Chalice of Blood

of wood.’

It was the first time they had seen the usually dour steward almost in a state of excitement.

‘But surely wood or stone is merely an outward covering,’ Fidelma suggested. ‘The fame of an abbey lies in the deeds of its community and its scholars.’

Brother Lugna flushed a little and did not respond. Instead he pointed to the upper floor of the building. ‘Brother Donnchad’s cubiculum is on the top floor.’ The steward guided them up a stone stairway to the upper floor before leading them along a corridor and halting before a door. They could see immediately that the lock on the door had been smashed open. There was no sign of the lock but splintered wood marked theplace where it had been fitted. The steward reached out and pushed the door open.

‘Where is the lock and key?’ Fidelma asked.

‘They were handed back to the smith who has been told to keep them for your examination.’

‘So this door has not been secured since you found the body?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Even if it could be, there was no need to secure it,’ replied Brother Lugna primly. ‘Brother Donnchad no longer had need of the lock.’

‘And Brother Donnchad had no possessions to keep safe?’

‘There was little of value here but the abbot ordered that nothing be removed until you came. I can assure you that nothing has. As the abbot and I have told you, there were no precious manuscripts here.’

‘What happened after you found the body?’

‘The abbot and I remained here to examine the room even after the body was taken by the physician for examination and preparation for burial.’

‘The physician did not examine the body here?’

‘He saw Brother Donnchad was dead, so there was little need to do anything further here.’

‘Would you ask the physician to join us here?’

Brother Lugna hesitated.

‘Is there a problem?’ Fidelma asked.

‘There is little he can tell you that I cannot,’ replied the steward.

‘But you are not the physician who examined the body,’ Fidelma said.

Reluctantly, the steward turned and hurried off on his errand.

Fidelma entered the cubiculum and halted just inside the door. She looked round at the small room. It was lit by one narrow window to which Fidelma immediately went. It was high up inthe wall, the sill on a level with her head. She turned round, seized a chair and drew it to the window. She looked out at the walls below the window. They were smooth and obviously could not be scaled without a ladder. The ground beneath appeared muddy, evidence that this had, until recently, been a building site, although here and there a few bushes had sprung up since the building had been constructed. Then she turned her head and glanced upwards. There was an overhang to the roof that made it practically impossible for anyone to descend in order to gain entrance through the window, even if they had been small enough.

‘Well, unless the murderer was a midget, an acrobat, or had wings, I cannot see anyone gaining entrance this way,’ Fidelma announced, climbing off the chair and returning it to its place. ‘Even if they could scale the wall, and perhaps that is possible with all this building work going on with ladders lying unattended. But an intruder would have to squeeze through the window and would have given his victim plenty of warning. We are told there were no signs of a struggle.’

‘And we are told that he was stabbed in the back,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘That means he had his back to the intruder and was not expecting the attack.’

The next thing that struck Fidelma was how bare the room was. For a scholar of Brother Donnchad’s reputation, and one who had travelled on such an important pilgrimage to the Holy Land, it was decidedly empty.

Eadulf agreed. ‘And if we accept the word of the abbot and his steward, nothing has been taken from here except the body.’

The wooden bed, with its straw palliasse and blanket, still lay in turmoil. The mattress and woollen blanket were stained with blood. They had certainly not been touched. Some shelves contained a few odds and ends of writing materials, goose quills and a small knife to cut them. There was a broken stylus andan adarcín, part of a cow’s horn used to contain dhubh, a black ink made from carbon. But there was no sign of any material to write on, vellums or parchments, nor a writing stand or maulstick to guide the hand of the scribe. Indeed, there was no sign of any books, scrolls or manuscripts at all.

‘Curious,’ murmured Fidelma.

‘Not even a marsupium or tiag luibhar, no bags to carry even a small book,’ added Eadulf, reading her thoughts.

Fidelma pointed beneath the bed. Just at the foot, barely visible, was the end of wooden box.

‘Bring that out, Eadulf. Perhaps we’ll find something inside.’

Eadulf went on his knees on the floor and dragged the box out. It was not secured and so he lifted the lid. It contained nothing more interesting than a pair of sandals, a robe, and underclothes.

‘Well, I am quite sure that there is nothing here. Even aside from the question of any precious manuscripts, a scholar of his reputation would have had some documents in his room. But there are no papers here at all.’

‘Then we must work on the assumption that the murderer stole them,’ Fidelma suggested. She was moving around the small cubiculum, examining the walls.

‘What are you looking for?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Another way in. We are told that Brother Donnchad was murdered here. Stabbed in the back. We are told that the door was locked from the inside because there was only one key and that key was found by the body on the bed. It looks as though no access could be made from the door or the window there.’

‘This accounts for a mood of unease and stories of supernatural entities,’ replied Eadulf. ‘I was told this morning in the refectorium that one of the brethren claims he actually saw an angel flying by the building.’

‘I think that, too, can be discounted,’ replied Fidelma coldly.‘So how did the human agent enter here, kill the victim and leave with a bundle of manuscripts without a trace of entry or exit?’

‘There might be another key, of course,’ he offered.

‘The smith who made the lock and key would be able to answer that and we will ask him. In the meantime, let us see if we can eliminate any other means of entry.’

‘You believe there might be another way of entering here?’ He was sceptical. ‘If there were another means, Glassán the builder would surely have known about it and informed the abbot. After all, he must have built this place.’

‘Better we should check ourselves,’ she replied.

Eadulf looked on with some cynicism. ‘If someone popped out of a secret door or tunnel, the sound of it opening would have alerted Brother Donnchad. This place is small and he would have put up a struggle with the assailant. Indeed,’ he continued warming to his reasoning, ‘he would have been equally warned if someone had come to the door and opened it with another key.’

‘You are right, Eadulf.’ Fidelma paused, standing thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Even if he was fast asleep in bed and slept through the sound of the assailant’s entrance, how would his killer have been able to stab him in the back without a struggle?’

There was a movement in the corridor and a moment later Brother Lugna entered with a tall, dark man whose sour expression seemed to fit his saturnine features.

‘This is Brother Seachlann, our physician,’ the steward announced, standing aside.

‘As I am unable to examine the corpse for myself, you must explain to me the nature of the man’s death,’ Fidelma said.

‘Little to explain. He was stabbed twice and died.’

Fidelma smiled thinly at the man’s offhand manner which bordered on insolence.

‘I think a little more information is in order,’ she said gently. Eadulf recognised her dangerous tone. ‘Where was he stabbed?’

Brother Seachlann frowned in annoyance. ‘In the back. Haven’t you been told?’ His voice was full of