‘Tell me what Botulf actually said. Can you remember?’
Brother Higbald thought for a moment.
‘It was several months ago. The subject of the abbot’s wife came up, I can’t recall why. Brother Botulf said … oh, something about failing the lady. That it was his fault that she was killed. Something like that. That … ah, I recall now! Botulf said that he had failed to protect Gélgeis from the evil she had found here. That her face, in death, haunted him. Then … that was all. He ended the conversation abruptly.’
Eadulf was silent for a moment or so, reflecting on the words. He could find nothing substantial in them but much to give him food for conjecture. He sighed softly.
They had reached the guests’ chamber but the burly silent brother still stood guard outside. Eadulf had realised by this time that the man was a mute.
Brother Higbald greeted him with mockery in his voice.
‘How is your prisoner, Brother Beornwulf? Has she tried to escape and overpower you with the forces of the Evil One?’
Brother Beornwulf shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scowled at the jocular apothecary.
‘I know, I know,’ Brother Higbald said pacifically, patting him on the arm. ‘You do what you are told. The abbot told you to remain here and so you remain here until he tells you not to.’ He shook his head at Eadulf. ‘It is good to know one’s place and duty,’ he said, still smiling. Then he opened the door to the guests’ chamber and went inside, motioning Eadulf to follow him. As he closed the door he turned and grimaced at Eadulf. ‘A good strong arm is Brother Beornwulf. But what he possesses in strength, he lacks in mental agility. He does what he is told. No more, no less.’
Fidelma still lay in the cot, huddled under blankets, and still in the grip of the fever.
Brother Higbald felt her moist forehead with the back of his hand. She moaned softly but did not open her eyes.
‘Ah,
Eadulf nodded. ‘I would prescribe something to help her fight the fever and reduce it, though.’
‘I agree. What would you suggest?’
‘An infusion of wormwood, catnep …?’
‘
‘Equally good,’ agreed Eadulf.
Brother Higbald took the small sack-like bag he carried over his shoulder. ‘It so happens that I have already made up a potion of it.’
Eadulf took the miniature amphora that the apothecary gave him, unplugged the cork and smelt the contents. Then he nodded.
‘Shall I administer it?’ he asked.
Brother Higbald indicated his assent.
Eadulf carefully placed his hand behind Fidelma’s hot, perspiration-soaked head and lifted her up. She groaned in protest but Eadulf placed the small amphora at her lips, gently forcing them open and making the liquid trickle into her mouth.
‘A good swallow or two,’ instructed Brother Higbald.
Eadulf painstakingly administrated the dosage.
‘You may give her another dose later if the fever is not abating. But she is a strong, healthy woman. I think that is something we should be thankful for.’
Eadulf put the amphora on a side table.
‘Now we must wait,’ Brother Higbald said approvingly. ‘I will leave you to your watch, my friend, but I earnestly believe that you should take my advice and leave this place at the first opportunity.’
He crossed the room rapidly to a wall where a large tapestry denoting some religious scene was hanging. He turned and looked about him with a conspiratorial air.
‘Behind here you will find a small passageway which will lead you outside the walls of the abbey. Remember it.’
He pulled the drape aside. To Eadulf’s surprise, there was a small doorway behind it. It opened inwards and was not locked. Brother Higbald opened it and pointed through into the darkness.
‘Following the passage, take the first two left turnings and then the first right. Remember that. Two left turns and one right. The abbey has several such tunnels, for it was built on an old Welisc fortress that was overthrown by Tytila, son of Wuffa, when our people conquered this area.’
‘I’ll remember that, Brother Higbald, and your advice, for which I am most truly grateful.’
The apothecary said nothing but shut the door and returned the tapestry to its original position. Then he smiled briefly and raised a hand in a gesture of farewell before leaving the chamber. Eadulf heard him speaking to Brother Beornwulf outside. He hesitated for a moment and went to look down at Fidelma. Then he crossed to sit in the chair near the hearth.
He suddenly realised how tired he was. It had been a long day. He had ridden far on muleback and ached all over. He sat back, hands resting his lap, and closed his eyes.
The events of the day revolved slowly in his mind and he tried desperately to connect them.
Above all, the danger to Fidelma kept nagging at his thoughts. She lay on the bed before him oblivious of that danger, fightingthe more immediate threat of her fever. His first duty was to protect her. Brother Higbald had, at least, shown him an alternative to waiting for Abbot Cild’s inquisition. But flight from Aldred’s Abbey was surely the last resort?
What had he learnt of this mystery? He had been summoned by his good friend to the abbey. That friend had been murdered hours before he arrived. He found the abbot and his blood brother locked in a deadly quarrel and the abbot blaming that brother, Aldhere, for Botulf’s murder. In return, Aldhere accused his brother, the abbot, of the murder. In addition, Garb, from Maigh Eo in the kingdom of Connacht, had appeared to accuse the abbot of the murder of his wife, Gélgeis, who had been Garb’s sister. A ritual fast against the abbot had been announced. The facts of Gélgeis’s death seemed unclear. A woman had been seen in the abbey, by both Eadulf and young Redwald. Brother Redwald claimed the woman was the dead Gélgeis. And now the most ominous fact of all — Fidelma was accused of conjuring the spirits of the dead.
Eadulf could have dismissed Brother Redwald’s tale of seeing the ghost of Gélgeis as some hysterical reaction of youth. However, he was unable to reconcile the fact that he, too, had seen a woman outside the chapel on the previous night. Both Abbot Cild and Brother Willibrod had appeared to recognise his description. It was evident that both men thought that Eadulf was describing Gélgeis, the dead wife of the abbot.
Eadulf groaned slightly and shook his head.
Nothing seemed to have a logic to it; nothing made sense. It was at that moment that he suddenly remembered the piece of paper he had taken from the book satchel in Brother Botulf’s chamber. He fumbled with the sacculus hanging on his belt and took the paper out, spreading it on his knee. It consisted of a few notes in Latin and Eadulf recognised the firm hand of his friend Botulf.
The first sentence Eadulf saw was from the Book of Samuel. ‘The Lord sees not as a man sees; for man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.’
Eadulf frowned. There seemed something familiar about this admonition and he could not recall why.
The next line he did not recognise but Botulf had written thename Lucretius beside it: ‘Whenever a thing changes and quits its proper limits, this change is at once the death of that which was before.’ Then added and underscored: ‘The change is definite — how long before the death?’
Then there followed a passage almost revealing but totally perplexing. ‘God willing, my friend will be here soon. Is it not written that mercy is the support of justice? Not so in the man of Merce. We will be destroyed by the people of the …’ Eadulf paused, trying to make out the word, which was distorted by an ink blot. It looked like ‘marshes’. He thought of Aldhere and his marshland outlaws and shivered slightly. ‘God willing, my friend will be here soon.’ It could only be a reference to Botulf’s wait for Eadulf’s arrival, and he had arrived too late to help his friend.
The final note was also curious and again Brother Botulf had noted its provenance. ‘Can a man carry fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? Or can one walk upon hot coals, and his feet not be scorched? Proverbs.’ Added was the line: ‘Thus is it with Bretta’s son.’
