Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Thirteen

Eadulf had not slept well. The pre-dawn chattering of the birds finally caused him to give up the idea of sleep and splash his face in the bowl of cold water which stood by his bed. As he towelled himself he felt a new strength of purpose. He had been left alone for an entire day since the old man, Coba, had brought him to the fortress. He was free to wander around but always within the confines of the walls and there were always guards nearby who answered him in monosyllabic tones and politely refused to elaborate on any of his questions. When he had asked to see Coba he was told that the chieftain was unable to see him. True, he had been fed well, but he was irritated that no one would explain what was happening. He wanted information.

Why had Coba given him sanctuary? Did Fidelma know where he had been taken and what his position was in law? While Eadulf had heard of this maighin digona he was not sure that he entirely understood it although he did realise that sanctuary was an ancient custom. Coba had said that he had disagreed only with the punishment handed out to him because it was not in accordance with the law of the Fénechus. But would a man really stand against his King and the highest authorities in the kingdom to such a point that he would rescue a foreigner from his death cell in total defiance of them? Eadulf was uncomfortable and suspicious of the motivations of the chieftain.

As if in answer to his thoughts, there was a sound outside his door and it opened. Eadulf threw the towel on the bed and found himself face to face with a small, wiry and thin-faced man whom he had never seen before.

‘I am told that you understand our language, Saxon,’ the man said abruptly.

‘I have a knowledge of it,’ admitted Eadulf.

‘That is good.’ The man obviously believed in brevity. ‘You may go.’

Eadulf frowned, uncertain that he had heard him correctly. ‘Go?’

‘I am to tell you that you are free to leave this fortress. If you godown to the river you will find a religieuse from Cashel waiting for you.’

Eadulf’s heart beat faster and his face lightened. ‘Fidelma? Sister Fidelma?’

‘I am told that is her name.’

Eadulf felt a surge of relief and joy. ‘Then she has cleared me? She has won the appeal?’

The thin-faced man’s features were immobile. His eyes dark and deep set.

‘All I am asked to convey to you is what I have already done. I know no more.’

‘Then, my friend, I shall leave you with my blessing. But what of the elderly chieftain? How may I express my thanks to him for his kindness in bringing me here?’

‘The chieftain is not here. There is no need to thank him. Go quickly and silently. Your friend is waiting.’

The man’s tone was without emotion. He stood to one side and made no attempt to take Eadulf’s extended hand.

Eadulf shrugged and glanced round the room. He had nothing to take with him. All his possessions were at the abbey.

‘Tell your chieftain, then, that I owe him a great debt and will ensure that it is repaid.’

‘It is of no consequence,’ replied the foxy-faced man.

Eadulf left his room and the man followed him outside. The fortress seemed deserted in the cold white light of the crisp autumnal dawn. A frost still lay on the ground making it slippery beneath his leather sandals. His breath came like puffs of smoke and he realised just how cold it was.

‘Is it possible to borrow a cloak?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘It is cold and my cloak was confiscated at the abbey.’

His companion seemed impatient.

‘Your companion has clothing for your journey. Do not delay. She will be growing impatient.’

They had reached the gate of the fortress. A second man stood there; a sentinel who began to unlatch the wooden bolts and swing open the portal.

‘Can’t I express my thanks to anyone for giving me this sanctuary?’ Eadulf thought it churlish to leave the fortress in such a fashion.

His companion seemed about to make some sharp comment andthen a curious smile flickered over his cadaverous features.

‘You will be able to thank him soon, Saxon.’

The gate swung open.

‘Your friend will meet you down by the river,’ the man repeated. ‘Now you may go.’

Eadulf thought he was a surly fellow but smiled his gratitude all the same and hurried on through the gate. Before him stretched a sloping path from the small hillock on which the fortress stood, winding down towards a wooded area through which he could see the grey ribbon of water a few hundred metres away.

He halted and glanced back to the man at the gate.

‘Straight down there? Is that where Sister Fidelma is waiting?’

‘Down by the river,’ echoed the man.

Eadulf turned down the frosty path. It was slippery beneath his feet but the only alternative was to walk in the centre of the path where horses had churned it into a muddy mess. He stuck to the side of the path, its angled level causing him to move more quickly than he wanted. It was only a few moments later that the inevitable occurred. He suddenly slipped and fell.

That was what saved his life.

As his legs shot out from under him, causing him to fall backwards, two arrows flew by, one embedding itself with a hard thud in a nearby tree.

