And Eadulf ? Eadulf was very different to Cian. When she had first met him at the great synod held by King Oswy at Streoneshalh, she had not liked him but, by the end of the council, she reluctantly felt that he had become a friend. It had taken a long while before she had come to accept that friendship could become the basis of a partnership in marriage. Even then she had been cautious, first agreeing to a trial marriage of a year and a day, as was the custom of her people – to become his ben charrthach under the law of the Cáin Lánamnus, and see if things worked out. She respected Eadulf’s intelligence; after all, he had once undertaken her legal defence when she was accused of murder and he had shown her to be innocent. She trusted him. They had been through much together. It hurt her when he did not realise just how much the profession of the law meant to her and out of this hurt she had been bitter in her attack on his proposal that they should remove from Cashel and join a community solely devoted to religious pursuits.
She stirred again and sighed.
And there was their son, little Alchú. She suddenly felt guilt as she recalled her emotions following his birth more than three years ago. They had bordered on the resentful. Initially she had felt confined by the presence of the child and a responsibility she did not want. When she was called to investigate a series of murders at the great abbey of Finnbarr, she had had a wonderful feeling of freedom and then, returning to Cashel, of depression. She loved her child; she declared it fiercely to herself. Too fiercely? After his birth she had had all manner of depressive thoughts. She even began to question whether she was ready for marriage – marriage to anyone.
Her mind turned quickly back to Eadulf. She had concerns for him. She was concerned that, under the law of her people, theirs was not a marriage of equals. She was of royal rank and Eadulf, being a foreigner, did not have equal property rights with her. Did Eadulf still feel resentment because of this? She knew that she could not really contemplate an existence without Eadulf’s support. Who else would tolerate her sharp temper, which she accepted was her biggest fault? She enjoyed Eadulf’s company, his friendship and his tolerance. Perhaps she had taken it all for granted and when, a few weeks ago, he had proposed his idea of a withdrawal from Cashel … well, bitter words were exchanged. After he had left Cashel, she had felt a curious isolation, a loneliness, which she had tried to cover with her fierce determination to pursue the law.
She wanted to apologise to Eadulf for her temper but, at the same time, she felt that she was right; that she should be allowed her individuality and the freedom to pursue her own path in life. She had no wish to dominate but she wanted a supportive partnership. Would Eadulf see an apology as surrender? She was growing more confused than ever.
There was movement outside that caused her to look up from her meditation.
Fidelma knew who it was as soon as she heard the footfall outside the door. A smile of excitement came to her lips, which she immediately sought to control. Before she could do so there was a knock and she had called out, ‘Come in, Eadulf.’
Eadulf stood uncertainly on the threshold.
In spite of her misgivings, Fidelma rose and moved towards him, both hands outstretched.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said simply.
‘And I you,’ he replied slightly stiffly, although he responded to her embrace. She drew back, her eyes searching his.
‘You should know at once that I have asked Abbot Ségdae for his blessing on my withdrawal from the religious.’
He was silent for a moment, his face expressionless.
‘I did not doubt that you would follow that course once you had set your mind to it. I assume that you are sure that this is what you want?’
She turned back to the chair she had risen from, near the fire.
‘Close the door, Eadulf. Come and sit down.’ She waited until he was seated before continuing. ‘I am sure,’ she said simply. ‘This is what I must do.’
‘The status of a religious is not to be abandoned lightly,’ Eadulf observed with some sadness.
‘You know that I have never had any inclination to be a proselytiser of the Faith, to preach or teach, nor to spend my days in isolated contemplation or worship. I am a lawyer, Eadulf. That is my role in life.’
‘But being of the religious gives one security and status,’ he protested in a half-hearted fashion, aware that they had had this conversation many times.
For a moment her eyes flashed. ‘I am a princess of the Eóghanacht. I am a dálaigh of the law courts of the Five Kingdoms. You know that I am no longer in need of such status.’
