The Devil's Seal (39 page)

‘I just needed a bed for the night! I could have gone to the stables, curled up in the chapel, or even gone down into the town where there is an inn. I did not want to start out for Sliabh Luachra in the dark.’

‘But you didn’t stay in any of those places. You stayed in the guest quarters that night. While you were there, there was an attempt on the lives of Eadulf and myself.’ She paused. ‘
Now
do you see the question of logic that arises as to how you came there? Am I to believe you or Beccan, my brother’s steward?’

Deogaire was shaking his head. ‘Question of logic or not, I tell you it was no doing of mine. Beccan suggested the solution to me and not I to him.’

‘And what logical purpose would it serve Beccan?’

Deogaire raised his hands in the air in a gesture of helpless mystification.

‘I have no understanding of it,’ he said. ‘All I know is that I have spoken the truth.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Then you can only wait until I have investigated further. I need to have another word with Beccan. But here you are and here you must remain until things become clearer.’

‘And if they don’t?’ snapped Deogaire. ‘Am I to be a victim of Beccan’s lies?’

‘Every tide has its ebb, Deogaire,’ Fidelma assured him as she rose. ‘Isn’t that in your philosophy?’

The young man scowled but made no reply. Fidelma felt instinctively sorry for Deogaire. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder.

‘You once taught a young girl that even a barren wood will renew its foliage. In her case, it came true. Take note of your own advice.’

He glanced up, his brows drawn together, trying to read a meaning behind her words.

‘At least you have one friend in the vicinity,’ Fidelma amplified. ‘One who believes that you could never do what is now suspected of you. A young girl whom you helped set free from Fidaig’s bondage.’

‘Aibell?’ Deogaire rose from his seat. ‘Is she here? Did she escape from the Valley of Ravens? Where is she?’

Fidelma raised a hand to calm him. ‘All in good time. You see, sunshine follows dark clouds. At least, Aibell sees you for what you are and not the person people think you are. You will see her later when this matter is sorted out.’

‘When will that be?’ he asked hopefully.

‘All I can say is that I hope it is not long. You have been used for a purpose, but I am not sure what. This is why you must remain here, because I think it is the one place that you will be safe.’

Back outside, after Enda had locked the door, she said quietly, ‘I want your most trusted warriors to guard the prisoner; trusted men to keep awake in this corridor all night as well as day.’

‘It shall be done, lady,’ Enda replied, a note of excitement in his voice. ‘Do you think that he will try to break out then? Try to escape?’

She shook her head with a soft smile. ‘Oh no, my friend. I think someone might try to break
in
– and kill him.’

Eadulf was regarding his companions in the firelight with a grim countenance. ‘I will have to carry out the amputation. At least I have seen it performed by a physician.’

‘What about your brother, friend Eadulf?’ demanded Gormán hesitantly. ‘Should we not try to find him first?’

‘Dego might well be dead before this night is out. He is our first priority. Besides, there is nothing we can do about Egric before first light. We can’t go hunting for him in darkness.’

Eadulf looked around. Near the fire was a rough wooden table at which the three religious no doubt prepared their food and took their meals.

‘Have you several lanterns?’ he demanded of Brother Berrihert. Receiving the affirmative, he pointed to the table. ‘I need you to wash that table down with water and hang the lanterns around it so that it is well illuminated.’

Berrihert and Pecanum immediately bent to their task. Eadulf then turned to Gormán and Aidan.

‘Your task will be distasteful, my friends. You will have to hold Dego down while I work on him.’

‘Understood,’ grunted Gormán. ‘I have a
lestar
of
laith
; it is intoxicating liquor that might help him.’

‘I have another,’ Aidan said. ‘It is very strong.’

Eadulf approved. A
lestar
was a container for carrying liquids. ‘The stronger the alcohol, the better. It will help both as a means of easing the pain and for dressing the wound to prevent infection. Also, cut a couple of stout twigs and strip the bark – he will need something to bite on and I will need something to use to twist cloth to make a band to encircle his arm, which will control bleeding.’

