The Devil's seal

CHAPTER TWO

‘Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, in the Land of the South Folk of the Kingdom of the East Angles, is summoned to the presence of Colgú, King of Muman.’

For a moment, Eadulf stared in amusement at the solemn face of the steward of the palace of Cashel, comptroller of the King’s household. Then he assumed an equally solemn expression, for he knew that the rotund Beccan, who had served only months in his office of rechtaire, or steward, was a stickler for protocol. Eadulf had been told by Gormán that the steward’s punctiliousness was affected because he was a comparative stranger to the palace. He came from the southern part of the kingdom, south of the Siúr, and had come to oversee the kitchens. A few months later the previous steward had retired to his family and farm, and Beccan was suddenly elevated to this new position.

‘Eadulf, husband to Fidelma of Cashel, sister of King Colgú, will obey this summons,’ Eadulf answered with equal gravity. Then he could not help relaxing his features in a smile. ‘So what does Colgú want of me? Why summon me, and not Fidelma?’

Beccan’s fleshy features assumed a disapproving look.

‘It is not my place to guess the desires of the King, only to relay his orders.’

Eadulf sighed at the steward’s uncompromising tone. ‘I’ll come immediately.’

Fidelma and Alchú, their four-year-old son, were out riding with Aidan, one of the King’s bodyguards, as escort. Therefore there was no one to whom to explain his absence. Eadulf set off after the steward who led him from the chambers they occupied, across the courtyard to the main building of the palace complex which contained the private chambers of the King.

‘I wonder if this summons has anything to do with the arrival of Abbot Ségdae and his companions last night?’ he mused aloud as they proceeded.

Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach and Chief Bishop of Muman, had arrived at dusk the previous evening with his steward, Brother Madagan, and a foreign religieux. They had immediately retired to the guest quarters. As a regular visitor to Cashel, both as spiritual adviser and member of the King’s council, Ségdae’s arrival did not usually arouse any comment. But it was unusual that the abbot had not joined them for the evening meal.

‘There is always some matter of church policy to be discussed,’ Beccan replied shortly.

‘Is the King’s tánaiste with him?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Finguine, the heir apparent, left early this morning to visit the Prince of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach.’

‘I expect he is late with the tribute again.’ Eadulf spoke lightly.

A stony expression confronted him. ‘I would not know,’ said Beccan, ‘and even if I did, it is not my place to discuss the policies of the King.’

Eadulf suppressed a sigh. There was no humour in the man. He fell silent while the steward moved into the passage to where a member of the King’s bodyguard stood outside the red yew-tree doors which led to the private chambers. Beccan raised his staff of office and rapped it three times against the wooden panels before throwing it open. He stood framed in the door.

‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. .’ he began to announce loudly.

He was interrupted by the tired voice of Colgú from beyond. ‘I know well who it is. You may leave us, Beccan; make sure that we are not disturbed until I send for you. Come in, Eadulf.’

Beccan swallowed uncomfortably. He was always exasperated by the fact that Colgú liked to circumvent the protocols of court. He registered his irritation by assuming an expression of longsuffering resignation and stood aside to allow Eadulf to enter and then closed the doors softly behind him.

‘I swear that Beccan is so pedantic that he even takes to writing the names of guests down so that he can announce them in the right order.’ It was Colgú who made the comment as Eadulf moved forward into the room. ‘I have a suspicion that he finds it hard to remember names unless he does so.’

Eadulf saw Abbot Ségdae seated by the fire opposite Colgú. The King waved Eadulf to a seat with a quick smile of welcome. Eadulf exchanged a greeting with the abbot before sitting. The man looked somewhat distracted. There were furrows on his brow as if he were wrestling with some problem.

‘We need your help,’ Colgú began without preamble.

‘Whatever help I can give is yours to command,’ Eadulf replied, settling down in a chair and looking expectantly from Colgú to Ségdae.

Colgú made a motion with his hand as if inviting the abbot to explain. Abbot Ségdae hesitated a moment and then spoke.

‘We have received word that an embassy of your countrymen will soon arrive here in Cashel.’

‘An embassy of my countrymen?’ Such news was unusual. ‘Who are they, and for what purpose do they come here?’

