The Leper's bell

Chapter Five

They sat in Brother Madagan’s chamber, from where the steward administered the great abbey of Imleach. As rechtaire, he assumed control in the absence of Bishop Ségdae, who was not only bishop but also abbot of Imleach. The mood was sombre. Brother Madagan had sat silently while Fidelma had explained the reason for their visit to the abbey. During the course of her explanation he continually raised a hand to finger the scar on his forehead. Both Fidelma and Eadulf knew well how he had received the wound during the attack on Imleach.

When Fidelma had finished telling Brother Madagan what had brought them to the abbey again, they sat sombrely in front of the crackling fire. The steward was filled with concern at the news and offered to give what help he could. Fidelma had told him about the pilgrims and the other travellers who had passed through Cashel.

‘So you are wishing to question the pilgrims who have come to pray in the chapel of the Blessed Ailbe?’

‘I am indeed,’ Fidelma affirmed. ‘I hope they are still here?’

Brother Madagan nodded. ‘But the others you mentioned … Brother Tanaide, and the stranger from beyond the seas, are no longer here. They have already continued their journey westward after one night of hospitality.’

‘Who is Brother Tanaide?’ asked Eadulf.

‘The young monk who was guide and interpreter for the stranger from Persia.’

‘What did this stranger from Persia want here?’

‘He calls himself Brother Basil Nestorios and speaks Greek and Latin as well as his native tongue. He has a lively discourse and spoke much about his homeland and beliefs. I felt sad that he could only spend a night here before travelling on to the abbey of Coimán. You surely don’t need to speak to them?’ Brother Madagan hesitated and then shook his head. ‘I am sure that neither of these brothers of the Faith could have had anything to do with the matter that brings you hither.’

Fidelma smiled tiredly. ‘I am sure you are right. It is merely a matter of questioning to hear if they observed anything that might help us. What may be seen and discarded as unimportant by a bystander, when collected, like a piece of a puzzle, and compared to other accounts might create a complete picture.’

‘Where is this abbey of Coimán?’ asked Eadulf.

To the west, standing by the sea at the mouth of the River Maighin, the river of the plain,’ explained the steward. ‘It is at least one day’s journey from here if one rode a fast horse.’

‘It stands at the beginning of the lands of the Corco Duibhne, the land of Duibhne’s people,’ added Fidelma. ‘To get there it means crossing Uí Fidgente territory.’

‘Are the Corco Duibhne part of your brother’s kingdom?’

‘Their sub-king Slébéne pays tribute to Cashel. However, they are a fierce and independent people who still claim a pagan goddess named Duinech as their foster-mother. She was said to have regenerated herself into seven periods of youth so that she became mother to the widely scattered tribes of the Múscraige. The abbey of Coimán lies on the edge of his territory, which is guarded by a vicious Uí Fidgente warlord who, so reports tell us, claims to be lord of the passes through the mountains there. I, for one, would prefer to avoid Slébéne’s petty kingdom.’

Brother Madagan, seeing Eadulf’s puzzled look, leant forward in agreement.

‘His kingdom is not what we would call Christian. The land is a long peninsula, mountainous and wild, and Slébéne’s capital is so isolated, at the end of the peninsula, that few venture to it. It is said to be an evil place.’

Eadulf smiled wryly. ‘I think I have enough experience dealing with non-Christians to worry little about them. Christian or not, people do not vary one from another simply because of religion. When I was in Rome, I went to see a play called Asinaria. The lesson was that pride and avarice are the causes of man’s evil to man, not religion. Man is a wolf to man.’

Fidelma was bitter.

‘Lupus est homo homini,’ she murmured. ‘Yet the author, Titus Plautus, mistook the main point — wolves do not attack one another. Only man attacks his own kind without cause.’ Then she rose abruptly. ‘Let us see the leader of the pilgrim band, Brother Madagan.’