Eadulf nodded slowly. ‘And soon you will be claiming the office of Chief Brehon of your brother’s kingdom.’
‘Who told you that?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.
Eadulf smiled briefly, without real expression. ‘If you have taught me nothing else, you have taught me how to make a logical deduction. Once I heard that Brehon Baithen was ill and that the Council of Brehons will soon meet to discuss his successor, well …’ He ended with a slight motion of his left shoulder as if to dismiss it. ‘Has Abbot Ségdae given you his blessing?’
Fidelma shook her head. ‘Not immediately. He suspects my leaving might have something to do with us.’
Eadulf’s brow wrinkled. ‘With us? I do not follow.’
‘Because we have separated he thinks …’ It was her turn to shrug.
‘He looks for cause and effect,’ Eadulf reflected. ‘That is logical.’
‘But not accurate,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Anyway, whether I have his approval or not, and whether I secure the office of my brother’s chief legal adviser or not, I am determined to follow my career in law.’
‘I suppose it was silly of me to think that I could change you,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘During these last weeks, I have come to realise that the cause of most of the problems in this world is the desire to change other people, to make them think as we think, or behave as we do. Quid existis in desertum videre … hominem mollibus vestitum?’
It took her a moment before she realised that he was paraphrasing the Gospel of Matthew: ‘What went you out into the wilderness to see? A man clothed in soft raiment?’ In other words, one shouldn’t judge others by one’s own standards.
‘I will not attempt to put any further constraints on you, Fidelma,’ he went on. ‘You must do what you think best. And I … I must give thought to what I must do to fulfil my path in life.’
She stared at him in surprise. And suddenly she felt sorry for him. He looked very tired and resigned.
Then she mentally shook herself. She did not want to go down the path of discussing what thoughts he might have – at least, not yet.
‘Have you seen my brother yet?’
‘I have seen him and Abbot Ségdae.’
‘And you were interested enough in their proposal to come back to Cashel?’
‘Your brother is King and his proposal was more of a summons than a request. I think I have been able to reassure Ségdae that his suspicion was wrong. That your decision to leave the religious was made a long time ago.’
‘So what do you think of their plan that we undertake the investigation at Lios Mór?’
‘At first I was inclined to think that your brother was hatching some plot to bring us together but apparently the news of the murder of Brother Donnchad of Lios Mór is true.’
‘There still might be a motive in my brother’s thinking.’ Fidelma grimaced. ‘Nevertheless, you are right. It is true that Brother Donnchad has been murdered and the abbot has requested help in resolving the matter.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you prepared to work with me on this mystery?’
‘I came here in answer to your brother’s summons,’ said Eadulf. ‘But whether I work with you or not is entirely your decision. I have told him that I will not impose myself where I am not wanted.’
She glanced at his determined features and suddenly smiled softly. ‘In these matters, we have always worked well together, Eadulf. I am not averse to your aid; in fact, I wo
uld more than welcome it.’
There was a moment of embarrassed silence.
‘Then I shall accompany you,’ Eadulf said after a while. ‘If we are to set out for Lios Mór tomorrow at first light, I must find somewhere to sleep.’
‘Muirgen will fix you up a bed in little Alchú’s chamber,’ Fidelma replied. ‘He has been asking for his father this last week and will be pleased to see you. Did you come here by foot or by horse?’
‘By horse, as it was the King’s summons.’
‘A good horse? It is a long ride tomorrow and, as you will recall, there are some steep mountain roads to climb before we reach Lios Mór.’
‘You know me and horses, Fidelma,’ Eadulf returned. ‘I had a loan of this animal from a local farmer to whom I have promised to return it.’
Eadulf knew that Fidelma was an expert horsewoman. She had ridden almost before she had begun to walk, and so he was happy to leave the matter in her capable hands. Eadulf was never comfortable riding, although he had greatly improved in recent years but he still knew little about horses.
‘Then you go to see Alchú and tell Muirgen to make you up a bed. I will go to the stables to look at your animal. We have several horses that can replace it if it is not suitable.’