‘No doubt the same purpose that is behind the many councils that have been held between our religious and those who follow the dictates of Rome,’ Abbot Ségdae said, barely concealing the irritation in his voice. ‘Those who waste time attempting to make us turn from the path of the Faith that we have chosen.’

Eadulf waited for the abbot to continue and, when he did not, he felt obliged to comment. ‘You may have forgotten that I was an adherent to the ways of Rome before. .’ Eadulf paused as he was about to say before he had met Fidelma at the Great Council in Hilda’s Abbey at Streonshalh.

‘That is precisely why we need your advice,’ Colgú interrupted quickly. ‘I am hoping that you may tell us something about these people and their ideas.’

‘I still don’t understand. Are you saying that some religious are coming here to argue the merits of the practices of their Church? But who arranged this? Such councils have to be proposed, accepted and arranged well in advance — and why are they coming here and not to the Abbey of Imleach?’

‘They have simply announced that they are coming here.’ Abbot Ségdae was angry. ‘The first we knew of this was the arrival of two messengers at my abbey. One was a Brother Cerdic, a Saxon. He was accompanied by Brother Rónán from Fearna who came with him merely as a guide. Brother Cerdic stated that an embassy would arrive at Cashel within a week, and demanded that this council be presided over by the King and no other.’

Eadulf shook his head slowly. ‘And that was all? No other explanation?’

‘It was enough,’ fumed the abbot. ‘It was sheer arrogance. In fact, I found their emissary, this Brother Cerdic, arrogant in his manner of relaying his message to me.’

‘They came from Fearna?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘Is this some new evil scheme from Laighin?’

Fearna was the main abbey of the neighbouring Kingdom of Laighin, whose kings had long plotted against Muman.

‘That was my thought at first,’ Colgú confided. ‘Yet Abbot Ségdae has had private assurance from Brother Rónán that Abbot Moling of Fearna was to emphasise that Laighin are not involved. Brother Rónán said the delegation had arrived at Fearna without prior warning. They had some inconsequential discussions and then asked whether Abbot Moling could supply a guide and interpreter for Brother Cerdic to come here. Abbot Moling also gave an assurance that King Fianamail has no interest in this matter.’

‘Do we trust Abbot Moling?’ asked Eadulf, adding, ‘I heard that he was born and raised in Sliabh Luachra. My recent experiences prejudice me against people from that territory.’

‘That is true,’ agreed the abbot, ‘but I think we can trust his word. Brother Rónán has fulfilled his task and returned straightway to Fearna. So Fearna are not represented here.’

‘It sounds very strange,’ Eadulf reflected.

‘Certainly the attitude of the Saxon religieux is unwarranted,’ the abbot grumbled. ‘My steward, Brother Madagan, and this Brother Cerdic very nearly came to blows.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened. ‘Knowing Brother Madagan, I find it hard to believe he would be in danger of losing his temper.’

‘Then you will gauge the conceit of this Brother Cerdic. And how arrogant he is to bring such a message to this Kingdom! Brother Rónán had tried to modify the language as he interpreted him, but Brother Madagan knows some of the Saxon tongue and immediately understood the high-handed nature of his words.’

Eadulf was reflective. ‘Are you sure that there was no mistaken emphasis in the translation? Perhaps this group are merely coming to make arrangements for some bigger council in the future. There may be some misunderstanding of the intention of their embassy.’

Abbot Ségdae snorted with indignation. ‘The message was perfectly clear. I was thankful that Brother Madagan had arrived back at the abbey to receive Brother Cerdic. The intention needed no interpretation. Besides which, Brother Madagan exchanged some words with Brother Rónán, who confirmed that even the King of Laighin felt that the Saxons were disrespectful.’

Eadulf was surprised to hear that Brother Madagan had some fluency in Saxon. During the times he had met the steward of Imleach, they had never conversed in Eadulf’s own language.

‘Yes, the message was clear enough, friend Eadulf,’ Colgú said in support of the abbot.

Eadulf was still puzzled. ‘But a council on religious affairs would best be held at the abbey, with scholars on hand to give advice. So why are they coming to your palace? Why insist that you, the King, preside over it?’

‘I agree that this is the point of curiosity, Eadulf,’ Colgú said. ‘This is why we are consulting you.’

