Abbot Nannid hesitated. ‘If it is required by law, then that is the law. Though it seems strange that the word of our physician is not to be trusted.’
‘I have not said that the word of your physician is not to be trusted. I am investigating the attempted assassination of the King. I have a responsibility to answer to the Chief Brehon that all was done as the law requires.’
The abbot glanced at his steward and gestured indifferently.
‘Very well. Show Brother Eadulf to the chamber of our departed brother.’
Fidelma decided to follow Eadulf and Brother Cuineáin through several stone corridors and across a yard into a building close to the stables and paddocks of the abbey. They entered a small cell with room for a bed and little else.
The body of the old man lay stretched out on his bed. He had not yet been bathed nor had his body been wrapped in the racholl or shroud as the winding sheet was called, in preparation for the aire or watching which would last presumably until midnight — the traditional time of interment.
Brother Cuineáin stood back and allowed Eadulf to bend over the body. He waited by the door as Eadulf made his examination, which was not a long one.
‘It certainly seems that he expired in the night, for the body is cold and stiffening.’ He turned to the steward. ‘When was the physician called to examine the body?’
The steward paused for thought and then said: ‘At first light. I was about to attend early morning prayers when Brother Lugna came to find me and told me that old Brother Ledbán appeared to be dead. He had been worried when the old man passed out last evening and decided to check on him at dawn. The physician was then called and confirmed the death.’
‘In what condition was the body?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I do not understand.’
‘Did the body show signs of contraction, the experience of any agony which sometimes overtakes one in a seizure? Or did it lie peacefully as now?’
‘Oh, he was almost exactly as he is now. I doubt if he knew he was departing life, for he left it while asleep and at peace.’
‘Very well.’ Fidelma saw that her husband had a resolute expression but something prevented her from asking further questions. ‘There is nothing to keep us here.’
A sigh of relief seemed to come from Brother Cuineáin. ‘Then I suggest we return to the abbot’s chamber.’
To Fidelma’s surprise, Eadulf replied, ‘We have not broken our fast yet. May we therefore return to the refectory and take some sustenance? I think we shall be leaving the abbey soon as there is a long ride before us.’
Another look of relief crossed the steward’s features and then he assumed a sombre expression and nodded.
‘You are quite right, Brother Eadulf. I should have let you attend to the morning meal before I broke this news to you. I will go to the abbot and report that you are in concurrence with our physician and that you will shortly be leaving us.’ He conducted them back to the refectory and left them at the door.
They found Gormán striding up and down, looking anxious. He seemed relieved to find them safe and sound.
‘I wondered what had happened to you both,’ he said. ‘I heard there was a death last night but could find out no other details.’
‘There was a death,’ replied Fidelma grimly. ‘Our main witness, old Brother Ledbán, has died.’ She swung round to Eadulf with a frown. ‘What was the meaning of your telling the steward that you agreed with his physician and that we would be leaving shortly? I had the distinct impression that you did not agree at all with his deduction.’
‘Firstly, I really do think that we should all break our fast,’ Eadulf smiled briefly. ‘Secondly, there is nothing that I can prove about the old man. He did die in the night, but …’
‘But?’ snapped Fidelma, irritated.
‘There is something I cannot explain. I noticed there was blood in the corner of his eyes, and blood in his nostrils that someone has tried to clean: you have to look carefully to see it. And there were specks of blood at the corners of his mouth. I have seen such conditions before.’
‘And what do they signify?’
‘Such signs are usually consistent with someone having such a powerful seizure that bleeding occurs from these orifices. If he did not have a seizure then he was smothered.’
‘You mean that he was murdered?’ gasped Gormán.
‘The trouble is, I cannot make a definite pronouncement because he could have had a seizure,’ replied Eadulf.
‘Yet surely, had a seizure been the cause of death, the body would have shown clearer signs of it,’ mused Fidelma. ‘It would not have been in the state of repose the steward said it was in, when he and the physician examined it.’
Eadulf was in agreement. ‘Exactly. That means, if we accept the murder theory, that someone in this abbey did not want him to speak further to us.’
‘He collapsed as soon as you uttered that name — Liamuin,’ Gormán caught on.
Eadulf glanced round. ‘We’d best have our meal and not stand here for all to see like a group of conspirators.’
They entered the almost empty refectory and were given bread, boiled fish, apples and a jug of water. When they were seated in a corner, Fidelma said: ‘But you told the steward that we agreed with the physician and would soon be continuing our journey. If this is murder, then the murderer is here and we must stay here to discover him.’
‘I do not think that will avail us anything,’ Eadulf argued. ‘If old Ledbán was killed to prevent him talking to us about the identity of Liamuin, then only three people were in the room when the matter came up and it became obvious that he had reacted to the name.’
‘You mean — Abbot Nannid, Brother Cuineáin and Brother Lugna?’
‘And if they, one or all, are behind this, how long should we be left unmolested in this abbey? We are here on sufferance because Brother Cú-Mara vouched for our identity. But remember, we don’t have any means of asserting our authority. It would be difficult for us to pursue enquiries among a community which is in the heart of the Uí Fidgente country and where folk are hostile. It would be easy for us to “disappear”.’
Fidelma looked shocked. ‘You cannot mean that the abbot would allow the law to be flouted and would fail to respect my position as an attorney of the courts of this country?’
It was Gormán who answered. ‘I am afraid friend Eadulf is right, lady. If there is a conspiracy here, then the life of a king or a Chief Brehon would not be valued by these conspirators. That being so, what would the life of a mere dálaigh be worth — meaning no disrespect, lady.’
‘Are you suggesting we abandon this investigation?’ Fidelma’s voice was hard.
‘I am suggesting a strategic withdrawal,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Let whoever killed the old man enjoy a false sense of security while we pursue the investigation elsewhere. We may then be able to return here in a position of authority.’
‘I think friend Eadulf makes an excellent point,’ confirmed Gormán.
‘Where do you propose that we pursue the investigation?’ demanded Fidelma.
‘Where we would have gone anyway, had nothing happened here.’
‘I am not sure I follow …’ Gormán began and then he sighed. ‘Oh, you mean go south to the Dún Eochar Mháigh?’
‘Exactly,’ confirmed Eadulf. ‘We have had several interesting strands and they all seem to lead to Dún Eochair Mháigh.’
‘So we leave the abbey pretending that we have noticed nothing unusual? Very well. Shall I get our horses ready for the journey?’ asked Gormán.
‘We will have to officially bid farewell to the abbot,’ Fidelma said.
Just then, a voice hailed them from across the refectory. It was Brother Cú-Mara.
‘I was wondering whether you were still here, lady,’ he said as he came up to their table and seated himself. He greeted Eadulf and Gormán with a nod. ‘I became involved with the librarian last night and could not join you for the evening meal. How long are you here for?’