Fidelma thanked the physician quickly and hurried across to the guesthouse and Eadulf’s cubiculum.
Eadulf was lying on his bed but in a semi-upright position.
‘Can you tell me what happened to you?’ Fidelma asked after he had assured her he felt well enough to talk.
‘Not really,’ Eadulf grimaced wanly, ‘apart from getting knocked out. I seemed to be making a habit of it.’
She smiled at his reference to the falling masonry that had nearly killed them both at the old abbey of Autun earlier in the summer. That masonry had been deliberately set to kill them both.
‘Come on, Eadulf,’ she prompted. ‘Give me the details. What were you doing on the building site at night? You know it is dangerous.’
‘If you must know, I was following up an idea.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was lying here thinking about the long ladders that were being used on the building site. I wanted to check to see if any had the length to reach up to Brother Donnchad’s window.’
‘Didn’t we discount that?’
‘You said only a midget would be able to get through the window.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘You think that small child Gúasach could have entered through the window and killed Donnchad?’
‘I did so and then …’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘I thought about Glassán’s story. What if Brother Donnchad had discovered Glassán’s background secret and threatened to tell the abbot? Glassán would have a good motive—’
Fidelma stopped him with a shake of her head. ‘I don’t think it is much of a secret. I am sure Brother Lugna knows about it, judging by his reaction when I mentioned Laighin the other evening. I’ll grant you that the abbot has not been kept fully informed but I don’t think Brother Donnchad would be bothered about the master builder. His behaviour suggests that he had something else on his mind.’
Eadulf looked disappointed.
Fidelma continued. ‘However, I’ll grant you that Glassán is not beyond suspicion and the fact that young Gúasach is his foster-son makes it all the more essential that we should not forget them. However, are you telling me that, seized by this idea, you set off into the night?’
A corner of Eadulf’s mouth turned down and he sighed. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’
‘So you arrived at the building site. Then what happened?’
‘I found the spot where they had left their ladders and I had a candle with me. I was going towards it when I heard a rasping noise.’
‘Rasping? Like stone on stone?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And where did the sound come from?’
‘I wasn’t sure. Overhead, I thought. I raised the candle to see then …’ he hesitated, frowning. ‘I think I heard someone gasp. Suddenly I was flying forward.’
‘Did you trip?’
‘I did not. Something, or someone, pushed me hard in the small of my back. It sent the candle from my hand and I pitched forward. The next thing I knew I was in Brother Seachlann’s hospital.’
‘Well, if you were pushed, whoever pushed you saved your life.’
‘Saved my life? How?’
‘You just missed having a heavy lintel stone come down on top of your head.’
‘You think that was the rasping sound I heard?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Yes, I do. The lintel was on the ground when I went to look at the spot where you were found.’
‘Then whoever knocked me out of the way must have seen the person who was pushing the stone so that it would fall on me.’
‘A logical conclusion. Yet why?’
‘Because they knew that I was going to discover Donnchad’s murderer?’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe they did not even know who you were. I have heard from Brother Donnán that there have been several so-called accidents on the building site in recent weeks.’
‘Isn’t that usual? You cannot have several workmen building these large constructions of stone without accidents, can you?’
‘Did you see anything else before you were pushed?’
‘I only had the candle. When I heard the rasping, I raised it in order to ascertain where the sound came from. But I saw nothing at all.’
‘You raised the candle when you heard the rasping?’
‘As I said, I was trying to identify the sound. But before I could focus on anything, the push came and blackness.’
‘The candlelight would have fallen on your face. Perhaps you were not the person they wanted to kill,’ she speculated.
‘If it wasn’t me they wanted to kill, who was it?’
‘If we knew the answer to that question, we might have an answer to the whole conundrum.’
‘Perhaps it was Glassán and his foster-son who pushed me?’
‘I doubt the boy is strong enough to either push you over or move the lintel. We can rule them out, I think. Or the boy, at least.’
Eadulf realised she was right.
‘Maybe we should have a talk with the child?’ he suggested. ‘He might know something even if he isn’t directly involved.’
‘I agree that he might be able to tell us something more. However, I would rather do it when he is on his own. We especially don’t want Glassán or Brother Lugna about.’
‘There is one question I would like answered,’ said Eadulf. ‘What was the physician doing on the building site last night? How did he come to see me lying there and carry me back to his hospital?’
‘That is more than one question,’ Fidelma pointed out with humour. ‘But you are right. They are questions that need to be answered. I think I shall go and ask them now.’ She rose. ‘Is everything all right with you? Do you want for anything? You are taking the potion that Brother Seachlann gave you?’
Eadulf nodded at the jug by his bedside. ‘Brother Seachlann has provided me with a noxious brew and a salve. I just hope they work.’
Fidelma picked up the jug and sniffed cautiously. ‘I smell mint. Do you know what is in it?’
‘Don’t worry. I do not think he is trying to poison me,’ replied Eadulf. ‘From what I know of the contents, it is the sort of mixture that most apothecaries would mix up in the circumstances. I’ll try to sleep off this headache, though. I know there is much to do.’