‘There have surely been enough councils at which delegates from many strange lands have attended and tried to change our laws and ways of proceeding!’ Abbot Ségdae was obviously irritated by the affair. ‘Only the laws of hospitality require that we receive them, otherwise I would advise the King to turn them away.’

‘You say that this deputation is currently staying at the Abbey of Fearna?’ Eadulf enquired.

‘I am told that while the leaders of the deputation stayed with King Fianamail at his fortress at Dinn Ríg before commencing their journey here, Brother Cerdic was sent to give us advance warning. They have probably already crossed into the Land of the Osraige and could be with us any day now,’ sighed Abbot Ségdae, relapsing into gloom.

‘Brother Cerdic says this deputation is from my people?’ Eadulf frowned. ‘East Anglia is but a small kingdom, and one which many of the other Kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons have claimed jurisdiction over. Its abbots are not so influential as to lead deputations outside their own domains. Why, it was only in my childhood that it was converted from the Old Faith of my people and. .’

Abbot Ségdae stopped him with an impatient gesture of his hand. ‘When I said “your people”, I meant that they have come from one or other of the Kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons,’ he explained, as if the difference was a trifle. ‘Whoever they are, Brother Cerdic says that they come with the authority of the Bishop of Rome, Vitalian. The Roman faction has made many attempts to force our churches to follow their rules. They should give up their endless councils and arguments, and leave us to proceed according to our beliefs.’

Colgú stirred uncomfortably and glanced at his Chief Bishop.

‘Except, as I have heard it, several of our abbots and bishops, especially in the Northern Kingdoms, seem to have already accepted the rituals of Rome,’ he said. ‘Apparently, many are now following the teachings of Cumméne Fota of Connacht.’ Catching Eadulf’s perplexed expression, he added by way of explanation: ‘He died not so long ago and was bishop and lector at Cluain Ferta. He became converted to the Roman liturgy and propagated their doctrine.’

Abbot Ségdae sniffed. ‘I’ll grant Cumméne was an intelligent man and a diligent scholar, but he was misled. We should abide by our own doctrines.’

Eadulf did not want to become embroiled in an argument on liturgy. ‘I still cannot see what role you expect me to play in this matter,’ he said, raising his hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘What is it that you wish of me?’

‘Do not the ancient philosophers have a saying — nam et ipsa scientia potestas est?’ Abbot Ségdae asked dryly.

Eadulf nodded. ‘I’ll grant you that knowledge is power. But knowledge of what, exactly?’

‘Brother Cerdic has told us that the name of the man who leads this deputation is a Bishop Arwald. Perhaps you might know something of him so that we can assess how best to treat him. He comes, we are told, in the company of a Roman cleric named Verax and they are under the authority and blessing of Vitalian, Bishop of Rome, and that of Theodore, the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom I believe you know.’

‘Theodore? Indeed I do,’ affirmed Eadulf. ‘I was in Rome when he was appointed Chief Bishop to the Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms in place of Wighard, who was murdered in Rome. Fidelma and I solved the mystery of his murder. As Theodore was a Greek from Tarsus, it was requested that I should instruct him in the ways of the Angles and Saxons before he took office. Later, it was Theodore who sent me into this kingdom as an emissary. And here I have chosen to remain.’

Colgú smiled softly. ‘We know your story, Eadulf. So now we are hoping you will be able to provide us with information. As we said, we hope that you may know something of the leader of this deputation so that we can learn something of his purpose. Have you encountered this Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete?’

‘Of Magonsaete?’ Eadulf raised his head sharply in surprise.

Colgú caught the movement. ‘Then you do know this man?’

‘I do not know him,’ Eadulf said quickly, ‘but I do know Magonsaete. I would have thought it the last place to be able to appoint a bishop to discuss church matters with this kingdom or, indeed, any other kingdom.’

Colgú was intrigued. ‘Tell us what you know. Where is this place?’

‘It has recently come into being; a hybrid kingdom, neither of the Angles nor of the Britons. It is situated betwixt and between the two peoples. It came into existence when Penda of Mercia — Mercia is one of the major kingdoms of the Angles — joined forces with some of the Britons to extend his western borders. Among the Britons fighting for Penda was a warrior called Merewalh — the name means “illustrious foreigner”. I am afraid I do not know his real British name. Twenty years ago, Penda made him sub-King over this newly acquired territory which was called Magonsaete. That was in reward for his services.’

