The Devil's seal

CHAPTER FOUR

The young man simply stood with arms held out.

‘It is indeed myself, Eadulf,’ he replied with a chuckle. The words were exchanged in their own language but Fidelma knew enough of it to understand.

‘I believed you to be dead, these many years,’ Eadulf said with emotion.

‘Far be it for me to shatter your beliefs, dear brother,’ replied the other, still smiling. ‘Yet, in this matter, I am glad that I can do so.’

‘Egric, it is truly you?’ Eadulf was still shaking his head in disbelief.

‘And ten years older, brother.’

Eadulf suddenly moved, crossing the distance between them, and flung his arms around the young man. A torrent of his native language poured from him that Fidelma had no hope of following, so rapid and inflected was it.

The newcomer laughingly disengaged himself, replying in the same language. Then he looked towards Fidelma and seemed to ask a question. Eadulf turned with an apology.

‘This is my younger brother, Egric.’ The introduction was almost unnecessary. With the two of them, side by side, the likeness was obvious.

‘He said as much,’ Gormán told them. ‘But I had to make sure. Now we shall leave you to your family reunion.’ He motioned to Enda to follow him from the room.

After Eadulf had introduced Fidelma, Muirgen was summoned to bring drinks and refreshment as they seated themselves before the fire.

‘There is obviously much to catch up on,’ Eadulf said, first in his own tongue and then he lapsed into Latin, knowing that Fidelma was fluent in that. ‘Do you know enough of the tongue to follow?’ he asked his brother.

Egric chuckled. ‘I spent some time among the followers of the New Faith, but I also speak a dialect of the tongue of this country. I was converted to the Faith by teachers from this land, just as you were. Not only that, I spent some years among the Cruthin of the north as a missionary after Oswy defeated them in battle. There were many from Dál Riada who had settled among them and speaking a similar tongue, so I was able to extend my knowledge.’

‘You and Eadulf will have much to talk about.’ Fidelma reverted to her own language, deciding to test Egric’s knowledge. The thought had struck her that he must have had a sufficient command of the language to have communicated to Gormán and the others. ‘But first things first: what purpose brought you here?’

‘It is a long story but I shall make it short,’ replied Egric. ‘I don’t know whether Eadulf has told you of my past?’

Fidelma frowned for a moment and then decided that she could only speak the truth. ‘I am afraid that he has never mentioned his brother.’

Eadulf appeared uncomfortable for a moment. ‘It was because I thought him dead. As young men we were converted to the New Faith by Fursa and his brothers. They were missionaries from this land who came to preach in the Kingdom of the East Angles. Fursa inspired me to study at Tuam Brecain and so I left Seaxmund’s Ham. I had thought young Egric had gone to join Athelwold’s warriors at Rendel’s Ham. Egric was always dreaming about becoming a warrior. At the time, our land was threatened by Wulfhere of Mercia and an army was being raised. When I returned to Seaxmund’s Ham, no one had news of Egric. I never heard from him again until this moment. I truly thought he had perished in a battle.’

‘A boy may grow to maturity,’ shrugged Egric. ‘I decided to follow the Faith and not the army.’

‘But it is amazing to meet up after all these years — and to meet here, of all places in the world!’ Eadulf exclaimed.

‘Our paths never seemed to cross after you left Seaxmund’s Ham, brother. I found myself among a band of brethren at the court of Oswy at Streonshalh. It was there I heard your name spoken of in connection with the Great Debate that had been held there. But it was said that you had gone on to Rome.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘That was my second journey to Rome.’

‘Oswy had accepted the Rule of Rome, even though there were still some among his priests and bishops who favoured the ways of the missionaries of Aidan of Iona, who brought the Faith to Northumbria,’ explained Fidelma. ‘Eadulf and I made the journey to Rome together. So what abbey did you join when you were in Streonshalh?’

‘I did not,’ Egric replied. ‘Oswy wanted new missionaries to preach the Faith among the Cruthin over whose kingdom he ruled as lord. Thus I went to that land and spent some years preaching among them as well as learning their language.’ He paused and then went on: ‘Last year, before spring was on us, Oswy died. The Cruthin were then ruled by Drust, son of Donal, who had been a client king under Oswy. The Cruthin had long chafed under what they saw as rule by foreigners, and now they rose up in rebellion. I had to flee for my life. I managed to make my way back to Streonshalh.

