A Prayer for the Damned Page 4

  Caol fetched the horses and Eadulf shook hands with them all, including Ordwulf. The old man still seemed distant, and had taken no part in the conversation. He seemed to be dwelling in his own inner world.

  ‘I am glad that I have been able to put Miach’s mind at rest,’ Eadulf assured Berrihert, at parting. ‘And good to see countrymen of mine dwelling here. I pray things will work out for you all.’

  ‘At least, from what I hear of this kingdom, you will not get an envoy from Ard Macha coming to demand your allegiance.’

  ‘You might be right.’ Eadulf laughed. ‘Who was this abbot from Ard Macha who put you so out of sorts, Berrihert?’

  ‘I remember his name well – he reminded me so much of Wilfrid and his arrogance. His name was Ultán. Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria.’

  It was well after dark when Eadulf and Caol returned to Cashel, but night came early at this time of year. It had not been long after they had crossed the great swirling river Siúr, the ‘sister’ river, at the Ford of the Ass, that the dark clouds had begun to roll more menacingly and the rumble of distant thunder was heard. Then the deluge began. Both riders were soaked within moments.

  ‘Do you want to seek shelter, Brother Eadulf?’ yelled Caol, leaning across as he held his shying mount on a tight reign.

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘What point in that when we are drenched already? Let us press on. It is not far to Cashel.’

  At that moment a bright bolt of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the great plain before them, and in the distance they saw the spectacular mound of limestone on whose precipitous crown rose the fortress of the Eóghanacht kings of Muman. It was a natural stronghold, dominating the countryside in all directions.

  Crouching low on their horses, they headed through the blustery, whipping rain, ignoring now the flashes of white lightning that every so often lit the countryside before the accompanying crash of thunder. It was not long, though it seemed an eternity to Eadulf, before they entered the township that had grown up at the foot of the limestone rock and passed through its almost deserted square, barely lit with a few dim swinging lanterns. The pleasant pungent odour of turf fires came to Eadulf’s nostrils and he sighed in anticipation of a warm fire, a goblet of wine and even a hot bath. The Irish had their main wash, a full body wash, before their evening meal. It was a habit that Eadulf could never get used to – this daily ritual of washing, called fothrucud, in a large tub or vat called a dabach. Every hostel and guest house had to be provided with a bath house for visitors by law. In his native land, Eadulf reflected, a quick plunge in a river – and that not very often – was considered to discharge one’s duty to cleanliness.

  A sharp challenge brought his mind back from his reverie to the present. A watchful warrior emerged from a corner of the square and Caol responded. The man disappeared again.

  They moved up the track from the town, winding their way up to the top of the rocky prominence where the great man-made stone walls merged with the limestone rock to form impregnable fortifications. The tall wooden gates were closed, but at a shout from Caol they swung open and the riders passed inside where the gilla scuir, stable lads, came running forward to help them down and take charge of their horses. Eadulf exchanged a brief word with Caol, and then he departed for the chambers that he shared with Fidelma.

  Muirgen, their nurse, opened the door and surveyed his sodden form with disapproval.

  ‘You need to be out of those rags, Brother Eadulf, before you catch a chill. I will get my man to prepare a bath.’

  She had barely finished speaking when Fidelma came forward and smiled ruefully at his bedraggled appearance.

  ‘Muirgen is right. Get out of those clothes immediately while she prepares a bath.’

  Muirgen had hurried off to find her husband, Nessán, who for some months now had been devoted to the charge of taking care of them and their little boy, Alchú. Eadulf shuffled to the blazing fire while Fidelma went in search of a towel and a woollen cloak. Within a short time, Eadulf was seated by the fire wrapped in the cloak and sipping mulled wine, explaining to Fidelma the nature of the business that Miach of the Uí Cuileann had summoned him for.

  Fidelma listened more or less in silence, only asking a question here and there for clarification’s sake. When he had finished, Eadulf noticed that her face wore a thoughtful expression.

  ‘You seem pensive,’ he ventured.

  ‘It just seems strange that these Saxons have arrived here at this particular time.’

  ‘Strange? In what way?’