For a split second Eadulf looked at the arrows in stupefaction. Then he rolled swiftly on his side and glanced back.

The thin-faced man who had told him to go stood in the act of placing another arrow to his bowstring. He had been joined by the second man who looked every inch a professional archer for he was just releasing his second shot. Eadulf rolled again, this time into the side of the track and then he scrambled to his feet in an ungainly movement, throwing himself immediately into the underbrush. He heard the soft whine of the wood pass by his ear.

Then he was running; running for his life. He had no thoughts as to how or why; he did not try to work out what had happened. Some animal instinct for self-preservation overcame all his thought processes. He was pushing through the woods, while some small part of his brain uttered a prayer of thanks that they were mainly evergreen trees and shrubs which thus shielded him from his attackers. However, the frost was not on his side. He knew he was leaving tracks and he prayed forthe sun to rise and allow the frost to disperse. Failing that, he must find some ground where the frost had not taken.

Inevitably he made his way towards the river. He knew that air near running water was sometimes warmer. Would Fidelma be there, waiting for him?

He gave a sardonic laugh.

Of course not. It had simply been a ruse to kill him. But why? He suddenly realised that the men had law on their side. What was the ruling of the maighin digona? He had been given sanctuary provided he kept within the bounds of the grantee’s land. The owner of a sanctuary was bound not to allow a fugitive to escape, for the owner would then be held responsible for the original offence.

Eadulf groaned in anguish as he ran through the brush. He had fallen for a trick. He had been told to go but now could be shot down as a fugitive who had broken the laws of sanctuary. He had given them the legal opportunity to kill him, but who were they? Was this some ruse of Coba himself to kill him? If so, why rescue him in the first place? It did not make any sense.

He came to the riverbank and, as he had anticipated, the air was warmer here near the water and the frost was vanishing. The pale sun was climbing upwards in the sky and soon it would be dispersed. He paused and listened: he could hear the sounds of his pursuers. He began to hurry along the bank of the river, eyes searching for cover. He knew that his pursuers would soon break out of the trees behind him. He could not afford to stay on the bank any longer.

Ahead he saw some small juniper trees and then a patch of densely growing holly with its thick, waxy green leaves rising into a narrow conical shape with several proclaiming their feminine gender by their red berries. Eadulf was well aware that the sharp spines on the lower leaves, nature’s design to protect the trees from browsing animals, were going to hurt, but there was no other means of concealment to hand.

He could hear the two men tracking him shouting to one another now. They were very close. Eadulf left the river bank and jumped into the juniper coverage, falling to the ground, before pushing and hauling his way under the uncomfortable screen of the holly trees. He flung himself flat under their cover and lay on the hard, cold ground, heart beating wildly from its recent exertions. He could see a little stretch of the riverbank from his position, and from this vantage point he saw his pursuers come to a halt.

‘God’s curse on the wily Saxon!’ he heard the thin-faced man declare.

His companion looked around. His voice was morose. ‘He could have gone either way, Gabrán. Up or downriver. It’s your choice.’

‘God rot him!’

‘That’s no answer. Anyway, I can’t see why we had to wait until he was out of the fortress to shoot him down. Why couldn’t he have been killed while he slept?’

‘Because, Dau, my good friend,’ the other explained with a sarcastic tone, ‘it had to be made to look as though he had fled the sanctuary, that’s why! Also, we had to get him out of Coba’s fortress quietly before the household awakened. The death of the guard that I had to silence will be put down to the Saxon. Another murder to his account. Anyway, you go upriver and I’ll look downriver. My boat is moored below. I shall have to bring it upriver before noon. I do not like this. All the while the Saxon is alive, he is a danger to the whole scheme of things. It would have been best had he been left to hang at the abbey.’

The thin-faced man left his companion and began to move off rapidly along the river bank, his eyes searching the ground for signs of Eadulf’s tracks. His companion halted a while and examined the surrounding countryside and then began to walk slowly in the opposite direction. Then he paused. Eadulf shifted nervously. Had the man spotted where he had left the bank and pushed through the juniper trees?

He looked desperately round for some means of defence. Near at hand lay a discarded blackthorn stick, torn from a nearby tree. Eadulf reached tentatively forward and eased it towards himself with his fingertips. Then he grasped it firmly and rose carefully, trying not to catch the sharp leaves of the holly.

