Hemlock At Vespers (6 page)

“Did you also not realize that she was the Abbess Cuimne from Ard Macha, personal representative of the most powerful churchman in Éireann?”

The young
bó-aire’s
face was red with mortification. He shook his head silently.

“So you now see, Fogartach,” went on Fidelma, “that the chieftain of the Corco Dhuibhne cannot allow any question to arise over the manner of her death. Abbess Cuimne was an important person whose death may have ramifications at Tara as well as Ard Macha.”

The young
bó-aire
bit his lip, seeking a way to justify himself.

“Position and privilege do not count for much on this little wind-swept rock, Sister,” he replied in surly fashion.

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

“But they count with Fathan of the Corco Dhuibhne, for he is answerable to the King of Cashel and the King of Cashel is answerable to the High King and to the Archbishop of Ard Macha. That is why Fathan has sent me here,” she added, now deciding the time had come to be completely brutal with the truth.

She paused to let the young man consider what she was saying before continuing.

“Well, take me through what you know of this matter, Fogartach.”

The
bó-aire
sat back uneasily, bit his lip for a moment and then resigned himself to her authority.

“The woman … er, the Abbess Cuimne arrived on the island four days ago. She was staying at the island’s
bruighean,
the hostel run by Be Bail, the wife of Súilleabháin, the hawk-eyed, a local fisherman. Be Bail has charge of our island hostel. Not that we have much use for it, few people ever bother to visit our island.”

“What was Abbess Cuimne doing here?”

The
bó-aire
shrugged.

“She did not say. I did not even know she was an abbess but simply thought her to be a member of some community come here to find isolation for a while. You know how it is with some religieuses ? They often seek an isolated place to meditate. Why else should she be here?”

“Why indeed?” Fidelma echoed softly and motioned the young man to continue.

“She told Be Bail that she was leaving the island yesterday. Ciardha’s boat from An Chúis would have arrived about noon. She packed her satchel after breakfast and went off to walk alone. When she didn’t return at noon, and Ciardha’s boat had left, Be Bail asked me to keep a lookout for her. The island is not so large that you 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 Cuimne was no ordinary religieuse. She was sister of the High King and representative of the Archbishop of Ard Macha. This is why Fathan, 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 Léin,” 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.”

“You said there were two ‘somethings.’ What else?”

The apothecary bit his lip as if making up his mind before revealing it to Sister Fidelma.

“When a person falls in the manner she did, you have to expect a lot of bruising, contusions …”

“I’ve been involved in falls before,” Sister Fidelma observed dryly.

“Well, while I was examining the body I found some bruising to the neck and shoulders, the fleshy part around the nape of the neck. The bruising was slightly uniform, not what one would expect from contact with rocks during a fall.”

“How would you decipher those marks?”

“It was as if Abbess Cuimne had, at some time, been gripped by someone with powerful hands from behind.”

Fidelma’s green eyes widened.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. It’s not my place to. I can’t even say how the bruising around the neck and shoulders occurred. I just report what I see. It could be consistent with her general injuries but I am not entirely satisfied it is.”

Fidelma put the piece of silver chain in the leather purse at her waist.

“Very well, Corcrain. Have you prepared your official report for the
bó-aire
yet?”

“When I heard that a Brehon from the mainland was coming, I thought that I’d wait and speak with him … with her, that is.”

She ignored his hasty correction.

“I’d like to see the spot where Abbess Cuimne went over.”

“I’ll take you up there. It’s not a long walk.”

The apothecary reached for a blackthorn walking stick, paused and frowned at Sister Fidelma’s sandals.

“Do you not have anything better to wear? The mud on the path would destroy those frail things.”

Fidelma shook her head.

“You have a good-sized foot,” observed the apothecary, meditatively. He went to a chest and returned with a stouter pair of leather round-top shoes of untanned hide with three layers of hide for the sole, stout shoes such as the islanders wore. “Here, put these on. They will save your dainty slippers from the mud of the island.”

A short time later, Fidelma, feeling clumsy but at least dry in the heavy untanned leather island shoes, was following Corcrain along the pathway.

“Had you seen Abbess Cuimne before the accident?” Fidelma asked as she panted slightly behind her guide’s wiry, energetic form as Corcrain strode the ascending track.

“It’s a small island. Yes, I saw and spoke to her on more than one occasion.”

“Do you know why she was here? The
bó-aire
did not even know that she was an abbess. But he seems to think she was simply a religieuse here in retreat, to meditate in this lonely spot away from distraction.”

“I didn’t get that impression. In fact, she told me that she was engaged in the exploration of some matter connected with the island. And once she said something odd …”

He frowned as he dredged his memory.

“It was about the bishop of An Chúis. She said she was hoping to win a wager with Artagán, the bishop.”

Sister Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise.

“A wager. Did she explain what?”

“I gathered that it was connected with her search.”

“But you don’t know what that search was for?”

Corcrain shook his head.

“She was not generally forthcoming, so I can understand why the
bó-aire
did not even learn of her rank; even I did not know that, though I suspected she was no ordinary religieuse.”

“Exploration?” Sister Fidelma returned to Corcrain’s observation.

Corcrain nodded. “Though what there is to explore here, I don’t know.”

“Well, did she make a point of speaking to anyone in particular on the island?”

The apothecary frowned, considering for a moment.

“She sought out Congal.”

“Congal. And who is he?”

“A fisherman by trade. But he is also the local
seanchaí,
the traditional historian and storyteller of the island.”

“Anyone else?”

“She went to see Father Patrick.”

“Who?”

“Father Patrick, the priest on the island.”

They had reached the edge of the cliffs now. Sister Fidelma steeled herself a little, hating the idea of standing close to the edge of the wild, blustery, open space.

“We found her directly below this spot,” Corcrain pointed.

“How can you be so sure?”

“That outcrop of rock is a good enough marker.” The apothecary indicated with the tip of his blackthorn.

Fidelma bent and examined the ground carefully.