‘Understood,’ grunted Gormán. ‘I have a lestar of laith; it is intoxicating liquor that might help him.’
‘I have another,’ Aidan said. ‘It is very strong.’
Eadulf approved. A lestar was a container for carrying liquids. ‘The stronger the alcohol, the better. It will help both as a means of easing the pain and for dressing the wound to prevent infection. Also, cut a couple of stout twigs and strip the bark — he will need something to bite on and I will need something to use to twist cloth to make a band to encircle his arm, which will control bleeding.’
While these tasks were being done, Eadulf went to his horse and untied the leather bag that he always carried. It was called a lés — a small medical bag; it had become his habit to carry it with him. Several times he had had recourse to it during his travels with Fidelma, and he always tried to keep its contents in good order. Inside were some surgical instruments and some small containers, soithech, for herbal infusions, among which were antiseptics and sedatives. He took the bag and returned to where Brother Pecanum was finishing dousing the table with water. Brother Berrihert had lit and hung the lanterns.
‘Very well.’ Eadulf viewed the preparations with satisfaction. He took a stool and, putting his lés upon it, took the containers of alcohol offered by the warriors. ‘We will have to work fast. Very fast. You need to understand that I cannot guarantee that I will save him, but if nothing is done he will be dead by morning anyway.’
They stood silently before him. Eadulf was thankful for the distorting shadows of the lanterns, for he hoped they disguised his pallor and nervous expression. The other men looked to him for confidence and leadership now.
‘Gormán, take one of the containers of alcohol and get Dego to swallow as much he can take. After that, you and Aidan will lift him from inside and place him on this table. You, Aidan, will hold his legs still while Gormán restrains his left arm and shoulder. I will be attending to his right. I am hoping the alcohol will make it easy.’ Eadulf took a deep breath. ‘Berrihert, I want you at my side all the time, holding one of the lamps as I instruct you. Pecanum, you will have to be my assistant and pass me whatever tools I want. I shall show you the items beforehand that I shall need.’
He looked around. They did not have any questions.
‘When we start, I shall need to work quickly. So, let us begin. Gormán, off you go, and see how much you and Naovan can get Dego to take. With luck, he will pass out. Pecanum, come, and I will run through the items that I shall need from this bag.’
A few minutes later, Dego was carried out and laid on the table. He was muttering restlessly, in a semi-conscious state, the alcohol mixing with his fever. Eadulf, grim faced, glanced at his companions.
‘Ready in positions?’ he asked tersely. Then he placed a piece of cloth around the top of the warrior’s right arm, inserted a small twig and twisted it until he could turn it no more. Then he passed another twig to Gormán, who took it, prised open Dego’s mouth and placed it so that his teeth would clamp down on it.
‘Now!’ Eadulf grunted.
Gormán and Aidan pushed their weight down on Dego to hold him still. Brother Berrihert moved forward with a lamp.
Eadulf had already taken the razor-like altan — a surgical knife — in his hand. He worked as quickly as he dared. Only moments later, he called for Brother Pecanum to pass him the rodb — a sharp-edged surgical saw. That was when Dego began to scream, and Gormán and Aidan had to use their full weight to contain his threshing body. The arm came away, leaving a bloody stump above the elbow. Then, mercifully, Dego sank into unconsciousness. Quickly again, with Brother Pecanum’s help, Eadulf poured the laith generously over the bloodied stump. Then he took the clean tissue and flap of skin he had left and drew it over the end of the stump, taking the needle, already threaded with gut, and sewed it into place. Once more he poured the alcohol over it.
‘You can all relax now,’ he sighed, glancing round at his companions.
Dego was lying unconscious on the table. Eadulf leaned forward, placing his hand on the warrior’s forehead. It was clammy. He bent forward, placing an ear to the man’s chest, just above his heart. There was a heartbeat, rapid but regular. He stepped back to his lés and extracted a roll of fresh white linen and then one of the small containers. He poured the liquid contents over the linen and then proceeded to bandage the stump of Dego’s arm with it. Finally, he stood back again, breathing heavily after his exertions.
Brother Berrihert was standing next to him and proffering a cup of something. ‘You need it,’ he said.
Eadulf did not argue but took a swallow. He had not expected the strength of the fiery liquid and coughed several times.
Brother Berrihert grinned. ‘It’s brewed from bog berries — you know, the red flowers of some heather and who knows what else. Pretty powerful, eh?’
Eadulf simply nodded and wiped his stinging lips.
‘You can carry Dego back to the bed,’ he instructed Brother Berrihert and Aidan. As they lifted the unconscious man, something fell out of Dego’s clothing. Eadulf caught sight of a glint in the torchlight. He bent forward and felt for it, thinking it might be a coin. However, the item was too heavy and soft for a piece of bronze, silver or gold. He took it to the lamplight and held it up, turning it over and over between thumb and finger.
He had seen something similar enough times to recognise it. He whistled in surprise.
‘What is it, friend Eadulf?’ asked Gormán.
‘Just a piece of lead. It dropped from Dego’s clothing.’
‘Oh, that.’
Eadulf glanced questioningly at Gormán. ‘Have you seen it before?’
‘It was something Dego was going to use as a weight for his fishing line.’
‘But where did he get it?’
Gormán paused to think and then remembered. ‘Oh, it was among the debris left when the Déisi thugs attacked your brother and his companion at the river.’
Eadulf felt his heart pounding more rapidly. ‘Tell me, Gormán — was anything attached to it?’
‘Attached?’ Gormán was puzzled. ‘It’s just a lump of metal with a pile of burned documents.’
‘Documents? It wasn’t attached to any parchment with a piece of ribbon?’
‘The documents had been burned. I can’t remember if they were vellum, parchment or papyrus. They were all too damaged to make anything of them. That slug of lead was lying among them, as I recall. Dego picked it up and, realising it was worth nothing, said he would use it as a weight for his fishing line.’
‘Worth nothing,’ muttered Eadulf, regarding it thoughtfully.
‘Well, it can’t be a coin. It’s lead. Maybe it’s a good luck amulet because it has the Latin word for “life” on one side. See there — V. I. T. A. — life.’
Eadulf smiled gently and shook his head. ‘Not “life”, Gormán, but a name — Vitalian.’
‘Why would someone inscribe their name on a piece of lead?’ wondered the puzzled warrior.
‘I’ll keep this by me for the time being,’ Eadulf replied, without answering. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll compensate Dego for it.’ He suddenly glanced at the makeshift operating table and the limb that had been left on it.
‘Someone had better bury that,’ he instructed quietly. ‘And also thoroughly scrub down that table with hot water.’
Gormán immediately set to work with Brother Pecanum.
Brother Berrihert re-emerged from the hut. ‘Naovan is sitting with him,’ he reported. ‘Is there nothing else we can do?’
‘Nothing now except say a prayer. We will know more by daylight.’
‘Well, whatever happens now,’ called Gormán, looking up from his task, ‘I hope the bards sing your praises, friend Eadulf. I have never seen such skill before. Come the day when I am bested in battle and in danger of losing an arm or leg, I trust you will be there for me. You are even greater than Fingín Faithliaig.’