The warrior who had been addressed by the name Dau had kept an arrow in his hand, holding it in the same fist as his bow, and was now peering round as if searching for tracks.

It was at that moment that Eadulf suddenly realised that he had no choice as to his next move. The man was going to kill him. He was not sure why but that did not matter at the moment. His task was to save his own life. Eadulf moved carefully, trying to remember the skills he had once been taught as a youth by his father when hunting in his own country, the land of the South Folk. Avoiding the entwining branches, he moved slowly inch by inch around the holly tree and through the junipers to come up behind his adversary. With each footstep, he swore that the man must surely hear him.

The bowman stood looking irresolutely before him into the trees and shrubs, even as Eadulf crept forward, raising the stick in both hands. It took one swift blow to knock the man down. He fell with an almost imperceptible grunt. For a moment Eadulf stood over the inert form still holding his blackthorn stick ready to strike again. There was no further movement.

‘Forgive me for I have sinned,’ he muttered as he genuflected and knelt down by the unconscious man. He removed his adversary’s leather boots, throwing them into the river, swiftly followed by his bow and quiver of arrows. He removed and placed the man’s hunting knife in his own belt. He also removed the man’s sheepskin cloak, realising that he needed it if he was taking to the open country. At least, when the archer came around, he would not be thinking in terms of pursuit for a while, not without his boots, warm cloak and weapons. Eadulf glanced skyward, trying to remember the lines from John: ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just.’ He hoped that the divine powers would understand his actions.

Then he stood up, swung the heavy cloak around his shoulders and started to walk towards the rising hills. He was unsure which way he should go. He realised that he ought to put enough distance between the fortress of Cam Eolaing and himself before he started to make any decisions on his ultimate destination. Certainly, he had realised that Fidelma was not any part of this strange plot to kill him. It would probably be a waste of time to go in search of her now. The best thing to do might be to head eastward to the coast and try to find a ship that would take him to either the land of the West Saxons or one of the other Saxon kingdoms? Well, there was plenty of time to think about it. He must find shelter, and some food, before he started to make decisions.

Fidelma glanced up at the knock on the door. It was Lassar, the innkeeper. She looked tired and somewhat nervous.

‘It is the Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, again. He wishes to speak with you.’

Fidelma had just finished dressing and was about to descend to the main room of the inn for breakfast.

‘Very well. I’ll come immediately,’ she told the innkeeper.

Downstairs, seated by the fire and enjoying some of Lassar’s hospitality was not only the Brehon of Laigin, Bishop Forbassach, but the elderly, white-haired man called Coba the bó-aire of Cam Eolaing.She tried to disguise her astonishment at his appearance at the inn that morning. Immediately she became aware of a third man seated before the fire, an austere, elderly fellow with pinched features and a prominent nose. He was dressed in rich robes, the robes of a religieux with an ornate golden crucifix on a chain around his neck. He greeted Fidelma coldly and without approval.

‘Abbot Noé.’ Fidelma inclined her head towards him. ‘I was wondering only last night whether I would meet you during my stay in Fearna.’

‘It was, alas, an inevitable meeting, Fidelma.’

‘I am sure it was,’ she replied dryly and then, turning to Forbassach, ‘Do you wish to search my room again for Brother Eadulf? I can assure you that he is not there.’

Bishop Forbassach cleared his throat as if in embarrassment.

‘I have actually come to offer you an apology, Sister Fidelma.’

‘An apology?’ Her voice rose incredulously.

‘I am afraid that I leapt to the wrong conclusion the other night. I now know that you did not help the Saxon to escape.’

‘Really?’ Fidelma did not know whether to be amused or concerned.

‘I am afraid that it was I who aided that escape, Sister Fidelma.’

Fidelma swung round to Coba who had spoken slowly and with a note of regret.

‘Why should you help Brother Eadulf?’ she demanded in astonishment.

‘I have just arrived from Cam Eolaing this morning to confess my deed. I found Abbot Noé had arrived back at the abbey and was in conference with Bishop Forbassach. We spoke of the matter and came here to support Forbassach in his apology to you.’

Fidelma raised her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘I do not understand.’

‘Alas, it was simple enough. You know already where I stand on the infliction of punishment under the Penitentials. I could not stand by and see another of these punishments carried out when I claim that they are opposed to the basis of our legal system.’

‘I agree with your concerns,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘But how did that lead you to take the law into your own hands and help Eadulf escape?’

‘If I am at fault, I shall be punished.’

