Atonement of Blood(3)

In one corner, behind the top table, stood a fear-stuic, a trumpeter who, at some secret signal, raised this instrument to his lips and let forth three short blasts.

There was a movement of the curtain behind the King’s chair and through this hidden entrance came the rotund figure of Beccan, King Colgú’s newly appointed rechtaire, the steward of the palace, with his staff of office. He took his position at the side of Caol and thumped the end of his staff three times on the floor. The assembly rose to their feet. There was a moment of silence before Beccan cleared his throat and announced the presence of the King.

Colgú came pushing through the curtain behind his chair, seemingly embarrassed by the official attention. With his red hair and features, there was no mistaking him for other than brother to Fidelma. Beccan was banging his staff again and starting to intone in a loud voice: ‘Give welcome to Colgú, son of Failbhe Flann son of Áedo Dubh …’

Colgú slumped in his chair and raised a hand as if to silence his steward.

‘Thank you, Beccan,’ he said gruffly. ‘I am sure that all here will know my ancestry.’

Beccan blinked and a hurt look came over his features.

‘But protocol dictates …’ he began to protest.

‘We are among friends tonight, Beccan,’ smiled Colgú. ‘We may dispense with the protocol. There are times to stand on ceremony and times when we can relax among those who know us well.’ He motioned to one of the attendants who was waiting patiently with a pitcher of wine. The young man came forward dutifully and poured the liquid into the King’s goblet. Then Colgú rose and raised his goblet to the assembly.

‘My friends, it is I who bid you welcome this night. Health to the men and may the women live forever!’

It was an ancient toast and the assembly rose and responded in kind.

As the guests settled back, the side doors opened and a line of attendants came forward bringing in the freshly cooked dishes of roasted boar, venison and even mutton. Each dish was attended by the dáilemain, the carver, whose job it was to carve the meat for the guests, and the deoghbhaire or cupbearer, whose task was to keep the guests supplied with drink. In addition, there were platters of goose eggs and of sausages, various cabbages spiced with wild garlic, and leeks and onions cooked in butter. And this was just the first course!

‘I wonder who will get the hero’s morsel this evening?’ whispered Eadulf with a smile. He had come to know that at major feasts the person who had performed an outstanding act of bravery was symbolically rewarded with the curath-mir, which was a choice cut of the main meat dish.

‘I expect Beccan will announce it shortly,’ Fidelma whispered, ‘if he can overcome his dismay at my brother interrupting his attempt to bestow etiquette on these proceedings.’

There was a movement at the doors of the feasting hall and the young warrior, Gormán, entered and stood for a moment frowning uncertainly. Beccan, with a glance at Colgú, now busily engaged in conversation with Chief Brehon Áedo, went scurrying down the hall towards him. Fidelma watched as the two engaged in a swift and animated exchange. Then Beccan hurried back to Colgú’s side and bent to whisper in his ear. They seemed for a moment to be disagreeing about something and then Beccan appeared to shrug before he rose and signalled to Gormán. The warrior turned and left the hall.

‘I wonder what that is all about,’ muttered Fidelma to Eadulf, who had been hungrily sizing up the joint of venison, which was waiting to be carved. He turned absently, having missed the incident.

But the door was opening again and Gormán was ushering into the feasting hall a nondescript-looking man clad in religious robes. The religieux stood for a moment as if examining his surroundings, unsure of himself. The guests fell silent, their eyes resting on the unknown guest.

‘Come forward, Brother Lennán, and join us,’ Colgú called. ‘I am told that you have journeyed from Mungairit with an important message for me? Come – you have had a tiring journey, so share our feast and we will speak of this matter as you refresh yourself.’

The newcomer glanced around, quickly examining the company from dark, sunken eyes set in a sallow face.

Apparently interpreting his hesitation as awe at being in the company of the nobles of the Eóghanacht, Brehon Áedo rose from his seat next to the King and, with a friendly smile, motioned for the man to take his place.

‘Come and sit by me,’ Colgú invited. ‘I know Abbot Nannid of Mungairit well. How is the uncle of Prince Donennach? Does he continue in good health? Come, Brother, and you may tell me what message Abbot Nannid sends while we feast.’