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.