‘How can we be sure that it was no accident?’ Enda pressed.
‘It seems unlikely that Beccan hit himself on the head, replaced the stone in this wall, then started to climb down the scaffolding, slipped and fell,’ she replied. Her sarcasm was a disguise for her own self-blame. She turned and pointed across the parapet. ‘Had he fallen from the scaffolding, he would not have fallen to the side where our stonemason friend here says that he was found. The position he was found in meant that he fell straight down from this spot. Someone knocked him on the head and pushed him over.’
There was a silence as they considered what she had said. The stonemason, with justification, was looking relieved at her conclusion that his equipment was not at fault.
‘Now, am I right that you believe your scaffolding is still safe?’
‘I say it is, since you agree that the steward did not fall from it,’ the stonemason said stoutly.
‘I only ask,’ she told him, ‘because we shall use it to climb down and view the body, rather than go all the way round through to the gate.’
Before the men could protest, she had climbed over the parapet and begun the descent. Having done it before, she found it quite easy. As she climbed down, she was thinking furiously.
She had been coming to the conclusion that Beccan was the culprit. Now he was dead. It was true that she had not entirely worked out his motive. He had been near the chapel when the body of Brother Cerdic was found; he could have easily had access to the barn where Rudgal was being held; he had lied about Deogaire and about going to see a woman called Maon at the woodman’s hut; he could have returned unseen to the guest chambers that night to push the statue off the roof in an attempt to kill them. He must have used the scaffolding for access and exit without being seen; in the same way, he could have met Sister Dianaimh in the darkness and killed her. And although it could be argued as prejudice, he was of the Déisi and of the same area where Rudgal and his robber band had come from. It had all seemed to fit although she had been unable to collect the strands into one final knot. It was the motive that eluded and frustrated her.
There was more to this matter than she had thought. She must be missing something — something that would tie it all together. But what?
When Eadulf awoke he was aware of a strong, flickering light. It was the sun shining through the rustling leaves of the trees above. Then he became aware of the cacophony of birdsong. It was well past dawn. He was lying near the fire outside the wooden hut. Someone must have covered him against the cold of the night for there was a heavy blanket over him. Just then, a dark shadow intervened between him and the sun. He looked up into the smiling face of Gormán.
‘Rest, friend Eadulf. All is well.’ He held out a beaker of water.
Eadulf rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts. ‘What happened?’ he asked, realising that his throat was very dry. He took the beaker and sipped at the water; it was fresh and cold from the stream.
‘You were exhausted,’ Gormán said simply. ‘You had a long ride here and then the task you had to perform at the end of it. . well, I could not have done it. So, when you had finished, you fell into a deep sleep, which is natural.’
‘Did Dego. . has he. .?’ Eadulf began uncertainly.
‘Dego lives. According to Brother Berrihert, he went into a natural sleep and slept for most of the night.’
Eadulf breathed a sigh of relief and swallowed the rest of the water in large mouthfuls.
‘Sleep is the great healer,’ he said. ‘He should sleep as much as he can for the next few days to regain his strength.’ He rose and handed the beaker back to Gormán. ‘I’ll go and check the wound.’
Dego was lying still on the cot. Eadulf was amazed to see that his eyes were open, although he seemed very drowsy. He even forced a faint smile as Eadulf bent over him.
‘How are you feeling?’ Eadulf asked.
‘I’ve been better,’ replied the warrior with a touch of humour.
Eadulf nodded sympathetically and gently unwrapped the arm. There was no foul odour and the wound was clean. Unless there were any mishaps, the stump should heal nicely without further infection. He glanced up to Brother Pecanum, who was standing by.
‘The wound must be regularly washed and bathed. I shall leave some of the herbal infusion to pour onto it from time to time. It is important that it is freshly dressed to keep infection at bay. But in a few days. . he should be healing well.’
He turned back to Dego. ‘We’ll soon have you up and active again.’
A dark cloud crossed the young warrior’s face. His voice was bitter.
‘I’ve been a warrior all my life. I’ve known nothing else but service in the Nasc Niadh. With my right arm gone, what is left for me now?’
‘Come, my friend. Wasn’t I told by your bards that Elatha had one hand and one eye, yet he was able to seduce the Goddess Ériu?’
‘Ancient legends,’ grunted the young warrior. ‘He was King of the Fomorii — the undersea dwellers — who were all disfigured.’
‘Well, there’s many a truth in legend. Anyway, what’s your left hand for? I’ve seen warriors fighting with their sword in their left hand.’ While he was speaking, Eadulf was redressing the wound. ‘We are going to leave you in the care of Berrihert and his brothers while we go in search of Egric and whoever did this to you.’
‘I am sorry that I was unable to protect him. We were fishing and I heard nothing before I was knocked unconscious, although I seem to recall the movement of horses as I lay, so I must have had moments of consciousness.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Eadulf assured him. ‘Concentrate on getting well.’
Dego gave a slight movement of his head in acknowledgement but did not reply. It was clear that he was suddenly contemplating the enormity of this change in his circumstances and what it meant for his future. Outside, Eadulf had a quick exchange with Berrihert and Naovan.
‘Look after him, my friends. But as well as keeping watch on that wound, keep a watch on his spirits. He is young; a warrior. So now he is thinking of what his life will become with only one hand — and his left hand at that. He may become morose, and those feelings are not conducive to heal the body.’
Brother Berrihert reached forward and took Eadulf’s hand in his.
‘Don’t worry. We shall take especial care of him. You are truly a physician of renown, Brother Eadulf. I have never seen such work.’
‘Thanks be that God guided my fingers,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘Thanks be that everyone was here to help. But it is early days yet. So be vigilant.’
‘We understand,’ replied Brother Naovan. ‘He must rest as much as possible and we must keep a sharp eye on the wound lest infection occurs.’
‘I shall now take you to the spot where I found Dego,’ said Brother Berrihert. ‘It would be difficult to find it without guidance. My brothers will look after Dego until I return.’
‘Then we welcome your company, Berrihert.’ Eadulf went to his bag and took from it three baked clay lestar sealed with farcan or cork imported from Iberia, reinforced with cáir, a malleable wax-like substance. These he showed to Pecanum and Naovan, explaining the purposes of the mixtures. ‘I need you to remember the mark I have put on each container. This one is a distillation of the stalk, leaves and flowers of goldenrod, stat óir. It is an antiseptic and astringent that usually prevents infection, and arrests bleeding. Should you see any infection in the wound, bathe it in this.’
The two brothers nodded.
‘This other one is a strong sedative which can be given as a drink. It’s made from what they call goimín serraigh, a wild pansy. The third is a similar sedative, inducing sleep and easing headache; it’s a distillation of cinquefoil, what is called here tor cúigmhéarach. Is that clear?’