Page 20 of Laird of Flint
The man had died in the middle of the night. The abbot had delivered last rites. The monks had prepared the body. And the physician had gone home.
At the midday meal, Hew was finally able to ask the bleary-eyed abbot where the physician came from.
“Peris? Dunlop Castle,” the abbot replied. “He’s the laird’s own physician.”
Dunlop again.
“Why do ye ask?” the prior said.
“The physician wasn’t on your list,” Hew pointed out.
The prior gave him a humorless smile. “I didn’t feel it necessary to include him. He’s here only on occasion.”
“Of course. Still, we must leave no stone unturned in the pursuit of justice.”
“O’ course.”
“I’ll need to make a visit to Dunlop,” Hew decided, “to speak with him.”
“He’s likely exhausted,” the prior argued. “He was up all night, carin’ for a dyin’ man.”
“He’s right,” the abbot agreed, which pleased the prior, until he added, “But ’tis a few hours walk, and ye could go later today.”
“I’ll go with him,” the prior volunteered. “I can make introductions.”
The abbot’s brow creased. “I may need ye here. We still have the burial to complete.”
“The burial will be on the morrow, aye?” the prior reminded him.
“Och. Aye.” The abbot rubbed at his sleepy eyes. “I’ve lost track o’ the days.”
“Besides,” the prior said, “I can take Dunlop a jar o’ the honey he likes so well.”
The abbot waved his approval.
Hew was not happy with that decision. He’d hoped to make the journey alone.
As expected, the dour prior proved poor company. The instant they passed through the gate, ’twas as if the prior was no longer bound by the silence of the monastery. He began to chatter incessantly, preparing Hew to meet the physician as if he were going to meet the Pope.
He warned Hew that Peris was a nervous man who didn’t like to be questioned about his methods. He said that a death was always traumatic for a physician, so he should not be judged by his fragility today. He stressed that the monastery appreciated the physician’s services and wanted to keep them.
To make matters worse, the prior’s sandal-shod shuffle lengthened the journey. What Hew could have covered in an hour of long strides took twice as long at the prior’s slow pace.
But as long as the prior had insisted on accompanying him, Hew supposed he should make good use of the time.
“Tell me what you know about Brother Cathal.”
“Brother Cathal? He collects the alms once a week, on Thursday, and distributes them to the poor.”
“Where does he go to collect them?”
“The chapter house.”
“So he goes within the monastery walls?”
“Aye, but…” The prior halted on the road and drew his brows together. “Ye don’t think Brother Cathal is the thief?”
“He has access.”
