‘Are you certain?’
‘When I returned with lord Conri, we examined the clothes and the boot.’
‘What did you do with them?’
‘We left them in the hut.’
There was a silence as Fidelma considered the information. After a while, she said: ‘There is nothing else that you can tell me?’
‘Nothing, lady.’
‘Nothing that struck your mind about the scene that caused you any thought? Even if it was unrelated to the death of the abbess?’
The merchant was about to shake his head when he caught himself.
‘There was something?’ Fidelma pressed.
Mugron shrugged. ‘It was absolutely unrelated. I mentioned the wreckage of the ship and the bodies. A lot of ships have foundered around that coast. I just noticed that it looked very recent. The timbers that lay along the shore had not been discoloured. It was just a passing thought, no more. Then I went on.’
‘I see,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘So it might be that your Gaulish boot might have come from a survivor of that wreck. A ship from Gaul.’
Mugron responded only with a faint shrug.
‘And all this occurred about ten days ago?’ she asked.
‘More like fifteen days now.’
Fidelma gave a soft sigh and sat back.
‘Well, Mugron, I will not detain you further. If I want to talk to you again how shall I find you? At this harbour of yours? An Bhearbha?’
‘Ask anyone and they will direct you to me. But within a day or so, I have a cargo to run to Breanainn’s Bay.’
‘Ah, then it may well be that I might need to book a passage on your vessel for my companions and myself.’
‘You would be most welcome, lady.’
The burly merchant rose from the seat and bowed stiffly towards her. As he was turning to leave, Fidelma called softly: ‘Oh, and Mugron… my thanks for reminding me of a pleasant period in my life. My childhood on the banks of the River Siur. They were good times.’
The merchant answered with a smile and raised a hand in salutation before leaving the herb garden.
For some time Fidelma sat in silence, turning over in her mind the information that she had garnered.
Finally, an anxious clearing of his throat by Brother Cu Mara attracted her attention. She looked up and realised the steward and Conr were waiting for her to speak.
‘What now, lady?’ Brother Cu Mara asked anxiously.
‘What now, Brother?’ She stood up. ‘Now we shall go in search of Brother Eadulf and discover what he has found out about the bloodstained clothing.’
She quickly explained to Conri about Eadulf’s find in the washing house.
Brother Cu Mara led the way to the tech-nigid, a wooden structure conveniently sited next to a stream which gushed from a spring and made its way across the hillside on which the abbey buildings were distributed. As they approached, Eadulf was emerging with the bloodstained clothing in his arms.
‘I have the names of the owners,’ he said in triumph, as he saw them.
‘Then let us have a word with them,’ Fidelma replied.
‘The first is Brother Feolaigid,’ Eadulf said.
Brother Cu Mara guffawed immediately.
They turned on him with some astonishment.
‘You seem amused, Brother,’ Fidelma observed coldly. ‘Is there some joke that can be shared with us?’
The young rechtaire did not lose his expression of amusement.
‘I will take you to where Brother Feolaigid is working,’ he said in a
Brother Cu Mara led the way to a far corner of the abbey complex, to a building also alongside another of the numerous little streams that were to be found in this countryside. In construction it was rather like the tech-nigid. The doors stood wide open and as they approached Eadulf became aware of an odour he could not quite identify. There was a sound, too. It was halfway between someone chopping wood and the smack of something heavy on flesh.
‘This is where Brother Feolaigid works,’ the young steward said, this time scarcely able to conceal the mirth in his voice.
At the door, peering into the interior of the building, they saw a burly man with an axe, hewing at a carcass. Blood was everywhere. The carcass was that of a pig. The man was expertly reducing it to joints of meat. Around him, hanging on metal hooks, hung large joints and whole carcasses of more pigs and lambs.
‘Brother Feolaigid is our butcher.’ There was no disguising the amusement in Brother Cu Mara’s voice. ‘If there was no blood on his robes, it would be more of a mystery than otherwise.’
Fidelma turned with irritation on her face and was about to launch into a homily on the wasting of a dalaigh ’s time. Then she glanced at Eadulf and the look on his face made her suddenly chuckle.
‘Well, Brother,’ she turned back to the rechtaire, ‘you have had your little joke on us. But there is still another bloodstained robe to be accounted for.’
Eadulf was clearly irritated.
‘Your brethren would seem to over-indulge in eating the flesh of animals,’ he observed testily to the steward. ‘Such indulgence in meat eating is frowned upon in Rome.’
The young rechtaire ’s expression was smug.
‘I have heard the Venerable Mac Faosma quote from an ancient book upon which our religion is founded and which the Greeks called “the beginning” — Genesis. In this holy book God tells Noah, “Every creature that lives and moves shall be food for you.”’
Conr, not really understanding the cause of Eadulf’s ill-humour and believing him not to know the widespread practice of eating various meats in the country, added: ‘The abbey has many people to sustain, Brother Eadulf. It has its own flocks of sheep, even cows to provide milk and indrechtan and marog.’
Eadulf, who was just being surly and certainly had no real objection to meat eating, did not understand the words that Conri used and said so.
It was Fidelma who explained.
‘They are meat dishes in which the intestines of a pig, cow or sheep are stuffed with minced meat to which is added grain or diced apple. Then they are boiled and put aside until wanted. They are regarded as great delicacies in many parts of the country. Now let us not waste time. To whom does the other bloodstained robe belong?’
‘Sister Uallann,’ Eadulf replied.
Brother Cu Mara turned away and coughed several times as if to hide some urge to laugh. Fidelma waited impatiently while he recovered.
‘Now take us to where this Sister Uallann works,’ she snapped.
It was Conr who answered.
‘There will probably be as good a reason for Sister Uallann’s robes to be bloodstained as there was for the robes of Brother Feolaigid,’ he said quietly.
‘Indeed?’ said Fidelma defensively. ‘Do you know this Sister Uallann?’ The warlord of the Ui Fidgente nodded.
‘She is the physician of the abbey, lady. It was she who examined and prepared the corpse of my aunt, the Abbess Faife, when we brought it here for burial.’
Fidelma let out a long, low exasperated sigh.
‘And doubtless did the same for the Venerable Cinaed?’
Brother Cu Mara had regained his composure.
‘Indeed, she did, lady. I am afraid the bloodstained clothing that Brother Eadulf has found will lead you nowhere.’
Eadulf was trying to hide his embarrassment.
‘Does this abbey have a woman physician?’
‘Do you not have women physicians among your own people?’ demanded Conr in amusement at the other’s discomfiture. ‘In ancient times, there was a cult of women who followed the teachings of Airmed, daughter of the old god of healing. She was said to be the first to identify all the healing herbs. We have always had female physicians.’
Eadulf, who had studied the apothecary’s art for a time at Tuam Brecain, knew the fact well enough. His cheeks were crimson with mortification and he was merely doing his best to avoid Fidelma’s censure. He should