Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning the sky was cloudless and the sun bright.

‘It is going to be a hot day,’ announced Brother Lugna, moodily, after he had greeted Fidelma and Eadulf. They had just emerged from the refectorium, where they had taken a light breakfast.

‘In that case, we should avail ourselves of the early morning freshness to begin at once,’ Fidelma replied.

They had emerged to a cacophony of sound at odds with the usual meditative quiet of an abbey. They could hear the ringing of hammers on stone, the grating of wood being sawn and the harsh shouts of men issuing instructions.

‘That’s the building work,’ explained Brother Lugna. ‘The disturbance of our peace is but a small penance for the reconstruction of the abbey into a monument that will last forever.’

He led them across the stone-flagged quadrangle, past the tipra, the small fresh-water fountain splashing in a basin carved from limestone. Facing them on the eastern side of the quadrangle was the large three-storey stone building which contained Brother Donnchad’s cell. Brother Lugna told them that the cubicula, or individual cells, of all the senior members of the community would eventually be housed in the building.

‘So it is a very new building,’ Fidelma commented, observing the still immaculately polished stonework.

‘Less than a year old,’ Brother Lugna agreed. ‘It was the second of the new buildings to be finished. The first, of course, was our chapel. I regret that the tech-oíged, the guesthouse, will be the last building to be replaced in stone as it is the least important of the complex. But I hope the current building is comfortable enough for you.’

Fidelma wondered whether there was some humour behind his words. But she did not think that Brother Lugna was given to humour.

‘Comfortable enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘So comfortable that I wonder why the abbey should spend so much on replacing buildings that are well built and still fairly new anyway?’

‘It is the ambition of the abbey that Lios Mór should become one of the greatest centres of the Faith and of learning not only in the Five Kingdoms but beyond the seas as well. The abbey of Darú claims that this year they have attracted pious students from eighteen different nations. To achieve our ambition it was decided that our buildings should reflect our abilities. Great structures of stone will last longer than poor buildings of wood.’

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 theplace 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 inthe 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 andan 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 understand 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 theribcage 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 thedoor. 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,’ returnedFidelma. As she turned her eye caught a scrap of white almost buried in the mud. ‘What’s that?’

Eadulf was nearer to it and bent down, carefully extracting it from the mud. He wiped some of the clinging earth from it. Then he held up a tiny piece of torn parchment in his hand. It was crumpled as if it had been discarded.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, looking at it. ‘It must have been out here for some time and it is damp.’

‘Be careful with it,’ she said. ‘There is still some writing on it.’

He gently stretched it out so that the few words were readable although the ink had started to run.

‘Anything of interest?’ asked Fidelma.

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I think this is a line from one of the gospels — si vis transfer calicem istrum a me. It is followed by three words, the same word written three times over — Deicide! Deicide! Deicide! There is nothing else on it.’

‘The last word means “god-killer” in Latin.’ Fidelma peered at the text over his shoulder. ‘To Dei, the word for god, is added cide from the verb caedere to cut down.’

‘Why would anyone write that out several times? Was someone trying to remember how to spell it? Maybe it was Brother Donnchad and having captured the word he threw the parchment out of the window.’

‘A scholar of Brother Donnchad’s ability could surely spell a simple Latin word.’

‘God-killer is what some of the early Christian Fathers claimed the Jews were because they demanded the crucifixion of Christ,’ Eadulf said. ‘But where does that first line come from? Something about “remove this chalice from me”.’

‘Chalice or cup. It depends on your translation,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I think it is from the gospel of Luke.’

She frowned, took the parchment from him and examined itagain before placing it in her ciorbholg, which she always carried attached to her criss, or belt. The ciorbholg, or comb-bag, was carried by all women and usually contained items such as a scathán, a mirror, deimess, scissors, sleic, soap, a phal containing a favourite fragrance — Fidelma preferred honeysuckle — a small linen cloth and other personal items.

Eadulf was impatient. ‘Let us find the smith and see what he can tell us about the lock and maybe a second key.’

Usually, they could locate a forge by the sound of the hammer smashing down on the inneoin, or anvil, but with the sound of the building work it was impossible. Before they came to the forge they passed another tall building being erected with stone blocks and suddenly Eadulf nudged Fidelma.

‘There is a means of entrance to Brother Donnchad’s cubiculum and someone small enough to pass through the window.’

A tall ladder was resting against the building to allow the masons to climb to the upper walls. Seated by it was a small boy who was busy sharpening a chisel with a honing stone.

Fidelma regarded the boy critically for a moment. ‘I’ll grant he’s probably small enough but he would need two conspirators to help lift the ladder in place.’ So saying, she strode across to the boy.

‘Hello,’ she greeted him. ‘I haven’t seen you before.’

The boy was no more than ten years old, with fair hair, a ruddy face and wiry limbs. He glanced up at her with a shy smile.

‘Nor I you, Sister,’ he replied pertly.

‘My name is Fidelma and he,’ indicating Eadulf, ‘is called Eadulf. What’s your name?’

‘Gúasach. Why does he have a funny name?’

