Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER TWO

‘Are you telling me that you are rejecting the Faith, Fidelma?’ Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach, demanded in a scandalised voice.

Fidelma stood before the abbot in the private chamber that was always set aside for his visits to the palace of Cashel. By virtue of his ecclesiastical role as Chief Bishop of Muman, Ségdae was always treated with the greatest respect when he came to see his King.

‘I am not rejecting the Faith, only the life of a religieuse,’ Fidelma replied patiently.

Abbot Ségdae examined her with suspicion. ‘This is not good. I know that you have had concerns over the years …’

Fidelma raised a hand and Abbot Ségdae paused to allow her to speak.

‘When I attended the school of the Brehon Morann and qualified in the study of law, which was my passion, my brother was not then King of Muman, and I needed the means of supporting myself before I could make a reputation as an advocate, a dálaigh of the courts. My cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú, suggested I join the house of Brigid at Cill Dara, because they needed someone with legal ability. It is some years ago since I shook the dust of that place from my sandals for reasons that I think you know well.’

Abbot Ségdae shrugged. ‘One bad apple does not mean that the entire crop is ruined,’ he commented.

A smile crossed Fidelma’s features but there was little humour in it.

‘It seems that there are many bad apples in this world. During the seven or so years that I have practised the legal arts, I have come across more than I care to enumerate — even in the palace of the Holy Father in Rome. Anyway, since leaving Cill Dara, I have based myself at my brother’s court here in Cashel and sought to serve him and this kingdom, and even the High King, to the best of my ability when my opinion has been sought. The Church has little need of me to serve the Faith, but the law does have need of me.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ Abbot Ségdae demanded.

‘That I will no longer be a member of the religieuse in name. Many years have passed since I was truly a Sister of a community. Even before I went to Cill Dara, I was never committed to the rules and regulations of the religieuse. It was only a means of security in an uncertain world. Now, my brother often needs me at his side to advise and sit with him in matters of law and this kingdom.’

The abbot frowned briefly. ‘I hear what you say, Fidelma. I hear it and am concerned by it. Is this matter something to do with Brother Eadulf?’

A flush came to Fidelma’s face.

‘Eadulf? Why do you say that?’ she demanded defensively.

The abbot sat back and examined her closely. ‘It has been observed, Fidelma, that since your return from the Council of Autun, and the problems you encountered after you left the port of Naoned, you and Brother Eadulf have led separate lives. Why is that?’

‘It is … it is a private matter,’ Fidelma said hesitantly.

The abbot shook his head sadly. ‘Anything that affects thewell-being of the King’s sister, that causes her to withdraw from the religieuse, must surely be of concern to me as the King’s chief spiritual adviser.’

‘My decision has nothing to do with Eadulf,’ she insisted in annoyance. ‘I needed time at Cashel while Eadulf wanted to spend some time in contemplation with the community of the abbey of the Blessed Rúan north of here. That is all.’

‘All?’

‘What else can there be?’ she demanded petulantly.

Abbot Ségdae’s voice was sorrowful. ‘That, my child, is what I am attempting to find out. You and Eadulf had hardly returned here, to Cashel, when he left to go to the abbey of Rúan, while you remained here with your son, Alchú.’

‘Is there anything wrong with a desire to spend some time with my son?’ Fidelma’s voice was fierce.

The abbot ignored her aggressive tone and continued in an even voice. ‘Then you come to me and tell me that, after these many years, you wish to leave the religieuse. You must forgive me for thinking that these matters may be connected.’

There was an uneasy silence between them.

‘We have known one another a long time, Fidelma,’ the abbot began again. ‘I know that you are possessed of a sharp mind and it is your questioning ability that stands you in good stead as an advocate in your profession. I know, too, that it often leads you to question some of the tenets of the Faith. The Faith is not something that you can question and always achieve a rational answer — that’s what makes it a faith and not an art or science. It is not something that can be proven by evidence as in your law textbooks or even by rational thought.’

He saw Fidelma’s lips compress in a stubborn line.

‘I have told you, I accept the Faith,’ she said softly. ‘I am not questioning the Faith.’

