Eadulf exhaled softly. ‘I wish I knew. It is beginning to sound like a mystery.’ He held up his hand as Fidelma was about to question him further, saying, ‘Let me tell you what I know.’
He quickly described his meeting with her brother, Colgú, and Abbot Ségdae.
She was perplexed. ‘I see no logic for a council. But there is an interesting point. You said Abbess Líoch was asked to attend?’
‘I did. That also seemed curious to me, although Abbot Ségdae seemed to think it was because she had been in Northumbria for some time.’
‘Líoch told me that two religieux called at her abbey several days ago. One of them was the Saxon religious you mentioned, called Brother Cerdic. The other was someone from the Abbey of Fearna. She said it was Brother Cerdic who told her that she should attend. Rather, her words were that he said it was “in her interest” to attend. I had the impression that she was troubled by his request.’
‘In her interest to attend? That is surely a strange phraseology.’
‘Those are the words she used. Do you know this Brother Cerdic?’
‘No,’ Eadulf said. ‘I only know what I have just been told.’
‘Where is he now? Here in Cashel?’
‘He accompanied Abbot Ségdae and his steward, Brother Madagan, to Cashel. In fact, I was just on my way to find him in order to see if I could discover anything further about this strange deputation.’
‘And Brother Rónán?’
‘He has already returned to Fearna, having accomplished his role as guide. Abbot Ségdae says that Brother Cerdic maintains he acts merely as a messenger to announce the coming of the deputation.’
Fidelma’s features bore a sceptical expression. ‘Did Abbot Ségdae believe him?’
‘I doubt it,’ Eadulf replied cynically. ‘It is a long journey to make across the sea to a strange land without knowing something of the intention of the group in which you are travelling. And if he suggested to Abbess Líoch that it was in her interest to attend, then he must surely know more of the matter.’
‘I agree,’ said Fidelma. ‘She seems to be nervous of Brother Cerdic. That surely means she knows him or, at least, he has told her why she should come here.’
‘I shall contrive to speak with this Brother Cerdic alone,’ Eadulf decided. ‘He might be more forthcoming to a fellow countryman.’
‘But first you must keep your promise to Alchú,’ Fidelma said sternly. ‘He wants to tell his father about the adventures he had on his ride. You do that, and I will go and see my brother as I want to hear his thoughts about this strange deputation.’
A short time later, Eadulf re-emerged in the courtyard on the way to fulfil his errand. He passed Beccan, the steward, crossing the courtyard and asked if he had seen Brother Cerdic. The solemn-faced steward indicated the chapel behind him.
‘I think I saw the Saxon entering the chapel,’ he replied. ‘A very unfriendly man,’ he added with a sniff of disdain.
Eadulf was almost resigned to the fact that whether one was an Angle, a Saxon or even Jute, in the minds of the people of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann, they were all regarded as Saxons. Eadulf entered the chapel discreetly, waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then peered about in the gloomy interior.
A figure was kneeling before the altar in a position of supplication.
Eadulf coughed softly to draw attention to himself. The figure made no motion. It seemed so stilclass="underline" knees and legs drawn up beneath the bent body, the forehead resting on the cold stone floor. Something glinted on the ground beside the figure, and it took some moments before Eadulf realised it was the flickering light of the candle reflecting in a pool of liquid. It was blood!
With a suppressed exclamation, he went hurrying over and knelt beside the body. He reached out a hand to touch the shoulder of the figure, and no sooner had he exerted a slight pressure than it rolled onto its side. The face was white, the dead eyes wide and staring.
There was no sign of a weapon but it was clear from the blood both on the floor and across the man’s throat how he had come by his death. The fact that there was no weapon to hand also indicated that he had not died of his own choice.
CHAPTER THREE
Eadulf had seen the dead and slain before, but there was something curiously pathetic about this body that had been crouched in a praying position with its throat cut.
The flickering candles illuminated a man of similar age to Eadulf: thin, almost gaunt-looking, with fair, lanky hair and the tonsure of Rome. He was clad in nondescript woollen robes that were midway between white and grey — the dirty colour of undyed wool. In Eadulf’s eye, this identified him as an adherent to the Rule of the Blessed Benedict, which Rome, at the recent Council of Autun, had decreed all religious should follow. Those adhering to it believed they should use only what they found in nature without adornment in their clothing, and that they should follow the simple life of work and prayer.
There was no doubt that this was Brother Cerdic — and now he would no longer be able to answer any questions.
Eadulf reached forward and touch the man’s neck. It was still warm. He sprang up, suddenly alert, because he now realised that Brother Cerdic must have come by his death only moments before he himself had entered the chapel. He peered quickly round into the dark recesses of the interior. There was no sound save the drip of tallow falling on the stone floor from one of the tall candles.
Eadulf moved swiftly to the chapel door and, opening it, saw the aged Brother Conchobhar, together with a younger man, at the far side of the courtyard. He glanced around but no one else was about.
‘Brother, a moment of your time,’ he called.
Brother Conchobhar raised his hand and then made his way to the chapel door with his companion following. The latter was a stranger to Eadulf — a fellow clad in a bright multi-coloured cloak. He had well-formed, handsome features, a pale skin and long black hair that held a shimmer of blue when the pale sun glinted on it. Yet it was the eyes that held Eadulf’s attention: they were of a curious light blue that seemed restless, like the waters of some ocean which threatened to draw Eadulf into their fathomless depths. It was almost an effort to draw his gaze away.
‘You look worried, my friend,’ the stranger said. When he spoke, the timbre and cadence of his voice were such that Eadulf knew that others would fall silent on hearing its haunting quality. It was not often that he had such a reaction to people.
Brother Conchobhar introduced him, saying, ‘This is Deogaire, a relative of mine. He is right. Something is worrying you, friend Eadulf.’
‘Have you seen anyone emerge from the chapel while you have been in the courtyard?’ Eadulf asked.
‘I saw no one,’ answered the old apothecary. The young man also shook his head. ‘Who are you looking for?’
Eadulf simply beckoned the two of them to follow him inside the chapel. Without a word, he pointed to the body lying before the altar.
Brother Conchobhar went directly to the corpse and bent down. His experienced gaze took in the injury and the mottling of the skin tone now visible even in the flickering light.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Frankly, I do not know,’ Eadulf replied. ‘I came into the chapel moments ago in the hope of speaking with this man. I found him crouched here and touched him on the shoulder, thus causing him to slip on his side.’
‘There is no sign of a weapon,’ Deogaire said, gazing about thoughtfully. It was a statement, not a question.
‘I saw none,’ agreed Eadulf.
‘Yet death was caused almost instantly,’ Brother Conchobhar announced, rising to his feet. ‘I would say a slash across the throat which prevented him from crying out, and then a single blow to the heart which caused immediate death.’