Fidelma moved forward and inspected the thick wooden post beyond. There was a dark discoloration on it. She licked the tip of her finger and ran it over the stain.
‘Dried blood,’ she muttered. ‘So this is what Eadulf encountered with his forehead.’
‘He must have tripped and hit his head,’ suggested the physician. ‘A place like this is dangerous in the darkness.’
‘Well, one thing is certain,’ Fidelma replied, ‘he did not walk up to the post and bang his own head against it.’
‘Hey! Be careful!’ They turned at the shouted warning to find Glassán hurrying towards them with Saor, his assistant, at his side. ‘What are you doing there? It is dangerous to wander around a building site like this.’
‘That has already been discovered,’ Fidelma replied drily.
Glassán spotted the lintel. ‘What happened there?’ he demanded. ‘Surely that was secure and in place when we finished work last evening.’
Saor looked uncomfortable. ‘I swear it was. Maybe it was not fitted properly.’
‘Even so, it would need a push to get it off its resting place,’ Fidelma observed, looking thoughtfully at the door supports.
Glassán glanced at the lintel and then at her.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘Pushed off?’ There was a note of unease in his voice.
‘It could have fallen down,’ Saor suggested as he examined it.
‘It seems Brother Eadulf tripped over something last night. Perhaps that stone,’ suggested the physician.
Glassán’s bewilderment increased.
‘Brother Seachlann found Brother Eadulf last evening,’ Fidelma explained. ‘He was lying unconscious at this spot. It seems he tripped and knocked himself out on that wooden post there.’
Glassán’s face paled; his jaw muscles tightened. Then he turned to Saor. ‘Better be about the work. There is much to do to refit this lintel.’ When Saor had left, he turned, licking his lips nervously. ‘How is your husband, lady?’
‘He is recovering,’ intervened the physician. ‘He has a bad gash on the forehead and a headache. Nothing more. Now I should like to get back to my patient.’
Fidelma dismissed him with a motion of her hand.
‘What was Brother Eadulf doing here last night?’ Glassán asked. ‘I am truly sorry to hear that he has been hurt but I must point out that I cannot be held responsible for anyone entering a building site without permission and injuring themselves.’
‘No one is accusing anyone of culpability just yet. We do not know the facts and will not know them until Eadulf has recovered enough to tell us.’
The master builder hesitated. Then he said quickly, ‘Just so, just so. Well, there is much to be done.’
Fidelma continued to examine the scene carefully. When she had seen everything she wanted to see, she finally turned and picked her way from the area of the doorway. Glassán followed her. As they came to the edge of the new building, she saw the young boy, Gúasach, hurrying round the corner. He saw them and smiled a greeting to Fidelma and then spoke to Glassán. ‘Good morning, aite. Where am I to work this morning?’
Fidelma gazed at him in surprise. The term aite was one that denoted foster-father.
Glassán answered gruffly, telling him to report to Saor. The lad nodded, turned and hurried off across the building works.
‘You have young workers here, Glassán,’ commented Fidelma.
‘The boy is my dalta, my apprentice, under fosterage,’ the master builder replied. ‘In another six years he may be able to leave fosterage and start a career of his own in this art.’
‘Has he been with you long?’
‘Since he was seven, as the law prescribed.’
Most male children were sent away to fosterage, or altram, between the ages of seven and seventeen, when they reached the togu aismir, the age of maturity, when they had full responsibility under the law. ‘Fosterage’ was a keystone of society and practised in all the Five Kingdoms since remote times and by all social ranks. Fosterage in this context denoted education, since the fosterers were supposed to teach their charges the skills necessary for their adult life. Some were fostered for affection, usually because they were kin, and some for payment determined by law, depending on what class and degree the child was.
‘He seems a bright boy. Is he a relative?’
‘I am paid an iarraith, a fee, for his fosterage,’ Glassán said shortly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, lady.’