‘Have you spoken of this matter with your brother, the King?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have. My brother Colgú has come to rely on my advice more often than before. It is known that the Chief Brehon of Muman, Baithen, is ill with a wasting sickness and has expressed his wish to withdraw into private life.’

Abbot Ségdae’s eyes widened a little. ‘And you would aspire to be Chief Brehon of your brother’s kingdom?’

Fidelma’s chin rose a little. ‘Not only aspire,’ she replied sharply. ‘I feel that the Council of Brehons would support me in that office.’

‘Baithen was of the rank of ollamh, the highest degree possible in law. Yet you-’

‘I am of the rank of an anruth, the second highest degree to an ollamh,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘That has never excluded me from being consulted in legal matters even by the High King, let alone provincial kings.’

‘I meant no disrespect, my child,’ replied Ségdae. ‘It is just that there are many others qualified as ollamh among the Council of Brehons of Muman. What will be their thoughts at being surpassed in office if your brother nominates you? Would they not say, ah, she is the King’s sister, and that is why we have been overlooked? Would that not sow seeds of dissension within the kingdom?’

Fidelma regarded him stubbornly. ‘If my brother is happy with the nomination, I cannot see why his people should dissent.’

The abbot once more gave a sad shake of his head. ‘There are times, my child, when you surprise me.’

‘I have come to you to announce my intention of withdrawing from the religieuse and to pursue my future as a lawyer unencumbered by other interests. As Chief Bishop of the kingdom, do I have your blessing or not?’

‘It is not so simple,’ the abbot replied firmly. ‘I must consult about this; I must talk to your brother, the King. To be truthful,I am not certain that I have been placed in possession of all the facts.’

Fidelma flushed, her body stiffened. ‘I do not tell untruths.’

The abbot held up a hand as if to pacify her. ‘I did not say that you have told me anything which is not true, merely that you may have withheld some information which, perhaps, might have made me understand your reasoning better. Perhaps you are withholding that knowledge even from yourself.’

Fidelma sniffed in disapproval. ‘I have told you that which is pertinent to my request, and if that is not sufficient, then I can do nothing further. By your leave, Ségdae, I will withdraw, but let me say this: I have told you my intention and, with your blessing or no, I will fulfil my design.’

Without another word, she turned and left.

Abbot Ségdae sat motionless for a few moments, staring at the door she had slammed behind her. Then he stirred and, not for the first time, sighed deeply.

‘You heard that?’ he asked softly.

The curtain hanging over the door-like aperture into the guestroom’s sleeping quarters stirred and was pulled aside.

The abbot’s steward entered. Brother Madagan was a tall man with thin, serious features and dark, brooding, deep-set eyes.

‘I did.’

‘And what is your comment?’

‘I have a great aversion to placing a wild bird in a cage.’

The abbot frowned and then, as he understood what his steward meant, he smiled at him.

‘We have known for many years that Fidelma was her own person. She will not be constrained by anyone. Once she makes up her mind as to the correctness of the course she undertakes, then there is little to be done.’

‘Just so.’

‘But what if she is choosing the wrong path?’ queried the abbot. ‘Do we not have a duty to dissuade her?’

‘Better that she chooses it than she has a path chosen for her, which she then resents and comes to resent those who chose it. If it is the wrong path, she will find out soon enough and return. If it is the right path … well, why should we not encourage her?’

‘You are ever a good counsellor, Brother Madagan. I wonder if she has heard that most of the Council of Brehons favour Brehon Aillín of the Eóghanacht Glendamnach as the new Chief Brehon?’

‘I do not think that will disturb her ambition.’

Abbot Ségdae sat in thought for a moment or two before making a small grimace. ‘I still feel that something is not quite right here. I believe there is more to her decision to leave the religious than a simple ambition to pursue her profession in law.’

‘You refer to this separation between her and Brother Eadulf?’

The abbot shifted his weight in the chair. ‘Sometimes I think that those esoteric theologists who try to persuade us that celibacy is the best form of life for those who would pursue the religious cause are right. Sometimes relationships within the communities can lead to problems.’