Fidelma chuckled. ‘Because he comes from a place across the sea which is called the Kingdom of the East Angles. Are you working on this building?’

The boy smiled proudly. ‘I am. I am apprentice to the master builder.’

‘How long have you-’

Her question was interrupted by a loud shout from a rough-voiced man on the other side of the new wall.

‘Gúasach! The chisel immediately!’

The boy sprang up with the chisel, gave them a grin of apology and disappeared through a gap in the wall.

Fidelma turned to Eadulf. ‘I doubt we have found the killer in that lad.’

‘Conspiracy?’ mused Eadulf. ‘Several people carried the ladder to the wall, the boy went up, killed Brother Donnchad and took the papers and books they wanted …’ Eadulf halted with a wry chuckle. ‘You are right. It is not a likely story.’

The cérdcha, or forge, of Brother Giolla-na-Naomh was located near the main gate of the community but just beyond the stables. It was after several wrong turns that they finally found the way behind the stable block. A young man stripped to the waist was gripping a glowing piece of metal in a tenn-chair, a pair of tongs. He struck the metal with an ord, a heavy hammer, causing sparks to fly as each ringing blow descended. An older man, also bare to the waist, though with a buckskin apron covering his chest and front, was clearly overseeing the young man’s work. He caught sight of their approach and said something to his apprentice. The young man turned from the anvil and plunged the piece of metal he was working into a telchuma, or water trough, next to the anvil.

‘Greetings, Sister Fidelma,’ the older man boomed. His voice was as deep and resonant as one might expect from his tall and muscular appearance. ‘I saw you and Brother Eadulf in the refectorium last evening. I am Brother Giolla-na-Naomh.’

Both Fidelma and Eadulf recognised the smith as one of those who had been seated at the abbot’s table the previousnight. A smith of the rank that had been ascribed to Brother Giolla-na-Naomh would of course, take precedent among the hierarchy of the abbey after the abbot, his steward and librarian.

The big man smiled through his shaggy black beard and examined them keenly with his blue eyes. He thrust out a massive hand to each of them in turn.

‘While I am pleased to welcome you here,’ he said, ‘it is sad that it is the death of Brother Donnchad that brings you.’

‘We share your sadness, Brother Giolla-na-Naomh,’ replied Fidelma solemnly, ‘and appreciate your welcome.’

The smith turned to his apprentice. ‘Bring me the metal lock that is on the shelf behind you.’ When the young man had passed it over, the smith added more instructions. ‘Stoke up the furnace with the cual craing and keep it hot.’ Eadulf knew that cual craing was literally ‘coal of wood’, the term applied to charcoal.

The smith turned back to them and pointed to a stone bench that stood under the canopy of a yew tree a little way from the forge.

‘The furnace is too hot to remain in comfort near it on a day like this,’ he said. ‘We may sit in the cool shade of that tree. The bench is comfortable. Brother Lugna advised me last evening that you would be wishing to question me.’

‘About the lock,’ confirmed Fidelma. She sat down on the stone bench while Brother Giolla-na-Naomh lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of her. Eadulf simply stood to one side against the tree.

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh glanced round as they made themselves comfortable and said, ‘I expected the steward to come with you.’

‘For what purpose?’ asked Fidelma, intrigued.

‘No purpose.’ The man grinned. ‘Our steward simply likes to know everything that is happening. He is young to havereached the office of rechtaire. He has been here barely three years and already thinks he is in charge of all of us.’

‘Tell us about the lock,’ she invited the smith, mentally noting that he was obviously no big admirer of the steward.

The smith shrugged his massive shoulders and handed her the metal lock. She saw at once that Brother Giolla-na-Naomh was no novice at his art. It was a fine piece of work.

‘Not much to tell, really,’ the smith said. ‘It was Brother Lugna who came to me with the request. Brother Donnchad desired a lock and key to be fitted to the door of his cotultech … beg pardon, cubiculum. Brother Lugna insists on using these new Latin names.’

‘Did you find that a strange request?’ asked Eadulf.

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh smiled briefly. ‘I have had stranger requests. But, I suppose it was unusual in our community where trust is our faith and a way of life.’

‘There is usually no need to lock anything away? There are no other locks in this community?’

‘Of course not. We are a poor community. Does not The Didache say, “Share everything with your brother. Do not say it is private property. If you share what is everlasting, you should be that much more willing to share things which do not last.” Is that not right, Sister?’

Fidelma regarded him in surprise. ‘You have read The Didache? It is a rare book, which I have seen only once.’ There was envy in her voice.

‘Our tech-screptra has a copy of the Greek text. It is regarded as one of the central texts of the Faith.’

Eadulf was looking bewildered.

‘It is an ancient Greek text,’ explained Fidelma quickly. ‘It is called The Didache, or The Teaching, but its full title is The Teachings of the Twelve Apostles, and it is said to have been written shortly after their deaths.’

‘Anyway,’ the smith went on, ‘the quotation sums up how our community should live. As the Blessed Tertullian taught, we, who share one mind and soul, have no misgivings about community in property.’

