‘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.’