Our Lady of Darkness

Chapter Eight

It was late evening when the appeal court finally assembled in the great hall of the fortress of Fianamail of Laigin. It had taken some insistence on Fidelma’s part to force Fianamail and his Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, to agree to the hearing during their meeting in the chapel of the abbey. Bishop Forbassach and Abbess Fainder argued strongly against any such hearing but Fidelma pointed out that the young King had given his word that if Fidelma could discover legal objections to the conduct of the trial apart from objections to punishment under the Penitentials then he would order a consideration of those objections. Bishop Forbassach immediately demanded to know what the objections were but Fidelma pointed out that the arguments could not be revealed unless it was done during a formal hearing.

It was with reluctance that Fianamail realised that he would have to abide by his promise. Clearly, the abbey was no place to hold the appeal as several scribes and officials needed to be summoned to attend. The great hall of the fortress was deemed the only suitable place at such short notice.

The hall was lit by flickering torches, balanced in their iron holders on the walls, and warmed by a central fire. Fianamail took the central position on a dais in his carved oak chair of office. At his right side sat Bishop Forbassach, Brehon of Laigin.

Abbess Fainder was in attendance and, as her support, she had brought her rechtaire Sister Étromma and, strangely — or so Fidelma thought — the villainous-looking Brother Cett. Brother Miach accompanied them. There were several religious, scribes and some of the King’s household and warriors including Mel. Seated among the others, Fidelma had spotted Coba, the local chieftain, who was so against the introduction of the Penitentials. Dego and Enda sat at the rear of the chamber to watch the proceedings.

It was not a true court of law in the sense that in an appeal to stay a sentence, the defendant did not have to be present, there was no prosecutor, nor were witnesses usually called. The arguments to staythe sentence rested on the ability of the dálaigh to raise questions about the procedures of evidence heard at the previous trial or even present questions on the inappropriate severity of the sentence.

Fidelma had taken a seat before the dais. A stillness descended when Bishop Forbassach rose and called the assembly to order.

‘We are here to hear the plea of the dálaigh from Cashel. Proceed,’ he instructed Fidelma before he resumed his seat.

Fidelma rose reluctantly to her feet. She had been growing puzzled at the sight of Forbassach apparently about to moderate over the court.

‘Am I to understand that you are presiding at this hearing, Forbassach?’ she demanded.

Bishop Forbassach stared coldly at his old antagonist. He was a man with an unforgiving nature and she sensed his enjoyment at her confusion.

‘That is an odd opening for your plea, Fidelma. Do I need to answer such a question?’

‘The fact that you presided over Brother Eadulf’s trial must surely exclude you from sitting in judgment on your own conduct of that trial.’

‘Who has a greater legal authority in this kingdom than Bishop Forbassach?’ intervened Fianamail irritably. ‘A lesser judge has no authority to pronounce criticism of him. You should know that.’

Fidelma had to admit that this was true and a matter she had overlooked. Only a judge of higher or equal rank could overturn a judgment made by another. Yet for Forbassach to judge this matter would clearly be a further injustice.

‘I had hoped that Forbassach might have sought the advice of other judges. I see only Forbassach sitting here and not even a qualified dálaigh to adjudicate the evidence with him. How can a judge be judge of their own judgments?’

‘I shall note your objections, Fidelma, if you wish to register them.’ Bishop Forbassach’s smile was triumphal. ‘However, as Brehon of Laigin I acknowledge no other person to have authority to preside in this court. Should I remove myself it could be argued that I was admitting that I have been guilty of prejudice in this matter. Such objections from you are overruled. Now I will hear your appeal.’

Fidelma’s mouth compressed and she glanced across to where Dego was sitting, a bemused spectator. He caught her eye and grimaced, a small gesture of support. She realised now the bias against her evenbefore she began her plea. There was nothing else to do but proceed as best she could.

