‘It came last night, when I was watching the queen of the night rise above the hills. Do we not often call her Aesca, the place where knowledge is found?’
‘And watching the moon, you suddenly saw danger approaching my brother’s palace?’
‘I’ll not deny it.’
‘I know you have little time for the New Faith, Deogaire. But is it wise to boast of the possession of the imbas forosnai?’
‘Not everyone has forsaken the old paths of knowledge for the new and unknown, lady. You have left the religious yourself in order to maintain our old laws.’
‘I have left the religious — which does not mean that I have left the Faith, Deogaire. And what I was going to say is that while you reject the New Faith, yet your prophecy was laced with images of the New Faith.’
Deogaire chuckled. ‘Should I have placed older images of our ancient faith and culture in my warning? How then would the interpretation of what I said have been made clear? Images, like words in a foreign language, have no meaning unless they are shared.’
‘As a matter of fact, the images were lost on some until I pointed out the meanings of the terms you were using,’ replied Fidelma, amused. ‘Why did you give this warning that Satan was about to descend on Cashel?’
‘I used the images of the Devil because it would have had little impact if I had warned that the messengers of the Fomorii were about to come and sup with the King.’
Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. The Fomorii had been the ancient evil deities of her people; the name meant ‘undersea dwellers’. From their caverns beneath the waves, led by Cichol, Balor of the Evil Eye and the goat-headed Gaborchend, they launched attack after attack on the good gods and goddesses, the Children of Danú. Finally, Lugh Lamhfada and Nuada of the Silver Hand drove them back into the sea.
‘Well, in whatever image,’ Fidelma replied, ‘your prophecy is that evil is about to strike Cashel?’
‘Has it not already done so?’
‘You mean the murder of Brother Cerdic?’
‘I will leave it to you to make your own interpretation, Fidelma of Cashel. All I say is that I feel a chill wind from the east. I would issue you with a warning. Two glances behind you are sometimes better than looking straight ahead. Death can come in many forms — even a winged demon out of the sky. You know that I am not given to idle speculation. I inherited the gift of the imbas forosnai from my mother’s mother and back to her mother’s mother and their line since the dawn of time.’
With that he turned and left the apothecary.
Brother Conchobhar stood a moment in silence and then he coughed nervously, extending his arms in a helpless gesture.
‘I am sorry, Fidelma.’
She had been thinking and now she raised her head with a smile. ‘You have no need to be, old wolf-lover. I have known some with the gift of prophecy — enough to know it would be silly to dismiss it lightly. If there is evil approaching from the east, then we must be prepared for it.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘This is my son, Alchú,’ Eadulf declared, after giving the boy a hug. He had brought Egric into the chamber where Muirgen was looking after the child. ‘His name means “little hound”. Alchú, this is your Uncle Egric, my brother.’
Eadulf had taken Egric to meet Alchú as soon as Fidelma had left to pursue her enquiries. It was Muirgen’s task to wash, dress and give their son breakfast and then entertain him until his parents were free. Now Muirgen withdrew to the side of the chamber and busied herself sorting clothes. The red-haired child, who had greeted his father with a smile, now stood gazing up solemnly at the newcomer. Egric seemed stiff and awkward as he stared down into the clear blue eyes that examined him.
‘He looks more like your wife than you.’ Egric spoke directly to Eadulf and made no effort to greet the boy.
‘That is in his favour,’ Eadulf joked. Then he seemed to realise that there was a silence between the two. ‘Say hello to your uncle, Alchú,’ he said encouragingly.
The boy did not reply directly but continued to survey the newcomer with curiosity. ‘Is he truly my uncle, athair?’ he asked, turning his gaze to Eadulf.
Eadulf felt embarrassed. ‘Truly, he is,’ he replied. ‘And you must greet him nicely. It is. .’ he fought to find the word for ‘ill-mannered’ in his vocabulary. He settled on dorrda, which meant sulky or surly. ‘It is ill-mannered not to do so.’
Alchú said reluctantly, ‘Hello.’
Egric shifted his weight and merely jerked his head in response. ‘I am not at my best with children, Eadulf,’ he finally said.
‘He does not greet me.’ Alchú turned again to his father, speaking sharply. ‘Is that not also dorrda?’
For a moment or two, Eadulf, with crimson face, was unsure what to do.
‘I see and hear you, child,’ Egric said irritably, clearly understanding the comment. ‘Remember that a sweet voice does not injure the teeth.’
Eadulf compressed his lips as the old saying of his people tripped from his brother’s tongue — a condemnation of the boy’s manners. It was clear the meeting was not a success. He had never thought his brother would be so stiff and unfriendly towards his son. It was obvious that the child sensed it.
Muirgen suddenly came bustling forward. It was clear that she had heard the exchange and felt she should intervene.
‘Time to take the little one to his morning game of fidchell,’ she announced. Fidchell, or ‘wooden wisdom’, was a popular board game played throughout the Five Kingdoms. Alchú was proving himself very adept at it.
Eadulf gave her a glance of both relief and thanks then took his younger brother by the arm and guided him from the chamber. Egric was silent as they walked through the corridors of the fortress, avoiding the rainswept exteriors. It was curious how much of a stranger Eadulf now felt with his brother. The intervening years seemed to have severed them emotionally as well as by experience.
‘Things have changed quite a lot over the years, Egric,’ Eadulf finally said, in an attempt to break the awkward silence.
‘No man remains the same as they grow older,’ replied his brother.
‘I never thought that you would enter the religious. You always wanted to be a warrior. Our father named you Egric after the Warrior King of our people.’
‘I remember King Egric and his brother Sigebert. They were both killed in battle when the Mercians invaded our land. Sigebert was killed even though he had spent years in a monastery and went on the battlefield alongside his brother with only a staff in his hand.’
‘I can hardly remember that, but I remember the years when Ana became King, and that was after Sigebert and Egric were killed.’
‘I should say, then, that I do remember the stories,’ explained Egric, a little on the defensive. ‘I remember Ana driving the Mercians out of our land. We became powerful then. Why, even Cenwealh of the West Saxons sought asylum in our land when the Mercians threw him out of his own kingdom.’
‘Surely you were too young to remember all that?’ Eadulf was astonished.
Egric smiled thinly. ‘I remember a lot, brother. I was old enough to remember when we received news that Ana, too, had been killed in battle against the Mercians. That was the day I decided that I should be a warrior.’
‘You were only about thirteen years old.’
‘I was. But I recall those dark days when the Mercian King, Penda, was overlord of the East Angles. He was a godless tyrant.’
‘Penda lived and died a pagan,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘But we all, at that time, followed the old gods until the word of the New Faith came to us.’
‘Oswy of Northumbria challenged Mercia in the rain and mud of Winwaed where Penda perished,’ Egric continued enthusiastically. ‘We were free again and Athelwold seized our kingdom back, driving out the remaining Mercians and their placemen. The God of Battles was with us! They were great days, Eadulf. Do you remember them?’