‘My friend, you must sit and continue to purge yourself. I will go to find out what I can.’
Eadulf began to object but observing the steely glint of fire in Fidelma’s eyes thought better of it.
Fidelma found Crón in the hall of assembly looking morose. She straightened up a little as Fidelma approached her.
‘Is it true?’ she demanded. ‘I have just spoken with Grella.’
‘True enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Do you have any idea where Dignait might have gone?’
Crón shook her head.
‘I saw her earlier today. Grella says that you have already searched her apartment?’
‘She seems to have disappeared. Her chamber is deserted and in disarray and there is a smear of blood on the table there.’
‘I do not know what to advise. She must be somewhere within the rath. I will ask that a search be made immediately.’
‘Where is your mother, Cranat? I am told she knows Dignait better than anyone and she was speaking with her earlier this morning.’
‘My mother has gone for her usual morning ride in the company of Father Gormán.’
‘Let me know when she returns.’
Fidelma’s next stop was at the cabin of Teafa.
Gadra opened the door, saw Fidelma’s worried expression and silently stood aside so that she might enter.
‘You are abroad early, Fidelma, and bear an expression of ill-favour on your face.’
‘How is your charge?’
‘Móen? He is still asleep. We were late to bed for we were discussing matters of theology.’
‘Discussing theology?’ She was startled.
‘Móen has a profound grasp of theology,’ Gadra assured her. ‘We were also discussing what might be his future.’
‘I suspect that he does not want to stay here?’
Gadra chuckled cynically.
‘After all that has happened?’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But what will he do?’
‘I have suggested to him that he might like to find sanctuary from the evils of the world in a religious cloister — perhaps at Lios Mhór. He needs the order that a life among the religious can give him and many will be able to communicate with him there for, as you yourself have shown, a knowledge of the ancient Ogam can quickly be adapted to a method of communication.’
‘It sounds a reasonable idea,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But one that hardly fits in with your philosophy.’
‘My world is dying. I have already admitted this. Móen needs to be part of the new world, not the old.’ Gadra suddenly frowned. ‘But I can see that you are preoccupied. You did not come here to talk of Móen. Has anything else happened?’
‘I fear for the life of my companion, Eadulf,’ Fidelma said curtly. ‘Someone tried to poison him and myself this morning.’
Gadra’s face registered shock.
‘Tried? How so?’
‘Poisonous mushrooms.’
‘Most people can easily recognise the poisonous varieties.’
‘Agreed. But false morel can easily pass as morel.’
‘But it is only in a raw state that it is highly toxic. As morel is never eaten raw there is little chance …’
‘It was the fact that the miotóg bhuí, the morel, was raw that made me glance at it twice. I did not touch it but, unfortunately, Brother Eadulf had already begun to eat the noxious fungus before I recognised it.’
Gadra looked serious.
‘He should be purged immediately.’
‘He has vomited and I have made him drink as much water as he can to increase the vomiting.’
‘Is it known who is responsible for this attempt to poison you?’
‘It seems likely that it is Dignait. But Dignait does not appear to be in the rath. She has disappeared. Her room is in uproar and there is blood on her table.’
Gadra raised his eyebrows in concern.
‘It will be your duty to ask a question of me. I shall answer it now: neither I nor Móen have left this dwelling this morning.’
Fidelma grimaced.
‘I did not suspect that you had.’
Gadra turned aside to his sacculus. The bag lay on the table. He drew out a small bottle.
‘I carry my medicines about with me. This is an infusion which is a mixture of ground ivy and wormwood. Tell our Saxon friend to drink it all down mixed in a little water, the stronger potion he can drink, the better it will be. It will help him in ridding his stomach of the poison.’
Fidelma took the bottle hesitantly.
‘Take it,’ insisted the old hermit. Adding with a smile: ‘Unless you believe that I am seeking to poison him.’
‘I am truly grateful, Gadra.’ Fidelma felt churlish.
‘Go quickly, then. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for him.’
Clutching the bottle in her hand, Fidelma returned to the guests’ hostel.
Eadulf was still sitting, looking considerably paler. There was a bluish tinge round the eyes and mouth.
‘Gadra has sent this for you. You must drink it at once mixed with water.’
Eadulf took the bottle suspiciously from her hand.
‘What is it?’
‘A mixture of ground ivy and wormwood.’
‘Something to cleanse the stomach, I suppose.’
He took off the stopper from the bottle and sniffed, screwing up his face as he did so. Then he poured the contents into a beaker and added water. He stared at it distastefully for a moment then opened his mouth and swallowed.
For a moment he was consumed by a paroxysm of coughing.
‘Well,’ he said, when he could manage to speak. ‘If the poisondoes not finish me, I am sure that this infusion will do so.’
‘How do you feel?’ asked Fidelma anxiously.
‘Sick,’ confessed Eadulf. ‘But it takes an hour or so before the poison has a real effect and …’
His eyes suddenly bulged.
‘What is it?’ cried Fidelma in alarm.
Hand to mouth, Eadulf leapt to his feet and disappeared in the direction of the fialtech. She could hear his terrible retching through the door.
‘What can I do, Eadulf?’ she asked in concern when he finally re-emerged.
‘Little, I am afraid. If I find Dignait, if she has made me suffer thus, I shall … oh God!’
Hand to mouth, once more he returned to the anguish of the privy.
There was a knock on the door and Crón entered.
‘It has been confirmed that Dignait is no longer in the rath,’ she said. ‘It seems to confirm her guilt.’
Fidelma regarded the tanist moodily.
‘I expected as much.’
‘I have sent a man to look for Dubán to inform him of what has happened,’ Crón added.
‘And where is Dubán now?’
‘He is up in the valley of the Black Marsh. There is still the matter of Muadnat’s death to be considered.’ Crón hesitated and sighed. ‘It is difficult to believe that Dignait would attempt to poison you.’
‘At the moment there is nothing to believe or disbelieve,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We will not know what part she has played in this matter until she is found and questioned.’
‘She has been a good servant of my family.’
‘So I have been told.’
Eadulf re-emerged, saw Crón and contrived to look self-conscious.
Crón examined his pale features with apparent distaste.
‘You are ill, Saxon,’ the tanist greeted him dispassionately.
‘You are perceptive, Crón,’ Eadulf replied with an attempt at humour.
‘Is there anything that I can … that we …?’
Eadulf seated himself, outwardly cheerful.
‘Only wait,’ he cut in. ‘Perhaps I can do that alone?’
Fidelma smiled apologetically to him.
‘You are right, Eadulf. We are bothering you too much. Rest now. But I have asked the young girl Grella to look in on you from time to time.’
She turned and led Crón gently but firmly from the guests’ hostel.
‘Where is Crítán, incidentally?’ she asked when they were outside. ‘Has he sobered up after yesterday?’