‘Brehon of Laigin, I wish to make a formal appeal to you to postpone the execution of the Saxon, Brother Eadulf, until such time as a proper enquiry and a new trial can be arranged.’

Forbassach continued to regard her with an unchanging sour expression. Fidelma found his attitude almost contemptuous.

‘An appeal must be backed by the weight of evidence of irregularities of the first trial, Fidelma of Cashel,’ Forbassach acknowledged dryly. ‘What are the reasons for your appeal?’

‘There are several irregularities in the presentation of evidence at the trial.’

Forbassach’s disagreeable expression seem to deepen.

‘Irregularities? Doubtless you are suggesting that such irregularities are due to the fact that I, who presided at that trial, am responsible for them?’

‘I am well aware that you presided at the trial, Forbassach. I have already made my objection known to your judging your own conduct.’

‘So what are you charging me with? What exactly?’ His voice was cold and menacing.

‘I am not charging you with anything, Forbassach. You know enough of the law not to misinterpret my words,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘An appeal is merely to lay facts before the court and put forward questions, the answers are left to the court to pursue.’

Bishop Forbassach’s eyes narrowed at her barbed response.

‘Let me hear your so-called facts and you may also ask your questions, dálaigh. It cannot be said that I am not a fair man.’

Fidelma felt as if she were beating against a wall of granite and tried to gather some inner strength.

‘I appeal on the grounds of irregularities of law. I would present the following specific points.

‘Firstly, Brother Eadulf was a messenger between King Colgú of Cashel and the Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury. He had the protection and privilege of the rank that entails. This rank was not taken into account during the proceedings. He carried a written letter and the white wand of an ollamh, a messenger who had immunity from legal proceedings.’

‘A white wand of office? A message?’ Bishop Forbassach sounded amused. ‘They were not presented in evidence.’

‘Brother Eadulf was not allowed the opportunity. I present them now …’ Fidelma turned to pick up the objects from the bench on which she had placed them. She held them out for examination.

‘Retrospective evidence is no evidence,’ Bishop Forbassach smiled. ‘Your evidence is inadmissible. Bringing such items with you from Cashel …’

‘I found them in the guests’ hostel of the abbey where Brother Eadulf had left them,’ Fidelma retorted, angry at Forbassach’s attempt to dismiss them.

‘How are we to know that?’

‘Because Sister Étromma was with me when I found them in the mattress of the bed which she identified as that which Brother Eadulf had used.’

Bishop Forbassach turned his gaze to where Sister Étromma was sitting.

‘Stand forward, Sister. Is this true?’

Sister Étromma was clearly nervous of Bishop Forbassach and also cast a frightened glance towards the abbess as she stood up.

‘I accompanied the Sister into the guests’ hostel and she bent over the mattress and then produced those items.’

‘Did you see her actually find the items?’ pressed the Brehon.

‘She had her back towards me and turned from the bed to show me.’

‘Then she may well have been carrying the items on her person and only pretended to find them?’ suggested Bishop Forbassach with a note of satisfaction. ‘The evidence cannot be submitted.’

Fidelma was outraged.

‘I protest! As a dálaigh, I am sworn to uphold the law and your insinuation besmirches my honour!’

‘As a Brehon, I have also sworn the same oath and yet you dare question my judgments!’ snapped Forbassach. ‘What is sauce for the goose will also be sauce for the gander. Continue with your case.’

Fidelma swallowed hard, trying to keep control of her emotions. Losing her temper would benefit no one, least of all Eadulf.

‘Secondly, Brother Eadulf was awaken from his sleep, assaulted and taken to a cell without being told of what he had been accused. He was kept in the cell for two days without food or water. It was only when Forbassach came and told him the nature of the crime of which he was accused that he knew why he was being detained. No advocate, no dálaigh, was appointed in his defence, neither was he allowed toquestion the evidence. He was asked only to admit his guilt.’

‘If he had been innocent, he could have presented his evidence,’ grumbled Bishop Forbassach. ‘All of what you say, anyway, is merely based on the word of the Saxon. These claims are denied. Proceed.’

