even a small book,’ added Eadulf, reading her thoughts.
Fidelma pointed beneath the bed. Just at the foot, barely visible, was the end of wooden box.
‘Bring that out, Eadulf. Perhaps we’ll find something inside.’
Eadulf went on his knees on the floor and dragged the box out. It was not secured and so he lifted the lid. It contained nothing more interesting than a pair of sandals, a robe, and underclothes.
‘Well, I am quite sure that there is nothing here. Even aside from the question of any precious manuscripts, a scholar of his reputation would have had some documents in his room. But there are no papers here at all.’
‘Then we must work on the assumption that the murderer stole them,’ Fidelma suggested. She was moving around the small cubiculum, examining the walls.
‘What are you looking for?’ Eadulf asked.
‘Another way in. We are told that Brother Donnchad was murdered here. Stabbed in the back. We are told that the door was locked from the inside because there was only one key and that key was found by the body on the bed. It looks as though no access could be made from the door or the window there.’
‘This accounts for a mood of unease and stories of supernatural entities,’ replied Eadulf. ‘I was told this morning in the refectorium that one of the brethren claims he actually saw an angel flying by the building.’
‘I think that, too, can be discounted,’ replied Fidelma coldly. ‘So how did the human agent enter here, kill the victim and leave with a bundle of manuscripts without a trace of entry or exit?’
‘There might be another key, of course,’ he offered.
‘The smith who made the lock and key would be able to answer that and we will ask him. In the meantime, let us see if we can eliminate any other means of entry.’
‘You believe there might be another way of entering here?’ He was sceptical. ‘If there were another means, Glassán the builder would surely have known about it and informed the abbot. After all, he must have built this place.’
‘Better we should check ourselves,’ she replied.
Eadulf looked on with some cynicism. ‘If someone popped out of a secret door or tunnel, the sound of it opening would have alerted Brother Donnchad. This place is small and he would have put up a struggle with the assailant. Indeed,’ he continued warming to his reasoning, ‘he would have been equally warned if someone had come to the door and opened it with another key.’
‘You are right, Eadulf.’ Fidelma paused, standing thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Even if he was fast asleep in bed and slept through the sound of the assailant’s entrance, how would his killer have been able to stab him in the back without a struggle?’
There was a movement in the corridor and a moment later Brother Lugna entered with a tall, dark man whose sour expression seemed to fit his saturnine features.
‘This is Brother Seachlann, our physician,’ the steward announced, standing aside.
‘As I am unable to examine the corpse for myself, you must explain to me the nature of the man’s death,’ Fidelma said.
‘Little to explain. He was stabbed twice and died.’
Fidelma smiled thinly at the man’s offhand manner which bordered on insolence.
‘I think a little more information is in order,’ she said gently. Eadulf recognised her dangerous tone. ‘Where was he stabbed?’
Brother Seachlann frowned in annoyance. ‘In the back. Haven’t you been told?’ His voice was full of arrogance. ‘I cannot unders
tand why you must waste my time with such questions. I am a qualified liaig, a physician, and am to be treated with respect and not summoned to answer questions that have no need of an answer.’
Eadulf waited for the explosion. It did not come.
‘Brother Seachlann,’ Fidelma spoke very softly, ‘so far no one has treated you with disrespect. I am a dálaigh, an advocate of the courts, qualified to the level of anruth. I accept that you are a qualified physician. As such, you ought to know enough of the law to realise that you must respond to my questions. Failing to provide satisfactory answers to me can result in censureship and a fine. I have the power to take away your echlaisc. So I hope you will save me the trouble of having to drag from you every little piece of information that I want. Do I make myself understood?’
What Fidelma meant by taking away his echlaisc was that she could have him disbarred from medicine. A doctor usually went to visit his patients on horseback and thus an echlais, a horsewhip, had become the symbol of a physician.
Brother Seachlann flushed, swallowed and glanced at Brother Lugna, who stared expressionless before him.
‘Brother Donnchad was stabbed twice in the back. He died from those wounds.’ The information was given almost between clenched teeth.
Fidelma ignored his apparent petulance.
‘Eadulf, come here and stand in front of Brother Seachlann with your back to him. Good. Now, Brother Seachlann, can you show me where these two wounds were?’
The physician leaned forward and tapped Eadulf under the ribcage on the left-hand side of the back and then again on the left-hand side of the neck, just at its base.
‘Can you say anything more about the wounds?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘The lower one was struck in an upward manner and the one at the neck was struck downwards.’
‘And was there much bleeding?’
‘There was blood over the bed and floor.’
‘Do you have any further comment about the wounds?’
‘Only that they caused his death.’ Brother Seachlann barely concealed his contempt.
‘Eadulf, what do you say?’ Fidelma asked.
‘The vital organs are fairly well protected by the bones in the back, according to Galen’s works on anatomy,’ he began. ‘There are many bones covering the back. It occurs to me that the upward thrust and the downward thrust are indicative of someone who has a rudimentary if not expert knowledge of such matters. They knew they had to find soft tissue between the bones to strike at a vital organ that would result in death, and instantaneous death at that. A warrior would know that or a good physician.’
Brother Seachlann’s irritation increased. ‘And what would you know of such matters, Saxon?’ he snapped. ‘I am the expert here.’
‘Eadulf spent some time at our great medical school of Tuaim Brecain,’ replied Fidelma sharply, before Eadulf could respond. ‘It seems that his eye is much more discerning than your own, physician.’
The physician swallowed hard. Again, a tinge of red came to his cheeks.
‘I am fully qualified in all the healing arts and no one has questioned me before in this manner. I am qualified to the level of—’
‘I heard you the first time,’ interrupted Fidelma with emphasis. ‘Where were you qualified?’
‘I am of the … I studied at Sléibhte.’