Fidelma nodded and turned to make her way back to Brother Seachlann’s little hospital. Gormán was still there, sitting anxiously by Eadulf’s bedside; the physician was mixing some potion at the table.
‘I doubt if he will be awake before midday,’ the physician said as she entered. ‘Better to let him sleep naturally and deeply. Do not worry. I shall take care of him. After a good sleep he will be able to go back to his own cubiculum this evening.’
Fidelma motioned to Gormán to accompany her and left the physician with Eadulf.
‘Have you found out what happened?’ asked the warrior.
‘Only that something took him to the building site last night, that he tripped and hit his head on a post, knocking himself unconscious.’
They were making their way across the quadrangle when Abbot Iarnla came hurrying across to them.
‘I have just been told of Brother Eadulf’s accident. Terrible! Terrible!’ The elderly abbot was distraught. ‘How is he?’
‘Your physician tells us that he will make a good recovery after rest. There are no bones broken,’ replied Fidelma.
‘Deo gratias,’ intoned the abbot. ‘But how did it happen? I am told he was on the building site in the middle of the night.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Brother Lugna. I think he was told by Brother Máel Eoin.’
She was about to speak again when she saw Brother Lugna himself approaching.
‘I am distressed to hear the news of Brother Eadulf. I trust he is recovering well,’ he greeted them. His voice was entirely without emotion.
‘He is,’ Abbot Iarnla replied impatiently before Fidelma could respond.
‘That is good,’ Brother Lugna replied, still looking at Fidelma. ‘But what was he doing at that place in the middle of the night? Doesn’t he understand that it is dangerous to be wandering about such a construction site?’
Abbot Iarnla nodded in agreement. ‘That is just what I was asking.’
‘We think that Eadulf was looking for something and fell, that’s all.’
Brother Lugna was puzzled. ‘Looking for something? In the middle of the night and on the building site?’
‘I can only say that Eadulf had good reason to be there.’ She felt compelled to defend Eadulf. ‘You must indulge us while we investigate.’
‘I fail to see what stumbling about the new buildings in the middle of the night has to do with the death of Brother Donnchad.’ Brother Lugna’s tone was critical.
‘By time everything is revealed,’ smiled Fidelma, airing the old proverb.
Brother Lugna seemed about to speak further but then compressed his lips into a thin line and turned away.
Abbot Iarnla looked anxiously after him. ‘I hope you will be able to come to some conclusions soon, Fidelma.’
‘One cannot hurry truth, Abbot Iarnla,’ she replied in a philosophical tone. ‘There is more to be done and more to be asked.’
The abbot stood hesitantly. ‘You will keep me informed as soon as you know anything positive?’
‘You will be informed,’ she assured him solemnly.
As they watched Abbot Iarnla walk across the courtyard to the main abbey buildings, Gormán heaved a deep sigh.
‘I would say that he is a worried person, lady,’ he remarked softly.
‘I would agree, Gormán,’ she replied. ‘I think there is much to be worried about in this abbey. Keep your eyes open, Gormán. It might be helpful if you can pick up any gossip from the builders’ encampment. I am going i
nto the scriptorium as I have a mind to ask a few more questions of Brother Donnán.’
She walked towards the abbey library. Behind her the work on the new buildings had recommenced. The crash of hammers against stone, the sawing of wood and the shouts of men filled the air. Inside the wooden scriptorium the noise was barely muffled and the scriptor Brother Donnán was wringing his hands in despair. He came forward quickly as the door opened but the hope on his face faded a little when Fidelma entered.
‘I was expecting Brother Lugna so that he could order the workmen to stop awhile. My copyists and scholars cannot concentrate at all. I have had to send them all away.’
Fidelma gazed around the empty library room. ‘So I see, Brother Donnán.’
Brother Donnán seemed almost about to burst into tears. ‘This is frustrating. Brother Lugna has made it a rule that no book or manuscript should be removed from the library so that I cannot ask my copyists to carry on the work elsewhere.’
‘But finding you here alone is good for me.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘I wanted a further word with you on your own.’
