‘You say that Brother Adamrae has been nursing him during the week? And Brother Adamrae moves freely among you? Then if there was some contagion it would be too late to prevent its spread among you now. If the good Brother Adamrae has survived these many days, I doubt whether it is a disease that we need fear too much.’
Conrí suddenly realised the logic of her statement. ‘I had not thought of that, lady,’ he said contritely.
‘No harm.’ Fidelma was cheerful. ‘Doubtless we shall talk more of it and of Brother Adamrae. Is the chapel far?’
‘Just a few moments’ walk across the square from the fortress gates. You can’t miss it – but you’d best take a lantern as it is growing dark,’ Conrí advised. ‘I was going to suggest that my attendants prepare the evening bath for you before the meal. We may be poor here but we can set a good table for honoured guests. And I will get chambers made ready for you; you must be our guests for the next few days.’
‘That is excellent and we are honoured by your offer. I shan’t be long so you may give your instructions as soon as you like.’
‘We’ll come with you,’ Eadulf said as he and Gormán rose.
‘It does not require all of us to visit a sick man,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘I won’t be long. You and Gormán may take your baths to save time.’
Although it was still early evening, it was already a dark and cloudy night, for winter had distorted the hours of daylight. However, the settlement at the Ford of the Oaks was still active and there were lights from the bullrings around the square. Fidelma had taken the lantern, although she did not really need it now that she crossed the square towards the wooden chapel which stood apart from the other buildings and was surrounded by its own green space. A flickering light was provided by a lantern hanging at the side of the door of the chapel, and using this, she was able to follow the path from the gate to the entrance of the building.
She pushed through the gate, and the noise of the hinge was suddenly answered by the alarmed call of a nightjar and the hoot of disapproval from an owl. She moved cautiously up the muddy path towards the door. There was no sound inside the chapel and she hoped that she was not going to disturb Brother Cronan; however, there were questions that she felt had to be answered now.
She paused outside the chapel door before pushing it open. It was dark inside and she was glad that she had brought the lantern with her. She moved forward a few paces and then called softly: ‘Brother Cronan?’
There was no answer, but spotting a side door, she felt that this must be the entrance to the living quarters.
At least Brother Adamrae was nowhere about. She did not want to encounter him before she spoke to Brother Cronan. Had he been in the chapel, he would have surely answered her call. Holding the lantern before her, she began to make her way towards the door.
It was no more than a slight intake of breath that alerted her: that and the instinctive feeling of someone behind her. She began to turn but not before a piece of wood had struck her arm, knocking the lantern from her hand and plunging the interior of the chapel into darkness. Had she not moved, the wood would have descended on the back of her head. As it was, her arm was stinging from the blow. She was aware of a grunt of frustration and the dark shadow of an upraised arm again, upon which she fell into a defensive crouch.
Ever since she was a young girl Fidelma had practised the art called troid-sciathaigid – battle through defence. When the missionaries of the Five Kingdoms had set out for strange lands to preach the new Faith and bring their learning and literacy to pagans, they could not carry weapons to protect themselves in case of attack from thieves and robbers. It was an ancient philosophy that went back to the time before time, when the ancient men and women of wisdom travelled among people of darkness. So to protect themselves they turned back to an ancient form of defence without weapons, a way of protection without returning aggression.
Now, as the figure advanced with weapon upraised, Fidelma slipped under the upraised arm and reached towards it, to use the momentum of the attacker to drag the figure forward and deflect the aim. At the last minute, the attacker seemed to guess her intention and sprang to one side. It was a clever move and for a second the thought passed through her mind that her opponent knew the art of combat as well as she did. She had leaped forward as the figure had moved sideways and it was her attacker who recovered first. As she tried to regain her balance, the figure turned, the weapon still upraised. In a split second she had a realisation of what was going to happen. The wood struck the side of her head. Then there was blackness.