Colgú rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Are you telling us that this is a kingdom of Britons which owes its allegiance to a kingdom of Angles? I am confused.’

‘That is not exactly the situation. The Angles from Mercia began to settle in this new kingdom, displacing the native Britons who fled westward. Merewalh is a Briton, but he rules over the new settlers. Merewalh married one of Penda’s daughters. He has forsaken his own people.’

Colgú struggled to understand the politics of the situation. ‘So you are saying that this Briton has the authority of Rome and Canterbury to send his bishop to debate with us?’

‘It seems scarcely credible,’ agreed Eadulf solemnly. ‘It was only ten years ago that Merewalh was converted to the faith of Christ.’

‘But surely all the Britons were Christian?’

‘Maybe Merewalh had originally been of the Faith but changed it when he made his alliance with the Mercia King. Penda was no Christian. He believed in the ancient gods of our people, like Woden.’

‘You seem to know a lot about his kingdom. Yet it is not connected with your own. How is this?’

‘Penda was an Angle but he was the most ruthless and ambitious of the kings,’ explained Eadulf. ‘He sought to subdue my own Kingdom of the East Angles and slew our great King Anna when I was only a lad. Even after Penda died — I was about twenty years of age then — Penda’s son, Wulfhere, continued to exert his will over our small kingdom. So we were always aware of the Mercian threat.’

Colgú shook his head in frustration. ‘With due respect to you, Eadulf, I find all these foreign names very confusing. I have no understanding of any of these kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons. Have they no High King governing them as we have here?’

‘Such an idea is growing among my people,’ Eadulf conceded. ‘But there are eleven major kingdoms of Angles and Saxons, and all their rulers are often at war with one another. I doubt whether we will ever see unity among them. Anyway, the conflict among them is not even about uniting the kingdoms — but about claiming the title to be conqueror and ruler over the Britons.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The title that is claimed is Bretwalda — wielder or ruler over the Britons. Don’t forget that the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons were carved out of the lands of the Britons when our ancestors first landed on the island of Britain two centuries ago. But the title is meaningless for the Britons have not submitted.’

Colgú remarked sadly, ‘Your people seem to be very warlike, always intent on conquest.’

‘I regret that it is so, Colgú,’ nodded Eadulf. ‘But perhaps, as the New Faith takes firmer hold, we may become calmer and more content. Our kingdoms were born in bloodshed and conquest. Therefore it may take us some time to recover from those years.’

‘So what are we to make of this Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete?’

‘It is hard to make anything of him until we know him. You say he comes here on the authority of the Bishops Vitalian and Theodore?’

‘So far as we are told.’

‘Then I have little understanding of it,’ Eadulf said. ‘Why would Rome and Canterbury send any delegation to Cashel, even if it was to discuss matters of the Faith?’

‘It is a mystery which we were hoping you could enlighten us on before this delegation arrives,’ sighed Abbot Ségdae.

‘I can only tell you what I know. What did you say were the names of the other members of the delegation?’

‘There is this Roman cleric named Verax,’ offered the abbot.

‘The name is common enough among clerics,’ Eadulf shrugged. ‘It means “the truthful one”.’

‘And, of course, this Brother Cerdic.’

‘Well, it does sound as if Cerdic comes from Magonsaete,’ mused Eadulf. Then, seeing their baffled looks, he told them: ‘Cerdic comes originally from a name popular among Britons — Ceretic. With the mixture of Britons and Angles in Magonsaete, it is not unusual to see such a name. It is now adopted by the Angles.’

‘So it seems that we can do nothing except wait for the arrival of this deputation before we can discover their intention,’ commented Colgú.

And then, to Eadulf’s surprise, Colgú suddenly grinned. It was the mischievous smile that he shared with his sister when a humorous thought came to his mind. ‘Unless, Abbot Ségdae, you want to consult with Deogaire?’

Abbot Ségdae’s brow gathered in an angry frown before he saw the smile on the King’s lips.

‘I certainly do not,’ he replied tightly.

‘Excuse me?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Who is Deogaire?’

‘A person to avoid,’ snapped Abbot Ségdae. ‘Especially with your prejudice against Sliabh Luachra.’