‘Is everything well?’ The scriptor’s tone was suddenly anxious. ‘Brother Máel Eoin came by and told me the news of Brother Eadulf. I hope he is not badly hurt.’
‘He is resting. He has a bad gash and bruises, but that is all.’
‘Well, that is bad enough but thanks be that he is no worse. It will be good for all of us when this building work is finished. It is so dangerous. But you wanted to speak with me?’ He gestured to a nearby chair and took another facing her.
‘Dangerous?’ asked Fidelma, sitting down. ‘In what way?’
‘During recent weeks there have been several accidents on the site. Indeed, I heard that Brother Lugna had to remonstrate with Glassán to take more care that no harm came to any of the brethren.’
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘What sort of accidents?’ she asked.
‘Falling timbers. Timbers that were not secured. Oh, and a stone fell from a wall and nearly hit Glassán himself. He was very angry.’
‘He was not hurt?’
‘No, but the stone narrowly missed him.’
‘How many such accidents have there been?’
Brother Donnán thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Four, as I recall, during the last few weeks. Five with Brother Eadulf’s accident.’
Fidelma raised her eyebrows. ‘Five? Has anyone else been injured?’
‘Two of the workmen. A grazed arm and cuts, that’s all.’
‘Has anyone been found responsible?’
Brother Donnán looked surprised. ‘Responsible?’
‘Have any workmen been censured for negligence?’
‘No one. Glassán put it down to shoddy workmanship. Oh, yes, now I come to think of it, he did fine one of his men for slackness.’
‘That is helpful, Brother Donnán.’ Fidelma was solemn. ‘But that was not what I wanted to speak to you about.’
‘I am at your service, as always.’
‘Indeed. You and I are old friends, Brother Donnán.’
The scriptor preened himself a little. ‘There were some tough cases to be heard by you that day you sat in judgement here as a Brehon. The witnesses needed to be sorted out. Do you remember the case of the son of Suanach, and Muadnat of the Black Marsh? That was a very complicated case. I was amazed how you worked it out.’
‘I could not have accomplished half of those judgements without someone to keep the witnesses and the court in proper order.’ Fidelma leant forward confidentially. ‘That is why I turn to you now, to ask your help. Information is what I need.’
‘If I have that information, it is yours.’
‘When did Brother Seachlann join the abbey?’
‘Brother Seachlann? The physician? He came here about a month ago.’
‘Only a month?’
Brother Donnán nodded.
‘Do you know anything of his background?’
‘He is a physician from Sléibhte. I know little else about him.’
‘Is it known why he came to join this abbey? Has there been any speculation?’
The rotund librarian shook his head slowly. ‘I certainly never gave it a thought. Our abbey is beginning to have a reputation for learning and I suppose that was what attracted him.’
‘What happened to the abbey’s previous physician? I presume that you had one.’
‘We did not have one for several months after poor Brother Siadhail died of some coughing paroxysm. He was elderly. Brother Seachlann came along at the right time.’
‘Is he considered a good physician? Is he well liked among the brethren?’
‘I have heard no complaints,’ Brother Donnán replied. ‘But as for being well liked, well, he keeps himself much to himself and does not venture friendship with anyone.’
‘So he is not close to anyone among the brethren?’
‘Perhaps that is the way a good physician should be,’ ventured the scriptor. ‘Then he can treat everyone equally and without favour.’
She smiled and nodded assent. ‘That’s probably how things should be.’ She paused and added, ‘You will remember that we were talking about Celsus the other day and Origenes’ answer to him.’
The scriptor frowned. ‘An interesting work. Origenes’ work, that is.’
‘It sounds a very fascinating work,’ Fidelma said. ‘I wonder why Brother Donnchad was so interested in it.’
‘I can tell you no more than I said before. He was a great scholar. And he often argued that one must understand the origins of the Faith. That was in the old days, of course, before he set off on his pilgrimage.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘I was hoping that you might know something of the work or someone who might have read it.’ She rose from the chair. ‘But you have helped a lot, for which I thank you.’