Fidelma went on stubbornly.

‘Then let us refer to the irregularities of the witness statements. Sister Étromma came forward to identify the dead girl. How could she identify her when she had never seen her before she was confronted by her dead body? She had been told that she was a novitiate in the abbey. Yet she did not know that fact at first hand.’

‘The mistress of the novitiates told her.’

‘She had already left on a pilgrimage. Even if she had, you know the law, Forbassach. She did not know the girl from her own personal experience. Étromma’s evidence was not valid according to the rules of the court.’

‘That is a matter for the judge,’ replied Bishop Forbassach tightly. ‘I judged that the matter of identification was not important; so long as the girl was identified it does not matter by whom.’

‘We are talking of rules of law,’ Fidelma responded. ‘But let us continue to the next witness — the physician, Brother Miach, who examined the body. He swore that the girl had been forcibly raped. True, she was a virgin who had had intercourse just before her death. That much, as a physician, he should have told us. But our physician brings opinion into his evidence and his opinion was that the girl had been raped. Now, I am not saying that she wasn’t, just that an opinion is not evidence and should not have been accepted as such. The evidence does not indicate beyond question the type of intercourse which happened before the girl’s death. Was it the crime of focloir or sleth; forcible rape, or rape by persuasion? This should have been pointed out and considered.

‘Now comes the evidence of Sister Fial who is the key witness … an eye-witness. She says that she is a friend of the dead girl. They became novitiates in the abbey at the same time. They were both under the age of choice. Sister Fial says that she had made an arrangement to meet the dead girl on the quay outside the abbey at a time which must have been well after midnight. No one has asked why at the trial, or for what purpose. Is it not strange that twelve- or thirteen-year-old novitiates are wandering outside the abbey at such an hour? Are these important questions dealt with? No, they are not.

‘Next, Fial says that in the darkness, down on the quay, she sees a man attacking and strangling her friend. She must have walked within a metre of where the attack was happening. What does she do in response to the sight? She simply stands by the bales and watches while her friend is assaulted and strangled. She sees the man running back to the abbey and entering it. All in the dark. She stands undecided what to do — how long, we are not told. We cannot even ask her because Sister Fial seems to have disappeared from the abbey. She stands, making no attempt to go to her friend. The abbess comes along and still she continues to remain in the silent shadows while Mel examines the body. It is a long time before she emerges to tell her story.’

She paused; a total silence had descended.

‘Then we have the evidence of Mel, the captain of the watch, who, coming to the quay, sees the figure of the abbess, Abbess Fainder, on horseback looking down at the body. Yet at no time was the abbess called to give evidence as to her role in this business. She points the body out to Mel. It is Mel and his comrade, Daig, who take charge and are eventually told by the girl, Fial, our missing witness, that she identifies the attacker as the Saxon monk staying at the abbey.

‘Eadulf is found in bed. He conveniently has a piece of the murdered girl’s bloodstained robe in the bed with him, making no attempt to hide it.’

Forbassach grinned dourly.

‘I think you have scuppered your own arguments, dálaigh. The evidence shows clearly that the Saxon was in bed with such bloodstained clothing as demonstrates beyond question that he was the guilty party.’

‘I believe that the irregularities outweigh that evidence and those irregularities must be clarified before the matters of the bloodstains can be taken into account. I have already dealt with the circumstances of his detention which are, I say again, not in accordance with the law. He is detained in the abbey. We know the results. What is not known is how our missing witness, Fial, identified the Saxon Brother. Indeed, how does she know that he was a Saxon Brother when Brother Eadulf has said that at no time did he lay eyes on the girl when he came to the abbey. He spoke to very few people — the abbess, Sister Étromma and a Brother called Ibar. Only they knew him to be a Saxon for he speaks excellent Irish. No one asked the girl how she could recognise the Saxon in the darkness. There are too many questions that have not been asked in this case, let alone answered.’

