Free The Devil's Seal by Peter Tremayne Page B

to be arranged, lord, now that we have some extra guests.’
    The King frowned. ‘What needs to be arranged?’
    ‘There is the list of guests to be considered,’ the steward answered sheepishly.
    ‘Guests? Oh yes. Abbot Ségdae, Brother Madagan, Brehon Aillín, Abbess Líoch and her
bann-mhaor
will join us and, of course, Eadulf’s brother, with my sister and Eadulf. That is all.’
    ‘So the meal will end before midnight?’
    Colgú looked crossly at his punctilious steward. Even Fidelma wished that Beccan would act on his own accord from time to time and not seek her brother’s approval for every matter.
    ‘After the meal we will gather in the courtyard
just before midnight
to escort the body down to the old burial ground below,’ the King snapped. ‘Surely these procedures can be sorted out with Brother Madagan?’
    Beccan flushed. ‘But we are speaking of events that impinge on the King’s household and therefore, before agreeing to any proposals, protocol dictates that I must seek permission of the King himself.’
    Colgú was firm. ‘I do not wish to hear any more. Make the arrangements with Brother Madagan and we will meet the funeral cortège in the courtyard just before midnight.’
    Beccan bowed his head for a moment before raising it to meet the King’s gaze. He began to open his mouth again – but Colgú interrupted.
    ‘Nor do I expect to be consulted on the dishes that are to be served up this evening. Dar Luga, my
airnbertach
, can sort out the choices. If my housekeeper does not know what my favourite dishes are by now, then perhaps some changes need to be made in my personal household.’
    Beccan flushed. Everyone knew that he was very pedantic about following protocol and doubtless, had Colgú not made the jibe, he would have gone on to voice the precise request that the King had anticipated.
    Despite the choice dishes, however, the meal that evening was not one of the most enjoyable, for there was a strange atmosphere at the table. Brehon Aillín was in a scowling, suspicious mood, speaking tersely; Abbess Líoch clearly did not wish to be there and was almost as quiet as Sister Dianaimh. Everyone invited had attended, with the exception of Brother Madagan whose urgent business had turned into an indisposition. ‘A chill that afflicts his chest. Our friend, Brother Conchobhar, has prescribed some wild garlic and other herbs that should help him,’ explained Abbot Ségdae. ‘But he insists he will attend the obsequies later.’
    The conversation would have become stilted had it not been for Eadulf persuading his brother to speak about his previous adventures. Egric had not really wanted to attend the meal, but as it progressed, he grew more relaxed. Indeed, he seemed to dominate the conversation – not that his stories were boring or repetitive. He spoke mainly of his time among the Cruthin, a strange people who dwelled in the north of the island of Britain. It seemed their progenitor was a chieftain called Cruthine, who had seven sons. The Cruthin were a fierce warrior race who painted themselves before going into battle. The Romans had called them ‘the painted people’ – the
Pictii
.
    Oswy of Northumbria had ruled the Cruthin through puppet kings, but Egric explained that when he arrived among them, there was growing resentment between them and the Angles of Northumbria. The Dál Riadans, who had started to settle in the west three centuries earlier, were also growing in strength. It was a year before, when Oswy had died, that the Cruthin rose up.
    ‘It was a difficult time,’ Egric admitted to his rapt audience. ‘We had been sent to serve Oswy and now even Oswy’s client king, Drust, turned against us.’
    ‘Sent to serve Oswy?’ intervened Abbot Ségdae with a frown. ‘Surely you were sent among the Cruthin to serve Christ!’
    Egric turned and smiled apologetically. ‘You are right. A slip of the tongue. But Oswy was then the legitimate ruler and protector of the Church.