  ‘They said that they had come south because of the problems in Abbot Colmán’s community on Inis Bó Finne. That this abbot from Ard Macha had created dissension among them, causing some of the community to break away and start a new community on Maigh Eo, the plain of the yew?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Did they tell you what made them come here, to the glen of Eatharlaí of all places, and at this time?’

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘To be truthful, I think Caol asked the question.’

  ‘And their reply?’

  ‘Only that God had guided their footsteps here.’

  ‘Which is no reply at all. Are you sure Abbot Ultán was the name of this influential abbot from Ard Macha?’

  Eadulf was puzzled by her questions.

  ‘I may be guilty of many faults but my hearing is still good,’ he replied testily. ‘Ultán is such a simple name that I could not mistake it. Why do you ask?’

  Fidelma sighed, deep in thought.

  ‘This is either coincidence or something else,’ she said finally.

  Eadulf was still irritable. ‘Perhaps I might agree if I knew what you were talking about.’

  ‘There is only one Abbot Ultán linked with Ard Macha – Ultán of Cill Ria, who is also bishop of the Uí Thuirtrí. He acts as envoy to the Comarb of the Blessed Patrick, one of the two premier abbots of the five kingdoms. I have seen him once, at the council where it was agreed that I become part of the Cill Dara delegation to Witebia to offer advice on law. He is, as your Saxon friends described him, a man of arrogance, and somewhat overbearing.’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘I still do not understand what you mean by a coincidence.’

  ‘A rider from Imleach came here this afternoon and among the news he brought to my brother was that Abbot Ultán of Cill Ria had arrived at Imleach with a small delegation. He is demanding recognition for Ard Macha as the primatial seat of the Faith in all the five kingdoms. Furthermore, Abbot Ultán and his delegation are coming here – here to Cashel – to protest against our marriage.’

  Eadulf stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘I mean, what is there to protest about?’

  Fidelma lifted a shoulder and let it fall eloquently. ‘He is of the small group that believes that there should be no marriage among the religious.’

  Eadulf relaxed and chuckled. ‘Well, I do not think the day will come when that will become a reality. Why does he think God created men and women?’

  ‘Now do you see why I think it is odd, that, at the same time, these Saxons have arrived here?’

  ‘Quam saepe forte temere eveniut,’ quoted Eadulf. ‘How often things occur by mere chance.’

  ‘I had no idea that you had read Terence,’ Fidelma exclaimed.

  ‘I found a copy of Phormio in the library here,’ he replied complacently.

  ‘So how well do you know these Saxons?’

  Eadulf was suddenly thoughtful. ‘I cannot say that I can place my hand on my heart and declare that I truly know them. I met Berrihert when I was studying at Tuam Brecain – he was a pupil there too. In fact, he is not really a Saxon but an Angle from Deira, which is part of the kingdom of Northumbria,’ he added with tribal fastidiousness, knowing full well that all Angles and Saxons were deemed Saxons in Irish eyes. ‘Then when I was sent to Witebia to attend the great council, where I met you, I saw him again. He had returned to his homeland and converted his younger brothers. I have no reason to doubt their
motives. After all, they did leave their homeland to follow Colmán to this country so that they might practise the Faith in the way that they had been taught.’

  Fidelma did not seem reassured, but she shrugged. ‘Perhaps I am being overly suspicious.’

  ‘Because they are strangers in your land? I have heard a saying: “Cold is the wind that brings strangers.’ ”

  Fidelma shot him a glance of disapproval. ‘Then learn the meaning. It is a saying used by some of our coastal peoples and refers to what they might expect when the sails of raiding ships are sighted.’

  Eadulf heard the familiar sharpness in her voice and sighed. ‘Then why be suspicious of these compatriots of mine? It is probably chance that brought them here at this time. After all, it is chance that rules men and not men chance.’

  ‘So you have indicated before,’ she observed. Then she smiled and shrugged. ‘I am probably just restless. Something that old Brother Conchobhar mentioned . . .’

  Eadulf smiled. ‘What has that old soothsayer been up to? Looking at patterns in the night sky again and foretelling doom and gloom?’