‘I’ll ask Gormán to stay near in case you want anything.’
When she glanced back from the door, Eadulf was already lying back, exhausted, his eyes closed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fidelma found Brother Seachlann in the bróinbherg treating a member of the brethren who glanced up shame-faced as she entered.
‘Am I disturbing you, Brother Seachlann?’
The physician shrugged. ‘I am just finished with this one,’ he replied. Turning to the obviously embarrassed man, he gave him a small earthenware jug. ‘Take this mixture and drink a small cupful at frequent intervals and if there is no relief you must come back to me.’
The man nodded quickly, rose and left the chamber.
Brother Seachlann grimaced. ‘A case of food poisoning, I think. He is suffering the buinnech. When he first came yesterday I treated him with meadowsweet but it was not strong enough, so I have made an infusion of agrimony which is stronger and should work within three days.’
‘Buinnech?’ Fidelma queried. ‘That’s … flux.’
‘Diarrhoea,’ agreed the physician. ‘Since no one else has succumbed, I suspect the Brother has been eating something that he should not have been. Some of the brethren do tend to cheat on the meals as laid down in the rules drawn up by our resolute steward Brother Lugna. He believes in frugality.’
‘Agrimony has a bitter taste,’ commented Fidelma. ‘I much prefer boiled sorrel with red wine.’
‘Fine for those who can afford red wine,’ the physician retorted. ‘Now what can I do for you? I hope Brother Eadulf has not taken a turn for the worse.’
Fidelma offered him a reassuring smile. ‘I came to thank you for all that you have done for Eadulf.’
&nbs
p; ‘It was no more than my profession calls on me to do.’
‘But it was lucky that you were passing by where he lay.’ When he did not respond, she went on, ‘How did you come to be there so late at night?’
The physician frowned and began to clear away the dishes in which he had been mixing his last patience’s medication.
‘I always like to take a walk before preparing myself for repose,’ he said. ‘It helps to clear the mind.’
‘But so late?’
‘I am no slave to the motions of the sun and moon,’ he replied shortly. ‘If I were, then I would not be a physician because sickness and injury do not take account of night or day.’
‘That is true. What made you become a physician? Are you descended from one of those families of hereditary healers?’
Brother Seachlann flushed. She saw a glimpse of some emotion she could not recognise cross his features.
‘I went to study the healing arts when I saw there was a need of them among my people.’
‘That is very laudable, Brother Seachlann. It is this abbey’s good fortune that you decided to leave your people and come here.’
‘The physician should serve all people, irrespective of who they are.’
‘So you saw there was a need among your people but, having qualified, you decided that others had greater need of your talents?’
‘That much is obvious as I am here,’ he replied waspishly.
Fidelma merely smiled and waited.
‘I qualified among the religious and thereafter I considered them my people,’ he tried to justify himself.
‘Indeed, so you came here to my brother’s kingdom,’ she said, reminding him that she held power in the land. ‘In this kingdom,’ she went on, ‘as I think that you learnt from our first meeting, a dálaigh has particular authority, especially when that authority is backed by the rank of birth. Usually, rank of birth does not enter into matters until someone attempts to usurp the authority of the law.’
There was a moment’s silence and then he dropped his gaze to the floor.
‘I beg your forgiveness, lady,’ he said thickly. ‘When you first came here, I was told that I should be careful about what I said to you. I was told neither your rank nor your position.’
‘And it was Brother Lugna, of course, who said that to you.’
He seemed nervous at the suggestion.
‘Do not worry, Brother Seachlann. I presume that you were not in the refectorium for the evening meal last night?’
He frowned and shook his head.
‘Can I ask you where you were? Even a physician has to eat.’
‘I was called earlier that evening to attend to a patient. I did not return to the abbey until after dark.’
‘Who was the patient?’
‘A warrior at a nearby fortress.’
‘Which fortress?’
‘Lady Eithne’s.’
‘What was wrong with the warrior?’
‘An ulcerated wound. It was easily treated and there was no cause for me to be called to her fortress. A herbalist, or even Lady Eithne herself, could have done as much as I did. I saw she was quite knowledgeable about healing herbs and anatomy. However, she believed it beneath her dignity to treat one of her own warriors.’
‘You say that it was an ulcerated wound.’
‘I was told that the man had been practising with his sword and sustained a cut on his arm which he simply washed. I mixed some sorrel and apple juice and applied it to the wound with the white of a hen’s egg. If he keeps the wound clean, then there should be no problems.’
‘So you were kept at the fortress and returned here after dark.’
‘That is so.’ He hesitated and asked, ‘And if I had been here for the evening meal what then?’
‘Then you would have witnessed the steward of this abbey having to acknowledge my authority. I had already learnt that he had given some bad advice to you and others.’
‘I suppose I should have known better.’ The physician sighed.
‘You should,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But as you have been here only a few weeks …’ She shrugged. ‘What made you choose to come here?’