While these tasks were being done, Eadulf went to his horse and untied the leather bag that he always carried. It was called a
lés
– a small medical bag; it had become his habit to carry it with him. Several times he had had recourse to it during his travels with Fidelma, and he always tried to keep its contents in good order. Inside were some surgical instruments and some small containers,
soithech
, for herbal infusions, among which were antiseptics and sedatives. He took the bag and returned to where Brother Pecanum was finishing dousing the table with water. Brother Berrihert had lit and hung the lanterns.

‘Very well.’ Eadulf viewed the preparations with satisfaction. He took a stool and, putting his
lés
upon it, took the containers of alcohol offered by the warriors. ‘We will have to work fast. Very fast. You need to understand that I cannot guarantee that I will save him, but if nothing is done he will be dead by morning anyway.’

They stood silently before him. Eadulf was thankful for the distorting shadows of the lanterns, for he hoped they disguised his pallor and nervous expression. The other men looked to him for confidence and leadership now.

‘Gormán, take one of the containers of alcohol and get Dego to swallow as much he can take. After that, you and Aidan will lift him from inside and place him on this table. You, Aidan, will hold his legs still while Gormán restrains his left arm and shoulder. I will be attending to his right. I am hoping the alcohol will make it easy.’ Eadulf took a deep breath. ‘Berrihert, I want you at my side all the time, holding one of the lamps as I instruct you. Pecanum, you will have to be my assistant and pass me whatever tools I want. I shall show you the items beforehand that I shall need.’

He looked around. They did not have any questions.

‘When we start, I shall need to work quickly. So, let us begin. Gormán, off you go, and see how much you and Naovan can get Dego to take. With luck, he will pass out. Pecanum, come, and I will run through the items that I shall need from this bag.’

A few minutes later, Dego was carried out and laid on the table. He was muttering restlessly, in a semi-conscious state, the alcohol mixing with his fever. Eadulf, grim faced, glanced at his companions.

‘Ready in positions?’ he asked tersely. Then he placed a piece of cloth around the top of the warrior’s right arm, inserted a small twig and twisted it until he could turn it no more. Then he passed another twig to Gormán, who took it, prised open Dego’s mouth and placed it so that his teeth would clamp down on it.

‘Now!’ Eadulf grunted.

Gormán and Aidan pushed their weight down on Dego to hold him still. Brother Berrihert moved forward with a lamp.

Eadulf had already taken the razor-like
altan
– a surgical knife – in his hand. He worked as quickly as he dared. Only moments later, he called for Brother Pecanum to pass him the
rodb
– a sharp-edged surgical saw. That was when Dego began to scream, and Gormán and Aidan had to use their full weight to contain his threshing body. The arm came away, leaving a bloody stump above the elbow. Then, mercifully, Dego sank into unconsciousness. Quickly again, with Brother Pecanum’s help, Eadulf poured the
laith
generously over the bloodied stump. Then he took the clean tissue and flap of skin he had left and drew it over the end of the stump, taking the needle, already threaded with gut, and sewed it into place. Once more he poured the alcohol over it.

‘You can all relax now,’ he sighed, glancing round at his companions.

Dego was lying unconscious on the table. Eadulf leaned forward, placing his hand on the warrior’s forehead. It was clammy. He bent forward, placing an ear to the man’s chest, just above his heart. There was a heartbeat, rapid but regular. He stepped back to his
lés
and extracted a roll of fresh white linen and then one of the small containers. He poured the liquid contents over the linen and then proceeded to bandage the stump of Dego’s arm with it. Finally, he stood back again, breathing heavily after his exertions.

Brother Berrihert was standing next to him and proffering a cup of something. ‘You need it,’ he said.

Eadulf did not argue but took a swallow. He had not expected the strength of the fiery liquid and coughed several times.

Brother Berrihert grinned. ‘It’s brewed from bog berries – you know, the red flowers of some heather and who knows what else. Pretty powerful, eh?’

Eadulf simply nodded and wiped his stinging lips.

‘You can carry Dego back to the bed,’ he instructed Brother Berrihert and Aidan. As they lifted the unconscious man, something fell out of Dego’s clothing. Eadulf caught sight of a glint in the torchlight. He bent forward and felt for it, thinking it might be a coin. However, the item was too heavy and soft for a piece of bronze, silver or gold. He took it to the lamplight and held it up, turning it over and over between thumb and finger.