  Fidelma knew that Eadulf respected Brother Conchobhar in spite of the levity in his voice so she did not rise to the bait. ‘He believes that we should have a care over the next few days, that is all.’

  Eadulf saw the seriousness in her eyes and was serious himself for a moment before smiling again. ‘Have no fear. There is little that can go wrong now. Caol has been telling me that even the High King is coming to acknowledge the ceremony. And with all the nobles and warriors come to pay their respects to you, what is there to fear?’

  There was a tap on the door and Muirgen returned.

  ‘The bath is ready,’ she announced, ‘and, lady, your brother the king wishes you both to attend the feasting tonight.’

  Eadulf rose and drew his robe round him. ‘Then I shall go and soak myself in the tub. I am even getting use to this daily bathing custom of yours,’ he added with a grimace.

  He left the room. Muirgen was about to follow when Fidelma stayed her with a gesture of her hand. The nurse closed the door after Eadulf and waited patiently.

  ‘How is little Alchú?’ Fidelma enquired.

  The nurse’s face softened. ‘He is sleeping peacefully, lady.’ She hesitated. ‘Is something troubling you?’

  Fidelma started to shake her head, and then admitted: ‘I am just a little worried, that’s all. Have the guests started to arrive?’

  Muirgen nodded quickly. ‘Some have, but I am told that tomorrow is when the majority of guests are expected. Prince Finguine is going to arrange the erection of tents on the plains below, for many are coming and the fortress cannot accommodate them all.’ Finguine was the king’s tánaiste or heir apparent. ‘Are you nervous, lady? All five kingdoms are coming to rejoice for you.’

  Fidelma hesitated. ‘I am not worried about the ceremony. However, make sure that you and Nessán keep a careful eye on little Alchú during these next days.’

  ‘As if he were our own, lady,’ replied the woman immediately. ‘You need have no fear that we will neglect our duties, especially after . . .’

  Fidelma rose immediately and went to embrace the woman.

  When little Alchú had been kidnapped, Uaman the Leper had given the baby to Muirgen and Nessán, then shepherds in the distant western mountains, to raise as their own. He had not told them who the child was, or that it had been kidnapped. Being childless, they had welcomed the ‘gift’. When Eadulf had recovered Alchú and it was discovered that Muirgen and Nessán had played their part in innocence, Fidelma had asked Muirgen to be the child’s nurse.

  ‘I cast no aspersions, Muirgen. But I am fearful . . . old Conchobhar sees bad signs and I respect his ability in the art. He has been right before.’

  Muirgen sniffed and nodded. ‘Then lay aside your fears, lady, for I will guard the child with my life, as will my man.’

  ‘All the same, I cannot shake this feeling of foreboding.’

  She turned and went to the window, and drew aside the heavy curtain to peer out at the inclement evening. The storm was renewing itself with intensity beyond the distant round peaks of the Slieve Felim mountains. Only when the lightning flashed behind them did their hazy shadows show up through the sheeting rain. The thunder rumbled low and menacing. Its threatening force was even more disturbing to Fidelma than the outright rage of a tempest directly overhead. A shudder ran down her back and she pulled the curtain firmly back into place.

  ‘This is silly,’ she told herself firmly. And while she knew that it was so, nevertheless she could not rid herself of the vague feeling of apprehension that had come over her. It was not merely Brother Conchobhar’s warning. She had felt this presentiment for some time and it was a feeling that she could not share with Eadulf.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ominous clouds had departed overnight to the north and a pale blue sky canopied the great plain around Cashel. The sun had risen as a soft pale orb without warmth. To the west, there was what sailors called a ‘mackerel sky’, small cloud globules floating as if in ripples which indicated that there was still unsettled weather to come. The storm had left swollen rivers and areas of sticky mud in the low-lying areas.

  Finguine, the tánaiste, had been up since dawn with bands of enthusiastic helpers who would be erecting the canvas pavilions in which those who could not be accommodated in the fortress or the town’s inn and hostel would stay. King Colgú had proclaimed three days of festivities and many people were already pouring into Cashel for the marriage rituals, which would start the next morning. Finguine had ridden through the area, trying to choose high ground that had not been so muddied by the torrent of rain that had fallen on the previous day. He directed his men to mark a spot here and there as it caught his approving eye.

