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I thank you, Brother Eadulf. I give them these dwellings and this land to start their community. And now I must return to my rath.’
    He bid them farewell, and then he and his warriors departed.
    Caol was glancing up at the sky through the canopy of branches.
    ‘If we left now, Brother Eadulf,’ he said, ‘we could be back just after dusk.’
    ‘There is much I would like to discuss with you all,’ Eadulf said reluctantly, encompassing Berrihert and his brothers with his glance. ‘It is a long time since I was in my homeland, and even longer since you were. It would be good to talk and reflect on the changes that have come upon us.’
    Brother Berrihert smiled his agreement. ‘You have much to do in these coming days, Eadulf. But, God willing, we shall come to Cashelto mark your momentous day. Thereafter, you will always find us in this place.’
    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 afew 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