Hemlock at Vespers

can get lost.

“Well, a little after lunch, Buachalla came running to me …”

“Who is Buachalla?”

“A young boy. A son of one of the islanders.”

“Go on.”

“The boy had spotted Abbess Cuimne’s body below Aill Tuatha, that’s the cliffs on the north of the island. I organized a couple of men together with the apothecary…”

“An apothecary? Do you have a resident apothecary on the island?” Fidelma interposed in surprise.

“Corcrain. He was once personal physician to the Eóganacht of Locha Léin. He had a desire to withdraw to the island a year ago. He sought solitude after his wife’s death but has become part of our community, practicing his art for the good of the islanders.”

“So, a couple of islanders, the apothecary and yourself, all followed the young boy, Buachalla?”

“We found the body of Abbess Cuimne at the foot of the cliffs.”

“How did you get down to it?”

“Easy enough. There’s a stony beach under the cliffs at that point. There is an easy path leading down to it. The path descends to the stretch of rocks about a half-mile from where she fell. At the point she fell, incidentally, cliffs rise to their highest point. It was just under the highest point that we found the body.”

“Did Corcrain examine her?”

“He did so. She was dead so we carried her back to his bothán where he made a further examination and found…”

Sister Fidelma held up her hand.

“I’ll speak to the apothecary shortly. He will tell me what he found. Tell me, did you make a search of the area?”

The bó-aire frowned and hesitated.

“Search?”

Sister Fidelma sighed inwardly.

“After you found the body, what then?”

“It was obvious what had happened. Abbess Cuimne had been walking on the edge of the cliffs, slipped and fell. As I said, it is three hundred feet at that point.”

“So you did not search the top of the cliff or the spot where she fell?”

Fogartach smiled faintly.

“Oh, her belongings, such as she carried, were with Be Bail at the hostel. She carried little else save a small satchel. You must know that religieuses carry but little with them when they travel. There was no need to look further. I have her belongings here, Sister. The body has already been buried.”

Sister Fidelma bit her tongue in exasperation at the ignorant conceit of the young man.

“Where do I find Corcrain, the apothecary?”

“I’ll show you,” said the bó-aire, rising.

“Just point me in the right direction,” Fidelma replied sarcastically. “I promise not to get lost.”

The young bó-aire was unable to prevent an expression of irritation from crossing his face. Fidelma smiled maliciously to herself. She suspected that the young bó- aire’s arrogance was due to the fact that he considered her unworthy of her office because of her sex. Some of the island people, she knew, adhered to curious notions.

Corcrain’s bothán, or cabin, stood only two hundred yards away across the rising ground, one of many well-spaced stone buildings strung out across the slopes of the island like rosary beads. The slopes rose from the sea to stretch toward the comblike rocks forming the back of the island which sheltered the populated area from the fierce north winds.

The apothecary was nearly sixty, a swarthy man, whose slight frame still seemed to exude energy. His grey eyes twinkled.

“Ah, so you are the female Brehon that we have all been hearing about?”

Fidelma found herself returning the warm guileless smile.

“I am no Brehon, merely an advocate of the Brehon Court, apothecary. I have just a few questions to ask you. Abbess Cuirnne was no ordinary religieuse. She was sister of the High King and representative of the Archbishop of Ard Macha. This is why Fa-than, chieftain of the Corco Dhuibhne, wants to assure himself that everything is as straightforward as it should be. Unless a proper report is sent to Tara and to Ard Macha, Abbess Cuimne’s relatives and colleagues might be prone to all sorts of imaginings, if you see what I mean.”

Corcrain nodded, obviously trying to disguise his surprise.

“Are you a qualified apothecary?”

“I was apothecary and chief physician to the Eóganacht kings of Locha Lin,” replied Corcrain. It was just a matter-of-fact statement without arrogance or vanity.

“What was the cause of Abbess Cuimne’s death?”

The old apothecary sighed. “Take your pick. Any one of a number of the multiple fractures and lacerations whose cause seems consistent with a fall down a three-hundred-foot granite cliff on to rocks below.”

“I see. In your opinion she slipped and fell down the cliff?”

“She fell down the cliff,” the apothecary replied.

Sister Fidelma frowned at his choice of words.

“What does that mean?”

“I am no seer, Sister. I cannot say that she slipped nor how she came to go over the cliff. All I can say is that her injuries are consistent with such a fall.”

Fidelma watched the apothecary’s face closely. Here was a man who knew his job and was careful not to intrude his own interpretation on the facts.

“Anything else?” she prompted.

Corcrain bit his lip. He dropped his gaze for a moment.

“I chose to withdraw to a quiet island, Sister. After my wife died, I resigned as physician at the court of the Eóganacht and came here to live in a small rural community to forget what was going on in the outside world.”

Fidelma waited patiently.

“It has taken me a full year to become accepted here. I don’t want to create enmity with the islanders.”

“Are you saying that there was something which makes you unhappy about the circumstances of Abbess Cuimne’s death? Did you tell this to the bó-aire?”

“Fogartach? By the living God, no. He’s a local man. Besides, I wasn’t aware of the ‘something,’ as you put it, until after they had brought the body back here and I had begun my examination.”

“What was this ‘something’?”

“Well, there were two ‘somethings’ in reality and nothing from which you can deduce anything definite.”

Fidelma waited while the apothecary seemed to gather his thoughts together.

“The first curiosity was in the deceased’s right hand, which was firmly clenched. A section of silver chain.”

“Chain?” Fidelma queried.

“Yes, a small silver chain.” The apothecary turned, brought out a small wooden box and opened it.

Fidelma could see in it that there was a section of chain which had obviously been torn away from something, a piece no more than two inches in length. She picked it up and examined it. She could see no artisan’s marks on the silver. It had been worked by a poor, provincial craftsman, not overly proud of his profession.

“Did Abbess Cuimne wear any jewelry like that? What of her crucifix, for example?”

“Her own crucifix, which I gave to the bó-aire, is much richer, and worked in gold and ivory. It looked as if it were fashioned under the patronage of princes.”

“But you would say that when she fell she was clutching a broken piece of silver chain of poor quality?”

“Yes. That is a fact.”