Apparently the pilgrims from Cashel were, at that moment, praying in the chapel that housed the relics of the Blessed Ailbe. The steward suggested that Fidelma and Eadulf remain in his chambers while he went to fetch their leader, Brother Buite.

Eadulf expressed his surprise. ‘Praying in the chapel? You don’t mind a poor body afflicted with leprosy wandering freely about the abbey?’

It was Brother Madagan’s turn to look surprised.

‘What makes you think that any of these pilgrims have leprosy?’ he queried.

Fidelma turned sharply to him.

‘Among the band of pilgrims that came from Cashel there was supposed to be one that looked like a misshapen child who rang a leper’s bell. Is he not among this band?’

Brother Madagan shook his head. ‘No such misshapen pilgrim was among them. Certainly no leper came with them. But Brother Buite did say that they had come through Cashel recently.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully and glanced towards Eadulf. Then she shrugged and turned back to Brother Madagan.

‘We will hear what Brother Buite has to tell us.’

Fidelma and Eadulf sat together in silence for a while, Fidelma leaning back in the comfortable wooden chair of the steward while only her tapping fingers, drumming a strange but rhythmic tattoo, showed her agitation. It was the first time they had been entirely alone for some time

‘At some stage, we must talk,’ Eadulf finally said.

Fidelma closed eyes momentarily and Eadulf waited for some outburst.

‘About what?’ Her voice was equally soft.

‘About ourselves. There is much left unsaid.’

She turned round and he was surprised at the sad smile that broke on her features.

‘You are right, Eadulf. Much has been left unsaid between us since we returned from Rath Raithlen. That is my fault. But be patient for a little while longer. At this time, I need your strength. We will speak soon. I promise.’

Eadulf turned his gaze to the fire and fell silent.

Fidelma was grateful for his sensitivity. She felt enough of a sense of guilt already not only because of the missing child but because, for the last several months, she had been questioning her relationship with Eadulf. Since little Alchú had been born she had been in a constant state of depression. It had taken her a long time to agree to become Eadulf’s ben charrthach, his wife for a year and a day. It was one of the nine forms of recognised marital relationship in which the woman’s status and rights were acknowledged under the law of the Cáin Lánamnus.

Fidelma had long avoided the inevitable outcome of her attraction to Eadulf. She had already experienced one unhappy affair with a warrior named Cian and thought that she would never undergo the agony of falling in love again. But some inner spark had ignited when she first met Eadulf at the great Council of Whitby, even though he was a Saxon and an advocate for the acceptance of the teachings of Rome. She had tried to argue that she cared too much for Eadulf to rush into easy decisions; that she had tried to avoid any close relation because, under the laws of the five kingdoms, it would be a marriage of unequal persons. Fidelma was of royal rank and Eadulf, as a stranger in the land and not even of royal status, would not have equal property rights with his wife.

Then it seemed that all was well. She had made the decision. During the trial marriage she had become pregnant and their son Alchú was born. Had she resented the birth of Alchú? Her mind had dwelt on the freedom she had lost and she had begun to resent Eadulf and the idea of a life confined to Cashel. The request of her brother, Colgú the king, to go to Rath Raithlen and solve the mystery of the slaughtered young women had been a godsend to her. She had been dwelling on her personal problems as she and Eadulf had ridden back to Cashel having been successful in resolving the mystery. She had been considering whether she should end the trial marriage now, for the year and a day would soon be over. Then she had learnt the news about her baby son.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as the pain of the news struck her once again.

‘What is it?’ demanded Eadulf, concern on his features.

She glanced at him and grimaced.

‘I was just think of something Publilius Syrus once wrote…’

At another time Eadulf might have made some humorous aside, for Fidelma was always ready to quote a moral axiom of the former slave of Rome. She seemed to know them all by heart. Instead he just said: ‘Yes?’

‘How unhappy are they who cannot forgive themselves,’ she replied sadly.