He had seen something similar enough times to recognise it. He whistled in surprise.

‘What is it, friend Eadulf?’ asked Gormán.

‘Just a piece of lead. It dropped from Dego’s clothing.’

‘Oh, that.’

Eadulf glanced questioningly at Gormán. ‘Have you seen it before?’

‘It was something Dego was going to use as a weight for his fishing line.’

‘But where did he get it?’

Gormán paused to think and then remembered. ‘Oh, it was among the debris left when the Déisi thugs attacked your brother and his companion at the river.’

Eadulf felt his heart pounding more rapidly. ‘Tell me, Gormán – was anything attached to it?’

‘Attached?’ Gormán was puzzled. ‘It’s just a lump of metal with a pile of burned documents.’

‘Documents? It wasn’t attached to any parchment with a piece of ribbon?’

‘The documents had been burned. I can’t remember if they were vellum, parchment or papyrus. They were all too damaged to make anything of them. That slug of lead was lying among them, as I recall. Dego picked it up and, realising it was worth nothing, said he would use it as a weight for his fishing line.’

‘Worth nothing,’ muttered Eadulf, regarding it thoughtfully.

‘Well, it can’t be a coin. It’s lead. Maybe it’s a good luck amulet because it has the Latin word for “life” on one side. See there –
V
.
I
.
T
.
A
. – life.’

Eadulf smiled gently and shook his head. ‘Not “life”, Gormán, but a name – Vitalian.’

‘Why would someone inscribe their name on a piece of lead?’ wondered the puzzled warrior.

‘I’ll keep this by me for the time being,’ Eadulf replied, without answering. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll compensate Dego for it.’ He suddenly glanced at the makeshift operating table and the limb that had been left on it.

‘Someone had better bury that,’ he instructed quietly. ‘And also thoroughly scrub down that table with hot water.’

Gormán immediately set to work with Brother Pecanum.

Brother Berrihert re-emerged from the hut. ‘Naovan is sitting with him,’ he reported. ‘Is there nothing else we can do?’

‘Nothing now except say a prayer. We will know more by daylight.’

‘Well, whatever happens now,’ called Gormán, looking up from his task, ‘I hope the bards sing your praises, friend Eadulf. I have never seen such skill before. Come the day when I am bested in battle and in danger of losing an arm or leg, I trust you will be there for me. You are even greater than Fingín Faithliaig.’

Eadulf gazed incomprehendingly at the warrior, knowing he was paying him a compliment. ‘Who?’

‘He was the greatest physician in all Muman,’ declared Gormán. ‘Have you not heard of the Battle of Crinna that took place up in Midhe, the Middle Kingdom?’

Eadulf shook his head. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him. His thoughts were becoming jumbled. A horse blanket lay near the fire and he went across and sat down on it. He could hear Gormán’s voice without really understanding the words.

‘Crinna was fought over four centuries ago, even before the Eóghanacht established Cashel as the centre of their kingdom. Tadg son of Cian was King in those far-off days. Fingín was his chief physician. The story is that a king from Ulaidh, one Fergus son of Imchadh, marched his army into Midhe in an attempt to overthrow the High King, Cormac son of Art. Cormac called upon those provincial kings who were loyal to him to come to his aid. Only Tadg and his warriors marched from Muman to help him. There was a great battle at Crinna in which Fergus was defeated and killed. But in the battle, Tadg was badly wounded; some say his skull was split open. His physician Fingín went to his aid and healed him. He was hailed as the greatest of all physicians.’

Eadulf tried to smile but could not summon the energy.

‘The time to comment on my competence, Gormán,’ he tried to say, wondering why a fog seemed to be welling out of the surrounding forests, ‘will be in the morning and . . .’ He was falling . . .

He felt the strong arms of Gormán catching him. Someone cried out in alarm and he heard Gormán say: ‘It’s exhaustion, that’s all. He . . .’

The voice receded into the distance and Eadulf seemed to be swimming in a dark pool with no sense of space or time.