They rose together and Fidelma went to the door and opened it. She paused and suddenly turned with a quick smile.
‘I am glad that you are coming with me,’ she said softly.
For the first time in weeks Eadulf felt happy. He realised that he felt comfortable, at ease, being back in the familiar apartments they had shared for so long. He had a momentary feeling of having come home. That was stupid, he reminded himself. Cashel was not his home. Yet there was no denying how he felt. He regretted the argument that he had had with Fidelma, which had developed out of proportion to what he had wanted to say to her. Yet once heated words were exchanged, matters seemed to be out of his control. In the years he had been with Fidelma he had come to realise that she would never do what she did not want to do, what she thought was wrong. He regretted his attempt to make her do so. He had felt contrition for his action almost from the moment he left Cashel.
What had it all been about?
Pride, he supposed. He had never fully accepted that he was not considered equal in law with Fidelma in her own land. He had once been an hereditary gerefa, son of a magistrate of his own people, the Angles, and Fidelma would not have been considered his equal in the land of the South Folk, had they settled there. He had known this long before he entered into a relationship with her and had been happy to make the decision that they would settle in her brother’s kingdom. But that pride, that resentment, had become a small quibbling voice at the back of his mind. He had begun to think that if they retreated into some religious community where all were regarded as equal, this would resolve matters.
Of course it would not. He should have known that better than anyone. Fidelma was not a person to be constrained in any community with rules and regulations. How many times had he seen her chaff against such confines when she encountered them? And he had been trying to confine her. That was stupid. He just hoped it was not too late to make amends.
He turned towards the door that led to little Alchú’s room with a lighter heart than he had felt for a long time. He was looking forward to seeing his son again – their son.
CHAPTER THREE
The white light that heralded dawn had only just begun to spread over the jagged tops of the eastern hills when Fidelma and Eadulf came into the courtyard at Cashel. The stable lads were patiently waiting with their horses, already saddled for the journey. They were surprised, however, to find the young warrior, Gormán, also there, with his horse saddled and obviously prepared for a long journey. Gormán was a warrior of the Nasc Niadh, the warriors of the golden collar, élite bodyguards to the kings of Muman. He was also the son of Fidelma’s friend, Della, a former be taide, or prostitute, who lived in the township beneath the Rock of Cashel on which the palace of the Eóghanacht rulers was situated. Fidelma had successfully defended both Della and Gormán from accusations of murder. Gormán had become one of Cashel’s most trusted warriors and had shared several adventures with Fidelma and Eadulf.
‘Where are you off to?’ Eadulf asked after they had greeted one another.
‘Off to Lios Mór with you,’ grinned Gormán before turning to Fidelma. ‘The King, your brother, lady, has instructed me to accompany you and put myself at your service,’ he explained.
For a moment, a frown crossed her face. Then she dismissed the objection that had sprung to her mind, realising that Gormán was never intrusive and often helpful in their quests.
‘Very well, we have a long ride ahead and I would like to be in the abbey of Lios Mór before nightfall.’
‘Shall we go directly by way of the Rian Bó Phádraig, the old highway that takes us across the mountains?’ queried the warrior.
‘We shall,’ affirmed Fidelma.
Eadulf noted that his horse had been exchanged for a roan-coloured cob with a luxuriant mane and tail. It was a powerful and muscular animal, well-proportioned and with a proud head. But at least the breed was known for its docile and willing nature, Eadulf thought thankfully. As they mounted, Colgú suddenly appeared with Caol, the commander of his bodyguard, at his side to wish them good fortune.
‘Remember that this is an important matter.’ Colgú’s tone was soft but serious as he addressed his sister. ‘Brother Donnchad was recently back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and his brethren stood in awe of him, regarding him almost as a saint. That he should be killed in this mysterious manner is likely to cause alarm and dissension throughout the entire kingdom, if not beyond.’