Eadulf was about to respond when the door opened and Brother Madagan entered, then stood aside to usher in a medium-sized man in long brown woollen robes who walked with a distinctive limp. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He was not elderly but his features were deeply marked by experience rather than age. His long dark hair had white streaks in it and his dark eyes seemed to glow as if reflecting the horrors he had seen. His was the face of a man marred by his vicissitudes.

This is Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas,’ announced the steward.

Brother Buite limped forward and bowed briefly to Fidelma.

‘How can I help you, lady?’

Fidelma returned his gaze for a moment. ‘You know me?’

Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I served in the army of your brother at Cnoc Áine. That was where I…’

He reached unconsciously with his right hand across his chest towards his useless left arm, and then his hand dropped back and he shrugged.

‘I know you, lady, and I know of your sorrow. I was in Cashel with my brothers on the night it happened. If there is anything I can do to relieve the pain you have but to ask.’

‘You are generous in spirit, Brother Buite,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. ‘This is Brother Eadulf. Take a seat and speak with us a while.’

The man limped to an indicated seat and sat awkwardly while Brother Madagan, at a glance from Fidelma, went to resume his seat.

‘I understand that you and your companions were in Cashel when my nurse was murdered and my baby taken. Tell me about your companions.’

Brother Buite flushed a little.

‘I will speak of myself but you must question my companions about themselves. Sufficient to say that we all met on the road not far outside Cashel and I, knowing of the shrine of Ailbe, offered to guide them here to the abbey. We spent a night at the inn in the township below your brother’s palace. I was told the following morning of the death of a nurse and the disappearance of your child, lady. But as it was clear that we had no baby with us, the noble prince Finguine allowed us to continue the journey here.’

‘Ah yes. It was Finguine who came to the inn to question your party the next morning, I believe?’

‘Just so, lady.’

And then you brought your companions here?’

‘I did.’

‘But not all of them?’

Brother Buite looked startled.

‘I believe that you travelled with a leper? But we are told that when you arrived here a leper was not in your company.’

‘Ah.’ It was a soft breath. ‘A leper did come with us.’

‘Where did this companion leave you?’

‘Just before we reached the abbey here. Five of us, the original party, proceeded to the abbey but our sixth traveller went on towards the west.’

‘This sixth companion was small and carried a leper’s bell?’

‘That is so. He was a dwarf. Because of his illness we kept slightly apart from him but he did not seem to mind.’

‘A dwarf?’ Fidelma’s eyes sparkled at the information. ‘And he was a male?’

‘The name he gave us was Forindain.’

‘He spoke?’ Eadulf asked the question with a note of surprise. Caol had said the misshapen child who came to the palace was mute. It had not occurred to him until that moment that the pilgrim Brother Buite was describing might be possessed of speech.

Brother Buite glanced at him. ‘Why wouldn’t he speak?’

Fidelma glanced warningly at Eadulf and shook her head slightly.

‘And where did Forindain join your band?’ she asked.

‘At Cashel itself.’

‘Was he staying at the inn there?’

‘Not exactly. I had the impression that he slept in a barn.’

‘Why was that?’

‘I saw him eating in the inn before we retired for the night. He did not indicate by his bell that he was a leper then. That is contrary to the rules of the Faith. It was only when we were leaving in the morning and I found him in the yard with straw on his clothing and a leper’s bell that I realised he was so afflicted. Have I transgressed some law, lady, by allowing him to accompany us?’

Fidelma leant back and examined Brother Buite’s features keenly.

‘You are troubled by my questions, Brother Buite. Let me tell you why I ask them. Sárait the nurse was apparently lured from the safety of my brother’s palace when, according to the guard on duty, a child came with a message saying that her sister needed to see her urgently. The message was false. The messenger was said to be thickset and misshapen. It was dark. The guard, Caol, thought he saw a child. I suspect that he saw the dwarf who has been travelling with you. If so, we need to speak to this Forindain.’

Brother Buite blinked rapidly. ‘Was Sárait the nurse who was killed?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Sárait who was the wife to Callada?’

‘You knew her?’ Eadulf pressed quickly.