‘Things were also changing in Oswy’s kingdom. There was a confusion of sub-kings of Deira and Northumbria, each vying for power. Wilfrid, who had led the pro-Roman faction at the Great Debate at Streonshalh, had obtained almost a king-like power. He began ensuring the removal of many of those who were of the old Columban Church, like Bishop Chad. Presumably he wanted them removed from any position where they might harm his Roman party. Even Oswy’s wife, Eanfleda, and her daughter had fled for safety into the abbey of the dead King’s relative, Hilda, who also still favours the teachings of Colmcille. Apparently, Wilfrid had full permission of Theodore of Canterbury to pursue these policies, and now Theodore had designated Wilfrid as Bishop of Northumbria.’

He paused to sip thoughtfully at his drink.

‘Anyway, Oswy’s Kingdom was not mine and so I was thinking of going south. I made my way to the town of the people of Kent. It was there I met an aging cleric from Rome, the Venerable Victricius of Palestrina. He told me that he had been given a mission from Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury, to journey to this kingdom and contact some people here. The Venerable Victricius knew little of the tongue therefore asked me to accompany him as translator and companion.’

‘So it was Theodore who sent you hither?’ Eadulf was regarding him in surprise. ‘This is a curious tale, brother, for I myself was adviser to Theodore during my short time in Rome and accompanied him to the Kingdom of Kent. Then it was as his emissary that I came here — and here I have remained.’

‘Understand that I did not meet with Theodore, but all my dealings were with the Venerable Victricius,’ Egric said hurriedly.

‘Why did Theodore of Canterbury send this Venerable Victricius hither to this corner of the world?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Is it the same mission that brings Bishop Arwald of Magonsaete to this kingdom?’

Egric sat up, suddenly alert. ‘Is Bishop Arwald here?’

‘He is expected to arrive any day soon. So, there is some connection?’

Egric seemed to relax with a slight shrug. ‘Perhaps. Alas, Victricius never shared the objective of his mission with me; I was merely asked to act as companion and interpreter on his journey here.’

Fidelma and Eadulf glanced at one another in surprise.

‘He never gave a single hint of his purpose during the long journey here?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Did he mention Bishop Arwald?’

Egric shook his head. ‘Bishop Arwald was known at Canterbury, but I have never met him.’

‘Then, by the holy rood, this is a curious tale,’ Eadulf declared in astonishment.

‘The Venerable Victricius did not explain anything,’ insisted Egric. ‘He had a box with him and was very careful of it. When we were attacked, the contents were destroyed or carried off by the raiders. I never found out what was in it.’

‘So never once, on the long journey between Canterbury and here, did your companion take you into his confidence about the purpose of your journey,’ clarified Fidelma.

‘That is the truth, lady. The Venerable Victricius was the type of person who keeps his own counsel. I know it is hard to believe that I could journey with him under those conditions, but I did so — and willingly. My allegiance was to Venerable Victricius; his was to Theodore of Canterbury; and Theodore’s allegiance was to Vitalian of Rome. It was as simple as that. I accepted that I would be told the purpose, when the time was right for me to be told.’

Fidelma bowed her head. Her voice was slightly cynical when she responded: ‘In such blind faith and obedience, you certainly differ from your brother. But now the Venerable Victricius is dead and his papers disappeared, how then will you be able to fulfil his purpose if you do not know it?’

‘I cannot,’ replied Egric simply. ‘All his papers seem lost.’

‘I suppose you will be told when Bishop Arwald arrives with his companions,’ Fidelma said.

‘His companions?’ There seemed uneasiness in the way Egric asked the question.

‘A Roman cleric named Verax.’

Egric sighed. ‘I do not know him.’

‘What about Brother Cerdic — do you know him?’ Fidelma asked suddenly.

Egric turned to her, startled. ‘What name do you say?’

‘Brother Cerdic,’ she repeated carefully.

This time, Egric tried to assume a blank expression but it was clear the name had registered. ‘Brother Cerdic? I don’t think so. Who is he?’

‘An emissary sent here to announce the imminent arrival of a deputation from Theodore of Canterbury.’