‘You know me well enough, brother. I treat all matters involving unnatural death as important,’ Fidelma replied quietly, looking down at him.
‘I do not doubt it,’ returned Colgú, ‘but truly, Brother Donnchad was no ordinary scholar. He has walked on the ground where the Christ has stepped and preached. That makes him venerated throughout the kingdom.’
‘I understand, brother,’ Fidelma assured him. With a quick lifting of her hand, she set off through the gates of the palace. Eadulf and Gormán urged their horses after her.
They trotted down the slope that led into the township nestling in the shadow of the grey walls that rose on the great limestone outcrop. For a while, until they were well beyond the township, they did not travel at more than a walking pace, nor did they engage in any conversation. Then on the open road beyond, Fidelma urged her grey into a quick trot. She was riding her favourite horse, a gift from her brother bought from a Gaulish horse trader. She called it Aonbharr, ‘the supreme one’, after the magical horse of Manannán mac Lir, the ocean god, which could run across sea or land and could not be killed by man or god. It was an ancient breed, short neck, upright shoulders and body, slight hindquarters with a long mane and tail. The Gauls and even the Romans had bred the type for battle. It had a calm temperament, displayed intelligence and, more importantly, had agility and stamina. It could easily outrun the cobs rode by Eadulf and Gormán.
Fidelma and Eadulf had not talked further of their quarrel or the matter that had led to it since the previous day and both felt, in their own ways, grateful for Gormán’s presence, which restricted a return to any such conversation. Eadulf was happy to examine the countryside as they took the main highway running south towards the distant mountain ranges, which stood as a barrier between the plain of Cashel and the abbey of Lios Mór. They passed several disused fortresses that had once guarded the ancient highway; each of them had names, such as the rath of blackthorns or Aongus’ rath. The most impressive of these forts, in Eadulf’s opinion, rose on a great mound called the Hill of Rafon. Fidelma had pointed it out on several previous occasions when they had passed it. She did so with an air of pride because, she had told him, it was the former seat of the Eóghanacht kings of Muman, a place where they had been inaugurated and took the oath of kingship in ancie
nt times, before they transferred their capital to Cashel.
By trotting and cantering over the flat plain they made good time in reaching the banks of the broad River Siúr where a settlement had risen around the ancient fortress appropriately named Cathair, the stone fort. Just south of here, Eadulf recalled, were caves in the limestone cliffs overlooking the river, in which he and Fidelma had sheltered on a journey back from the far west. It was there that he had been worried about Fidelma’s depressive moods following the birth of Alchú. And here the old road turned slightly to the south-east, following the banks of the Siúr towards the distant hills. They kept the river to their right before moving away to follow the old road through good, flat farming country before swinging back south-westerly to return to the barrier of the Siúr again. The hours sped by and no one spoke beyond an occasional remark on the scenery through which they passed.
It was time to rest and water the horses, and to eat something. Rath Ard dominated this area, the fortress seat of one of the powerful nobles of the Múscraige Breogáin. Gormán wondered if it was Fidelma’s intention to seek hospitality at the fortress. Fidelma replied that she preferred to press on rather than undergo the rituals of hospitality that would be undoubtedly forced on them and perhaps delay their journey by another day. For the same reason, she did not want to call at the nearby abbey that Fionán the Leper had established near the banks of the River Siúr which was named after him – Ard Fhionáin, Fionán’s Height.
The abbey stood by a natural ford across the river and a small settlement had sprung up around it. It was a good location, set in pleasant scenery and provided a base for traders coming upriver to transfer their goods to smaller barges or pack animals before coming to the more inaccessible reaches of the kingdom. But the ford had always presented a problem, for the currents were fairly strong. In fact, the abbey of Fionán provided a ‘watcher by the ford’ to ensure that no accident went unobserved. A bell hung ready to be rung to summon help if needed. But, as they rode beyond the abbey walls, both Fidelma and Eadulf were surprised to see a new bridge, its timbers hardly seasoned, now spanning the river.
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