Brother Buite inclined his head. ‘I met her only once. It was Callada, her husband, that I knew. He was a popular fellow. He fought at Cnoc Aine and died there. I saw Sárait when she came in search of his body. I did not realise that she was the nurse who had been killed.’

‘As a matter of interest, do you know how this Callada died?’

Brother Buite glanced suspiciously at Eadulf, who had asked the question.

‘You mean, have I heard of the rumours that spread after the battle? Rumours that he had been found with an Eóghanacht spear in his back? I heard them. Indeed, it was Cathalán who commanded us and who pointed out that a spear has no allegiance — it is the man who wields the spear. Any one — Uí Fidgente or Eóghanacht — could have picked up the spear that transfixed Callada. But I know the rumours persisted.’

‘We are more concerned to hear about your pilgrims and how they fell in with this dwarf who gave his name as Forindain,’ Fidelma interrupted.

‘I will tell you what I know, lady,’ replied the former warrior. ‘My fellow pilgrims and I had reached Cashel, and hearing Bishop Ségdae was there we went to the palace and asked a blessing and permission to continue our pilgrimage to see the holy relics of Ailbe. Then we went to the inn to eat before taking a room there. As I have said, that was when I first saw the dwarf, but there was no indication then that he was a leper. In the morning, Prince Finguine came to the inn and asked if we had been disturbed during the night. Some of us had been awoken by the sounds of warriors moving about. He told us that there had been a killing and that a child was missing.

‘After he left, I went into the yard and found the dwarf. He was, as you say, small and misshapen and clad from poll to toe in his robes. He told me his name was Forindain and that he was also on the road to Imleach. When I told him that was where we were heading, he asked if he could join us. But then he warned me not to come close for he carried the curse of leprosy as well as being malformed from childhood. I said that he was welcome to join us for we are equal under God.’

He paused, as if remembering something else.

The dwarf asked us when we were departing for Imleach. When I said after we had broken our fast, he replied with satisfaction that this was well for he had something to see. When we were ready to depart, he was in the yard and walked some paces behind us. In this fashion, we came to Imleach.’

‘Did this Forindain tell you where he came from?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Did he tell you anything at all about himself?’

Brother Buite shook his head. ‘All I could tell was that he was originally from the kingdom of Laigin.’

‘You learnt nothing else about him?’

‘He kept himself to himself. Whenever anyone came too near, he would jangle that little bell of his as warning. We had our own cares and left him well alone. He followed behind us, always keeping a distance away.’

‘What manner of person was he?’ Fidelma pressed. ‘Happy, outgoing, sad, morose, good-tempered or ill-tempered?’

Brother Buite shrugged. ‘Hard to say. He was not loquacious, that is for sure. He kept his head cowled. I do not think I saw his face once. He was always in shadows. He moved agilely enough, in spite of jerking motions when he walked. He had thick, stubby hands — strong hands. Oh … I had almost forgotten. When he spoke, he spoke with a lisp as if his tongue was too large for his head.’

‘How did this Forindain come to leave you?’ she asked.

The leader of the pilgrims passed his good hand across his chin, as though to brush away an annoying insect.

‘I suppose I assumed that when Forindain said he was on the road to Imleach, he meant that he was coming to the abbey. Outside the township here, he simply bade us farewell. I did ask where he was going. He said that his road now took him further to the west. So we left him at the crossroads outside the town. That was the last we saw of him and that was where our interest in him stopped.’

‘And when did you part company?’

‘About three days ago.’

Fidelma was quiet for a while, nodding silently. Then she suddenly smiled.

‘You have been most helpful, Buite. I need not detain you or your companions.’

Brother Buite hesitated. ‘Do you believe that this Forindain was involved with the murder of Sárait and the kidnapping of…?’ His voice trailed off and he raised a shoulder and let it fall.

Fidelma’s voice was emotionless. ‘Belief is to regard what has been told one as being true. It is to be persuaded without final proof. That is not the task of a dálaigh, Brother Buite of Magh Ghlas. One seeks out truth through fact and not through opinion.’