There was an awkward silence and then Egric said: ‘Are you saying that Brother Cerdic is here already? Perhaps he could explain everything.’

‘He can’t,’ Eadulf replied shortly.

‘I don’t understand,’ his brother returned with a puzzled glance.

‘He is dead.’

Egric paled. ‘Dead? Cerdic is dead?’

‘He was murdered this morning in the chapel here. We don’t know by whom or why.’ Eadulf went on: ‘You seem disturbed, Egric, yet you said that you don’t know him.’

Egric passed a hand slowly across his brow. ‘Nor do I,’ he maintained. ‘But a Saxon visitor to this place. . I may be in some danger. I have already survived one attack that killed my companion.’

‘It is true there is a mystery here,’ Fidelma said patiently. ‘So that is why we require all the information we can get in order to resolve it.’

‘Of course,’ Egric nodded. ‘I am but newly arrived here and my first encounter with any animosity was the attack on my companion and myself on the river.’

‘We will do our best to bring the culprits to justice.’ Fidelma rose. ‘Meanwhile, the news of your coming will have spread through the palace. It will be a breach of protocol and manners to keep you to ourselves any longer. First, we will take you to meet the King. You must also meet with Abbot Ségdae who is the Chief Bishop of the Kingdom.’

‘Is it really necessary for me to meet the King and his bishop?’ Egric seemed reluctant. ‘My journey has been long and not without incident. I feel quite exhausted.’

‘You are Eadulf’s brother,’ Fidelma said. ‘Eadulf is my husband. The King is my brother. Thus your arrival becomes a family matter. The King will want to meet the brother of my husband, especially in view of the circumstances.’

Egric caught the word and said sharply, ‘What circumstances?’

‘The imminent arrival of this deputation, the death of Brother Cerdic, this emissary — not to mention the attack on yourself and your companion. Obviously, the Venerable Victricius of Palestrina must have been a man of authority from Rome. There is already an atmosphere of menace spreading through Cashel.’

‘We’ll present Egric to Colgú at once,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘Or perhaps Egric would like to see his nephew first?’

Egric looked startled.

‘Our son, little Alchú,’ Fidelma explained. Then she turned to Eadulf and reminded him: ‘You forget the lateness of the hour, Eadulf. I cannot wake Alchú up even to meet his new uncle. Muirgen would never allow it. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. First, we must take you to meet the King.’

As they rose, Egric cast a nervous glance at Fidelma and then turned to his brother, speaking in their own language.

‘I would like to. . er, visit the privy before being conducted into the King’s presence,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Come, I’ll take you there.’ Eadulf glanced at Fidelma, not wishing to embarrass his brother by pointing out that Fidelma had a knowledge of their language. ‘We will rejoin you in a moment.’

Outside the chamber, Egric seemed embarrassed. ‘I am sorry, I don’t remember any polite words for a privy in the language of this land.’

‘Polite?’ Eadulf smiled. ‘Well, you can call it a fialtech or veil house. A urinal is called a fúatech.’ He pointed to a nearby door and added: ‘I’ll wait here for you. It is the custom here to wash your hands in a basin in the corner,’ he added. The people of the Five Kingdoms were fastidious about washing rituals. There was the full bath at night and then the morning wash. He knew that this was unusual among his own people, so felt it necessary to point it out to Egric.

His brother nodded and pushed inside. It was not long before he came out. Noticing his brother’s frown, Egric asked: ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘Not really. I just thought it was the custom among all religious to perform the Sign of the Cross on entering and leaving the privy.’

Egric chuckled. ‘What use would that be?’

‘Oh, it is the belief that the privy is the abode of demons, and whoever enters is enjoined to bless the demons and themselves. Similarly a blessing is usual on leaving it.’

‘A quaint custom,’ Egric replied, amused. ‘But now, do you think that your wife, Fidelma, is right in that the people here are afraid of this recent murder?’

‘I am not sure that she used the word “afraid”,’ replied Eadulf. ‘The murder of a foreign emissary — a religious emissary — in the King’s own palace, is certainly disturbing. Then you arrive and tell us that you have been attacked and that your companion, an eminent religious from Rome, has been killed. That is enough to cause consternation anywhere.’

‘Eminent?’