Once again a guarded look spread across his features. ‘Much praise has been given to Lios Mór for its scholars and learning. It is good to be associated with such a community.’
‘Where did you study? I think you mentioned Sléibhte.’
‘Indeed. I studied at the medical school attached to the abbey at Sléibhte in Laighin.’
‘I know it, for I was once at Cill Dara, which is not far distant. Aedh is abbot at Sléibhte, is he not?’
Brother Seachlann gave a grunt of assent.
‘It is a small world,’ Fidelma said pointedly.
‘It is,’ he responded, ‘and so you will know that there is regular contact between Lios Mór and the abbey of Sléibhte. It is surely not strange that it would bring me here.’
‘That is true,’ Fidelma agreed. It was clear that the physician was determined to provide as little information as possible while seeming to answer her questions. She thanked him for his help and left him to his herbs and potions.
Fidelma made her way slowly towards the building site again. She realised that it would have been quite a distance for the physician to carry the inert body of Eadulf by himself in the darkness. She was almost tempted to demand that Brother Seachlann reveal who his companion had been. He seemed to be hiding something but she knew she would not find out what by directly confronting him.
It was late afternoon now and Fidelma was surprised to find the site deserted. There was no shouting, no sounds of hammering, sawing or the clash of stone on stone. She hesitated before the half-built door whose lintel had so nearly put an end to Eadulf’s life. A cold shiver went down her spine. She realised that she would not have been able to continue had anything happened to Eadulf. She felt a sudden desire to cry. Then she sniffed and drew herself up, trying to chase the thought from her mind.
The lintel had been replaced in position on top of the door and a line of stones had been laid to secure it. Fidelma looked round at the deserted site and shook her head. She was about to turn away when suddenly a young voice started singing from beyond the walls of the half-built construction.
Hymnum dicat turba fratrum,
hymnum canos personet …
Band of brethren raise the hymn,
let our song the hymn resound …
Fidelma picked her way towards the sound of the singing.
It was the young boy Gúasach, busy piling up loose pieces of wood.
‘Hello,’ Fidelma called.
The boy turned with a frown and then, on recognising her, smiled broadly.
‘Were you looking for Glassán, Sister?’ he asked.
‘Everyone seems to have vanished except you,’ countered Fidelma. ‘Where have they gone? It is surely early to stop work for the day.’
The boy shook his head. ‘They have not stopped work. All are needed down at the quarry to bring up more stones to the site.’
‘Ah, I see. You seem to like this work,’ she said, perching herself on a low stone wall.
‘I am learning to be a master builder under the fosterage of my aite.’ The boy spoke proudly.
‘And where are you from?’
‘I am of the Uí Briún Sinna, Sister.’
‘Then you are from the Kingdom of Connachta. But isn’t your foster-father from Laighin?’
‘I do not know. I am told that he came to live among us just after I was born. My own father was a builder of mills and so Glassán and he worked together. When I was seven years old, my family, wanting me to train to be a master builder, arranged for me to go into fosterage with Glassán.’
Fidelma knew that the Law of the Fénechus determined that a mill-maker could charge two cumals, the equivalent of six cows, for a finely constructed mill. But a master builder was higher up the professional scale and could receive more money.
The boy added, ‘My fat
her pays Glassán a cumal, three milch cows, for my tuition.’
‘And so you learn while working for Glassán.’
‘I do. I came into fosterage at the same time that Glassán was invited here to start rebuilding this abbey in stone. Everything I have learnt so far, I have learnt here. Of course, I am not as strong as the men, so can’t do the heavy work. But I have learnt how to do other tasks like woodworking. I can also use the plumb line and measuring rods to help position the stones.’
‘That is clever,’ Fidelma said. ‘But dangerous work as well. That lintel that fell last night might have fallen while you were working underneath.’
The boy nodded solemnly. ‘It must have been badly placed.’ Then he added defensively, ‘I did not measure the place for it. Anyway, sometimes accidents happen if you don’t concentrate properly. Glassán taught me that.’
‘A wise thing to remember,’ Fidelma solemnly agreed.
‘Indeed. Glassán was very angry when the Saxon Brother was injured.’
‘Was he?’
‘To be honest, there have been a few accidents here since Gealbháin left. I think Gealbháin used to go around the site every evening to ensure everything was in order. He was a very careful builder.’
‘Gealbháin? Who was he?’
‘He was the assistant to Glassán.’
‘But I understood that Saor, the carpenter, is second-in-command here.’
‘Saor has been with us only a short time. He replaced Gealbháin who quit the job several weeks ago.’
‘Why did he quit?’
‘I do not know, Sister.’
‘So these accidents have occurred since Gealbháin left?’
‘Saor is not as thorough as Gealbháin.’
‘But isn’t it the task of Glassán, as master builder, to check everything, to make sure it is safe?’
The boy shrugged and said, ‘He has many tasks to perform. Saor is all right but I have not learnt much from him.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’
‘He does not seem to have time.’
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