Brother Buite flushed a little. Eadulf at once felt contrite, and hurried into speech.

‘We are following all leads, however obscure and faint, and hope that somewhere along the way they will turn into those facts that we are looking for. We have questions that this Forindain can answer, that is all. Thank you for being so helpful.’

He smiled reassuringly at him and Brother Buite returned the smile before Brother Madagan ushered him from the chamber. Eadulf turned to Fidelma.

‘Well, at least we know that the dwarf Forindain is not the so-called child seen by Caol, the guard at the palace,’ he said emphatically.

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in query.

‘How so?’

‘Because Forindain had the power of speech, even though Brother Buite claims he spoke strangely, with a lisp. The child who came to the palace was mute. Caol said so.’

‘And how did Caol know?’

Eadulf was impatient, not understanding her point.

‘Because the child produced a note which said it could not speak?’ Fidelma went on. ‘And we must believe this because a note was produced? Belief is not fact, as I have just told Brother Buite.’

Eadulf considered the point. ‘Do you have reason to believe that the child was lying to Caol?’

She shook her head. ‘If the child or the dwarf were part of a plot to kill Sárait or abduct our baby, of course it would be lying. Anyway, nothing should ever be accepted on face value without checking. That is the rule of the Brehon.’

‘An axiom of Brehon Morann?’ replied Eadulf, a little sharply. ‘I know. Well, that does not get us anywhere. This leper has disappeared taking the western road. He might be anywhere now. He might or might not have been the person who delivered the note to Sárait and even if he did he might or might not have been involved in the murder and kidnapping. There are too many ifs and buts. Where do we go from here?’

There was a dry cough from the shadows. They had forgotten Brother Madagan.

‘If I might make a suggestion…?’ The steward came forward smiling. ‘I think your first priority is to refresh yourselves and, as the sky is darkening, to spend the night here before you travel on.’

Fidelma smiled tiredly.

‘A good idea, Brother Madagan. We are too tired to think logically tonight. We will seek refreshment in food and contemplation.’

Brother Madagan turned towards the door.

‘I will order a chamber to be prepared for you,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Your warrior companions can sleep in the guests’ dormitory. Would you like to wash? It will not be long before the bell sounds for the evening meal.’ At the door, he hesitated and turned back. ‘I could not help but hear that you were interested in a dwarf.’

‘A particular dwarf,’ Fidelma said sharply. ‘Why?’

Brother Madagan made a gesture with his shoulder that was not quite a shrug.

‘Only that there was a group of drúth passing through the town a few days ago and there were dwarfs among them.’

‘Drui?’ queried Eadulf, not quite hearing the pronunciation and thinking the steward had mentioned druids.

Brother Madagan shook his head and corrected him.

‘No, drúth — jesters, jugglers and gleemen. Those who travel the country to entertain and amuse with music, songs, stories and acrobatics.’

‘When did they pass through here?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Before or after the pilgrims arrived?’

‘Oh, the day before, I think. They entertained in the town for one night and then moved on. One of our brethren attended the entertainment and told me that they played the story of Bebo and Iubdán, which seemed much suited to their talents.’

‘It would be a good choice of story,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But the little person whom we seek was, according to accounts, a leper and a religieux.’

Brother Madagan shrugged. ‘It was a thought. They said that they were going on to the Hill of the Ship. There is a fair there tomorrow. It is not very far west from here.’

‘I know it. The chieftain is a distant cousin of mine. I’ll bear it in mind, Brother Madagan. Thank you.’

Later, in their chamber, Eadulf asked: ‘What did you mean when you said that the story of Bebo and Iubdán was a good choice of story? I do not understand.’

Fidelma was combing her hair and paused.

‘A good choice for little people to play? It is one of the ancient tales. Iubdán was king of the Faylinn-’

‘I’ve heard of many people in these kingdoms but not the Faylinn,’ interrupted Eadulf.

