Peering over her shoulder, Eadulf grunted with derision.
‘I suspect that bit of bad Latin expressing his guilt and asking for forgiveness was put in by the Brehon who drew up the will. I don’t think Glassán knew much Latin.’
‘Even so, Glassán was admitting his responsibility for his past and at least he was thoughtful enough to make provision for young Gúasach. He was not entirely a bad man.’
‘I suppose not,’ Eadulf admitted reluctantly. ‘What happens now? I mean to the young boy.’
‘The will and the boy, with these bags of money and Glassán’s belongings, will be returned to Brehon Lurg in Connachta.’
‘What are you doing here?’ The voice of Brother Lugna cutsuddenly into the chamber. They had not noticed him standing in the doorway.
Fidelma was unperturbed as she glanced up to look at him.
‘Glassán died in suspicious circumstances,’ she replied, rising to her feet. ‘It is my right to investigate anything that might cast a light on the circumstances of his death.’
‘You came here to investigate Brother Donnchad’s death, not that of Glassán,’ the steward protested.
‘As a dálaigh it is in my power to investigate anything I consider relevant. You should know that. The master builder’s will is here, with money and possessions that belonged to him. I shall have them sealed in this trunk and removed to my room so that, when the time comes, it will be sent back to Connachta with the boy Gúasach. The will mentions that the boy is a beneficiary.’
Brother Lugna swallowed hard. He was clearly not happy that they had beaten him to an examination of the chamber.
‘I suppose you are within your rights,’ he admitted reluctantly.
‘You may well suppose it,’ Fidelma answered acidly. She stood looking at him.
‘I came to ensure that his belongings were safe,’ muttered the steward, dropping his eyes.
‘They are safe enough.’
‘The body has been transferred to the chapel and will be watched there until midnight when the clog-estechtae, the death bell, will sound and the members of the community will accompany the corpse to the funeral place,’ the steward went on gruffly. ‘He was not a member of our community, nor does he have blood family among us. So only two members of the brethren will bear witness at the aire in the chapel. Our evening meal must serve as the fled cro-lige, the feast of the deathbed.’
Fidelma inclined her head. ‘We will be attending, Brother Lugna,’ she said gravely.
He hesitated, made as if to say something, and then dropped his gaze, turned and left.
‘He looks disappointed,’ murmured Eadulf. ‘Do you think …’ He gestured with his head towards the bags of coin.
‘Help me pack these things up,’ Fidelma instructed, not answering his unfinished question. ‘We’ll move them into your room.’
Eadulf frowned. ‘But you said you were putting them in your room.’
Fidelma gave one of her rare, mischievous grins. ‘I did, didn’t I? Well, just in case …’
Eadulf sighed and moved forward to help her with the trunk.
Two members of the community sat silently in the chapel by the corpse for the traditional watching of the body, the aire. The only movement was the flickering of the candles at the head and feet of the body as it lay on the wooden board that was the fuat, the bier, on which the corpse would soon be carried to the graveyard. The silence was unusual. There was none of the laithina canti, the lamentations, the clapping of hands or cries of despair that would normally mark the aire. Many members of the new Faith objected to these customs, which had survived from ancient times. Abbot Iarnla and Brother Lugna spent only a short time in the chapel to show their respect. Brother Donnán accompanied young Gúasach, who as foster-son was naturally expected to attend. But there was no sign of Saor or any of the builders when Fidelma and Eadulf entered to pay their respects in accordance with protocol. Gormán hovered at a discreet distance, keeping in the background.
That night, at the evening meal, the abbot made mention of the master builder in the opening prayers. As Brother Lugna had designated the evening meal the ‘feast of the deathbed’, he gave a short tribute to Glassán’s work at the abbey. No one elsecame forward to praise the master builder or lament his passing. Once again, Fidelma and Eadulf, noticed that Saor and his fellow workmen did not attend. She had been expecting that Lady Eithne might have come to pay her respects as she was the moving force behind the rebuilding of the abbey.
Just before midnight, the clog estechtae, the death bell, was sounded, its solemn tones echoing through the abbey. The brethren gathered in the quadrangle as the corpse was carried out of the chapel on the fuat, wrapped in the white racholl, or winding sheet. Several members of the community carried lanterns, lighting the scene with an eerie, flickering half-light which caused grotesque shadows to jump this way and that.
Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán joined them and glanced about, wondering if Saor and his builders were going to ignore the master builder’s funeral entirely. Belatedly they appeared at the gates of the abbey with Saor at their head. They seemed reluctant as they lined up behind the bier, carried by four of the brethren. Abbot Iarnla took his place at the head of the procession. In spite of the tensions they had observed among the brethren, they found most of the leading members of the community were there. Brother Lugna, Brother Seachlann, Brother Donnán. Brother Máel Eoin, Brother Echen and even the smith Brother Giolla-na-Naomh were in attendance.
Abbot Iarnla held up his staff of office and turned towards them. He raised his voice to call the traditional instruction: ‘The fé has been measured, we will proceed.’
The fé was a measuring rod for a grave. It was regarded almost with horror by ordinary folk and only the gravedigger was allowed to touch it, for it was thought to bring bad luck and death to others.
The procession moved off with the brethren chanting.
Hymnum dicat turba fratrum
Hymnum cantus personet …
Band of brethren, raise the hymn,
Let your song the hymn resound …
The procession guided by those holding high their lanterns, made its way through the abbey gates and turned towards the eastern side of the buildings where the graveyard of the abbey lay between rows of towering yew trees. The gravediggers stood awaiting them. As the voices of the brethren died away with the final verse, they gathered round the hole that had been dug in the ground and lined in the traditional fashion with branches of broom. The fuat was lowered and tipped, and the body slid into the grave. Then one of the gravediggers came forward and smashed the wooden bier and tossed the pieces into the grave. Once a fuat had carried a body to the grave, it could not be used again. Then the gravediggers threw in what was called the strophaiss, the birch branches that always covered the body before the grave was filled.