Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

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 Cuirnne was no ordinary religieuse. She was sister of the High King and representative of the Archbishop of Ard Macha. This is why Fa-than, 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 Lin,” 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?”