‘I referred to Deogaire of Sliabh Luachra,’ Colgú explained. ‘Unfortunately, if we did not have concerns enough, he has chosen this time to make one of his infrequent visits to Cashel. He claims to have a gift of prophecy.’

It was only a short time before that Eadulf had found himself on the borders of Sliabh Luachra, the territory of the Luachair Deaghaidh, and witnessed the killing of their chieftain, Fidaig, by the chieftain’s own son! Eadulf suppressed a shiver, remembering the forbidding mountains that made the territory a fortress against outsiders. It was a grim and frightening land.

‘This Deogaire,’ Eadulf went on after a moment or two, ‘is he of the chieftain’s family? Why would he be able to answer your questions?’

It was Abbot Ségdae who responded. ‘It is the King’s humour. Deogaire is a wild man, a man of the hills and mountains. As the King says, Deogaire claims to be able to foretell the future; he calls himself a wizard, a soothsayer. Every so often, he comes out of his mountain fastness and sells his prophecies to the gullible — credulous people who do not trust the Faith.’

‘Deogaire has a talent for creating arguments, especially among the brethren,’ added Colgú.

‘Then why is he allowed in the palace?’

Colgú sighed. ‘It is hard to refuse him. He is the nephew of old Brother Conchobhar; the son of his sister.’

There was little need to explain further because Eadulf knew that Brother Conchobhar was the physician and apothecary who had tended and been mentor to both Colgú and Fidelma since childhood. Even before they were born, he had served their father Failbhe Flann. If there was one person in Cashel that Eadulf had come to trust implicitly, it was this bright-eyed old man.

However, Colgú was moving on. ‘Eadulf, I will want you to attend this coming council as my adviser, for you will be valuable in that role.’

‘Surely Fidelma will make a better adviser?’ he protested.

Colgú shook his head. ‘You are from the land of these people; you know their language and the way their minds work. I need that knowledge. As for Fidelma, Aillín is my Chief Brehon and it will be his role to advise on legal matters as it is Abbot Ségdae’s role to advise on matters of the Faith.’

‘Speaking of which,’ intervened the abbot, ‘I was surprised to learn that Brother Cerdic insisted on visiting Abbess Líoch of Cill Náile and suggesting it was in her interests to attend here.’

‘I recall that the abbess is an old friend of Fidelma,’ Eadulf said. ‘Now I am completely in the dark as to the intention of this deputation, as there are more senior religious in the kingdom than Abbess Líoch who should attend any council.’

‘It could be that Brother Cerdic was asked to invite her because of her knowledge of your people — I mean, the Angles,’ Colgú suggested. ‘Some years ago, Abbess Líoch joined a party of missionaries to the Kingdom of Northumbria and spent time at an abbey called Laestingau. So she knows something of your people and their ways.’

Abbot Ségdae nodded. ‘It would be good to have her expertise at this meeting as well as your own.’

‘I have no objection,’ Eadulf agreed, knowing full well that the abbot was not asking him if he objected or not. ‘I have not met the abbess before.’

Cill Náile, he knew, was an easy ride east of Cashel, but he had never visited the small religious community there. Líoch, so Fidelma had told him, had been one of her companions when she set out to join the group of Irish delegates journeying to the Great Council of Streonshalh. As far as he recalled, Líoch had not attended the council. She remained at Laestingau, some days’ ride west of Streonshalh.

‘Where is Brother Cerdic now?’ he asked the abbot. ‘I understand that he came with you to Cashel.’

Abbot Ségdae’s face became glum. ‘He did. He is here awaiting the arrival of the rest of his deputation.’

‘Then perhaps I should go and speak with him? I might be able to pick up some further information.’

‘I was hoping you would,’ Colgú said. ‘It is hard to get any understanding of what is going on. This whole matter makes me uneasy.’

‘You should find him in the chapel,’ offered the abbot. ‘He is someone who appears to prefer to keep himself to himself.’

Eadulf was crossing the courtyard towards the chapel building when Fidelma came riding in through the main gates on her short-necked grey stallion, which she had called Aonbharr after the horse ridden by the old God of the Oceans, Mannanán Mac Lir. Alongside her, smiling broadly astride his piebald pony, was their four-year-old son, Alchú, with his mop of bright red hair. Behind, keeping careful watch, rode Aidan, one of the élite warriors of Cashel.