‘Very well, let us return to the subject of the lock and key,’ Fidelma said. ‘You were asked to make them for Brother Donnchad.’

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh nodded.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘As you see, Sister, the lock was to be glais iarnaidhi — an iron lock. I understood from Brother Lugna that it had to be unlike any other lock. I think I achieved that.’

‘It is true that I have not seen one like it,’ she agreed. ‘And the key?’

‘I was told that one key only was to be made.’

‘And was it?’

‘Of course.’

‘You fitted the lock yourself?’

‘I did, and I gave the only key to Brother Donnchad.’

‘I was told that the key was found with Brother Donnchad’s body. I hope that it is not lost?’

‘I still have it.’ Bother Giolla-na-Naomh reached into the leather pouch on his belt. He took out a metal key and handed it to her. She glanced at it. It was made of iron and was nearly seven centimetres in length. It, too, showed good-quality workmanship, with several teeth of varying lengths and spaced irregularly. The other end of the key, the part held between thumb and forefinger, was impressively worked with spiral designs. There was a slippery quality about it.

‘And you confirm that this was the key that you made for the lock and found by the body?’

‘I do confirm it.’

‘No one could open the lock without this key, is that right?’ she asked.

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh shrugged. ‘No one can guarantee that, for what a man can make, another man can unmake. Isn’t that the old saying?’

‘But it would take time to unpick the lock and such a method would leave behind markings to show that it had been tampered with.’

‘Abbot Iarnla asked me to examine the lock after I had broken in. I had done no damage to the lock, only splintered the wood of the doorjamb where I kicked it open. There were no signs that it had been tampered with.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Fidelma sighed, examining the key on the palm of her hand. ‘What accounts for the quality of the surface? Do you have to oil it to make it work?’

The smith frowned and looked at the key carefully.

‘The key should need no oil,’ he replied. ‘The lock, when I tried it, was working perfectly. But this is not oil. More like wax … maybe Brother Donnchad spilt some candle wax on it. It can easily happen. A candle by the side of the bed, a key resting nearby …’

Fidelma placed the key in her marsupium.

‘Keep the lock for me and I will keep the key,’ she said.

‘I will do so,’ Brother Giolla-na-Naomh replied. ‘But I would be glad if you did not tell Brother Lugna unless you have no other choice.’

Both Fidelma and Eadulf looked at him in surprise.

‘Brother Lugna asked me this morning, before the morning meal, if I would give him the key. I told him that I had mislaid it.’

‘He probably meant to hand it to me when we were examining Brother Donnchad’s cell.’

Brother Giolla-na-Naomh looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps.’ Then he added, ‘I tell you this strictly between ourselves, Fidelma of Cashel. I am a loyal servant to Abbot Iarnla. Loyal to theabbey and to this kingdom. I will say no more except that our steward told me that I should be frugal with the information I gave you. I have refused to obey his instruction and have provided you with what information is in my knowledge. I say to you, be careful. I suspect our steward has given the same instruction to everyone in this abbey whom you may wish to question.’

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance.

‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Fidelma. ‘I shall do my best to keep what has passed between us strictly to myself unless the time comes when I must use it in my task to uncover who killed Brother Donnchad.’

‘That is fair enough,’ said the smith. ‘All I wish is for the abbey to prosper and peace to follow my craft.’

‘Are we keeping you from the work of rebuilding the community? ’ Fidelma smiled, glancing round at the building works.

The burly man shook his head. ‘Glassán, the master builder, has his own team of workmen,’ he said with some resentment in his voice. ‘They even have their own forge and smithy outside the abbey for their work. My skills remain for the brethren and not for the new building work.’

‘The abbey will be truly magnificent once the new buildings are erected,’ Eadulf observed. ‘When will that be?’

‘Glassán and his men have been working here for two years or so. We estimate that another three years will see all the main buildings in place.’

‘The fees for such professional work must be high,’ Fidelma remarked innocently.

‘I suppose so. Such matters only concern the abbot and Brother Lugna.’ Brother Giolla-na-Naomh rose to his feet. ‘If you will forgive me, I must tend my forge.’

Eadulf sat down beside Fidelma and they watched him walk back to his forge.

‘Well, well,’ said Eadulf. ‘The steward of this abbey doesnot want to cooperate with us at all, it seems. Strange that he doesn’t want people to speak to us.’

‘It is curious,’ Fidelma agreed.

‘Perhaps he murdered Brother Donnchad?’

‘If he did, then he is very stupid to go around trying to stop people speaking to us. It would arouse their suspicions if not ours, and eventually it would get back to us. As it is, I thought the physician’s performance was bizarre and now the smith has explained it. The man was probably trying to obey the steward’s orders. We will have to watch Brother Lugna very carefully.’

A bell started to ring in the distance.

‘What is that?’ demanded Eadulf, raising his head.

‘Judging from the position of the sun,’ Fidelma said, looking up, ‘I would say that it is the bell to summon the community for the eter-shod — the midday meal. It has been an interesting and exhausting morning and I, for one, would welcome some refreshment.’