‘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.’