She then took the boatman, Lorcán, by the arm and led him from the cell, turning him toward the quadrangle, and pointing silently to the figure bound to the tree.
Lorcán took a step forward and then let out a startled exhalation of breath. It was the first time he had observed the body.
“God look down upon us!” he said slowly as he genuflected. “Now there are two deaths among the religious of Selbach!”
“Do you know this person?” Fidelma asked.
“Know him?” Lorcán sounded startled at the question. “Of course. It is the Abbot Selbach!”
“Abbot Selbach?”
Fidelma pursed her lips with astonishment as she reexamined the body of the dead abbot. Then she gazed around her toward the empty landscape.
“And did you not say that Selbach had a community of twelve Brothers here with him?”
Lorcán followed her gaze uncertainly.
“Yes. Yet the island seems deserted,” he muttered. “What terrible mystery is here?”
“That is something we must discover,” Fidelma replied confidently.
“We must leave for the mainland at once,” Lorcán advised. “We must get back to Dún na Séad and inform the Ó hEidersceoil.”
The Ó hEidersceoil was the chieftain of the territory.
Fidelma raised a hand to stay the man even as he was turning back to the cell where they had left Brother Spelán.
“Wait, Lorcán. I am a dálaigh, an advocate of the Law of the Fenechus, holding the degree of Anruth. It is my task to stay and discover how Abbot Selbach and little Sacán met their deaths and why Brother Spelán was wounded. Also we must discover where the rest of the community has disappeared to.”
Lorcán gazed at the young religieuse in surprise.
“That same danger may yet attend us,” he protested. “What manner of magic is it that makes a community disappear and leaves their abbot dead like a common criminal bound to a tree, the boy dead and their dominus assaulted and unconscious?”
“Human magic, if magic you want to call it,” Fidelma replied irritably. “As an advocate of the law courts of the five kingdoms of Ireland, I call upon you for assistance. I have this right by the laws of the Fenechus, under the authority of the Chief Brehon. Do you deny my right?”
Lorcán gazed at the religieuse a moment in surprise and then slowly shook his head.
“You have that right, Sister. But, look, Abbot Selbach is not long dead. What if his killers are hiding nearby?”
Fidelma ignored his question and turned back to regard the hanging body, her head to one side in reflection.
“What makes you say that he is not long dead, Lorcán?”
The sailor shrugged impatiently.
“The body is cold but not very stiff. Also it is untouched by the scavengers…”
He gestured toward the wheeling birds. She followed his gaze and could see among the seabirds, the large forms of black-backed gulls, one of the most vicious of coastal scavengers. And here and there she saw the jet black of carrion crows. It was the season when the eggs of these harsh-voiced predators would be hatching along the cliff-top nests and the young birds would be demanding to be fed by the omnivorous parents, feeding off eggs of other birds, even small mammals and often rotting carcasses. She realized that the wheeling gulls and crows would sooner or later descend on a corpse but there was no sign that they had done so already.
“Excellently observed, Lorcán,” she commented. “And presumably Brother Spelán could not have been unconscious long. But do you observe any other peculiar thing about the Abbot’s body?”
The boatman frowned at her and glanced at the slumped corpse. He stared a moment and shook his head.
“Selbach was flogged and then stabbed three times in the back. I would imagine that the thrust of the knife was upward, between the ribs, so that he died instantly. What strange ritual would so punish a man before killing him?”
Lorcán stared more closely and sighed deeply.
“I don’t understand.”
“Just observe for the moment,” Fidelma replied. “I may need you later to be a witness to these facts. I think we may cut down the body and place it out of reach of the birds within the oratory.”
Lorcán took his sharp sailor’s knife and quickly severed the ropes. Then he dragged the body into the oratory at Fidelma’s direction.
Fidelma now had time to make a more careful examination of the young boy’s body.
“He has clearly been immersed for a while in the sea. Not very long but several hours at least,” she observed. “There are no immediate causes of death. He has not been stabbed nor has he been hit by any blunt instrument.”
She turned the body and gave a quick sudden intake of breath.
“But he has been scourged. See, Lorcán?”
The boatman saw that the upper part of the boy’s robe had been torn revealing that his back was covered in old and new welts and scars made by a whip.
“I knew the boy’s family well on Inis Beag,” he whispered. “He was a happy, dutiful boy. His body was without blemish when I brought him here.”
Fidelma made a search of the boy’s sodden clothing, the salt water drying out was already making white lines and patches on it. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the prayer cord which fastened the habit. A small metal hook was hanging from it on which a tiny leather sheath was fastened containing a small knife, a knife typical of those used by some rural orders to cut their meat or help them in their daily tasks. Caught on the projecting metal hook was a torn piece of woollen cloth. Carefully, Fidelma removed it and held it up.
“What is it, Sister?” asked Lorcán.
“I don’t know. A piece of cloth caught on the hook.” She made a quick examination. “It is not from the boy’s clothing.” She placed it in her marsupium, along with the wooden cup. Then she cast one final look at the youthful body before covering it. “Come, let us see what else we can find.”
“But what, Sister?” Lorcán asked. “What can we do? There is a storm coming soon and if it catches us here then here we shall have to remain until it passes.”
“I am aware of the coming storm,” she replied imperturbably. “But first we must be sure of one thing. You say there were twelve brothers here as well as Selbach? Then we have accounted for only two of them, Spelán and Sacán. Our next step is clear-we must search the island to assure ourselves that they are not hidden from us.”
Lorcán bit his lip nervously.
“What if it were pirates who did this deed? I have heard tales of Saxon raiders with their longboats, devastating villages further along the coast.”
“A possibility,” agreed Fidelma. “But it is not a likely one.”
“Why so?” demanded Lorcán. “The Saxons have raided along the coasts of Gaul, Britain and Ireland for many years, looting and killing…”
“Just so,” Fidelma smiled grimly. “Looting and burning communities; driving off livestock and taking the people to be slaves.”
She gestured to the deserted but tranquil buildings.
Lorcán suddenly realized what she was driving at. There was no sign of any destruction nor of any looting or violence enacted against the property. On the slope behind the oratory, three or four goats munched at the heather while a fat sow snorted and grunted among her piglets. And if that were not enough, he recalled that the silver crucifix still hung around the neck of the dead abbot. There had been no theft here. Clearly, then, there had been no pirate raid on the defenseless community. Lorcán was even more puzzled.
“Come with me, Lorcán, and we will examine the cells of the Brothers,” instructed Fidelma.
The stone cell next to the one in which they had left Spelán had words inscribed on the lintel.