Eadulf coughed nervously. Fidelma glanced up, realising that many of the brethren were now filing out of the hall.
‘You will forgive us now, Ségdae, for we must continue our task,’ she said, rising.
After they left the refectory, Eadulf whispered: ‘Is it wise to be so outspoken?’
‘Perhaps not,’ she replied. ‘Yet I cannot repress my thoughts entirely. It is not my nature.’
‘Of all the places in the world, I do not think this is the one for an open discussion on theology.’
She looked at him and then started to chuckle.
Eadulf was about to open his mouth to protest when she explained: ‘I do not laugh at you, Eadulf. It is the thought that this great abbey, with its council on the future of the Church, is not a place for a discussion on theology. If not here, then where?’
‘It can only be in a place where minds are free to receive ideas so that they can be discussed,’ Eadulf said grumpily. ‘Where minds are already made up, no discussion and exchange of ideas can thrive.’
Fidelma reached out to touch his arm. ‘Sometimes I forget how wise you can be, Eadulf,’ she smiled. ‘I will be more attentive as to how I express my thoughts in future. Now, let us find Brother Gebicca.’
Brother Gebicca was typical of all the physicians and apothecaries that Fidelma and Eadulf had ever known. He was elderly, but moved with a swift decisive energy as he bent his spare frame over the pestles and jars arrayed on his workbench in the malodorous rooms that he inhabited. He glanced up as they entered and his face registered surprise as he saw Fidelma followed by Eadulf.
‘You are a woman!’ he frowned.
‘You are very observant, Brother Gebicca,’ she replied with humour. ‘That is essential in an apothecary.’
The physician made a cutting motion with his hand.
‘This abbey has been forbidden to women,’ he said.
‘You were not at evening prayers in the chapel last night?’ she asked.
The apothecary was still irritable. ‘Why should I be? I have plenty to occupy my time and a dispensation from the bishop to concentrate on the health of the brethren. What are you doing here?’
‘Had you attended then you might have heard the bishop announce our presence and purpose here. We are investigating the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’
Brother Gebicca’s eyes narrowed slightly for a moment. Then his expression eased.
‘Ah. Brother Chilepric did say something about your coming.’ He rose from the stool before his workbench and went to splash his hands in a bowl of water before wiping them on a linen cloth.
‘Now, what is it that you want of me?’
‘To tell us what you know of the death of Abbot Dabhóc.’
Brother Gebicca glanced from Fidelma to Eadulf and back again, then gestured for them to follow him through a door that led out into the herb gardens behind the apothecary. There were a couple of low stone bench-like seats, where they sat. The area was bathed in the early afternoon summer sunshine, which was full of the different scents from the herbs and flowers in the garden. It was comforting, almost soporific to sit in the natural warmth after the cold interior of the abbey.
‘On the night of the killing of Abbot Dabhóc, we understand that you were summoned to Bishop Ordgar’s apartment by Brother Sigeric?’ Eadulf opened the questions.
‘Brother Sigeric was acting on the instructions of Bishop Leodegar who was already attending the scene,’ Brother Gebicca confirmed pedantically.
‘On reaching Ordgar’s chamber, who did you attend to first?’
‘I first confirmed that the Hibernian abbot, Dabhóc, was beyond help. That was easy enough. The back of his skull had been smashed in with a heavy force. Then I turned to the unconscious Briton, Abbot Cadfan. He, too, had been struck on the head but I saw that, although there was a cut and abrasion and the swelling had already started, he still lived. So then I moved on to Bishop Ordgar.’
‘And what did you find?’ encouraged Fidelma.
‘He was lying on his bed, semi-conscious. He was mumbling a great deal and incoherent. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.’
‘You mean that he was drunk?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I believed so at first, but then I came to the conclusion that he had been drugged.’
‘Why was that?’
‘The state of the eyes, the tongue and lips. I have practised the healing arts for many years and know the difference between an over-indulgence in alcohol and the effects of certain herbs that can produce a similar stupor.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I told Bishop Leodegar that he would get no sense from either Cadfan or Ordgar for a while. My estimation was that it would take at least a day for both men to recover sufficiently to explain what had happened. Bishop Leodegar, at my suggestion, had Abbot Cadfan carried back to his own chamber where I washed and dressed his wound, applying a poultice to defuse the swelling and heal the cut. Then I left someone to watch him. I was pleased with his progress; he is a strong man and has healed well.’
‘And Bishop Ordgar?’ asked Eadulf.
‘As for Ordgar, he was removed to another chamber-in the same corridor. He could not, of course, remain in his own chamber with the blood and the fact that someone had died violently there. Ordgar’s steward, Brother Benevolentia, was roused and we carried the bishop to the new chamber. I instructed his steward to remain with him for the rest of the night and try to get him to swallow as much water as was possible at regular intervals in order to flush the system.’
‘And the body of Abbot Dabhóc?’
‘The body was removed to the mortuary where I later prepared it for burial. There were no other wounds than the blow that had splintered his skull. Obviously, it was a blow that was delivered from behind and with considerable force.’
‘And what about Bishop Ordgar’s chamber?’ asked Fidelma.
The physician looked at her questioningly.
‘I am told that you cleaned it,’ she explained. ‘You also washed the cup in which it was thought the wine had been drugged. Is that so?’
‘Should I have left a cup of drugged wine standing there for anyone to take or contaminate their drink from?’ retorted Brother Gebicca with some irritation. ‘That would have been dangerous.’
Eadulf bent forward quickly. ‘There was still wine in the cup?’
‘It was half full.’
‘Then Bishop Ordgar had not entirely drained it?’
‘Had he done so, he might have been dead.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Fidelma in surprise.
Brother Gebicca looked pained. ‘I would not state anything that I know to be false. Of course I am sure.’
‘You did not keep nor analyse this wine?’
‘I ensured that it was disposed of, both the cup and the amphora. By chance it seemed that the amphora was empty anyway.’
‘So there is no evidence of what this wine was, nor how the drug came to be in the wine? I mean, whether the drug was put in the cup first or into the amphora.’
The physician made a negative gesture with one hand.
‘The fact that it was in the cup was cause enough for me to ensure no one else would drink from it and suffer illness or death,’ he replied.
‘We each have our tasks to fulfil, Brother Gebicca,’ replied Fidelma softly. ‘Your task is to save life but mine is to discover why life is lost.’
Eadulf had been thoughtful for a few moments and now he said: ‘Let me ask you a question, Brother Gebicca. It needs must be a hypothetical one. Would it have been possible for Bishop Ordgar to have killed Abbot Dabhóc, struck Abbot Cadfan and then take the poison himself, swallowing only a mouthful or so to give him the effects you saw but not enough to kill himself?’
Brother Gebicca considered. ‘Anything is possible, but Bishop Ordgar would have to be a man with fine judgement to know how much of that noxious brew to swallow in safety.’