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The substance was wet and sticky and she knew what it was before she examined her fingers by the candlelight. Then she examined the side of the wall. There was a smear of blood there. It had been made recently.

‘What is it, sister?’ demanded Draigen’s voice from the top of the stairway.

Fidelma was about to explain when she changed her mind.

‘Nothing, mother abbess. It is nothing.’

Outside, in the courtyard, they encountered the anxious figure of Sister Lerben.

‘Something is wrong, mother abbess,’ she greeted breathlessly. ‘The simpleton, Berrach, is sobbing in her cell. I saw lights in the tower but heard no gong from the keeper of the water-clock.’

Abbess Draigen laid a hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

‘Prepare yourself, child. Sister Síomha has been killed. Berrach is responsible …’

‘You do not know that for certain,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘Let us go and question the girl before we apportion the blame.’

But Sister Lerben had already hurried away with the news, crying to rouse the sleeping community. They had hardly crossed the courtyard before the news was spreading like a wildfire. Everyone was awakening to become aware of what had happened. Abbess Draigen told a passing novice to go tothe dormitories and quiet the tumult but before she could respond the courtyard began to crowd with anxious sisters. The babble of hysterical and angry voices filled the air. Candles and lamps were lit, and sisters hurriedly dressed or with draped cloaks around their shoulders, were gathering in tiny circles, speaking in fearful and angry tones.

Sister Berrach had, it seemed, barricaded herself in her cell. Sister Lerben returned to say that she could still hear Berrach’s wailing cries, a curious mixture of prayers and ancient curses.

‘What shall we do, mother abbess?’

‘I shall go to speak with her,’ Fidelma intervened decisively.

‘That is not a wise idea,’ the abbess advised.

‘Why so?’

‘You know how strong Berrach is, in spite of her deformity. She could easily attack you.’

Fidelma smiled thinly.

‘I do not think that I need to fear Berrach. Where is her cell?’

The young Sister Lerben glanced at the abbess and then gestured with her arm in the direction of one of the dormitory buildings.

‘She has the last cell in that building, sister. But should you not go armed?’

Fidelma shook her head with an expression of annoyance.

‘Wait here and do not come until I call you.’

She raised a hand to shield her candle against the quickening morning breeze and walked across to the building which Sister Lerben had indicated. It was a long wooden building consisting of a corridor with some twelve cell-like chambers along one side. In fact, all the community dormitories seemed to be constructed in such a fashion.

She entered and examined the darkened corridor.

From the end room she could hear Sister Berrach’s sobbing.

‘Sister Berrach!’ Fidelma called, trying to keep her voice from conveying the anxiety that she really felt. ‘Sister Berrach! It is Fidelma.’

There was a pause and the crying seem to halt. There were one or two sniffs.

‘Berrach, it is Sister Fidelma. Do you remember me?’

There was another pause and then Berrach’s voice came defensively.

‘Of course. I am no idiot.’

‘I never thought you were,’ Fidelma replied in a conciliative tone. ‘May we talk?’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Quite alone, Berrach.’

‘Then come forward until I see you.’

Slowly, holding her candle high, Fidelma moved down the corridor. She could hear the scraping of furniture and presumed Berrach was removing a barricade from her door. As she came towards the end of the corridor, the door opened a crack.

‘Stop!’ instructed Berrach’s voice.

Fidelma obeyed immediately.

The door opened further and Berrach’s head appeared to confirm that there was no one else there. Then the door opened wider.

‘Come in, sister.’

Fidelma looked at the young girl. Her eyes were red and her cheeks tear-stained. She entered the cell and stood still while behind her Berrach pushed the door shut and heaved a table to secure it.

‘Why are you barricading yourself in?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Whom do you fear?’

Berrach lurched towards her bed, sat down and took a grip on her thick blackthorn stick.

‘Don’t you know that Sister Síomha has been killed?’

‘Why should this cause you to blockade the door to your chamber?’

‘Because I will be accused of the crime and I do not know what to do.’

Fidelma glanced round; saw a small chair and seated herself, putting down the candle on the adjacent table.

‘Why would you be accused of the deed?’

Sister Berrach looked at her scornfully.

‘Because Abbess Draigen saw me in the tower when the body was found. And because most people in this community dislike me on account that I am misshapen. They will surely accuse me of killing her.’

Fidelma sat back and folded her hands in her lap, looking long and thoughtfully at Berrach.

‘You seem to have lost your stutter,’ she observed carefully.

The girl’s face twisted in a cynical expression.

‘You are quick to notice things, Sister Fidelma. Unlike the others. They only see what they want to see and have no other perception.’

‘I suppose you stammered because it was expected of you?’

Sister Berrach’s eyes widened a little.

‘That is clever of you, sister.’ She paused before continuing. ‘A misshapen mind must needs be in a misshapen body. That is the philosophy of ignorance. I stammer for them because they think I am a simpleton. If I showed intelligence then they might think some evil spirit possessed me.’

‘But you are honest with me, why can’t you be honest with others?’

Sister Berrach’s mouth twisted again.

‘I will be honest with you because you see beyond the curtain of prejudice where others cannot see.’

‘You flatter me.’

‘Flattery is not in my nature.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes. The Abbess Draigen saw you coming down from the room where the water-clock is kept. Sister Síomha, as youknow, was found beheaded in that room. You were in some hurry and pushed the abbess aside causing her to drop and extinguish her candle.’ Fidelma looked at Sister Berrach’s clothing. ‘I see a dark patch staining the front of your habit, sister. I presume that will be Sister Síomha’s blood?’

The wary blue eyes stared solemnly at Fidelma.

‘I did not kill Sister Síomha.’

‘I believe you. Will you trust me enough to tell me exactly what happened?’

Sister Berrach spread her hands, almost in a pathetic gesture.

‘They think that I am a simpleton in this place solely because I am deformed. I was born like this. Some problems with my spine, or so the physicians told my mother. Yet my body and arms are strong. Only my legs have not grown properly.’

Sister Berrach paused but Fidelma made no retort, waiting for the girl to continue.

‘At first the physician said I could not live and then he said I should not live. My mother could not nurse me in her community. My father did not want to have anything to do with me. After my birth he even left my mother. So I was raised by my grandmother but she was killed when I was young. I survived and was brought to this abbey when I was three years old and here Brónach raised me. I survived and I have lived. This community has always been my home so long as I can remember.’

There was a quiet sob in the girl’s voice. Fidelma now understood why Sister Brónach always seemed protective towards the girl.

‘Now tell me what happened at the tower,’ she pressed gently.

‘Each night, before dawn, while most of the community are still sleeping, I rise and go to the library,’ Berrach confided. ‘That is when I devote myself to reading. I have read almost all of the great books in our library.’