‘The title Venerable is not lightly obtained.’

‘True enough, I suppose.’

Fidelma was right about the atmosphere in Cashel. By the time they conducted Egric to the King’s chambers, the whole of the palace was abounding with wild speculation.

Egric was greeted with due politeness by Colgú and Abbot Ségdae, yet Fidelma noticed that he seemed very ill at ease. Many pressed him for details about the attack on the river, especially Brehon Aillín, who was inclined to a sharpness of tongue and obvious suspicion when he questioned the young man.

‘The Brehon at Cluain Meala is investigating,’ said Gormán, who was in attendance and apparently felt sorry for the deluge of questions Egric was facing. ‘He shares my suspicions about the Déisi outlaws.’

‘Then we will leave the matter for him to resolve,’ Colgú agreed glumly. ‘We have enough problems here with the death of Brother Cerdic. What of the obsequies?’ His question was directed at Abbot Ségdae. Then he peered round. ‘Shouldn’t your steward, Brother Madagan, be here to take charge of such details?’

‘He had some urgent business to attend to but he will be here to oversee the arrangements,’ the abbot confirmed. ‘Brother Cerdic will be buried outside the walls at midnight, as is the custom. Perhaps, as a fellow Saxon, Brother Egric might like to conduct the internment and blessing?’

Eadulf’s brother stirred uncomfortably. ‘I have just arrived here and do not know your customs. It would be better if Eadulf took on this task.’

‘I have no objection to you performing them with your own rites,’ encouraged Abbot Ségdae.

It was clear that Egric was not keen and so Eadulf agreed to accept the task.

‘We have come to no conclusion as to who might be responsible for Cerdic’s death?’ Colgú asked his sister.

Fidelma could not help an automatic glance at Abbess Líoch, seated on the other side of the council chamber, before responding: ‘No, not yet. It seems there were no immediate witnesses and we have yet to find anyone who even saw any suspicious figure enter or leave the chapel. However, we will widen the search and the questioning. I am sure something will develop.’

There was a moment’s silence before Colgú sighed in resignation. ‘So, then we must await the arrival of this mysterious Bishop Arwald. Only then will we know the purpose of this deputation.’

Beccan, his steward, coughed and took a step forward. ‘There is the matter of tonight’s meal to be arranged, lord, now that we have some extra guests.’

The King frowned. ‘What needs to be arranged?’

‘There is the list of guests to be considered,’ the steward answered sheepishly.

‘Guests? Oh yes. Abbot Ségdae, Brother Madagan, Brehon Aillín, Abbess Líoch and her bann-mhaor will join us and, of course, Eadulf’s brother, with my sister and Eadulf. That is all.’

‘So the meal will end before midnight?’

Colgú looked crossly at his punctilious steward. Even Fidelma wished that Beccan would act on his own accord from time to time and not seek her brother’s approval for every matter.

‘After the meal we will gather in the courtyard just before midnight to escort the body down to the old burial ground below,’ the King snapped. ‘Surely these procedures can be sorted out with Brother Madagan?’

Beccan flushed. ‘But we are speaking of events that impinge on the King’s household and therefore, before agreeing to any proposals, protocol dictates that I must seek permission of the King himself.’

Colgú was firm. ‘I do not wish to hear any more. Make the arrangements with Brother Madagan and we will meet the funeral cortège in the courtyard just before midnight.’

Beccan bowed his head for a moment before raising it to meet the King’s gaze. He began to open his mouth again — but Colgú interrupted.

‘Nor do I expect to be consulted on the dishes that are to be served up this evening. Dar Luga, my airnbertach, can sort out the choices. If my housekeeper does not know what my favourite dishes are by now, then perhaps some changes need to be made in my personal household.’

Beccan flushed. Everyone knew that he was very pedantic about following protocol and doubtless, had Colgú not made the jibe, he would have gone on to voice the precise request that the King had anticipated.

Despite the choice dishes, however, the meal that evening was not one of the most enjoyable, for there was a strange atmosphere at the table. Brehon Aillín was in a scowling, suspicious mood, speaking tersely; Abbess Líoch clearly did not wish to be there and was almost as quiet as Sister Dianaimh. Everyone invited had attended, with the exception of Brother Madagan whose urgent business had turned into an indisposition. ‘A chill that afflicts his chest. Our friend, Brother Conchobhar, has prescribed some wild garlic and other herbs that should help him,’ explained Abbot Ségdae. ‘But he insists he will attend the obsequies later.’

