‘This is so.’
‘You are the assistant physician of the abbey?’
‘That is so. Brother Midach is our chief physician.’
‘Forgive me, but why did the abbot summon you and not Brother Midach?’
She had already heard the answer but Fidelma wanted to make sure.
‘Brother Midach was not in the abbey. He had left the previous evening on a journey and did not return for six days. As physicians, our services are often in demand in many neighbouring villages.’
‘Very well. Can you tell me the details of your findings?’
‘Of course. It was just after tierce and Brother Martan, who is the apothecary, had remarked that the bell had not rung the hour …’
Fidelma was interested.
‘The bell had not rung? How then did the apothecary know it was after tierce?’
Tóla chuckled dryly.
‘No mystery there. Martan is not only the apothecary but he is interested in the measurement of time. We have, within the community, a clepsydra, a plan for which one of our brethren brought back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land many years ago. A clepsydra is …’
Fidelma held up her hand in interruption.
‘I know what it is. So the apothecary had checked this water-clock …?’
‘Actually, no. Martan frequently compares the clepsydra — or water-clock, as you call it — against a more ancient engine of measurement in his dispensary. It is old-fashioned but workable. He has a mechanism which discharges sand from one part to another, the sand is measured so that it falls in a precise time.’
‘An hour glass?’ smiled Cass complacently. ‘I have seen them.’
‘The same basis,’ Brother Tóla agreed easily. ‘But Martan’s mechanism was constructed fifty years ago by an artisan of this abbey. The mechanism is of larger proportions than an hour glass and the sand does not complete its fall from one compartment to another for one full cadar.’
Fidelma raised her eyebrows in astonishment. A cadar was the measure of one quarter of the day.
‘I would like to see this wondrous machine sometime,’ she confessed. ‘However, we are straying from your story.’
‘Brother Martan had informed me that it was well after the time for tierce and, just then, Abbot Brocc summoned me. I went to his chambers and he told me that the Venerable Dacán had been found dead. He wanted me to examine the body.’
‘And had you known Dacán?’
Tóla nodded thoughtfully.
‘We are a large community here, sister, but not so large that a man of distinguished ability goes unnoticed in our midst.’
‘I mean, had you personal contact with him?’
‘I shared his table during meals but, apart from a few words, had little to do with him. He was not a man who encouraged friendship, he was cold and … well, cold and …’
‘Austere?’ supplied Fidelma grimly.
‘Just so,’ Tóla agreed readily.
‘So you came to the hostel?’ prompted Fidelma again. ‘Can you describe what you found?’
‘Surely. Dacán was lying on the bed. He was lying on his back. His hands were tied behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles. There was a gag in his mouth. There was blood on his chest and it was obvious, to me at least, that it was the result of several stab wounds.’
‘Ah? How many stab wounds?’
‘Seven, though I could not tell at first.’
‘You say that he was lying on his back? Can you remember the position of the blanket? Had the blanket been thrown over him or was he lying on top of it?’
Tóla shook his head, a little bewildered by the question.
‘He lay fully clad on top of the blanket.’
‘Had the blood spurted from the body onto the blanket, staining it?’
‘No; such wounds bleed profusely but because the man was on his back the blood had congealed mainly on his chest.’
‘The blanket, then, was not used to carry the body nor wipe the blood?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Why are you concerned with this blanket?’
Fidelma ignored his question and motioned him to continue.
‘When I had the body removed to the mortuary and had it washed, I was able to confirm my initial findings. There were seven stab wounds in the chest, around the heart and into the heart itself. Four of them were mortal blows.’
‘Does that speak to you of a frenzied attack?’ mused Fidelma.
Tóla looked at her appreciatively.
‘It seems to indicate an attack in hot blood. In cold blood, the attacker had only need to strike one blow into the heart. After all, the old man’s hands and feet were bound.’
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded.
‘Continue. Was there any indication when this deed was done?’
‘I can only say that, when I examined the body, the attack had not been a recent one. The body was almost cold to the touch.’
‘There was no sign of the weapon?’
‘None.’
‘Now, can you show me exactly how the body was lying on the cot? Would you mind?’
Tóla cast a glance of curiosity at her and then shrugged. He entered the chamber while she stood at the door, holding the lamp high so that she could see everything. He placed himself in a reclining position on the cot. Fidelma noticed, with interest, that he did not lie fully on the cot but only from his waist; he hung the lower part of his body over the edge of the bed so that the feet were touching the floor. The upper partwas therefore at an angle. He had placed his arms behind him to suggest them being bound. The head was well back and the eyes were shut. The position suggested that Dacán had been attacked while standing and had simply fallen back on the bed behind him.
‘I am grateful, Tóla,’ Fidelma said. ‘You are an excellent witness.’
Tóla raised himself from the bed and his voice was dry and expressionless.
‘I have worked with a dálaigh before, sister.’
‘So, when you came in here, did you notice the state of the chamber?’
‘Not specifically,’ he confessed. ‘My eyes were for the corpse of Dacán and what had caused his death.’
‘Try to remember, if you can. Was the room tidy or was it disturbed?’
Tóla gazed around him, as if trying to recall.
‘Tidy, I would say. The lamp on the table was still burning. Yes, tidy as you see the room now. I believe, from the gossip I have heard, that the venerable Dacán was an extremely fastidious man, tidy to the point of being obsessive.’
‘Who told you this?’ queried Fidelma.
Tóla shrugged.
‘Brother Rumann, I believe. He had charge of the investigation afterwards.’
‘There is now little else that I need trouble you with,’ Fidelma said. ‘You had the body removed and examined it. Did you touch the lamp at all? For example, did you refill it with oil?’
‘The only time I touched the lamp was to extinguish it when we took Dacán’s body from this chamber.’
‘Presumably, Dacán was buried here in the abbey?’
To her surprise, Tóla shook his head.
‘No, the body was transported to the abbey of Fearna at the request of Dacán’s brother, Abbot Noé.’
Fidelma took a moment or two to gather her thoughts.
‘I thought that Abbot Brocc had refused to send any of the property of Dacán back to Laigin, knowing it would be the subject of investigation?’ she said sharply. ‘This seems a contrary thing — that he kept the possessions of Dacán but sent the body to Laigin.’
Tóla shrugged diffidently.
‘Perhaps the reason lies in the fact that one cannot preserve a corpse,’ he replied with a grim smile. ‘Anyway, by that time, Brother Midach, our chief physician, had arrived back at the abbey and took over the arrangements. He was the one who authorised the removal of the body.’
‘You said that was almost six days later?’
‘That’s right. A Laigin ship had arrived to demand the body. Of course, by that time, we had already placed the body in our own crypt, a cave in the hill behind us where the abbots of this monastery are interred. We had the corpse placed aboard the vessel from Laigin and presumably the Venerable Dacán’s relics will now reside in Fearna.’