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people washed
their face, hands and feet, which process was called the indlut. Daily bathing was more than just a custom among the people of the five kingdoms, it had grown almost into a religious ritual. Every hostel in the five kingdoms had its bath-house.
    The abbess left Fidelma at the door of the guests’ hostel and agreed to meet her an hour later in her own chamber. There was no one else staying in the tech-óired and so Fidelma had the place to herself. She was about to move into her own chamber when she heard sounds coming from the central bathing room.
    Frowning, she moved along the darkened corridor and pushed open the door.
    A middle-aged sister was straightening up after stoking the fire beneath the bronze container in which water was already steaming. She caught sight of Fidelma and hastily dropped her eyes, folding her hands under her robes and bowing her head obsequiously.
    ‘Bene vobis,’ she greeted softly.
    Fidelma entered the room.
    ‘Deus vobiscum,’ she replied, returning the Latin formula. ‘I did not realise there were other guests here.’
    ‘Oh, there are not. I am the doirseór of the abbey but I also look after the guests’ hostel. I have been preparing your bath.’
    Fidelma’s eyes widened slightly.
    ‘It is kind of you, sister.’
    ‘It is my duty,’ replied the middle-aged religieuse without raising her eyes.
    Fidelma gave a glancing examination to the scrupulously clean bathing chamber, the wooden tub standing ready almost filled with hot water, the room heated by the warmth of the fire. Pleasant smelling herbs permeated the atmosphere of the room. A linen cloth was laid ready with a tablet of sléic, a fragrant soap. Nearby was a mirror and a comb
together with cloths for drying the body. Everything was neat and orderly. Fidelma smiled.
    ‘You do your duty well, sister. What is your name?’
    ‘I am Sister Brónach,’ replied the other.
    ‘Brónach? You were one of the two sisters who found the corpse.’
    The religieuse shivered slightly. Her eyes did not meet Fidelma’s.
    ‘It is true, sister. I and Sister Síomha found the body.’ She genuflected quickly.
    ‘Then it will save me some time, sister, if, while I bathe, you tell me of that event.’
    ‘While you bathe, sister?’ There was a tone of disapproval in the other’s voice.
    Fidelma was curious.
    ‘Do you object?’
    ‘I … ? No.’
    The woman turned and, with surprising strength, lifted the heated water in the bronze container from the fire and tipped it into the wooden dabach, already partly filled with steaming water.
    ‘Your bath is ready now, sister.’
    ‘Very well. I have clean garments with me and my own cíorbholg.’ The cíorbholg was, literally a comb-bag, which was indispensable to all women in Ireland for in this little bag they carried not only combs but articles for their toilet. The old laws of the Book of Acaill even laid down that, in certain cases of a quarrel, a woman could be exempted from liability if she showed her ‘comb-bag’ and distaff, the cleft stick three feet in length from which wool or flax was wound. These were the symbols of womanhood.
    Fidelma went to get a change of clothing from her bag. She was fastidious about personal cleanliness and like to keep her clothing washed regularly. There had been few opportunities to wash or change clothing on Ross’s small ship and so she
now took the occasion to change. When she returned, Sister Brónach was heating more water on the fire.
    ‘If you hand me your dirty clothes, sister,’ she greeted as Fidelma reentered the room, ‘I will launder them while you bathe. They can be hung before the fire to dry.’
    Fidelma thanked her but again she could not make eye contact with the doleful religieuse. She removed her clothes, shivering in the cold in spite of the fire, and swiftly slid into the luxuriously warm waters of the bath tub, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.
    She reached for the sléic and began to work it into a