They are what we call the little people. A diminutive race that live in a parallel world. The story goes that Iubdán is able to travel to Emain Macha, the capital of the kingdom of Ulaidh. His wife Bebo comes with him. Iubdán clumsily falls into the porridge, which has been prepared for the breakfast of the king of Ulaidh, Fergus mac Léide. He cannot get out of the porridge bowl and is captured by Fergus. However, Fergus falls in love with Bebo, who comes to plead for her husband’s life. Bebo is very beautiful, and they have an affair while he keeps her husband locked up. Bebo and Iubdán were his prisoners for a year and a day before he offered them freedom in exchange for Iubdán’s most prized possession.’

‘Which was…?’ demanded Eadulf when she paused.

‘A pair of enchanted shoes which enabled the king to travel over water as easily as over dry land.’

‘And did they get their freedom?’

‘They did so, after a year and a day…’

Fidelma’s voice trailed off. A year and a day. She stirred uneasily at her thoughts about her marriage. Her own year and a day, which marked the time when she must decide her future with Eadulf, was rapidly nearing and yet how could she make any decision in the current situation? Her mind was already confused about her relationship and even now more confused by the tragedy of Alchú.

Eadulf had not noticed her sudden melancholy. He was continuing to talk.

‘I have noticed here that dwarfs are not usually treated as figures of fun. It is different in other lands.’

Fidelma stirred herself and continued combing her red tresses. She tried to turn her mind away from her dark thoughts and concentrate on what Eadulf was saying.

‘Why should they be regarded as other than people? Are they so different? In the days before the New Faith, two of the old gods, the children of Danu, were dwarfs. Luchta was one of the three great wrights who crafted shields and spearshafts. Abcán, whose very name means “little dwarf’, was a poet to the gods and goddesses and used to sail a curious metal boat on the waters of Eas Ruadh, the red cataract, which lies in a great river to the north of here. And you will find that little folk are often employed as poets and musicians at the great courts. Even Fionn Mac Cumhail had a harpist named Cnú Deireóil who was a dwarf. He was very handsome, with golden hair and such a sweet voice that he could lull you to sleep by the sound of his singing. Those who are small in stature are not necessarily small in mind.’

Eadulf was silent for a moment.

‘I noticed that when you speak of them you always use the term abacc, while some people use the terms droich and drochcumtha. Which is the proper term for a small person?’

‘Abacc is the better word for them, for it carries no connotation of anything bad or misshapen about a person,’ she said. That implies an arrogance on the part of the speaker which is unworthy.’

Eadulf moved to the window and looked out at the dark cloistered courtyard beyond. One of the abbey’s brethren was going round lighting the torches that hung in their iron braziers on the walls. Eadulf peered up at the patch of blackness above the courtyard and sighed.

The month of Cet Gaimred,’ he used the Irish name, ‘and the clouds are so thick and dark that we cannot see this first of the winter moons.’ He shivered abruptly. ‘I am never happy at this time of year,’ he said.

Fidelma glanced across at him.

‘You cannot deny the natural order of things. Before rebirth there is always a period of darkness. That is why we consider our year begins with the darkness of winter. It is a time when we can rest and contemplate as Nature does before springing forth anew into light and growth.’

Eadulf turned and smiled softly.

‘I never knew why your festival of Samhain should be considered as marking the start of the year.’

‘Isn’t it natural to sit, rest and meditate before one rises up into action? The crops rest, the trees rest, the people rest in their houses awaiting the first sign of the spring. As a baby rests in the darkness of its mother’s womb, gaining strength, before plunging into the world.’

‘You cannot be advocating that we should be doing nothing but waiting for the start of spring.’ Eadulf leant back against the window and brushed a hand against the hair hanging over his forehead. ‘Are we to do nothing until the feast that marks the ewes’ coming into milk? There are times, such as this, when we must eschew contemplation and deny ourselves that rest.’