‘Fidelma and Eadulf have shown not only their love and devotion to one another over the years but they work so well together on mysteries that would have baffled many. I need hardly remind you how they helped me when Brother Mochta and the holy relics of the Blessed Ailbe disappeared and-’

‘If there is anyone more indebted to Fidelma, and to Eadulf, than myself, I have yet to meet with them,’ Abbot Ségdae interrupted heavily. ‘I am well aware of the debt I owe her. It is that indebtedness that makes me worried. If there is some problembetween them, of which this declaration is a manifestation, then I must do what I can to see if a resolution can be found.’

‘How will you do this?’

‘I shall consult the King again. We have heard worrying news from Abbot Iarnla of Lios Mór that might become a solution to this problem.’ He paused, and then smiled as if in relief at his decision. ‘Indeed, that is what I shall do.’

Colgú, King of Muman, the most southwesterly and largest of the Five Kingdoms of Éireann, ran a hand through his crop of red hair and gazed at his sister with a troubled expression.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Abbot Ségdae is well within his rights to ask you to explain why you wish to leave the religieuse.’

‘And I have answered him,’ snapped Fidelma, pausing as she paced up and down in front of her brother, who was seated in his private chamber. ‘He should accept my statement and not start prying into my private affairs.’

‘You gave him your reason but even you must admit that there has been much public speculation since you and Eadulf returned from the kingdom of the Bretons.’ He saw Fidelma’s lips thin and the fire come into her eyes, and rather than wait for the storm to erupt, he continued, ‘You know it is true. It is no wonder Abbot Ségdae questions why you have made this request now.’

For a moment or two Fidelma seemed to be about to give vent to her anger but then abruptly she heaved a sigh and sank into a chair opposite her brother.

‘It has nothing to do with it,’ she said quietly. ‘At least, nothing directly to do with it.’

Colgú was very fond of his fiery sister and he had been increasingly concerned during the past two weeks about her apparent separation from Eadulf. He had also grown fond of the Anglefrom Seaxmund’s Ham. It saddened him to see an apparent rift in the relationship between his sister and Eadulf.

‘Can’t you tell me what the problem is?’ he asked softly.

Fidelma made a motion of her shoulder, a half shrug, but said nothing.

‘Since our parents died when you were little, you would always confide your problems to me,’ pressed Colgú.

‘As far as I am concerned … ’ began Fidelma sharply. Then she halted, compressed her lips for a moment before continuing in a more reasonable tone. ‘If you must know, Eadulf wishes to pursue his life as a religieux. He has accepted many of the teachings of Rome and his idea, when we returned here, was to enter a community and settle. He no longer wanted to be involved in my pursuit of law. He wanted us to settle and raise little Alchú in the service of the Christ.’

Colgú nodded thoughtfully. ‘He is set on that course?’

‘You know he has a good mind and yet he does not realise that he is not suited for a life of contemplation and piety. But he is stubborn. He will become bored with such a life, I know it.’

‘And it was over this disagreement of your opinions that he left you and went off to the community at the abbey of the Blessed Rúan?’

‘We argued,’ Fidelma agreed simply. ‘But I told him to go. Better he find out sooner than continue in resentment.’

Her brother grimaced wryly. ‘You told him to go? An order to a man such as Eadulf …’ He left the comment unfinished.

‘You know as well as I do that it was our cousin Laisran who persuaded me to join the religious,’ she said. ‘I am not interested in being committed to spreading the Faith but in spreading the concept of truth and justice under the law and obedience to it. With me, the law comes first and Faith comes second. That is why I have decided to withdraw from the religious and pursue my duties as a Brehon.’

Her brother smiled. ‘In the expectation that I shall nominate you as my Chief Brehon when the Council meet next week?’

Fidelma flushed indignantly. ‘I shall not try to persuade you to do so. You know what work I have done, so I shall let my reputation be my advocate.’

‘And what did Eadulf say to this?’

‘As I have said, he wanted me to give it up and go to the community of the Blessed Rúan with him. I told him that if that was all he cared about, then he should go on his own. He should respect my wishes.’

‘And what of Eadulf’s wishes? Should those not be respected?’

‘That is not the same thing.’