The conversation would have become stilted had it not been for Eadulf persuading his brother to speak about his previous adventures. Egric had not really wanted to attend the meal, but as it progressed, he grew more relaxed. Indeed, he seemed to dominate the conversation — not that his stories were boring or repetitive. He spoke mainly of his time among the Cruthin, a strange people who dwelled in the north of the island of Britain. It seemed their progenitor was a chieftain called Cruthine, who had seven sons. The Cruthin were a fierce warrior race who painted themselves before going into battle. The Romans had called them ‘the painted people’ — the Pictii.

Oswy of Northumbria had ruled the Cruthin through puppet kings, but Egric explained that when he arrived among them, there was growing resentment between them and the Angles of Northumbria. The Dál Riadans, who had started to settle in the west three centuries earlier, were also growing in strength. It was a year before, when Oswy had died, that the Cruthin rose up.

‘It was a difficult time,’ Egric admitted to his rapt audience. ‘We had been sent to serve Oswy and now even Oswy’s client king, Drust, turned against us.’

‘Sent to serve Oswy?’ intervened Abbot Ségdae with a frown. ‘Surely you were sent among the Cruthin to serve Christ!’

Egric turned and smiled apologetically. ‘You are right. A slip of the tongue. But Oswy was then the legitimate ruler and protector of the Church. The rebels were burning and destroying without distinction.’

‘So how did you escape this carnage?’ Colgú asked.

‘Many of us managed to get to the coast; to a port at the mouth of a river called Deathan. We took a ship back to Streonshalh in Northumbria.’

‘Surely, at such a time, the people you left behind were in need of the Faith?’ Abbot Ségdae remarked. ‘It is against the law that religious be attacked and killed. So this attack was an outrage.’

‘It is difficult to make that argument to a man wielding a sword and shield,’ Egric said sombrely. ‘The company that I was in barely escaped with their lives from the devastating attack of the Cruthín.’

‘Were they not Christian?’ asked Brehon Aillín curiously.

‘They are.’ They were surprised because it was Abbess Líoch who broke her silence. ‘Over two centuries ago a man called Ninnian established his mission to what was then the land of the Cruthin. Many other religious went to that country — even our own Colmcille who took the Faith to the Dál Riada on the seaboard of the Gael.’ She raised her head suddenly and looked at Egric. ‘It is hard to believe that such a people would rise up and attack the holy communities without provocation.’

Egric said indifferently, ‘I can only relay what I saw.’

‘And thankfully, you came safely out of that land,’ Colgú said warmly. ‘And with the even greater support of Providence, you have come safely to Cashel and found your long-lost brother.’

‘Yet at the loss of your companion the Venerable Victricius,’ pointed out Brehon Aillín. ‘And, of course, your two boatmen. Presumably you did not know their names — the names of the boatmen, I mean?’

Eadulf glared at the old Brehon, hearing the derisive note in his voice.

‘I regret that I cannot remember their names,’ he said.

‘And you have no idea of the purpose of your journey?’ Brehon Aillín had asked the question more than once.

Colgú bent forward. ‘Brother Egric has already answered that question. He has stated that he was not taken into the Venerable Victricius’ confidence on that matter.’

Brehon Aillín sniffed as he lowered his head, indicating suspicion on the one hand and acquiescence on the other.

Brother Egric had turned to Abbess Líoch. ‘Mother Abbess, you seem to know something of the Cruthin. Were you ever in their territory? There were a lot of travellers from the Five Kingdoms when I was there, especially from the Kingdom of Ulaidh. The Cruthin spoke a strange mixture of your language and that of their southern neighbours, the Britons.’

Abbess Líoch’s expression was uneasy. ‘Many of us, like my friend Fidelma there, had to travel north to Ulaidh and cross the narrow sea to the seaboard of the Gael where Colmcille set up his abbey on I-Shona. We would then travel through the territories of the Cruthin, as did our countrymen Aidan, Finan, Colmán and Tuda and their companions before us. We went to bring the word of the Faith to the Angles of Northumbria. A Faith rejected by Oswy after his Great Council at Streonshalh.’