Bishop Forbassach scowled at the man. ‘You will have to pay compensation for this action, Coba, and you will lose your honourprice. No more can you claim to exercise magisterial powers in this kingdom.’

Fidelma was impatient to know if her suspicion that Coba had given Eadulf shelter was correct.

‘What has happened to Brother Eadulf?’

Coba glanced nervously at Abbot Noé.

‘It would be wise if you tell Sister Fidelma all,’ the abbot advised brusquely.

‘Well, being against the punishment, I decided that I would offer the Saxon sanctuary — the maighin digona of my fortress …’

‘Sanctuary does not involve helping someone escape from incarceration,’ muttered Forbassach.

‘Once in the confines of my fortress, the sanctuary applies nevertheless,’ snapped Coba.

Fidelma considered the argument.

‘That is true. However, the person seeking sanctuary usually finds the territory of the maighin digona by themselves before requesting sanctuary. Nevertheless, the sanctuary rule applies once inside the boundaries of the chieftain willing to provide it. Are you confirming my suspicion that Brother Eadulf is now receiving shelter and sanctuary in your fortress?’

She had been feeling confident, having assumed that Eadulf was safe in Coba’s fortress and could remain there until Barrán arrived. Her spirits began to drop however as she realised how sombre Coba’s features were.

‘I informed the Saxon of the conditions of the sanctuary. I thought he had understood them.’

‘The conditions being that he remain within the confines of the fortress and make no attempt at further escape,’ Bishop Forbassach intervened pedantically, for Fidelma knew well what the restrictions were. ‘If he attempts to escape then the owner of the sanctuary has the right to strike him down to prevent that escape.’

A cold feeling crept through Fidelma’s veins. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Early this morning, when I awoke, I found the Saxon was not in his room,’ Coba stated quietly. ‘The gates of the fortress were unbarred and he was gone. One of my men was found near the gate. He was dead. Struck down from behind. I only have two watchmen there at night for no one has ever attacked the fortress of Cam Eolaing before. The other guard, Dau, was later found by the river, unconscious. He had beenrobbed of his cloak, boots and weapons. When he recovered, he told my men that he had attempted to pursue the Saxon and recapture him. He had been on the bank when he had been hit from behind. It is clear that the Saxon is trying to make good his escape into the countryside.’

Bishop Forbassach was nodding impatiently. He had heard the story before from Coba.

‘Coba has done a foolish thing in believing that the Saxon had any morals and would obey the rules of the sanctuary. He will be heading east towards the sea and a ship for the Saxon lands.’

He turned to Fidelma, suddenly looking awkward again.

‘I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry that I thought you were involved in his initial escape. I want to make clear to your brother, the King of Cashel, that I have apologised for any insult to you. I also wanted to let you know, however, that the Saxon has tied the noose about his own neck now.’

Fidelma was preoccupied with her thoughts and only caught the last part of his sentence.

‘What?’

‘It is clear that he fled from Cam Eolaing because he was guilty.’

‘You said that when you claimed that he had fled from the abbey. It was not so then. It may not be so now.’

‘Why flee from the safety of the sanctuary of Cam Eolaing if he were not guilty? He could have remained there indefinitely.’

‘He could only have remained there for as long as sanctuary was granted, not indefinitely,’ she corrected pedantically.

“The fact remains that he fled. Now he can be hunted down and killed without further ado. Anyone can kill him and do so in accordance with the law.’

At that moment Mel entered the room. He started to apologise and was about to leave when Bishop Forbassach, in irritation, waved him to remain.

‘I might need you, Mel. It is a matter of the King’s business.’

Meanwhile Fidelma had lowered herself wearily into a seat as she realised that what Forbassach had said was true. A convicted murderer who broke the rules of maighin digona and fled from the sanctuary could be treated as one already dead. She found herself clenching her teeth together to contain her anguish for a moment.

Bishop Forbassach was moving to the door. ‘I must alert the warriors of the King. Come with me, Mel.’

‘Wait!’

The Brehon turned back at Fidelma’s call.

‘Since you are here, I have a complaint to lodge against Gabrán. He and his men attacked me last night.’

‘The river-boat man?’ Bishop Forbassach seemed bewildered. ‘What has this to do with the matter we are discussing?’

‘Perhaps nothing, perhaps a lot.’

‘Gabrán comes from Cam Eolaing, of which I am chieftain,’ Coba a intervened. ‘What did he do?’