Eadulf paused for a moment to admire his wife. After the years during which she had been Sister Fidelma, clad in the robes of a religieuse, he had not fully become used to seeing her as ‘Fidelma, Princess of the Eóghanacht’. Her red hair was plaited in three braids, held in place with silver circlets on her head. She wore a tunic that fitted tightly to the waist and then billowed over her upper legs, which were encased in tight-fitting triubhas, or trousers, that fitted into leather boots that came just above the ankles and were of a matching blue. From her shoulders hung a short cloak, with a beaver-skin collar, clasped together by a silver brooch. Each garment was patterned in designs picked out in gold and silver needlework.

Although Fidelma had quit the religious, Eadulf had not and so still kept to his Roman tonsure and robes, though at times he felt a little drab standing at his wife’s side.

He stirred himself and hurried forward to help his son from his horse, a fraction of a second before the echaire, who looked after the stables, had reached the group.

‘Hello, little hound,’ Eadulf greeted the child. ‘Have you had a good ride?’ He used the literal meaning of the boy’s name as a term of endearment.

The boy fell into his arms with a laugh of greeting.

‘We had a wonderful time, athair,’ he replied. ‘We were riding through the forest and surprised some deer. They ran away from us. Then we were coming home and saw a lot of men putting up a new building.’

‘A new building?’ Eadulf frowned for a moment.

‘He means the repairs to the south-western wall,’ explained Fidelma. ‘They are putting up a temporary wooden framework to support the workmen and their materials while they repair the wall.’

Eadulf recalled that there had been a rockfall under the wall of the King’s fortress during the winter, which had caused damage to that extremity of the fortifications. The Rock of Cashel, on which the great fortress of the Eóghanacht Kings of Muman was built, rose from the surrounding plain with almost inaccessible limestone faces to a height of sixty-two metres from its immediate base. On top, nearly a thousand square metres were enclosed by the fortifications that the Eóghanacht had erected since they chose the site as their principal fortress nearly four centuries before.

Eadulf was about to warn the little boy of the dangers of going near a building site but Alchú was continuing, ‘And we saw two strange women and we saw. .’

Smiling, Fidelma had dismounted and handed her horse to the care of the stable-master, while dismissing the warrior Aidan with a wave of her hand.

‘You’ll be able to tell your father all about it as soon as you have cleaned yourself up,’ she told the boy. ‘See? Here is Muirgen come to take you for a wash and something nice to eat afterwards.’

Muirgen, the nurse, had appeared and the boy went to take her outstretched hand without any sign of reluctance. Eadulf was mildly surprised at Fidelma halting the boy’s enthusiastic recital of his morning adventures, but then he caught something in her eye and knew she wanted to speak to him privately.

‘I’ll come along soon, little hound,’ Eadulf called after his son, as the nurse led him away. ‘You can tell me all your adventures then.’

Alchú’s mind was clearly on the promised snack so he barely acknowledged his father but trotted off happily with the nurse.

The horses had been led off to the stables and the courtyard had emptied when Eadulf turned back to Fidelma.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked softly.

‘I am not sure,’ she replied. ‘I met someone I knew on the way to Cashel. We stopped for a chat.’

Eadulf raised an eyebrow in query. ‘The strange women of Alchú’s story?’

Fidelma grimaced. ‘I suppose Abbess Líoch would seem strange to a little boy. As you know, in this land we love bright colours in our dress and the religious are no exception. But since Líoch has returned from the Saxon lands, she has affected black in all her garments; even her cenn-barr or head veil is black, as well as all the fasteners for her upper garments. There is not a precious stone to be seen unless it be a black stone in dark metal.’

‘Abbess Líoch?’ Eadulf did not conceal his surprise. ‘Has she arrived already?’

‘Already?’ Fidelma stared at him, puzzled. ‘You knew that she was expected in Cashel?’

‘I know that she had been asked to come here,’ he confirmed. ‘But you tell your story first. I’ll keep quiet and then I’ll tell you what I know.’