Fidelma heard a note of bitterness in Abbess Líoch’s voice and looked nervously at Eadulf.

‘I met Eadulf at that council,’ she reminded her quietly.

‘As we recall, the council ended on amicable terms, and those who wished to maintain the liturgies and rites of the Five Kingdoms did so,’ Eadulf stated. ‘Even Abbess Hilda in the abbey called Witebia did so. So did Cuthbert, Chad and many others. Those who felt they could not live alongside the Roman rites, such as Bishop Colmán, decided to return to this land with those who wanted to do so. There was no discrimination against those who wished to retain their own interpretation of the Faith.’

‘Not while Oswy was alive,’ Abbess Líoch replied curtly. ‘Since I returned from that land, I have heard that the main advocate of the Roman Church at that council has now contrived to make himself Chief Bishop of Northumbria, deposing Chad, who remained sympathetic to our rituals and Faith. I have heard that he and Theodore of Canterbury plan to eliminate all who remain true to the teachings of Colmcille in the kingdoms of the Saxons.’

Colgú intervened with a diplomatic cough. ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘we are here, sharing a meal together. We are not re-enacting some religious council. It is not time for a new subject?’

There was an embarrassed pause, and then Fidelma began to tell the story of how the ancestors of the Eóghanacht had been led to set up their capital and main fortress on the Rock of Cashel. This was for the benefit of Egric. The change of conversation was unnatural but she persevered. There was a general feeling of relief when the chapel bell rang and they moved from the feasting hall to join the small funeral procession gathering in the courtyard.

The body had been washed and wrapped in the traditional racholl or winding sheet. Four members of the religious carried it on a fuat or bier of broom. There were a dozen or so attendants, each carrying flaming brand torches, ready to accompany the body to its last resting place. The apothecary, old Brother Conchobhar, who had laid out the body, was chief among them. Brother Eadulf, having volunteered to conduct the obsequies, took his place at the head of the procession.

Another figure joined them in the darkness, well wrapped and hooded from the chill night air. Abbot Ségdae peered forward in surprise.

‘Brother Madagan? Should you be abroad with your chill?’

‘The wild garlic is soothing,’ the steward replied, suppressing a cough. ‘And I should not be neglecting my duties.’

‘All is arranged and is well,’ the abbot assured him.

Colgú glanced round with a shiver, pulling his cloak more tightly round his shoulders. He bent forward to Fidelma and said softly, ‘When this Bishop Arwald arrives, at least he cannot accuse us of treating his emissary with disrespect.’

‘Is that likely?’ she asked.

‘Better that we find the person who slew him,’ her brother replied. ‘To find the culprit would show a greater respect.’ He raised his voice: ‘Let us proceed.’

Before the cortège could move forward, however, a commanding voice rang out, halting them by its very power.

‘Be warned, people of Cashel! The Son of Chaos will reclaim this place!’

A figure stood on the steps of the chapel in the darkness. They could see that his arms were flung out as if to encompass them; his cloak had fallen behind him, making his silhouette grotesque. Those in the procession turned uncertainly towards the speaker.

‘The Antikos approaches from the east,’ the voice went on, firm, almost melodious. ‘Your adversary will arrive as the Morning Star, the Light Bringer. And death and destruction will follow.’

Abbot Ségdae crossed himself, staring in horror at the figure. ‘Quod avertat Deus!’ he muttered.

‘It is only Deogaire,’ Fidelma sighed as Eadulf moved to her side as if to protect her.

Colgú made an angry, inarticulate sound and turned to seek out the commander of his guard. ‘Gormán, take Deogaire to a place where he cannot insult the dead.’

Gormán was about to obey the order when old Brother Conchobhar hurried forward. ‘Forgive him, lord,’ he wailed. ‘Let me take him back to my house and swear surety for his good behaviour. He did not mean to insult the dead.’

Deogaire moved slightly so that a brand torch illuminated his features. He gazed on them all with an expression that was hard to define, something akin to exhilaration and anxiety. ‘I do not insult the dead but merely warn the living. Soon the Tempter, the Father of Lies, will approach this place and then — be warned! I feel it in the cold breath of the air from the east. It is written in the dark skies and the paleness of the moon. Take heed, Ségdae of Imleach, over those you claim to protect. That is all I have to say.’

