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.’