‘Well, we were on our way back from our ride, joining the main track to Cashel,’ Fidelma said. ‘That was when we saw the abbess and her bann-mhaor, her female steward — I forget her name, but it was one of the sisters of her community. As I know Líoch, we stopped to speak. She told me that she had been asked to come here as there was to be a council. A deputation from one of the kingdoms of the Saxons was expected. It sounded very mysterious.’

‘Where is Abbess Líoch now?’ asked Eadulf, looking expectantly towards the gates.

‘She would ride only as far as the township with us. She and her companion have gone to seek hospitality in the town, although I pointed out that my brother’s palace has room enough to extend food and shelter to them both. The point is, Eadulf, it seems as if she has some trepidation about this gathering. What is it all about?’

Eadulf exhaled softly. ‘I wish I knew. It is beginning to sound like a mystery.’ He held up his hand as Fidelma was about to question him further, saying, ‘Let me tell you what I know.’

He quickly described his meeting with her brother, Colgú, and Abbot Ségdae.

She was perplexed. ‘I see no logic for a council. But there is an interesting point. You said Abbess Líoch was asked to attend?’

‘I did. That also seemed curious to me, although Abbot Ségdae seemed to think it was because she had been in Northumbria for some time.’

‘Líoch told me that two religieux called at her abbey several days ago. One of them was the Saxon religious you mentioned, called Brother Cerdic. The other was someone from the Abbey of Fearna. She said it was Brother Cerdic who told her that she should attend. Rather, her words were that he said it was “in her interest” to attend. I had the impression that she was troubled by his request.’

‘In her interest to attend? That is surely a strange phraseology.’

‘Those are the words she used. Do you know this Brother Cerdic?’

‘No,’ Eadulf said. ‘I only know what I have just been told.’

‘Where is he now? Here in Cashel?’

‘He accompanied Abbot Ségdae and his steward, Brother Madagan, to Cashel. In fact, I was just on my way to find him in order to see if I could discover anything further about this strange deputation.’

‘And Brother Rónán?’

‘He has already returned to Fearna, having accomplished his role as guide. Abbot Ségdae says that Brother Cerdic maintains he acts merely as a messenger to announce the coming of the deputation.’

Fidelma’s features bore a sceptical expression. ‘Did Abbot Ségdae believe him?’

‘I doubt it,’ Eadulf replied cynically. ‘It is a long journey to make across the sea to a strange land without knowing something of the intention of the group in which you are travelling. And if he suggested to Abbess Líoch that it was in her interest to attend, then he must surely know more of the matter.’

‘I agree,’ said Fidelma. ‘She seems to be nervous of Brother Cerdic. That surely means she knows him or, at least, he has told her why she should come here.’

‘I shall contrive to speak with this Brother Cerdic alone,’ Eadulf decided. ‘He might be more forthcoming to a fellow countryman.’

‘But first you must keep your promise to Alchú,’ Fidelma said sternly. ‘He wants to tell his father about the adventures he had on his ride. You do that, and I will go and see my brother as I want to hear his thoughts about this strange deputation.’

A short time later, Eadulf re-emerged in the courtyard on the way to fulfil his errand. He passed Beccan, the steward, crossing the courtyard and asked if he had seen Brother Cerdic. The solemn-faced steward indicated the chapel behind him.

‘I think I saw the Saxon entering the chapel,’ he replied. ‘A very unfriendly man,’ he added with a sniff of disdain.

Eadulf was almost resigned to the fact that whether one was an Angle, a Saxon or even Jute, in the minds of the people of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann, they were all regarded as Saxons. Eadulf entered the chapel discreetly, waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then peered about in the gloomy interior.

A figure was kneeling before the altar in a position of supplication.

Eadulf coughed softly to draw attention to himself. The figure made no motion. It seemed so still: knees and legs drawn up beneath the bent body, the forehead resting on the cold stone floor. Something glinted on the ground beside the figure, and it took some moments before Eadulf realised it was the flickering light of the candle reflecting in a pool of liquid. It was blood!

With a suppressed exclamation, he went hurrying over and knelt beside the body. He reached out a hand to touch the shoulder of the figure, and no sooner had he exerted a slight pressure than it rolled onto its side. The face was white, the dead eyes wide and staring.

There was no sign of a weapon but it was clear from the blood both on the floor and across the man’s throat how he had come by his death. The fact that there was no weapon to hand also indicated that he had not died of his own choice.