With that, Deogaire disappeared into the darkness. Gormán and Brother Conchobhar made to hurry after him, but Colgú held up a hand to restrain them.

‘Let him go. Words do not harm us. We shall continue with the funeral.’

Abbot Ségdae said grimly to his steward, Brother Madagan, ‘Be warned about prophesying and digging up tombs. Such things could mark you as beyond redemption, like that poor fool.’

Fidelma proceeded with the cortège through the gates and down the hill towards the cemetery, where a grave had already been dug. Since no one knew Brother Cerdic, there was no amrath, or elegy, to be recited. Instead, Eadulf stepped forward to give the nuall-guba, the recitation of the Lamentation of Sorrow. The abbot pronounced the blessing, and the mourners returned to the palace in silence, leaving the grave-diggers to fill in the earth.

Later that night, Fidelma spoke into the darkness. ‘A curious day, Eadulf. You never mentioned that you had a brother before.’

Her words clearly implied the question: ‘why?’ Eadulf turned slightly. He had been unable to sleep, thinking about the events. The arrival of his brother had been almost as unnerving as the mystery surrounding the murder of Brother Cerdic. Then had come Deogaire and the curious spectacle of his warning.

‘I thought I had explained,’ he replied quietly. ‘As I said, I had presumed Egric was dead. The last time I was in Seaxmund’s Ham, I was told that he had gone off to be a warrior and, frankly, the rumour was that he had perished. I felt that there was little gain in conjuring ghosts.’

‘I can understand that,’ she replied. ‘You did tell me that your father was a magistrate among your people.’

‘A gerefa,’ affirmed Eadulf. ‘Indeed, he was. So was my grandfather. Our family tradition has it that he was so learned in law that he went to Canterbury as King Athelberht’s adviser when he drew up the first great law texts written in our language.’

‘Was there just yourself and your brother in the family? You make no mention of your mother. I thought you had no relatives.’

‘My mother died of poison when I was fifteen years old and my father was taken by the Yellow Plague when I was eighteen.’

Fidelma’s voice was shocked in the gloom. ‘You told me about your father, but not your mother. How was she poisoned?’

Eadulf found it difficult to tell the story. ‘One day she went to a neighbour’s house and they had just baked fresh bread. They all sat and ate it. When she returned home, my mother fell ill; soon she had convulsions and her skin began to turn gangrenous. The neighbours also fell ill with the same condition. Thankfully, our apothecary was a knowledgeable man and forbade the eating of the bread. But it was too late. Our neighbours died within a few days. . as did my mother.’

Fidelma clicked her tongue and reached out a hand in the darkness to find his in sympathy.

‘What was it?’ she pressed gently.

‘The apothecary searched the neighbour’s barn for the rye that had been threshed to make the bread. There was a fungus growing on it, which sometimes happens during cold or damp conditions. If unnoticed and it is ground to make the flour, and then baked in the bread, it produces a poison — and if the bread is consumed. .’ Eadulf’s voice trailed off.

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma whispered.

‘I told you, I see little to gain in conjuring ghosts.’

‘It must have affected you and, of course, your brother. How old was he at the time?’

‘He was five years old.’

‘And so, you were only eighteen when your father perished? It is sad to be without parents, Eadulf. I know. I vaguely recall my father but did not know my mother — she died giving me birth.’

Eadulf sighed heavily. ‘As I have said, there is little gain in conjuring ghosts. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, by that time, Fursa had arrived in our kingdom and was preaching the word of the New Faith. Although I had inherited my father’s role as gerefa, I was more attracted to the world Fursa opened for me. As you know, on his advice I went to study not only the Faith but, having long been interested in the apothecary’s art, I chose to continue those studies at Tuaim Brecain. The rest you know.’

‘Was that because of what happened to your mother?’ Fidelma asked. But her question was met with silence and she felt the answer was obvious. ‘What made you think your brother Egric had been killed? Just gossip?’ she continued after a few moments.

