‘Am I disturbing you?’ The soft male voice cut in as Fidelma was about to lean forward confidentially.
Father Gormán stood on the threshold.
Fidelma caught the warning look in Crón’s eyes which told her that no further mention was to be made of the matter. She suppressed a sigh of irritation and stood up.
‘I was about to leave anyway. I have had a long, tiring day. I will speak with you tomorrow about this, Crón, after I have rested.’
The breakfast had already been brought to the hostel when Fidelma emerged from the wash room. Eadulf was seated and doing the meal full justice. Fidelma moved to her seat, said a silent gratias and examined the plate of bread, cold meat and garnishes. She picked up her knife.
Eadulf said: ‘We must hasten back to the mine today with what men Dubán can spare. Perhaps we will be able to resolve all these mysteries?’
Fidelma was sunk into her own thoughts. She was only half concentrating. Yet some part of her mind found itself being drawn to the dish of mushrooms on the table. Some distant alarm bell was ringing in the back of her mind. The mushrooms had paleyellowish brown skins with sponge-like cups all over the cap. She had often eaten miotóg bhuí, the species of edible fungus which grew in the long grass in damp riverside meadows in spring. They were usually presented, however, having been blanched in water, for the raw taste was sharp. Blanched they were considered a delicacy. Why had they been served raw?
A cold feeling suddenly ran down her back making her shiver violently as she examined the pieces more closely. Whereas she had thought the yellowish head had merely darkened with age, she realised now that this was not so. The mop-like head had been brown. She glanced in alarm to where Eadulf was about to place a piece of the fungus in his mouth, reached across and slapped it out of his hand.
He started back in surprise, smothering an exclamation.
‘How much of that have you eaten?’ she demanded.
He gazed at her stupidly.
‘How much?’ she thundered again.
‘Most of what was on my plate,’ confessed Eadulf, bewildered. ‘What’s wrong? I know what it is, we have it in the land of the South Folk. It’s called morel.’
‘Dia ár sábháil!’ cried Fidelma, springing up. ‘It is false morel.’
Eadulf paled visibly.
The false morel, which looked so like the edible morel, was deadly poisonous when eaten raw.
‘God save us, indeed.’ Eadulf was aghast.
Fidelma was on her feet.
‘There is no time to lose. We must purge you, make you vomit. It is the only way.’
Eadulf nodded. He had not studied at the great medical college of Tuaim Brecain without learning something of the working of poisonous fungi.
He rose and made his way to the fialtech, the ‘veil house’ or privy, even forgetting in his haste to genuflect before entering to ward off the wiles of the Devil who did his best work in such places.
‘Drink as much water as you possibly can,’ Fidelma called after him.
He did not reply.
Fidelma turned to gaze at the plates.
This was no mistake. Someone had deliberately tried to poison them both. Why? Were they so near the solution to the deaths in Araglin that they had to be eliminated? In anger she scooped up the plates of food and took them to the door of the hostel, throwing them out. She did the same with the mugs of mead which had been provided.
She could hear Eadulf retching in the fialtech.
Her lips thinned angrily and she strode off to the kitchens in search of Grella who usually brought their food. The kitchens were deserted. She went into the hall of assembly and saw the young girl engaged in her cleaning tasks.
The girl seemed flustered as Fidelma came up to her.
‘Tell me, who brought the food to the guests’ hostel this morning?’
‘I did, sister, as I always do. Was there something wrong?’
The guileless eyes of the girl told Fidelma that she would have to look elsewhere for the culprit.
‘Who prepared the food this morning?’
‘Dignait, I suppose. She is in charge of the kitchen.’
‘Did you see her prepare the food?’
‘No. When I arrived Dignait was in the hall of assembly talking with the lady Cranat. Dignait told me that I should go straight to the kitchen where I would find the tray ready with your breakfast and that I should take it straight to you and the Saxon brother.’
‘So, as far as you know, Dignait prepared the breakfast?’
‘Yes. You frightened me, sister, what is wrong?’
‘Do you recall what the meal consisted of?’
‘The meal?’ She was surprised at such a question. ‘Did you not eat it?’
Fidelma grimaced a little bitterly.
‘What did it consist of?’ she repeated.
‘Colds meats, bread, oh and some mushrooms and apples and a jug of mead.’
‘The mushrooms were poisonous. They were false morel.’
The girl paled. There was shock in her features but no sign of guilt.
‘I did not know,’ she gasped in horror.
‘Where is Dignait?’
‘She is not here. I think she went to her room after breakfast. Shall I show you where her cabin is?’
The girl turned and scurried fearfully before Fidelma, leading her from the hall of assembly, through some more buildings to a ramshackle cabin of wood.
‘This is where she dwells.’
Fidelma called through the door.
There was no answer.
She hesitated a moment before trying the handle. The latch lifted easily and she pushed into the single-roomed building. She was surprised at the shambles which met her eye. Bedding and items of clothing were strewn here and there among personal possessions.
Grella exclaimed in amazement as she peered over Fidelma’s shoulder.
Fidelma stood on the threshold and peered around with keen eyes. Someone had been looking for something. Was it Dignait who had made the untidy search of her own chamber? Or was it someone else? If so, where was Dignait? Her eyes dropped to a table. They narrowed suddenly. There was a thin smear of red across the edge of the table. Fidelma did not have to examine further to realise that it was blood.
There was little else that could be learnt from Dignait’s deserted room.
She turned to where Grella was standing, open-mouthed with agitation.
‘You’d best get back to your work, Grella. When you have finished I want you to go and stay with the Saxon brother. He may need your help. He has eaten some of the poisonous morel.’
The girl let out a soft exclamation and genuflected.
‘He is already taking a purge,’ explained Fidelma, ‘but he might need someone to help him later. I must be in search of Dignait and do not want him left alone. When you have finished your work here, go and stay at the hostel and watch him carefully. Do you understand?’
Grella signalled her compliance with a jerk of her head and scurried away.
Fidelma closed the door of Dignait’s chamber and made her way back to the hostel.
Eadulf was sitting with a pale face, still drinking water.
She glanced at him with an unarticulated question. He nodded slowly.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked softly.
Eadulf shrugged ruefully.
‘Ask me that in a few hours’ time. That will be when the poison takes effect if it is going to. I hope I have vomited most of it out. You never can tell.’
‘Dignait is missing. Her room is in disorder and there is a stain of blood on her table.’
Eadulf’s eyes widened.
‘You think that Dignait …?’
‘She is a logical person to question as it was she who apparently prepared the food and told Grella to bring it to us. I have asked the young girl to keep an eye on you while I am away.’
‘I am coming with you to find Dignait,’ Eadulf protested. Fidelma gazed at him almost tenderly and shook her head firmly.