Fidelma paused for a moment, as if taking breath.

‘On these grounds, Brehon of Laigin, I appeal directly to you with the request that the sentence on Brother Eadulf be suspended until such time as a proper impartial investigation has been made and a fair and just trial be held.’

Bishop Forbassach waited for a moment, as if giving her a chance to continue, and then he asked sharply: ‘Do you have any further arguments to put before me, dálaigh of Cashel?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘Given the time that I was allowed, that is all I can bring forward at the moment. I think it is enough for a stay of the execution for a few weeks at least.’

Bishop Forbassach turned and held a hurried whispered conversation with Fianamail. Fidelma waited patiently. The bishop turned back to her.

‘I will make the decision known in the morning. However,’ he glanced sourly at Fianamail, ‘if the decision were mine alone I would say it fails.’

Fidelma, usually so self-controlled, took a step backward as if someone had pushed her in the chest. If she admitted the truth to herself, she had realised from the outset that Bishop Forbassach had decided to protect his initial judgment and sentence. However, she had hoped that he might delay the execution for a few days for the sake of appearances. It appeared that Fianamail was more conscious of keeping to the façade of justice than Forbassach. Fidelma was not prepared for such a blatant demonstration of injustice.

‘Why do you say that you would fail my appeal, Forbassach?’ she asked, after she had recovered her voice. ‘I am interested to know the argument. Would the learned judge tell me on what grounds he is dismissing this appeal?’

Her tone was quiet, subdued.

Bishop Forbassach misinterpreted the timbre as an acknowledgment of defeat. There was something of triumph in his expression.

‘I told you that the decision will be announced tomorrow. However, firstly, I was the judge at the trial of the Saxon. I say that he was accorded every respect and facility. He says that this was not so. You have his word, that of a stranger to this land, against mine. I speak as the Brehon of Laigin. There is little doubt whose word should be taken.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed angrily. Her temper rose.

‘You reject my appeal because you were judge at that first trial? I did not ask you to be judge at this appeal. I see that you are merely safeguarding your own interests …’

‘Fidelma of Cashel!’ It was Fianamail who stopped her. ‘You are addressing my Brehon. Even your relationship to the King of Muman does not give you the right to insult the officers of my household.’

Fidelma bit her lip, realising that she had let her temper run away with her.

‘I withdraw those words. From the outset, however, I find a judge judging himself … unusual, that is all. I would like to know, apart from the unwillingness of a judge to admit to any mistake that he might have made, what other grounds there are for dismissing this appeal?’

Bishop Forbassach leaned forward.

‘I would dismiss it because you have no facts. You have merely asked a lot of clever questions.’

‘Questions that cannot be answered at this time,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘That is the basis of my plea, a plea to stop the sentence until those questions can be answered.’

‘Unanswerable questions do not bear on the original decisions of the trial. You say this Saxon was a messenger. Where was his white wand of office? You now produce it like a conjurer and your only witness cannot swear that she saw you take it from the spot from which you claimed you took it.’

‘I can produce-’

‘Anything that you can produce,’ interrupted Bishop Forbassach, ‘is invalid as evidence, for who knows but that you brought it to this place yourself. It is not evidence, for we do not know that the Saxon carried it. As to the witnesses, you impute both their knowledge and integrity.’

‘I do not do so!’ protested Fidelma.

‘Ah.’ Bishop Forbassach smiled triumphantly. ‘Are you withdrawing the remarks which you made about them?’

Fidelma shook her head. ‘I do not do so.’

‘Then you must impute their testimony.’

‘I do not. I have put forward a number of questions that they should have been asked at the trial.’

