The abbess did not pause at the doorway to the tower but entered immediately. Inside, the library was dark but Draigen hurried to the foot of the steps which led up to the second floor almost without waiting for Fidelma to light the way. They moved rapidly to the third floor where the copyists worked. At the foot of the next set of steps which led on to the floor where the water-clock was situated Fidelma noticed an extinguished candle and its holder lying separately on the floor as if it had been carelessly flung aside. Draigen abruptly halted here, so that Fidelma was forced to stumble a little for fear of colliding with her. In the light of Fidelma’s flickering candle, Abbess Draigen’s face was ghastly. However, she appeared to be slowly composing herself.
‘You should prepare yourself, sister. The sight which youwill see is not a pleasant one.’ They were the first words Draigen had uttered since rousing Fidelma from her sleep.
Without another word, she turned and mounted the steps.
Fidelma did not say anything. She felt that there was nothing to say until she knew the meaning of this night’s excursion.
She followed the abbess into the room of the clepsydra. There was a soft red glow from the fire, the water was still steaming in the great bronze bowl. There were also two lanterns whose light made her candle superfluous.
She was but a second in the room when she saw the body stretched on the floor. That it was female and wore the dress of a sister of the community required no great inspection. That much was obvious.
Abbess Draigen said nothing, merely standing to one side.
Fidelma placed her candle carefully on a bench and moved closer. Even though she had witnessed many violent deaths in the violent world in which she lived, Fidelma could not suppress the shudder of revulsion that went through her.
The head of the corpse had been severed. It was nowhere in sight.
The body would have been lying face down, had there been a face. It was lying with arms outstretched. She noticed immediately that there was a small crucifix in the right hand and around the left arm was tied a small aspen wand with some Ogham characters. There was a mess of blood, still red and sticky, around the severed neck. She saw that there was another pool of blood under the body at chest level.
Fidelma took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
‘Who is it?’ she asked of the abbess.
‘Sister Síomha.’
Fidelma blinked rapidly.
‘How can you be so sure?’
The abbess uttered a strangled noise which had been intended for a short bark of cynical laughter.
‘You lectured us on recognising a corpse by means other than a face only a short while ago, sister. Those are her robes. You will find a scar on the left leg where she once fell and cut herself. Also, she was on duty as keeper of the water-clock for the first cadar of the day. By these things I know it is Síomha.’
Fidelma pressed her lips together and bent down. She raised the hem of the skirt and saw, on the white flesh of the left leg, healed scar tissue that had once been a deep gash. Fidelma then pushed the corpse towards its left side and looked at the front of it. From the amount of blood and the slashed clothing, she presumed that Síomha had been stabbed in the heart before her head had been severed. Gently, she allowed the body to resume its original position. She peered at the hands of the corpse and was not surprised when she saw the brown red mud under the fingernails and on the fingers themselves. Then she reached forward and untied the aspen wand and read the Ogham inscription.
‘The Mórrigú is awake!’
She frowned and, holding the stick in her hand, she rose to her feet and faced Draigen.
The abbess was not entirely recovered from her shock. Her eyes were red, the face pale, her lips twitching. Fidelma felt almost sorry for her.
‘We must talk,’ she said gently. ‘Will it be here or would you prefer to go elsewhere?’
‘We must rouse the abbey,’ Draigen countered.
‘But first the questions.’
‘Then it would be better if you asked your questions here.’
‘Very well.’
‘Let me tell you this immediately,’ Draigen went on before Fidelma could frame her first question. ‘I have already caught the evil sorceress who did this deed.’
Fidelma controlled her utter surprise.
‘You have?’
‘It was Sister Berrach. I caught her red-handed.’
Fidelma was unable to restrain her astonishment. Abbess Draigen’s announcement deprived her of speech for a space of several moments.
‘I think,’ Fidelma said after a lengthy pause, ‘I think that you should tell me your story first.’
Abbess Draigen sat down abruptly and averted her gaze from the body, fixing it on some point beyond the far window where the moonlight was shimmering on the waters of the inlet, silhouetting the dark outline of the Gaulish merchant ship that rode at anchor.
‘I have told you that Sister Síomha was taking the first cadar, that is the quarter day, watching the clepsydra. That is from midnight to the sounding of the morning Angelus.’
Fidelma asked no question. Sister Brónach had already explained the workings of the water-clock.
‘I could not rest. I have been feeling much anxiety. What if your suggestion were true and that some evil has befallen our two sisters on their return from Ard Fhearta? I could not fall asleep. And because I could not sleep, I noticed that a lengthy time had passed since I heard the stroke of the gong, which should sound each passing time period.’
The abbess paused briefly for apparent reflection before continuing.
‘I realised that the gong had not been sounded for some time. This was unlike Sister Síomha who is usually so punctilious in such matters. I rose from my bed and dressed and came to the tower to find out what was wrong.’
‘Were you carrying a candle?’ interposed Fidelma.
The abbess frowned uncertainly at the question and then nodded hastily.
‘Yes, yes. I had lit a candle in my chambers and used it to light my way across the courtyard to the tower. I entered the tower, moving through the library and into the copyists’ room. I was crossing the room when something prompted meto call to Sister Síomha. It was so quiet. I felt something was wrong and so I called.’
‘Go on,’ Fidelma urged after she had hesitated.
‘It was a moment later that a dark shadow came charging down the stairs. It happened so suddenly that I was knocked aside, my candle went flying. The person pushed by me and out of the room.’
‘What then?’
‘I continued up the stairs to this room.’
‘Without a candle?’
‘I saw that the lamps were lit exactly as they are now. Then I saw Sister Síomha’s body.’
‘You saw the headless corpse on the floor?’
Abbess Draigen’s face was suddenly angry.
‘The person who passed me on the stair was Sister Berrach. I have no doubt of it. You know, having seen Berrach, that it would be impossible to mistake anyone else for her.’
Fidelma could concede the point but she wanted to make sure.
‘That is what worries me. You say that Berrach came “charging down the stairs” — your words — but we both know that Berrach has a deformity. Are you certain that it was Berrach? Remember your candle was flung from your hand and she passed you in the darkness.’
‘Perhaps I have used the wrong phrase in my agitation. The figure moved with alacrity but, even so, I know her misshapen form anywhere.’
Fidelma silently agreed that Sister Berrach was not a person one could easily mistake for another.
‘And after she had run by you …?’
‘I came immediately to you so that you might witness this madness.’
Fidelma was grim. ‘Let us go in search of Sister Berrach.’
The Abbess Draigen was now in control of her emotions since unburdening her story. She grunted cynically.