A Prayer for the Damned

Fanat, the king’s cousin, had been found badly injured.’

‘Stabbed?’ asked Eadulf quickly.

‘I don’t think so. Brother Conchobhar will know the extent of his injuries, for, having ascertained the man still lived, I had him removed to the care of the good apothecary.’

‘Let us go and see Blathmac immediately, while the events are still fresh in his mind,’ Fidelma suggested.

They found the ruler of Ulaidh in his chamber, looking a little careworn, seated with a flagon of corma at his side. His two personal attendants were standing in the room, wearing their short swords, while outside his chamber were two more warriors of Caol’s guard. Blathmac greeted Fidelma with a wry smile.

‘Until I know whether there is a design to kill me, I am taking no chances,’ he explained, indicating his men. ‘It seems that kings’ and abbots’ lives are not over-valued in Cashel.’

Fidelma did not seem to take offence.

‘I think you may be assured that Fergus Fanat was not attacked in place of yourself, Blathmac,’ she said, seating herself as was her right, while Eadulf stood behind her chair, as custom dictated.

Blathmac grimaced. ‘A king has already been killed. One of my abbots also. How can I be sure that the design is not against me?’

‘There is no surety in this world except that we all die at some time,’ she returned. ‘However, I would not lose sleep over fear that you were the intended victim. Can you tell me what happened?’

Blathmac shrugged indifferently. ‘There is little enough to tell, lady. I was taking supper when I heard a noise outside my chamber door.’

‘A noise?’

‘I suppose you might call it a scuffle. Unsteady footsteps. A cry of pain abruptly cut off and the sound of what, in retrospect, would have been a body falling. Fergus’s body. I grabbed my sword and went to the door and found Fergus lying there in front of the threshold. His head was covered in blood.’

‘Who else was in the corridor?’

‘No one.’

‘No one? Had you heard the sound of any doors along the corridor being shut?’

Blathmac shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘Because it is a long corridor. How long was it from when you heard the sound of the body falling until you opened the door?’

‘Only moments.’

‘In those moments, the attacker had time to vanish. They would have had to go into another chamber.’ Fidelma paused, suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Unless. .’

Blathmac looked at her expectantly. Abruptly, she changed the subject.

‘What did you do next?’

‘I called my servants and sent one of them to raise the commander of the guard. He came, found Fergus still living, thanks be to God, and had him removed to the care of an apothecary. That is all I know.’

‘Fergus Fanat was unconscious all this time?’

‘He was.’

Fidelma stood up.

‘Will you search the corridors — I mean the rooms leading off?’ asked Blathmac as she turned to the door.

Fidelma glanced back with a grimace. ‘In retrospect, I do not think anyone eluded your scrutiny of the corridor by entering one of the chambers. Whoever it was had left by another means. Have no fear, Blathmac, this attacker means no harm to you. But if it makes you feel more secure, I am sure Caol will allow his warriors to maintain a watch for the rest of this night.’

Outside the chamber, Fidelma glanced down. There were bloodstains in front of the threshold. She looked up and down the corridor while Eadulf watched her in perplexity. Then she grunted and walked swiftly a short distance along the corridor to an alcove in which a window was set.

‘Ah.’ Eadulf suddenly understood what she was thinking. ‘You believe that the culprit ran back here into the alcove?’

‘Just so,’ Fidelma muttered, peering at the window which was, of course, unglazed and open to the elements. ‘Bring a lantern here.’

Eadulf turned back into the corridor and took down one of the lanterns that lit it.

‘Hold it higher. . here.’

He did so.

She sighed and pointed down at the sill of the window. Eadulf could see some blood smudges.

‘The hand of our attacker as they climbed out of the window on to the ledge that runs just beneath. A short distance along, they turn the corner and are in a different corridor. It seems these outside ledges have been much in use.’

Eadulf was staring at the window and the bloodstain. His face suddenly cleared.

‘Do you mean. .?’ he began, but Fidelma had turned away.

‘Put back the lantern and let us go to see how Fergus Fanat fares.’

Brother Conchobhar looked up from his workbench as Fidelma and Eadulf entered and smiled grimly.

‘I thought it would not be long before you came along.’

‘How is he?’

‘At least he is not dead,’ replied the elderly apothecary. ‘However, he remains unconscious.’

‘What are his injuries?’ asked Eadulf, who knew something of the physician’s art.

‘I believe he was struck twice on the back of the head. There are two distinct wounds. The skin is split open but I do not think the bone of the skull is broken. We can only wait and see if he awakes from the darkness into which he has plunged.’

‘Do you know when we are likely to be able to speak to him?’ Fidelma sounded disappointed.

‘Lady, there are limitations to my knowledge. He may wake soon or he may not wake at all. I have known such cases. Unless he wakes, he cannot take food or drink and he will die. That is how it sometimes happens with wounds that cause this lengthy loss of consciousness.’

Fidelma compressed her lips in a thin line for a moment. ‘May we see him?’

‘Little point, but you may,’ the old man replied, sliding from his stool and taking them into the back of his apothecary, which served as a place to treat the wounded and to prepare the dead for burial. Fidelma was reminded that just hours before Muirchertach Nár had rested here, being prepared for his removal to the chapel of Cashel.

Fergus Fanat lay as if he were asleep, his shallow breathing making no noise. Brother Conchobhar had bound the wounds around his head but other than that there was no sign of injuries.

Fidelma stood looking down for a moment and then she shook her head. ‘You are right, Brother Conchobhar. There is little to be done here except wait. But the waiting is for you and not for us. We have other things to do now.’

She turned, and was leaving the apothecary when she paused by his work bench and sniffed. ‘That is a familiar scent. What is it?’

Brother Conchobhar glanced at the mortar and pestle on his bench.

‘I am crushing lavender,’ he said. He used the Irish term lus na túis — the incense herb.

‘It has a comforting fragrance,’ Fidelma observed.

Eadulf agreed. ‘I believe it was brought to Britain by the Romans some centuries ago. They used the flowers to scent their baths, and hence we call it after their word lavare.’

Brother Conchobhar endorsed Eadulf’s knowledge. ‘I grow it in my lúbgort, my herb garden. Some people like to use it as a relaxant, or as cumrae, a fragrance, as the Romans once did. It is very aromatic.’

‘So I notice,’ replied Fidelma, thanking the old apothecary as they went out into the courtyard, where Caol