‘Last night, one of my companions and I were returning to Fearna. Gabrán and some of his men attacked us. They used swords.’

There was a silence.

‘Gabrán?’ Coba’s voice was hollow. ‘How would you know that it was Gabrán who attacked you? It was a dark night.’

Fidelma swung round to him with narrowed eyes.

‘You forget that even on a dark night, the moon still hangs in the sky, and sometimes even the heaviest clouds are obliging.’

‘But why would he attack you?’

‘That is my question. Do you know anything more about his personal life, his allegiances and values?’

Coba gestured indifferently.

‘He lives outside of the settlement, across the river from it, in fact, on the east side of the valley. I do not think that he has any special allegiances except to that of his trade. So far as I know, he lives alone. He has no wife.’

Bishop Forbassach was following the conversation though with suspicion on his face.

‘Are you sure about this, Sister?’ demanded Abbot Noé, entering the conversation. ‘Gabrán has had a long trading association with the abbey here and is considered most trustworthy.’

‘I am sure it was Gabrán who attacked us,’ affirmed Fidelma.

‘Where do you say that this attack took place?’ asked Bishop Forbassach.

Fidelma looked carefully at him and held his gaze.

‘We were returning from a place which I think you know well. We were on the way back from a cabin at a settlement called Raheen. The attack took place on the road just above Cam Eolaing. My companion Enda and I were lucky to escape with our lives.’

Fidelma was not disappointed by Forbassach’s reaction at the mentionof the name Raheen. The Brehon’s face went pale and it took him some time before he found his voice.

‘Often there are robbers on the highways around Fearna, catching unwary travellers,’ he offered, his voice nervous.

‘It was Gabrán,’ repeated Fidelma.

Coba was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

‘I would have thought that Gabrán made enough money from his boat. He is often transporting goods up and down the river as far south as Loch Garman, taking cargoes to the ocean-going ships that sail to Britain and to Gaul.’

‘What sort of cargoes does he run?’ asked Fidelma curiously.

‘What does that matter?’ Bishop Forbassach replied impatiently. ‘Are we here to talk about Gabrán and his business or the escape of the Saxon?’

‘At the moment I would like to know why Gabrán attacked me.’

The Brehon seemed concerned in spite of his attitude. He knew the serious implications which might result from an attack on a dálaigh, let alone a King’s sister. That was the very reason he had come to apologise to Fidelma for his previous behaviour.

‘Are you charging this man, Gabrán, with an attack on you, Sister Fidelma?’ he demanded.

‘I am.’

‘Then I shall order that he be arrested to answer this charge. Do you hear this, Mel?’

The commander of the guard nodded thoughtfully.

‘Then you and I will go in search of Gabrán when we leave here,’ Forbassach announced. ‘We can be making enquiries about the Saxon at the same time. The search for the Saxon absconder must be uppermost in our minds. In that matter, Fidelma of Cashel, I must warn you that you also stand in danger if you have helped him evade the justice of this kingdom.’

Fidelma’s eyes flashed momentarily.

‘I am aware of the law, Forbassach! I did not help Brother Eadulf to escape, nor did I offer him sanctuary. In the meantime, I intend to continue to investigate the mysteries which surround this matter … mysteries which have led me along the road to Raheen.’

Coba was not aware of the sharpness in her tone and the pale look on Bishop Forbassach’s face.

‘I regret the Saxon played me false by escaping,’ he said, ‘but I donot regret my action in seeking to prevent his execution under the Penitentials. He should be punished under the native laws of our land.’

Bishop Forbassach had recovered something of his old self and scowled at the bó-aire.

‘You are in a minority in the council of the King of Laigin, Coba. You made your views known when the King and I made our decision on the validity of the punishments asked for by Abbess Fainder. That should have been an end to it.’

‘That could not have been an end to it,’ Coba replied spiritedly. ‘The matter should have been held over until the next great festival of Tara when it could have been raised in the convocation on the law of the five kingdoms. The decision should have been left to the kings, lawyers and laymen of all five kingdoms as every other major law is laid before them and debated before being enacted.’

Abbot Noé intervened quietly. ‘My brothers in Christ, calm yourselves. It will not benefit anyone to waste time in debate. Surely you both have business to attend to? If you do not, then I surely do.’

Bishop Forbassach glowered for a moment before giving them a curt farewell, hurrying from the inn followed by the warrior Mel, who managed to give Fidelma an apologetic glance as he left.