‘Well, Seachlann of Sléibhte, I have never heard that the people of the Kingdom of Laighin were disrespectful to their Brehons.’
The physician glanced uneasily towards Brother Lugna as if expecting him to say something.
‘Brother Seachlann has only recently joined our community,’ the steward belatedly intervened. ‘We have found him an excellent physician.’
‘Then he should also know how to give evidence to a Brehon,’ replied Fidelma.
Brother Seachlann seemed flustered. He said nothing.
‘Tell me, physician,’ Fidelma spoke slowly and deliberately, ‘having seen the wounds that caused the death of Brother Donnchad, would you agree with my husband, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham? Do you concur that they were delivered by someone whose intention was to kill and were delivered with some foreknowledge of where to strike a death blow? Or do you argue that they were delivered in a frenzied attack born of anger or some other emotion?’
Brother Seachlann seemed to consider the matter and then he said sullenly, ‘I would say that the blows were struck with some foreknowledge. The person knew that striking upwards, under the ribcage or downwards into the neck, would produce the desired result.’
‘And being made in the back, this was done in stealth? The victim was unaware that he was about to be attacked?’
‘That is beyond my conjecture but it would seem to be the case,’ agreed the physician, ‘otherwise Brother Donnchad would have swung round to face his attacker in order to defend himself.’
‘Could the blows have been struck as he lay asleep, face down, on the bed?’
‘They could not.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not think there would be enough power behind either blow if the victim were prone. Not enough power to achieve the damage inflicted. He had to be standing upright, his back to his assailant. Further, I would say the blow to the neck was received while he was sinking to the floor, or else the assailant was a very tall person.’
‘Yet the body was found lying on its back on the bed.’
‘I was told that was how the abbot and Brother Lugna found it. They told me that they had not moved it.’
‘Except that I lifted the body a little to discover the wounds and blood,’ added Brother Lugna pedantically. ‘But I made sure the body went back into the position I found it in.’
‘Just so,’ said Fidelma. ‘So what did you make of that, Brother Seachlann?’
‘That Brother Donnchad, must have fallen to the floor, having received the wounds standing up. But given their nature, he could not have raised himself on to the bed of his own accord.’
‘People can do astonishing things in the moments before death, but I agree it seems unlikely he had such a capability,’ said Fidelma solemnly. ‘Once the knife had plunged downwards into his neck, he would probably have been dead before he reached the floor. Which means … ?’
‘That the killer must have then lifted the body on to the bed and placed it so that it was in a position of repose,’ finished Eadulf. ‘Would you agree, Brother Seachlann?’
‘That would be a logical deduction but, of course, I could not swear to it,’ replied the physician.
‘Of course not,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Nevertheless, as you say, from your medical knowledge, it is a logical deduction.’
‘It is.’
‘Then we have no need to detain you further, Brother Seachlann. You see, it was no hard task to answer the questions of a dálaigh, was it?’
The physician hesitated as if to say something but then decided against doing so and turned for the door.
When he had gone, Brother Lugna shifted his weight uncomfortably and appeared apologetic.
‘We have found our new physician a little …’ he paused, searching for the right word.
‘A little lacking in social graces?’ suggested Fidelma. ‘Well, his rudeness is a little mystifying – there must be a reason for it. Yet it is of no consequence for the moment. We will discover what ails the man later.’
‘Have you seen all you wanted?’ asked the steward, indicating the chamber.
After a quick glance at Eadulf, Fidelma nodded. ‘We have, but tell me, Brother Lugna, we are in the last room on this level, so who has the cell directly next to this?’
‘No one,’ replied the steward. ‘In fact, three of the cells on this floor are not even allocated as yet.’
‘And directly below?’
‘The Venerable Bróen. He was one of the original members of the abbey when the Blessed Carthach founded it. He is old and a little confused now and prone to seeing visions.’
‘Ah, the one who sees angels,’ said Eadulf. �
��Well, we won’t bother him. There are no secret trapdoors in the floor of this room, are there?’
Brother Lugna did not share his humour. ‘There is no way into this cubiculum other than through the door,’ he said drily.
‘Nevertheless, I would like to see the next one to this,’ replied Fidelma.
They went out into the passage and the steward opened the door. Apart from the fact that there had been a lock fitted on Brother Donnchad’s door, the cubiculum was exactly the same. It had the same high window. What was missing was any form of furniture, there was no bed, chair or table. Fidelma entered and moved along the wall that divided the cell from the one Brother Donnchad had occupied. There was certainly no secret mechanism to open a way into the next cell so that an attacker could enter in stealth. She turned and smiled at the frowning steward.
‘You’ll probably want to see our smith next, Brother Giolla-na-Naomh, ’ Brother Lugna suggested, when she declared that she had seen enough. ‘Alas, I do not have time to show you the way. I have a meeting to attend with the master builder. But if you make your way to the stables, you will not be able to miss his forge.’
At the entrance to the building they watched Brother Lugna hurry off across the quadrangle. Then Fidelma caught Eadulf by the arm.
‘Before we find the smith, there is something else I wish to see.’
Puzzled, he followed her along the gap between the side of the building and the old wooden wall that surrounded the abbey. She halted at the back of the building, looking up at the windows. Fidelma paused when she judged them to be underneath the window of Brother Donnchad’s chamber three storeys up.
‘Careful,’ she said to Eadulf and stood still. Fidelma examined the ground carefully. Then she shook her head. ‘I can see no sign where anyone might have placed a ladder, nor can I see any other means of reaching the window above.’
‘Well, you were sure that the window was not a means of ingress anyway,’ Eadulf said.
‘These things have to be checked and checked again,’ returned Fidelma. As she turned her eye caught a scrap of white almost buried in the mud. ‘What’s that?’
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