Peter Tremayne - Chalice of Blood

‘You came here to investigate Brother Donnchad’s death, not that of Glassán,’ the steward protested.

‘As a dálaigh it is in my power to investigate anything I consider relevant. You should know that. The master builder’s will is here, with money and possessions that belonged to him. I shall have them sealed in this trunk and removed to my room so that, when the time comes, it will be sent back to Connachta with the boy Gúasach. The will mentions that the boy is a beneficiary.’

Brother Lugna swallowed hard. He was clearly not happy that they had beaten him to an examination of the chamber.

‘I suppose you are within your rights,’ he admitted reluctantly.

‘You may well suppose it,’ Fidelma answered acidly. She stood looking at him.

‘I came to ensure that his belongings were safe,’ muttered the steward, dropping his eyes.

‘They are safe enough.’

‘The body has been transferred to the chapel and will be watched there until midnight when the clog-estechtae , the death bell, will sound and the members of the community will accompany the corpse to the funeral place,’ the steward went on gruffly. ‘He was not a member of our community, nor does he have blood family among us. So only two members of the brethren will bear witness at the aire in the chapel. Our evening meal must serve as the fled cro-lige , the feast of the deathbed.’

Fidelma inclined her head. ‘We will be attending, Brother Lugna,’ she said gravely.

He hesitated, made as if to say something, and then dropped his gaze, turned and left.

‘He looks disappointed,’ murmured Eadulf. ‘Do you think …’ He gestured with his head towards the bags of coin.

‘Help me pack these things up,’ Fidelma instructed, not answering his unfinished question. ‘We’ll move them into your room.’

Eadulf frowned. ‘But you said you were putting them in your room.’

Fidelma gave one of her rare, mischievous grins. ‘I did, didn’t I? Well, just in case …’

Eadulf sighed and moved forward to help her with the trunk.

Two members of the community sat silently in the chapel by the corpse for the traditional watching of the body, the aire . The only movement was the flickering of the candles at the head and feet of the body as it lay on the wooden board that was the fuat , the bier, on which the corpse would soon be carried to the graveyard. The silence was unusual. There was none of the laithina canti , the lamentations, the clapping of hands or cries of despair that would normally mark the aire . Many members of the new Faith objected to these customs, which had survived from ancient times. Abbot Iarnla and Brother Lugna spent only a short time in the chapel to show their respect. Brother Donnán accompanied young Gúasach, who as foster-son was naturally expected to attend. But there was no sign of Saor or any of the builders when Fidelma and Eadulf entered to pay their respects in accordance with protocol. Gormán hovered at a discreet distance, keeping in the background.

That night, at the evening meal, the abbot made mention of the master builder in the opening prayers. As Brother Lugna had designated the evening meal the ‘feast of the deathbed’, he gave a short tribute to Glassán’s work at the abbey. No one elsecame forward to praise the master builder or lament his passing. Once again, Fidelma and Eadulf, noticed that Saor and his fellow workmen did not attend. She had been expecting that Lady Eithne might have come to pay her respects as she was the moving force behind the rebuilding of the abbey.

Just before midnight, the clog estechtae , the death bell, was sounded, its solemn tones echoing through the abbey. The brethren gathered in the quadrangle as the corpse was carried out of the chapel on the fuat , wrapped in the white racholl , or winding sheet. Several members of the community carried lanterns, lighting the scene with an eerie, flickering half-light which caused grotesque shadows to jump this way and that.

Fidelma, Eadulf and Gormán joined them and glanced about, wondering if Saor and his builders were going to ignore the master builder’s funeral entirely. Belatedly they appeared at the gates of the abbey with Saor at their head. They seemed reluctant as they lined up behind the bier, carried by four of the brethren. Abbot Iarnla took his place at the head of the procession. In spite of the tensions they had observed among the brethren, they found most of the leading members of the community were there. Brother Lugna, Brother Seachlann, Brother Donnán. Brother Máel Eoin, Brother Echen and even the smith Brother Giolla-na-Naomh were in attendance.

Abbot Iarnla held up his staff of office and turned towards them. He raised his voice to call the traditional instruction: ‘The fé has been measured, we will proceed.’

The fé was a measuring rod for a grave. It was regarded almost with horror by ordinary folk and only the gravedigger was allowed to touch it, for it was thought to bring bad luck and death to others.

The procession moved off with the brethren chanting.

Hymnum dicat turba fratrum

Hymnum cantus personet …

Band of brethren, raise the hymn,

Let your song the hymn resound …

The procession guided by those holding high their lanterns, made its way through the abbey gates and turned towards the eastern side of the buildings where the graveyard of the abbey lay between rows of towering yew trees. The gravediggers stood awaiting them. As the voices of the brethren died away with the final verse, they gathered round the hole that had been dug in the ground and lined in the traditional fashion with branches of broom. The fuat was lowered and tipped, and the body slid into the grave. Then one of the gravediggers came forward and smashed the wooden bier and tossed the pieces into the grave. Once a fuat had carried a body to the grave, it could not be used again. Then the gravediggers threw in what was called the strophaiss , the birch branches that always covered the body before the grave was filled.

There was an expectant silence as the gravediggers stood back. Abbot Iarnla looked round, trying to pick out Saor and his comrades in the semi-darkness.

‘Who among you will come forward to speak a few words in honour of Glassán the master builder?’ he asked. ‘Who will sing the écnaire , the song for intercession for the repose of Glassán’s soul?’

There was a shuffling among them but no one spoke. No one came forward.

It was Brother Lugna who said coldly, ‘All that should be said was said at the fled cro-lige . Let us proceed.’

Abbot Iarnla waited a few moments more and then uttered an audible sigh. He raised his voice. ‘This is Glassán, sometimemaster builder of the abbey of Lios Mór. His work will be his memorial for as long as this abbey stands. May he be granted eternal peace.’ The abbot gave the sign of the Cross and turned to the gravediggers. At his gesture they began to fill in the grave. The brethren waited a moment or two before beginning to move away, back to the abbey, in ones and twos.

Eadulf found his arm gripped by Fidelma.

‘Let’s pause awhile,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s stand in the shelter of those yews behind us.’ She turned to Gormán. ‘I need you to go back to the abbey, don’t do it discreetly. Go to the guesthouse as if you had accompanied us there.’

Gormán was quick to realise what she wanted.

Eadulf followed Fidelma into the darkness of the yew trees without anyone apparently noticing them.

They silently watched the burly gravediggers fill in the grave. They worked rapidly and soon finished their task. Obviously the men had no wish to hang about the cemetery longer than was necessary. Then they were gone.