‘Not the same?’ Colgú queried sadly.

‘Law is the only thing that has really interested me since I reached the amsir togú, the age of choice. That is why I persuaded our foster-parents to allow me to attend the school of Brehon Morann. Perhaps if I had not listened to our cousin, Abbot Laisran …’

‘If, Fidelma? Then what?’ Her brother smiled. ‘You are the last person to start playing the “if” game. Have you not said before that with an “if” you could put Tara and the High King’s palace in a bottle?’

Fidelma did not respond to her brother’s humour and moved her hand in a gesture of dismissal.

‘It does not alter the facts. I want to devote myself to the pursuit of legal matters. It has been my ambition since a child, what I was trained to do and what I have proved myself adept at. I shall leave the religious with or without Abbot Ségdae’s blessing.’

‘And with or without your husband’s approval?’

Fidelma gazed at her brother, the fire blazing in her eyes.

‘If that is the way it must be, then so be it,’ she said firmly.

There was a silence and then Colgú stirred reluctantly androse, turning towards the fire in the hearth. For a moment or two he stood staring down into the flames, one hand on the stone mantel. Then he looked at her over his shoulder.

‘Very well. I must tell you that I have discussed the matter with Abbot Ségdae. You are too good an advocate to be allowed to waste your talents. But that does not mean that I am certain to support you in your bid to become Chief Brehon. I will remain neutral and it will be up to the Council of Brehons to make the final decision.’

Fidelma was unable to resist a broad smile.

‘I will take the chance that they make the right decision,’ she replied.

Colgú frowned sternly. ‘Their decision is their decision. Meanwhile, there is something more important to think about.’

Fidelma was already turning for the door but paused now and looked expectantly back at her brother.

‘There is a condition that Abbot Ségdae and I have agreed should be put to you.’

‘A condition?’ Fidelma returned from the door with suspicion on her features.

‘You are well acquainted with the abbey of Lios Mór.’ It was more of a statement than a question, for Colgú knew the answer.

‘Of course. I have sat in judgement in the abbey on minor matters when Brother Cathal was in charge in Abbot Iarnla’s absence.’

‘But you know old Abbot Iarnla?’

‘I do, but not well. I have only met him briefly.’

‘This morning Abbot Ségdae and I received a messenger from him asking for assistance.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘What type of assistance?’ she asked.

‘Some years ago you may recall that you advised on accusations that were being made against Brother Cathal and Brother Donnchad of Lios Mór.’

‘Indeed. The Prince of the Déisi, Maolochtair, had begun to see conspiracy in every quarter. But he was old, though none would dare declare him feeble of mind. He accused Cathal and his brother of conspiracy to overthrow him. Cathal and his blood brother Donnchad were of a princely family of the Déisi. I advised that they should leave on a pilgrimage and not return until a more opportune time. They left for the Holy Land and Maolochtair died while they were away. I remember it very well. I hear that Donnchad returned earlier this summer, while Cathal decided to settle in some city south of Rome.’

‘That is so. Brother Donnchad has returned to Lios Mór.’

‘So what is Abbot Iarnla’s problem?’

‘Brother Donnchad was found yesterday dead in his cell. He had been stabbed twice in the back. Yet he lay on his bed, on his back, as if in repose, and his door was locked from the inside. The abbey is in uproar.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened a fraction at the news.

Colgú continued, ‘Ségdae and I have sent a message, telling Abbot Iarnla that you will be setting out tomorrow for Lios Mór.’

Fidelma did not conceal her sudden excitement. During these last weeks she had found nothing to pit her intellect against and she found herself bored with doing nothing. She felt a momentary pang of guilt at dismissing her daily play with Alchú as ‘nothing’. But it was Muirgen who usually nursed the child. She had also gone riding, of course, and for the occasional swim, but — she had to admit it — without Eadulf, there seemed little enjoyment in these diversions. She had even taken to asking Brehon Baithen if there were any courts in which she could sit. That was when she had learned that Colgú’s Chief Brehon was ill and was resigning his office. In eighteen days, the King and his Council of Brehons would meet to make a decision on hissuccessor and Fidelma had decided that she would put herself forward for the office. Now she could hardly contain her excitement at being offered such an investigation; if handled well, it could only enhance her reputation.