‘Oh, he was keen to be a warrior when he was younger. I knew we both attended the discourses given by Fursa but I had thought that the New Faith made little impression on him. When I left to follow the path Fursa had suggested for my studies, young Egric was talking about joining the army of our King Athelwold. Years later, when I went back to my home, I was told that he had gone away and no one knew what had happened to him. I presumed he had joined Athelwold and must have perished in some battle.’

‘And now he is alive and following in your footsteps. You must be pleased to see him, Eadulf.’

Eadulf sighed in the darkness. ‘It is hard to express what I feel. Having lived without a brother all these years, it is difficult to suddenly meet that lost brother again and in such circumstances. Also. .’

Fidelma waited and finally felt she had to prompt him.

‘I find some of the things Egric says curious, like his experiences among the Cruthin, even his reactions to the customs on entering the fialtech.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s as if he has no religious background at all. Ah well — we have been apart too long. I am no longer used to having a brother.’

‘I assume there are no more of your brothers or sisters that will suddenly appear on our doorstep?’ Fidelma asked.

‘If they do, they will be as unknown to me as they are to you,’ Eadulf replied stiffly.

‘Well, it is interesting that little Alchú has a new uncle.’

Eadulf smiled slightly in the darkness. ‘I suppose he’ll have to learn a new word, then. And so will I.’

‘I don’t understand,’ yawned Fidelma.

‘Well, amnair is your word for a maternal uncle. Alchú addresses your brother as King Am-Nar, not being able to pronounce it properly yet. So what will he call Egric?’

‘Bratháir-athar.’

Eadulf pulled a face. ‘How will he ever get his tongue around that?’

Fidelma chuckled. ‘He’ll probably wind up calling him “Braw-her”.’

They were silent again and then Eadulf said sleepily, ‘It is certainly strange that the Fates have guided Egric to Cashel of all places. But I wonder what the purpose of this deputation is? It seems obvious that this Venerable Victricius was supposed to join them. What has that to do with Brother Cerdic’s death?’

‘That is the perplexing thing,’ sighed Fidelma.

‘What is, exactly?’

‘That someone was able to kill this Brother Cerdic in the chapel of this palace and that we have not been able to discover them. There is a murderer on the loose here tonight.’

Eadulf was silent for a while, thinking about this. Then he said: ‘I find your friend, Abbess Líoch, to be an odd sort of woman.’

‘I certainly find her changed from the person I knew,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘I need to speak with her further, yet I am not sure how to approach her. If I accuse her of the crime, she will simply deny it. She did not become an abbess without having a firm resolve and strength of character to support it. I need to find a way to challenge her.’

‘What do we know? Brother Cerdic called on her before he went to see Abbot Ségdae,’ Eadulf mused. ‘Why did he do that? Because he must have known her beforehand. Why did he tell her that it was in her interest to come to Cashel if she did not even know him, and if he did not tell her what this deputation was about?’

‘All good points, Eadulf. And if we knew the answers to those questions, there would be no mystery.’

‘And what do you make of poor old Brother Conchobhar’s soothsaying relative? I am inclined to think that he is not quite right in the head. That performance this evening — all that prophesying that there is some evil about to descend on Cashel!’

Fidelma was silent and for a moment or two Eadulf wondered whether she had fallen asleep. Then she said, ‘I would not be inclined to completely dismiss Deogaire as mad. Eccentric, indeed, but there is a something about him. .’

Eadulf chuckled. ‘I know he is supposed to have some reputation for prophecy, but. . well, what about all those fanciful titles he gave to this person who is supposed to arrive here out of the east and whom we must be warned about.’

‘Fanciful titles?’ Fidelma echoed, surprised. ‘All I noticed was that, for one who dwells in the mountain fastnesses of Sliabh Luachra, who claims to worship the old gods and goddesses and shuns more general contact, Deogaire has quite a knowledge of Christian Scripture.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Son of Chaos, the Adversary, the Tempter, the Father of Lies, coming as the Morning Star which is the Light Bringer. .’

‘It sounds like nonsense to me.’

‘Antikos means the adversary, and even our Christian Fathers, Origen and Jerome, knew that the Morning Star was the Light Bringer — Lucifer.’

Eadulf gasped in the gloom. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Deogaire was using names that the Scriptures employ to identify what the Greek texts call ho diabolos and ho satanos — the Devil or Satan.’