‘We heard their testimony at the original trial and saw no reason to cross-examine them,’ Forbassach said decisively. ‘They are all of upstanding character and, in our judgment, have told the truth. The witness, Sister Fial, clearly saw the Saxon. She was an eye-witness tohis heinous crime. You would dare to impute the credibility of a thirteen-year-old child who has just witnessed the rape and murder of her even younger friend? What justice is that, Fidelma of Cashel? We obviously have different values here, in Laigin, to your courts of Cashel where it is said you entertain the crowds with sharp wit and legal niceties. Here we consider that truth is not games of legal fidchell.’

Fidchell was a wooden board game, a game of intellectual skill, on which Fidelma prided her proficiency.

Fianamail laid a hand on Bishop Forbassach’s arm and whispered urgently into his ear. The Brehon grimaced sourly and nodded. The young King abruptly stood up.

‘This hearing is now ended. In fairness, my Brehon, Bishop Forbassach, has asked to discuss the case with me so that any judgment we may make may be seen to be completely fair. He will announce our adjudication on this appeal at dawn tomorrow. These deliberations are now ended.’

Fidelma felt a moment of black despair as she dropped back into her chair.

‘The courts of Laigin have descended into darkness!’ cried a strident male voice. She barely noticed that it was the elderly bó-aire, Coba, who rose and stormed from the room.

Fianamail hesitated, angered at the demonstration and then, with a scowl on his face, he swept from the chamber. Bishop Forbassach stood, undecided for a moment, and then the abbess went to join him. His features broke into a look of triumph as he turned to her and they left together. As the others began to disperse Dego rose and came forward and placed a hand awkwardly on Fidelma’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

‘You did your best, lady,’ he muttered. ‘They are determined to see Brother Eadulf die.’

Fidelma raised her head, aware that there were tears glistening in her eyes, and unashamed of them.

‘Dego, I do not know what else I can do now legally to save him. There is no time.’

‘But they will not give judgment until tomorrow. There is still hope that they will find for your appeal.’ There was no conviction in his voice.

‘You heard how the Brehon Forbassach hectored me. No; he will uphold the sentence he has passed.’

Dego agreed reluctantly. ‘You’re right, lady. That Bishop Forbassach has demonstrated his bias. Did you see the way he went off with Abbess Fainder and both of them smiling and his hand on hers? There is some collusion in this matter.’

‘The only hope left is if the Chief Brehon of Ireland, Barrán himself, arrives and orders a halt to this foul injustice,’ Fidelma said.

Dego shook his head sadly. ‘Then there is no hope, lady. It would take at least three more days before young Aidan could find Barrán and bring him here; probably a full week and that if luck were on our side.’

Fidelma rose, trying to regain her composure.

‘I must go back to the abbey and tell Eadulf to prepare for the worst.’

‘Would it not be better to wait until the decision is formerly announced in the morning?’

‘I cannot fool myself, Dego, nor can I fool Eadulf.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Thank you, but no, Dego. This is something I’d best do alone. I think Eadulf will wish to see some friendly faces tomorrow when this terrible thing is done. At least he can die in the company of friends as well as enemies. I will seek permission to attend as soon as the judgment is given. Will you and Enda join me?’

Dego did not hesitate.

‘We will. God forgive them if they do ignore your plea, lady. It is many a brave man that I have seen die in battle: I have killed many myself. But in the fury of the battle, in hot blood, men who were free, with a sword or spear in hand to defend themselves; a fight that was man to man, equal to equal. But this … this is a foul thing, reducing men to the dignity of a poor calf at the slaughterhouse. It leaves one with a sense of shame.’

‘It is not our way of punishment,’ Fidelma conceded. Then she sighed deeply. ‘I suppose one can argue that the person who does murder, who inflicts suffering and death on another, does not need our sympathy, but …’

‘No reason why we should descend to the level of a murderer and enact cold-blooded rituals to disguise our murder,’ Dego interrupted. ‘And, surely, you are not saying that you now accept Brother Eadulf is guilty of this crime?’

Fidelma was trying hard to fight back the emotion she felt and shook her head rapidly. She hoped that her eyes were not too bright.