‘Thank you, brother, for choosing me,’ she said with a happy smile.

‘It was, frankly, not my choice,’ Colgú said, with a shake of his head. ‘It was Abbot Iarnla who specifically requested you,’ he replied dourly. ‘He remembered that you had resolved the problem with Maolochtair.’

‘It is still well,’ Fidelma replied, undeterred.

‘Then there is the condition that Ségdae and I would impose on you before you accept this undertaking,’ her brother added. ‘In sending to Abbot Iarnla and saying that you would attend him, we have presumed your acceptance of this condition.’

An expression of uncertainty crossed her features. ‘I shall not withdraw my request to the Council of Brehons,’ she said firmly.

‘I did not expect you to. The condition is that you are to be accompanied by one other.’

Her expression grew dark and ominous.

‘After all this time, you do not trust my experience?’ she said sharply.

‘On the countrary, I do trust your experience. Sometimes, however, I do not trust your emotions.’

‘Who have you foisted on me to investigate this matter?’ she demanded aggressively.

‘Someone you have worked well with in the past and to whom my kingdom owes a great debt. I have asked Brother Eadulf to be here by this afternoon.’

Fidelma stood for a moment, saying nothing. Colgú watched the emotions chase each other across her face until she brought them under control.

‘I had not imagined that you were a matchmaker, brother,’ she finally said in a tone of irony.

Colgú resumed his seat before responding.

‘Neither am I, sister. In such a matter as this, where the community of Lios Mór now speak of dark, supernatural deeds, I felt that I should send those best qualified to bring about a rational resolution. Do you deny that you and Eadulf have worked on such mysteries in the past and come to a logical resolution of them?’

‘I do not. Yet it seems that you have not accepted what I have said about Eadulf.’

‘I have understood exactly, Fidelma.’

‘He will not accept this,’ she said firmly. ‘He will not come.’

‘In that case, you are absolved from the condition and you may go alone.’

Fidelma hesitated. Her brother’s words suggested that he had no doubt Eadulf would come.

‘We shall see, then.’

Later, in her chamber, Fidelma sat alone and reflected on the situation. She had to admit to herself that she did hope Eadulf would come but Eadulf was a stubborn man and she had been particularly caustic with him during that last argument. She gazed moodily at the fire in the hearth as she remembered their parting. He had called her arrogant and accused her of being too concerned with her own wishes and having little or no concern for others. He had even told her that she was unwilling to tolerate other people’s opinions or beliefs. That was partially untrue. She knew her own faults.

It was when Eadulf had said that she had too much pride in herself and scorned others that she had lost her temper and told him to leave. It was true that she would not tolerate ignorance or false pride in others but her own pride … she did not think of it as pride to have faith in her knowledge of law and to pit thatknowledge against others. She did not tolerate fools gladly. That was not arrogance. She was not full of unwarranted pride or self-importance. It was only when she came up against those who would not treat her with the respect her knowledge of law warranted that she was forced to remind them that she held the second highest degree it was possible to obtain from the law schools. If they had no respect for that, then she reminded them that she was the daughter of a king and the sister of a king. It was so easy to be overwhelmed by the dictates of others that she was determined to repulse anything that she saw as an infringement of her independence. Was that being overbearing and haughty, as Eadulf pointed out?

Fidelma sighed deeply. She was aware that she was trying to justify her faults and that made her more irritable. At the same time, she tried to examine her feelings for Eadulf. He was only the second man she had allowed into her life. The first had been a young warrior called Cian who had awakened her sensuality as a girl and then brutally discarded her for another. She had barely been eighteen years old when she had met the handsome warrior of the High King’s bodyguard, the Fianna. Cian’s pursuit of her had been frivolous and her life had become a turmoil of conflicting emotions. The memory of Cian had haunted her until she had met him again on a pilgrim ship and events had caused her to realise the folly of the bitter-sweet intensity of her youthful affair.

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 — tobecome 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 curiousisolation, 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 cometo 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 hasrequested 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 would 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 hadhe 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.