  Fidelma and Eadulf had also risen early, spent some time with Alchú, and then breakfasted before going down to the great hall to greet the arriving guests. There were the Eóghanacht princes – Congal of Locha Léin, Per Dá Lethe of Raithlin, and many others whose names simply passed above Eadulf’s head; there was even Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente, who had come with his prince, Donennach, the new chief of the former blood enemies of Cashel.

  As he moved through the throng of distinguished visitors, Eadulf realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was essentially a shy man. Yet here he was, the centre of attention and subject of scrutiny by what he felt to be the entire population of the five kingdoms of Éireann. For the first time, he wanted to escape from it all. He was but an hereditary gerefa, a magistrate of his own South Folk, the East Angles, who had only turned his back on the gods and goddesses of his people in his teen years. Since the fateful meeting at the great Council of Witebia he had come to realise that his life was inseparably linked with Fidelma of Cashel. However, it had taken some years for them to decide on a trial marriage. Under Irish law they had bound themselves together for a year and a day during which Fidelma had become his ben charrthach, the ‘loved woman’. Eadulf had been happy to be her fer comtha with rights as husband for that period. During that time their son little Alchú, ‘gentle hound’, had been born. Now the trial period was over, and either of them could move on without recrimination or compensation. But they had decided to confirm their marriage vows.

  Eadulf had thought it would be as simple and as unremarkable as it had been when exchanging the vows at the trial marriage. But this was becoming an uneasy experience for him. He had not fully taken into account that Fidelma was a princess of the Eóghanacht, the ruling house of Muman, whose brother Colgú was hailed by the senachaí, the hereditary genealogists, as the eightieth direct generation from Gaedheal Glas, eponymous father of the Gaels, and the fifty-ninth generation since Eibhear Fionn son of Golamh called Míldih, who had brought the children of the Gael to Éireann. Eadulf had heard the genealogies, the forsundud as the bards called them, sung a thousand times. But he had not realised that this official marriage of Fidelma would draw such crowds of k
ings and nobles and onlookers to Cashel. He felt unsettled. With a feeling of guilt, he made an excuse about going to the chapel for a morning prayer, and left the great hall.

  Sitting in the quiet solitude of the chapel, Eadulf was startled to realise that he wanted no part of life in a palace. He frowned as he thought about it. He felt that he wanted to leave Cashel and make his way to some more peaceful spot, away from the crowds, away from the dignitaries and nobles, away from the hustle and bustle. A place of solitude. A place like the glen of Eatharlaí. Brother Berrihert had the right idea. Solitude and peace in a wooded valley.

  He suddenly felt pangs of guilt again.

  Was he being selfish? Of course, there was no question that he wanted to share his life with Fidelma and little Alchú. He caught himself again. Share his life? That was looking at things from a one-sided viewpoint. Should he not also be thinking of sharing Fidelma’s life, and wasn’t that life part of Cashel and all it stood for? He shook his head in perplexity as he tried to reason things out. Was he simply apprehensive of this large festival? As soon as it was over, as soon as the marriage contracts were agreed, surely life would return to its normal ebb and flow.

  When had there been a normal ebb and flow to his life? Ever since he had known Fidelma there had been one adventure after another, one mysterious killing after another to be investigated. He found himself chuckling aloud.

  ‘You seem amused by something, my friend?’

  The hollow voice came from behind him, and Eadulf turned to find the bright blue eyes of Brother Conchobhar regarding him quizzically.

  ‘Amused?’ Eadulf repeated.

  ‘You were laughing to yourself.’

  Eadulf grimaced.

  ‘At myself,’ he corrected with a sigh.

  Brother Conchobhar smiled knowingly. ‘Yet you do not find yourself an object of humour. There was a bitter quality in your laughter.’

  ‘I shall not deny it.’

  ‘You worry about tomorrow. We have an old saying – marry a woman out of the glen and you marry the whole glen.’