‘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 was waiting for them.
‘What news, lady?’ he asked hopefully.
‘None,’ she replied. ‘He is still unconscious. However, we may need you. Come with us.’
She led the way to the hostel for the religieuse. The place was in darkness and it seemed that everyone was asleep. However, as they drew near, the flinty-eyed brusaid, the hostel keeper, challenged her. Fidelma identified herself.
‘I can let you in, lady, but not the men,’ protested the old woman.
‘That’s all right,’ Fidelma replied. ‘They can wait here. I want to see the sisters Sétach and Marga.’
The old woman took a lantern and, while Eadulf and Caol waited outside, Fidelma followed her into the dormitory rooms.
Sister Sétach was in her bed but awake and sat up with a frown as they approached.
‘What is this?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘Do you come to haunt me?’
Fidelma glanced at the neighbouring bed. It was empty.
‘How long have you been here,’ she asked brusquely.
‘Since I came to bed after the communal meal ended.’
‘You have not stirred?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Show me your hands,’ demanded Fidelma.
‘My hands?’ Sister Sétach looked astonished.
‘Show me!’
Reluctantly, the woman held out her hands to Fidelma. Fidelma glanced at them by the light of the lantern. It was obvious that they had been washed recently and in a hurry, for Fidelma noticed that some flecks of soap had dried on them unnoticed. Her features remained impassive.
‘Where is Sister Marga?’ She nodded to the empty bed.
Sister Sétach shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Fidelma felt that her ignorance was feigned. ‘Yet you say that you have been here the whole time?’
‘It is true,’ Sétach insisted. ‘I came here and she was preparing for bed. I fell asleep and awoke only moments before you came in. She was not here then.’
‘So she left after you fell asleep? You seem to have slept well. I thought that you had difficulty sleeping?’
‘I fell asleep,’ snapped Sister Sétach.
Fidelma hesitated a moment. ‘At what time was your meeting with Sister Marga, Fergus Fanat and Brother Drón this evening?’
This time, the expression of incomprehension on the woman’s face did not seem to be feigned.
‘Our meeting?’ she repeated, puzzled.
‘Did Sister Marga and Fergus Fanat meet you and Brother Drón this evening?’ Fidelma said slowly.
Sister Sétach shook her head in bewilderment. ‘We had no meeting.’
‘Was such a meeting discussed?’
‘What purpose could such a meeting have?’ countered the woman.
Fidelma’s breath came out in an exasperated sigh. ‘Was such a meeting mentioned or arranged?’
‘Of course not. Why should such a meeting be arranged?’
‘Very well. If or when Sister Marga returns, the hostel keeper is to be informed and she must inform me. Is that understood?’
Fidelma hurried to rejoin Eadulf and Caol.
‘I thought our attacker might have been Sétach,’ she muttered, a little disappointed that her suspicion seemed to have been unfounded.