‘I do not know at this time whether Eadulf is guilty or not. I believehe is innocent. I accept his word. But words are not enough in law. All I say from knowledge is that there are too many questions that should have been answered and now … now it seems too late. Go back to the inn, Dego. I will join you and Enda there soon.’

She walked slowly across the township towards the abbey, her mind oppressed by gloomy thoughts. She did not know what to say to Eadulf, She could only tell him the truth. She felt that she had utterly failed him. She had no doubt in her mind that, in spite of Fianamail’s attempt to play at diplomacy, Bishop Forbassach would deny the appeal. The belligerent way he had countered all her questions indicated that he was intent on carrying through the demands of Abbess Fainder to enact these cruel new punishments.

If only she had more time! There were too many implausible aspects to the evidence. Yet Bishop Forbassach did not seem to care about pursuing them. Time! It all came down to time. And tomorrow, when the sun was at its zenith, her good friend and companion would have his life extinguished because she had not succeeded.

As she approached the gates of the abbey she determined not to let anyone see that she had lost confidence; after all, it only needed something, some little thing, to cause a delay. Her chin came up in a defensive posture.

When Sister Étromma came to the gate, she was looking strangely anxious. She had left the King’s hall and hastened back to the abbey as soon as Bishop Forbassach had announced his opinion.

‘I am sorry, Sister. I could only answer the truth. You did have your back to me when you found those items and I could not truly swear I saw you take them from their hiding place. Bishop Forbassach was so fierce in his questioning that I …’

Fidelma held up a hand to placate the anxious stewardess. She did not blame her. Had she supported Fidelma, Bishop Forbassach would doubtless have found some other means of questioning the evidence.

‘It is not your fault, Sister. Anyway, no decision has been announced as yet,’ Fidelma replied, trying to make her voice as indifferent as possible.

Sister Étromma continued to look distraught.

‘But you must know that it is a foregone conclusion?’ she pressed. ‘Bishop Forbassach has said as much.’

Fidelma tried to appear confident.

‘It is in the hands of the King and his advisers. In spite of Forbassach,I still say that there are questions that should be addressed, and any impartial judge would know that a life could not be taken until those questions are answered.’

Sister Étromma lowered her head. ‘I suppose so. Do you really believe that there might be a delay in the execution of the Saxon?’

Fidelma’s voice was tight. She chose her words carefully.

‘I hope there will be. Yet it is not up to me to predict a judge’s decision.’

‘Just so,’ muttered the rechtaire of the abbey. ‘This is not a happy place now. I look forward to the coming day when I shall go to the Isle of Mannanán Mac Lir and retire from the anxieties of this abbey. But I expect that you will wish to see the Saxon?’

‘I do.’

She turned and let the way through the abbey again and into the main courtyard. The sun was well down now and darkness enshrouded the abbey. However, the courtyard was lit by numerous torches. Two men, watched by two others, one of them a religieux, were cutting down the body of Brother Ibar from the wooden gibbet. They looked up from their gruesome task and one of them grinned at her.

‘Making room for tomorrow,’ he called; a coarse-faced man in working clothing. Nearby was some sacking laid out on the flagstones of the courtyard ready to receive the body. No wooden coffin for Brother Ibar, observed Fidelma, but a sackcloth and probably a swiftly dug hole in the marshland along the riverbank. The two black-clad workmen reminded her of ravens picking over the bones of their victim rather than morticians preparing a corpse for a funeral.

Fidelma hesitated in mid-stride and her gaze fell on the face of the religieux who was acting as an overseer. It was the burly, pugnacious figure of Brother Cett. He stared lopsidedly at her, displaying a row of cracked and blackened teeth. She had rarely seen a man so resembling a brute before. She shivered. Next to him was a small, wiry-framed man whose clothing proclaimed him to be a boatman. His leather trouser and jerkin and linen scarf were commonly worn among the river boatmen. This man did not bother to look up as they crossed the courtyard.