Brother Donnán seemed disconcerted for a moment. Then the door opened and a strange warrior stood hesitantly in the doorway. He cast a glance at Fidelma and then turned to Brother Donnán.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, Brother Donnán, but Lady Eithne has sent me for the books she requested.’
The librarian actually flushed and cast a nervous look at Fidelma. Then he hurried to a side cupboard and took out two leather book satchels and handed them to the warrior without a further word. The man thanked him and left immediately.
‘I thought you said Brother Lugna had a rule against books being taken from the library,’ Fidelma remarked as the door shut.
‘In the case of Lady Eithne an exception is made,’ Brother Donnán replied quickly. ‘She is, after all, the patroness of the abbey.’
‘What books has she requested?’
‘She is very supportive of the Faith,’ countered the librarian.
‘I do not doubt it.’
‘She has been reading some of the epistles of the Blessed Paul of Tarsus.’
‘Really? The original texts in Greek?’
‘Some Latin translations.’
‘Ah, of course. She said she did not know Greek, although I thought she had only a little knowledge of Latin. Well, no matter.’
She bade farewell to the librarian. Outside, the sun stood high in a cloudless sky and it was very warm, almost oppressive. Her forehead was moist. She felt uncomfortable in her woollen robes. She decided to return to the guesthouse to splash her face and wash her hands before the midday meal. As she entered, she found the hosteller, Brother Máel Eoin, cleaning the entrance hall.
‘How is Brother Eadulf, lady?’ he asked, pausing in his sweeping.
She gave him the now standard reply.
‘I saw one of Lady Eithne’s men coming from the scriptorium ,’ he went on. ‘Ah, that lady must love books.’
Fidelma, who had been about to pass on, paused. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘The number of times she has either sent her men for books or asked the steward or librarian to take them to her at her fortress.’
‘Really? It is a frequent occurrence then?’
‘Brother Lugna and Brother Donnán often go to her fortress at her bidding. Brother Lugna, in particular, seems to be a close adviser to her.’
‘Has she been interested in reading for long?’
The hosteller thought for a moment. ‘I suppose it was after her son, Brother Donnchad, returned from the pilgrimage. That must have been what stirred her interest in such matters.’
‘Such matters?’
‘I have heard that she is particularly interested in what manuscripts and books are kept in our library relating to the principles of the Faith.’
‘And so she has come to an accommodation with the abbot to borrow such works from the library from time to time.’
‘The abbot?’ Brother Máel Eoin smiled thinly. ‘I don’t think he knows about the arrangement. No, it was probably made with Brother Lugna. She even had Brother Donnán running after her when she could have taken the books herself.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fidelma was curious.
‘After she spoke to Brother Donnchad on the evening before he was found dead, she had poor Brother Donnán taking manuscripts to her.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I heard it from Brother Gáeth. He was working in the fields by the roadside and saw the Lady Eithne riding back to her fortress. Then, not long afterwards, he saw Brother Donnán trotting down the road bearing some manuscripts from the library for her. I suppose it is her right as lady of this territory but I feel sorry for the librarian having to act in the manner of a messenger.’
A bell chimed. It was the summons for the etar-shod, the midday meal.
Fidelma joined Gormán in the refectorium. Glássan and Saor were obviously taking their meal with the workers again, so only the two of them were seated at the guests’ table. Fidelma was in no mood to talk. After the meal, she made her way to the bróinbherg and found only Brother Seachlann there. The bed on which Eadulf had been sleeping was empty.
‘I could not stop him,’ Brother Seachlann told her. ‘He has a strong will. When he awoke, he determined to go back to the tech-oíged. I insisted that he have some soup and bread to sustain him. At least he had that before he went. I prepared a salve for his forehead and a jug of an infusion that should ease any residual headache. Try to ensure that he uses both. He should have remained here the rest of the day.’
Chalice of Blood Page 17