Coba regarded Fidelma sadly.

‘I thought I was doing the right thing, Sister Fidelma.’ He sounded sheepish.

‘Are you sure that Brother Eadulf knew the limitations of the maighin digona?’ she asked. ‘Although he has spent much time in our land, he is still a stranger and our ways may be confusing to him.’

Coba shook his head sympathetically.

‘I cannot hold out that explanation for his actions, Sister,’ he replied. ‘When we arrived at my fortress yesterday, I explained to him most carefully the consequences that would follow should he attempt to leave it. I followed the procedure carefully and sent a messenger to the abbey last night to inform the abbess of what I had done.’

‘The abbess knew last night that Eadulf had been taken to your fortress?’ broke in Abbot Noé.

‘I told you,’ repeated Coba, ‘I followed the procedures of the law most carefully. I am certain that the Saxon understood. I only wish I could give you comfort in that matter, Sister.’

Abbot Noé muttered: ‘Ignorantia legis neminen excusat.’

Coba glanced at the religious. ‘But surely, ignorance of the law in aforeigner may be argued as a mitigation?’

‘It is unlike Eadulf to take such an action,’ Fidelma said softly, almost speaking to herself.

Abbot Noé’s face was grim.

‘According to you, Sister, it is unlike the Saxon to have raped and murdered a young novitiate. Perhaps you do not know this Saxon as well as you like to think you do?’

Fidelma raised her head to meet the eyes of her old antagonist.

‘Perhaps there is a truth in that,’ she admitted. ‘But if there is no truth in it, as I do believe, then there is something curious happening in this place. I mean to reveal every aspect of this matter.’

The abbot smiled but without humour.

‘Life is curious, Sister. It is the cauldron of God in which we are placed to test our souls. Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros.’

‘Fire tests gold, adversity tests the strong,’ repeated Fidelma softly. ‘The line of Seneca has much wisdom in it.’

Abbot Noé suddenly rose and moved to stand in front of Fidelma. He peered at her with an intense expression in his eyes.

‘We have clashed in the past, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he observed softly.

‘That we have,’ she agreed.

‘The guilt or innocence of your Saxon friend aside, I want you to know that I care about the Church in this kingdom and do not want to see it damaged in any way. Sometimes the Abbess Fainder can be overly enthusiastic in the cause of the Rule of the Penitentials; she is a zealot, if you like. I say this in spite of the fact that she is a distant cousin of mine.’

His statement caused Fidelma to glance up in curiosity.

‘Abbess Fainder is your cousin?’

‘Of course, that is why she is qualified to be in charge of the abbey. Anyway, she sees things in simple terms of right and wrong; of white and black, without any subtle shades of grey. You and I both know there is more in life than such extremes.’

Fidelma frowned at him.

‘I am not sure that I know what you mean exactly, Father Abbot. If I recall correctly, you were never a supporter of Rome’s rules.’

The thin-faced abbot sighed momentarily and inclined his head.

‘A man can be won to an argument,’ he admitted. ‘I have spent many years in contemplation of the arguments. I followed the debate at Whitby very carefully. I believe that Christ gave the keys of heaven to Peter andtold him to build his Church and that Peter built that Church in Rome where he suffered martyrdom. I now make no pretence of that. What I am saying is that people may choose different paths to their objective. Sometimes people have to be won by argument and not by order. I was won by years of meditating on the arguments. Others should follow the same path and not be ordered to change. Alas, I am a lone voice in these councils.’

He left the inn without another word.

Coba stood looking confused for a moment and then he glanced at Fidelma.

‘I must return to my fortress. I have organised a search for the Saxon. I am sorry about your friend, Sister. In trying to help, I have only made matters worse. There is the old saying that friends should keep clear of an unfortunate man. We may be well advised to heed that saying. I am truly sorry that things have turned out this way.’

After he had left, Fidelma heard a gentle cough behind her.

Dego and Enda had come down the stairs.

‘Did you hear all that?’ she asked.

‘Not all,’ confessed Dego, ‘but enough to know that the elderly man, Coba, gave Brother Eadulf sanctuary and now he has fled from that sanctuary. That is not good.’

‘No, it is not,’ agreed Fidelma solemnly.

‘What about Gabrán?’ demanded Enda. ‘What was said about him?’

Fidelma quickly repeated what she had been told about the river-boat man.

They breakfasted for the most part in silence. There was no one else in the inn or at least no one who came to breakfast while they were there.