‘We are going to the Saxon’s cell, Cett,’ called Sister Étromma as they passed.

The big man grunted, perhaps signifying agreement but the sound could have meant anything. It seemed that the rechtaire took it forassent for she passed on with Fidelma following swiftly.

She led the way up the stairs to the cell, outside which another religieux was seated on a wooden stool under a flickering brand torch, engaged in contemplation of his crucifix, which he held in both hands before him in his lap. He sprang up as they approached and recognised Sister Étromma immediately. Without a word, he drew back the bolts on the cell door.

Sister Étromma turned to Fidelma. ‘Call when you wish to leave. I have other business to attend to so cannot remain.’

Fidelma passed into the cell. Eadulf rose to greet her. His face was grim.

‘Eadulf …’ she began.

He shook his head swiftly. ‘You do not have to tell me, Fidelma. I saw you and the other Sister crossing the courtyard from the window here and I can guess the outcome. Had the appeal been allowed I would imagine Bishop Forbassach would have come with you and not sent you ahead with such a dismal look on your face.’

‘It is not certain,’ Fidelma said weakly. ‘The result of the appeal will be announced by Forbassach tomorrow morning. There is still some hope.’

Eadulf turned to the window. ‘I doubt it. I told you all along, there is some evil in this place which determines my end.’

‘Nonsense!’ snapped Fidelma. ‘You must not give up.’

Eadulf glanced over his shoulder and smiled bleakly.

‘I think that I have known you too long, Fidelma, for you to keep secrets from me. I can tell it from your eyes. You are already mourning my death.’

She quickly reached out a hand and touched his. ‘Don’t say that!’

For the first time he heard the brittleness in her voice and knew she was close to tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, feeling awkward. ‘A stupid thing to say.’ He realised she needed as much support as he did to face the coming ordeal. Eadulf was not an emotionally selfish man. ‘So, Bishop Forbassach will pronounce on your appeal tomorrow morning?’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Good. Then we will take it as it comes. In the meanwhile, could you ask Sister Étromma to ensure that I have soap and water? I would like to look my best for whatever the morning brings.’

Fidelma felt the tears stinging her eyes. Suddenly Eadulf reachedforward and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing hard and then thrusting her away almost brutally.

‘There! Off you go, Fidelma. Leave me to my meditations. I will see you in the morning.’

She took the cue; there was too much between them for her to remain. Another few seconds and they both would be without any control of their emotions. She turned and called harshly for the Brother. A moment later the bolts rasped and the door swung open. She did not look back into the cell as she left.

‘Until tomorrow, Eadulf,’ she muttered.

Brother Eadulf made no reply as the cell door slammed shut behind her.

Fidelma did not return to the inn immediately but went for a walk along the riverside, finding a deserted corner at the end of the quays and a log to sit on in the gloom. The moon was brilliant white, casting its eerie dancing lights on the waters. She sat quietly, her cheeks wet with hot tears. She had not cried since she was a young girl. She did not even attempt the meditation technique of the dercad to quell the raging emotion within her. She had tried to keep her emotions in check ever since she had learnt of Eadulf’s peril. She could not help him by giving way to sentiment. She had to be strong; divorced from emotion so that she could see logically.

Yet she felt torn between a terrible sense of despair and an explosive feeling of outrage. Since she had known Eadulf she had tried to keep her feelings hidden, even from herself. She had been oppressed by a sense of duty; duty to the Faith, to the law, to the five kingdoms and her own brother. Now, just as she had finally ceased to deny her feelings and had begun to admit just how much Eadulf meant to her, he stood in danger of being taken away from her for ever. It was … so unfair. She realise how banal the phrase was, but could think of no other expression for all her reading of the ancient philosophers. The old philosophers would excuse such outrageous fortune by saying that the gods willed otherwise. She could not accept that. Virgil wrote: Fata viam invenient — the gods will find a way. She had to find a way. She had to.