Almost as he said it, he realised it was not a good thing to say in the circumstances. Fidelma seemed to wince for a moment, as if struck by a physical pain, and he stepped quickly across to her with his hands held out. She did not take them, but turned her head away, leaving him frozen for a moment in the gesture. Then she sniffed and rose, brushing by him.

‘You are right, Eadulf. Now is not the time for doing nothing.’

‘I did not mean-’

‘The refectory bell will sound in a moment,’ she went on, ignoring his hurt and guilty look. ‘Time to make a decision on what we should do now.’

Eadulf cleared his throat, wondering whether to challenge her behaviour, then he dropped his hands to his side and shrugged.

‘As I see it, we can move west hoping that we might catch up with the little leper,’ Fidelma said.

‘I would agree that we could do so,’ Eadulf replied. ‘However, do we really know where he was heading, even if we accept that he was the strange figure seen by Caol, bringing the message to Sárait? What hope have we of finding this Forindain if we only know a general direction? He could go anywhere, not necessarily to the fair. It might be like looking for a needle in a stack of hay. What if he only said he was going west to Brother Buite? What if he went south, or north, or even returned east? I agree that we should perhaps follow any lead, however fragile and faint, but we might waste valuable time on this course of action.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful. ‘Is there an alternative?’

‘I think we could admit that this trail has gone cold.’

Fidelma sniffed slightly. ‘There is always an alternative to any action in life. Life is governed by the fact that when a decision is made there are always two paths to choose from.’

‘What else, then?’ Eadulf pressed, perhaps a little aggressive now in his feeling of irritated hurt.

The refectory bell began to toll, summoning the brethren to the evening meal. Fidelma turned towards the door without answering.

‘A moment!’ snapped Eadulf.

Fidelma turned back to him, surprised at the sudden anger in his voice.

‘I think,’ Eadulf said, his voice suddenly cold, his tone measured, ‘that you should tell me what you intend to do before we join the others. You should tell me, even if you have no respect for me as your husband, for the sake of the fact that I am the father of Alchú, who is my son as well as yours.’

Fidelma flushed in annoyance. For a moment she said nothing as a strange combination of guilt and anger welled in her, rose up until her tongue was ready to articulate it. Then something seemed to spread like a cooling tide through her mind. Her guilt suddenly outweighed her impulse to anger.

She realised that the fault lay with her. She had taken Eadulf for granted and she had used arrogance to disguise her feelings of guilt for fear of showing them. Eadulf was right. Had she pushed the good nature of the Saxon too far? She stared at his resolute features. They seemed so alien now, so cold and impassive. She had never seen him look so controlled and distant before.

‘Eadulf…’ she began, but found her lips suddenly dry.

He waited a moment.

‘Well?’ he demanded harshly. ‘What do you intend? Am I to be told or do you prefer to make decisions without informing me? Don’t let it concern you. I am used to those at Cashel nudging one another, smirking and treating me with disrespect. There goes the foreigner! It is right that he is treated like a servant for he is not worthy of marriage to our princess.’

Fidelma stared at him, shocked.

‘Who says this about you?’ she demanded after a pause.

Eadulf’s features formed into a sneer. She had never seen him like this before.

‘Are you claiming that you are blind to what happens at Cashel? Are you deaf to the whispers in the corridors of your brother’s palace? It is obvious that I am not thought worthy of you and you have often demonstrated that you share that opinion. I am considered…’

The angry words faded away as he failed to find suitable ones to express the months of built-up frustration and anger that lay within him.

Fidelma stood still, watching him. She suddenly felt that he had become a stranger to her. She was shocked by his suppressed passion. He stared back, his mouth a thin line, waiting for her to react. Finally, she sighed deeply.

‘I was going to suggest that we continue west until we reach Cnoc Loinge, the Hill of the Ship, to see if we can learn anything further about the dwarf Forindain,’ she said quietly.

‘That,’ replied Eadulf in a tight voice, ‘is acceptable to me.’

He brushed quickly by her and left her staring in confusion after him.